The Turning-Blood Ties 1 (27 page)

This wasn’t what I had expected. I’d never really enjoyed sex much before. It was a thing that naturally happened in a relationship, but I’d never felt I needed it. Not like this, feeling as though I’d die if he left me right now, or at least cling to his legs whimpering and begging for more. He set out to seduce, to savor each moment, and I found myself

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enjoying the sensation of his icy lips on my skin. His wicked fingers stroking my legs. His hard body against mine.

He made a cut in the sensitive seam where my leg met my body, and “accidentally”

bumped his cheek against my mound when he moved to suck away the blood. My legs twitched and tightened around his head.

“Could it be you’re actually enjoying yourself?” he asked in mock surprise. I closed my eyes, unwilling to see his satisfied expression when I spoke. “Yes.”

He nipped at my chin. “Tell me you want me.”

Closing my eyes, I breathed, “I want you.”

“Not the sex, Carrie. Tell me you want me.” His words snapped my eyes open. His face was filled with pure, undisguised longing. He wasn’t asking if I desired him. He was asking me to love him.

He needed me to say yes. His desperate fear of rejection saddened me. But the piece of me that was still unaffected by the blood tie held me back. It was the piece of me that hadn’t been touched by anyone. I wasn’t about to surrender it. “I’m sorry, Cyrus.”

I thought he’d push me away, put an end to the encounter. Instead, he became more focused, kissing me harder and with more passion than he’d ever shown me before. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, threatening pain with his razor-sharp nails and pleasure with his gentle touch.

He traced a path down my body with his tongue, until he reached the hot, slick entrance he sought. Parting me with his thumbs, he blew a gentle stream of frosty breath across my quivering flesh. I tried to lift my hips against his mouth, but he pushed me down on the bed. Before I could protest, he was on top of me, pressing the rigid length of his cock against me. He yanked my head back with my hair. “Tell me you love me.”

I was speechless. I feared the actions that would be wrought by the fury etched on his face.

“Lost your voice?” He reached between our bodies and roughly shoved two fingers inside me. I shrieked in pain as his sharp talons plowed through my sensitive flesh, but he covered my mouth with his other hand. “Well, you can scream easily enough.”

As suddenly as his touch had turned violent, he became gentle. His fingers, still buried deep within me, no longer tore at me. They stroked, as if seeking to repair the damage done. The fleshy pads of his fingertips massaged and delved, swirling over the hypersensitive spot that had eluded all the other men I’d been with. I bit down on the hand that still covered my mouth to keep from moaning.

I should have fought him, should have defended myself. But I couldn’t. His excitement fed mine. He pulled his hand from my mouth to hear my sobs of pleasure. He withdrew his fingers. I saw my blood on them, mixed with the wetness of my arousal. Cyrus brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean, holding my gaze as he did so. Tell him to stop, my rational mind cried out as the prison of my body panted, waited, begged to come with words I’d never imagined saying. When Cyrus ruthlessly thrust into my torn flesh, I screamed in grateful agony.

His face was a study in blasphemous rapture as he flexed his hips, driving himself deeper. Cyrus was hard and cold inside me, like glass, and was nearly too much for my overloaded nerve endings.

“Bite,” he gasped, leaning his neck close to my mouth.

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I shook my head, trying to regain some of the control I’d lost. He slapped me across the face, and I flinched. “Do it!”

I opened my mouth, trying desperately to summon my transformation, but it wouldn’t come. He growled in frustration, so to avoid another blow, I bit down hard on his neck with blunt, human teeth.

He yelped in surprise, and no wonder. I felt the force of the pain in my own throat, and it wasn’t pleasant. A fresh surge of his lust seared my veins.

“Drink.”

As the first drops fell to my lips, I came. My body shuddered and my legs twisted around his back. My mouth froze open in breathless pleasure while his blood dripped onto my tongue.

Then I was rushing forward, and though I fought it, my eyes opened and I was once again in Cyrus’s body, looking into his past.

The images were disjointed. They flickered like a broken projector, some frames repeated over and over again. One by one they slipped into place, and the hazy, dizzy feeling in my head lifted.

