Touch The Dark

Chapter 9

I woke because little fingers of sunshine were getting in my eyes. They were coming from a large window over the queen-sized bed somebody had put me on. I yawned and grimaced. My mouth was all cottony and tasted awful, and my eyes were so gummy I had to pry them apart to see. When I could, I blinked in confusion. It did not look like vamps had furnished the place, unless it was Louis-César's room. It was yellow from the painted stucco walls to the patchwork quilt and shams. Only a few washed-out pastels in the braided rug and a couple of Native American-inspired prints fought with the yellow tide, but it looked like they were losing.

I sat up and quickly decided that hadn't been a good idea. My stomach tried to heave something up, but there wasn't anything there. I felt as weak as if I'd had the flu for a week, and I desperately wanted to brush my teeth. After the room stopped spinning, I staggered to my feet and went exploring. Poking my head out the bedroom door, I learned two things: I was back in my rooms at MAGIC and I had guests. The short hall outside my room ended in the living area where I'd been taken before my side trip to Dante's. Several very familiar heads swiveled towards me and I scowled at them until I spotted the entrance to a blue-tiled sanctuary a few yards away. Someone, and I really hoped it had been Rafe, had peeled off my battered clothes and wrapped me in a terrycloth robe. It was okay except that it was about three sizes too big and tended to trip me up at odd moments. But I made it to the bathroom without falling, and shut the door in Tomas' face.

For the hell of it, I checked the window. No angry little face greeted me this time. Instead of the Marley, the wards had been strengthened to the point that I didn't even have to concentrate to see the glittering silver web that blocked my only way out. It was a little much, considering that an armed human guard was also right outside. You'd think they had something really scary in here, instead of a beat-up clairvoyant with what felt like the mother of all hangovers. I pulled the curtains closed and shrugged. I hadn't really expected to get away with that twice.

No one interrupted even though I took a long bath. It didn't help much. My list of injuries had lengthened and I was exhausted despite having had, at a guess, six hours' sleep. I'd also received a gift. Someone had put the dark mage's bracelet firmly around my wrist. Someone had also repaired it, because a perfect circle of tiny daggers ran under my fingers, like beads on a rosary. Great; exactly what I needed: another piece of tacky jewelry. I tried to get it off, but it wouldn't fit over my hand, and I didn't feel like trying to bite it. The last time had been with the mage's teeth; this time it would be with mine.

I got stiffly out of the bath, feeling about a hundred, and peered in the mirror. I've never been particularly vain, but it was a shock to see myself looking so haggard. My hair stood up in little clumps and had almost come out of the gold slide. I fixed it as well as I could with only my hands to work with, but there was nothing I could do about my dead white complexion or the dark circles that rimmed my eyes like a professional football player's. I guess almost getting killed about a dozen times takes it out of you.

I turned away from the mirror and searched for some sign of my clothes. I found only the boots, which had been cleaned and polished and tucked behind the door. I didn't think they went with terrycloth, and left them where they were. I'd have given a lot to at least have had some clean underwear, but I couldn't find any. I finally shrugged back into the robe and decided to go bare underneath rather than put back on the tattered, bloodstained remnants of what had once been a nice set of lingerie. I was grateful for the robe's bulkiness, since at least everything was covered. It made me look about twelve, but maybe the Senate would spring for something else if I asked. They'd been in a good mood earlier. Of course, that was before I ran off and almost got three people killed, four if you counted me. I took a deep breath and went to face the music.

There were six people in the outer room, if you included the golem in the corner. It took me a second to notice him because the blackout curtains had been drawn over the windows, blocking the sunlight. Electric lights were on and sputtering a little because of the wards, but the room was dim.

Louis-César, still in the tight jeans outfit, was leaning on the mantel, looking stressed for once. Tomas was in the red leather chair by the fire, He and Rafe were in almost identical black dress slacks and long-sleeved silk shirts, except that Tomas' was as black as his hair and Rafe's was a dull crimson. Rafe was on the couch with Mircea, who alone among the group appeared the same as the night before. Looking at him, relaxed and elegant, I could almost believe that I'd accidentally fallen asleep in the bath and that none of the stuff at Dante's had ever happened. That happy thought was crushed by the sight of Pritkin, in khaki everything like some big-game hunter, standing by the door. He didn't take his eyes off me, as if he'd like to see my head mounted on his wall over a sign reading problem solved. Oh, yeah, this was gonna be loads of fun.