Cyrus sat at a long table in a candlelit dining room. The air was hot and sticky, and stale cigar smoke made his eyes water. He wasn’t seated at a place of prominence. Instead, he was grouped with a few wealthy-looking men and women. Cyrus turned his head to gaze at the woman next to him, and just beyond her there was a man in a military uniform that was definitely not American. A deep, accented voice cut through the chatter. “Ladies and gentlemen, before our guests of honor arrive, I’d like to thank you all for coming.”

Cyrus turned his head toward the voice. A tall, thin man stood at the head of the table. His white hair was braided into plaits so long they nearly touched the floor in front of him. Though he appeared much more frail and withered than when I’d first seen him, the straight nose and cruel eyes were unmistakable. It was Cyrus’s father. The Soul Eater.

When the older vampire’s gaze fell on his son, something that resembled love warmed his eyes. It passed all too soon, replaced by the calculating, predatory glare he gave everyone assembled.

“I also wish to remind you all of the rules. Only one of our guests tonight is the main course.” He chuckled at his joke, and the other vampires in the room laughed politely.

“The other is for me. You’ll be able to tell, as they are clearly marked.”

Cyrus’s attention turned to the large double doors at the end of the dining hall. Two servants pulled them open. Framed in the cavernous wooden doorway stood Nathan and the woman I’d seen in the photograph from his closet. Nathan looked nearly the same as he did now, with the exception of his hair, which was shorter, and the healthy golden tone of his skin.

The woman at his side had lost all the youthful good looks I’d seen in the picture. Her cheeks were gaunt and dark circles ringed her eyes. She leaned on Nathan’s arm for support.

Cyrus focused on the pendant she wore. It was a golden dragon coiled around an extraordinarily large diamond.

The doors slammed shut behind them and there was an ominous clang as a large bolt slid

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into place.

“Bon appétit,” the old vampire said wickedly.

The faces of those seated at the table transformed. Their change was reflected in the horror on Nathan’s face and the weak acceptance on the woman’s. He stepped in front of her, as if to shield her, but the party guests descended on them, pulling them to the floor. Cyrus stayed in his seat, and jumped when his father’s hand touched his shoulder. “One day, we’ll be finished with all of this,” the Soul Eater hissed in his ear.

“Yes, Father,” Cyrus replied, his throat dry. “One day, we’ll rule.”

Then he moved toward Nathan.

I wanted to manifest into some form I could control, so I could lash out at the Soul Eater and stop what was about to take place. But I knew what I saw wasn’t really happening. It was a part of the past, already over and unchangeable. A pain in my head threatened to tear me apart. My vision clouded, but I clearly heard Nathan’s screams of anguish and terror as my senses tried to join me in the present. I saw twisted limbs, mangled torsos and flames, as though the earth had been consumed in them. Rivers of blood flowed through my mind.

I was back in my body, and Cyrus groaned as he spilled inside me. It was ice-cold. I was going to be sick. With all my strength, I pushed him off me and rolled to the side of the bed. Blood, mine and his, was smeared all over the sheets. I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the sight. “What is your father?”

The sheets rustled behind me. I suppose Cyrus sat up. “I’ve told you.”

“But you haven’t told me, really.” I wasn’t sure if the chill creeping up my back was from the cold radiating from his skin or the drafty room. “What does it mean, that one day he’ll rule?”

He heaved a sigh and flopped audibly against the pillows. “It’s all very complicated. I’d rather sleep than talk about this.”

“Sometimes in life, we have to do things we don’t want to.” I sat up so I could face him.

“Why don’t you just tell me?”

Cyrus obviously wasn’t happy with my postcoital pillow talk, but I wasn’t about to back down. He considered what I’d said for a moment, as if trying to gauge whether I was joking or not, then gave another exasperated sigh. “If you really want to know.”

“I do.” I hugged my knees to my chest, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I was to him.

“For years, my father has been searching for a way to recover his power. It’s a very secret quest, and even I’m not privy to the rituals and texts he’s reviewing.” There was a note of bitterness in Cyrus’s voice.

“Then how does he get them?” One day of consciousness per year didn’t seem like a lot of time to scour the libraries.

Cyrus let out a resentful laugh. “He has an assistant who does most of the reading for him. I don’t know who it is, but he’s assured me it’s someone he can trust.”

I wasn’t about to delve into Cyrus’s father issues, so I let the comment slide. “You told me your father was a peasant before he became a vampire. What power did he have that he needs to recover?”

“It’s not power he actually possessed. It’s the power he believes has been reserved for him. It’s locked away, waiting for him. He merely needs the key.” With an elegant shrug, he leaned on one elbow, a sinful smile curving his lips. He reached to gently stroke my

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arm. “But we can discuss this later.”

I shifted away from him angrily. “We can discuss it now. What exactly is the Soul Eater trying to do?” But I’d pushed him too far. The easy dialogue between Cyrus and I dried up immediately, as though someone had dammed the flow of words. He settled back and closed his eyes. “I’m tired. If all you’re going to do is bother me with incessant questions, you may leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” I realized how shrill my voice sounded, but I didn’t care. “Tell me what’s going on!”

“You want to know what my father is planning?” Cyrus sat up and leaned toward me, his face now mere inches from mine. “When the time is right, and all the pieces fall into place, the Soul Eater will rise to become the most powerful vampire this world has ever seen. Humans will be cattle to feed my father’s minions. Any vampire who opposes him will be consumed. He will rule the world, and the world will perish.”

The religious fervor with which he spoke chilled me to the bone. When I spoke, I could barely force a whisper from my clamped throat. “You would help him do this?”

“Carrie, you knew who I was when you walked through the front door.” Cyrus looked almost wounded. “You can’t hate me for it.”

“No,” I agreed. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

I stood and tugged the top sheet loose from the others, wrapping it around myself with nervous hands. “But life isn’t fair, Cyrus. And right now, I don’t like you very much.”

He didn’t try to stop me as I limped from the room.
Sixteen

Best-Laid Plans

I n the days following, Cyrus didn’t speak to me. I didn’t know if he was busy with party plans—his frequent excuse—or if I’d honestly hurt his feelings. It shouldn’t have bothered me if I did, but I was learning fast that where Cyrus was concerned, my heart wanted the opposite of what my brain knew was right.

The first few mornings, he called on Dahlia to share his bed. She strutted around the mansion proudly displaying her scars, but she never spoke directly to me. I wasn’t sure if this was a blessing or a curse, as it seemed everyone in the house knew I was persona non grata with their master and followed suit. The days were lonely and dull, and it was no comfort to know there were centuries of them to come. At nightfall, Cyrus ventured from the mansion accompanied by his bodyguards and sometimes Dahlia. I didn’t know where they went or what they did, and I convinced myself I didn’t care, despite the fact I was dying to get out. It would have been a perfect opportunity to meet Nathan, but he’d stopped showing up. I pushed my worry to the back of my mind. Nathan wasn’t the person I had to protect. What concerned me more was Cyrus’s sudden interest in Ziggy. He kept his word and never harmed the kid physically, and after the first few visits to his chambers, it seemed Ziggy had grown to genuinely like my sire.

“It’s not like we’re dating or anything, Doc,” Ziggy said when I cornered him in the kitchen one evening. He rooted through the large refrigerator of people food, claiming various items with a Sharpie pen. I didn’t bother telling him that most pets didn’t live to mooch off their host for long.

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I leaned against the freezer. “I know, but Dahlia is going to kill you. And do you have to act like you’re enjoying it so much?”

He shrugged. “He’d actually be a pretty decent guy if he wasn’t an evil vampire. But more important, if I want to live through this thing he’s got planned, I need friends in high places.”

Was there more to the New Year’s party? “Well, don’t leave me hanging. What’s he got planned?” I asked.

“The party,” Clarence said as he emerged from the walk-in freezer. I hadn’t even known he was there, and his sudden presence gave me a start. “I knew about that. But I’ve been pathetically out of the loop for a couple of weeks now. Fill me in.”