Rafe moved as soon as he saw me. "Mia stella! You are feeling better, yes? We were so worried!" He hugged me tightly. "Lord Mircea and I went to Antonio's headquarters in the city, but you were not there. If Louis-César and Tomas had not found you—"

"But they did, so everything's fine, Rafe." He nodded and tried to guide me toward the sofa, but I didn't want to be wedged in there. It wasn't like I could escape, no matter where I sat, but I didn't like the idea of being confined. Besides, the only people in the room I could sort of trust were Rafe and maybe Mircea, and I preferred to be where I could see their faces. I sat on the ottoman near Tomas' feet and concentrated on keeping my robe together. "I am sorry, but your clothes were unsalvageable," Rafe said apologetically. "Others are being arranged for you."

"Okay." I didn't attempt to make small talk. I was about to learn what the Senate wanted, and since I was absolutely sure I wasn't going to like it, I didn't feel like helping things along.

"Mia Stella." Rafe glanced at Mircea, who cocked an eyebrow at him unhelpfully. Poor Rafe; he always got the crappy jobs. "Could you tell us, who is Françoise?"

I stared at him. Of all the things I'd thought he might say, that would have been near the bottom. In fact, it wasn't even on the list. "What?"

"You mentioned her to me," Louis-César said, moving to crouch in front of me. I shrank back, even though he'd carried me around the parking lot and nothing had happened. I didn't feel like taking chances. "At the casino."

"Don't you want to talk about Tony? He's selling slaves to the Fey."

"We know," Mircea answered. "One of the witches you assisted came to the Circle to describe her captivity. I was allowed to sit in on the questioning, since Antonio is my responsibility. The mages are… quite concerned, as you can imagine."

I was confused. "Maybe I'm being slow here, but why witches? Wouldn't humans be easier targets?" The women I'd freed had certainly been no welterweights, as one dead mage proved.

"For centuries, after their own bloodlines began to die out, that was their strategy. Have you not heard the stories about human infants being spirited away by the Fey?" Mircea asked. I nodded—it was standard fairy tale stuff. "Such children were brought up in Faerie and married into some of their great houses. It did improve their fertility, but they soon noticed that the magical ability in the children of such unions was considerably less than their own."

"So they started stealing witches."

"Yes, but an agreement was worked out between the Fey and the Silver Circle in 1624, stating that no more abductions were to take place."

"I guess it's sort of void now."

Mircea smiled. "On the contrary. The light elves swear they know nothing of this practice, and that it is solely the dark who are involved." I frowned. From what Billy had said, it sounded like the opposite was true. "The dark, of course, claim the reverse," Mircea said, noticing my expression, "but in any case, it is not our concern. We will not be drawn into Fey politics because of one person's greed, as we made clear to their ambassadors a few hours ago. Antonio will be dealt with, but that ends our involvement."

I wasn't surprised. Despite their presence at MAGIC, the vamps had never been all that interested in other species' affairs. They cooperated as far as they did only to guard their own interests. "Just the one witch came forward? What happened to the other two?"

"They must have been dark," Pritkin said, watching me narrowly, "under interdict by the Circle for their crimes. Otherwise they would not have been so quick to flee. Our witch learned little about them because they were gagged much of the time. But she said that one of them recognized you and insisted that they help you against the dark mage. Yet you said you did not know them."

"I don't." I couldn't tell him about Franchise—it would sound crazy and I didn't understand it myself. Magic users tend to live longer than most humans, but witch or no, if it had really been her in that French castle, she should be long dead of old age. Not to mention that it took some memory to immediately recall the face of a person seen for a few minutes hundreds of years ago. I'd recognized her because, for me, our meeting had just happened. But how she had known me was an open question.

"And I suppose you also do not know the pixie who aided you in freeing your servants? She is a well-known operative of the Dark Fey."

Pritkin was getting on my nerves. "No, I don't. And they weren't my servants."

"You told me you watched Franchise burn to death." Louis-César was apparently a single-minded kind of guy.

I decided to go with his comment, since Pritkin didn't believe anything I said anyway. "What happened to the mage? Did you kill him?"

"You see; she doesn't even try to deny it!" Pritkin came striding across the room. I'd have figured out he was pissed off even if I hadn't been able to see him, since my new toy jumped against my wrist with an almost electric tickle. I managed not to yelp, but I stuffed my hand farther into the pocket of the robe so the bracelet didn't show. Something told me Pritkin wouldn't be happy to see it.

Tomas had moved to stand between us. It unnerved me that I hadn't seen him do it, but I was grateful to have a barrier between me and the mage. The guys at Tony's had always believed that war mages were dangerous, bloodthirsty and crazy. Considering that the people saying this were multiple murderers who worked for a homicidal vampire, I tended to take their opinion seriously.

"Why would I deny it? Possessing him saved your life." I hadn't expected a thank-you, but it would've been nice if he'd stopped glaring at me.

"I would prefer to die than be saved by the dark arts!"

"We'll keep that in mind next time," Tomas said. I giggled. I wasn't trying to antagonize anyone, but I was dizzy from hunger and exhausted. At the moment, it really was funny. Only Pritkin didn't seem to think so.

Mircea stood up as someone rapped on the door. "Ah, breakfast. Tempers will doubtless be better after we have dined." A young man wheeled in a cart that had me salivating from the smell alone.

A few minutes later, I was halfway through a tray of pancakes, sausage, hash browns and fresh fruit. It had been served on a nice silver platter with real china dishes, linen napkins and genuine maple syrup, mellowing my mood towards the Senate considerably. I'd just poured myself more tea when Pritkin made a sound of disgust. I couldn't imagine what his problem was; he had a tray, too.

"It doesn't bother you at all, does it?" he demanded. I noticed that not only was he not eating, but he was staring at me the way I had probably looked at the wererats at the casino. Like I was something he couldn't quite figure out but knew he didn't like. My mouth was full so I raised an eyebrow at him. He gestured wildly. "Look at them!"

I forked up some sausage and glanced around. The vampires were feeding, but they weren't having pancakes. They can eat solid food, as Tony proved often enough, but they can't obtain nourishment from it. There's only one thing that will give them that, and they were taking full advantage. Louis-César had apparently already eaten, or maybe it was true about what they said of the Senate, that its members were so powerful that they had to feed only about once a week. Rafe, Mircea and Tomas had joined me for breakfast, however, and they were, of course, dining on the satyr-were hybrids from Dante's.

I'd seen similar scenes so often growing up that it had hardly registered. Any prisoners taken alive were always used for food. One of the few things considered truly depraved in vamp circles is to waste blood, even that of shape-shifters. Blood is precious; blood is life. I had grown up with that mantra; apparently, Pritkin had not.

The only thing that sort of threw me was the sight of Tomas feeding from the neck of a handsome young were who looked vaguely familiar. He had chocolate brown eyes that matched the dark fur that started halfway down his hips and framed his heavy sex. He'd been stripped and bound hand and foot with thick silver chains. That was standard operating procedure since humiliation was part of the punishment, but I thought it might be less than effective in this case. I didn't know how he felt about the chains—weres aren't fond of silver—but satyrs actually prefer to be nude. They believe wearing clothing suggests they have something to hide, that some part of their bodies isn't perfect. This one didn't have anything to be ashamed of, and his body was reacting to the feeding in the usual manner, making him even more impressive. It must have been an involuntary response, though; his face was so distorted with fear that it took me a minute to identify him as the waiter who had greeted me at the satyr bar.

The scene bothered me, and it wasn't because I had met the were or because he was obviously terrified. Better that he learn his lesson now and avoid trying the Senate's patience in future; they weren't known for giving third chances. I finally decided that my brain was objecting to the sight of fangs extending from Tomas' lips, and to seeing him swallow the satyr's blood like it was his favorite vintage. It seemed I was still having trouble putting «Tomas» and «vampire» in the same category.

Despite my unease, I didn't look away. It was considered a sign of weakness to show emotion when witnessing a punishment, and rude to ignore it since the whole point of having it in public is for it to be seen. I did, however, refocus my attention on Mircea. Watching him enjoy his meal bothered me less than watching Tomas, and he was in my line of sight anyway.

"I thought you didn't like were blood," I said, trying for what passed for normal conversation at the courts. Mircea had been present when Tony had the alpha executed, but had declined the honor of draining him. "You told me once that they're bitter."

"It is an acquired taste," Mircea responded, letting the black were draped over his knees fall to the floor. "But I cannot be choosy. I will need my strength tonight."

I poured more tea and eyed Pritkin's untouched plate lustfully. "Are you going to eat that?" I couldn't help it; I was starving for some reason, probably thanks to Billy Joe. The mage ignored me, staring at the unconscious were in horror. Mircea slid the mage's plate across to me and I dug in gratefully.

"Did Antonio have any more trouble with that pack, after their leader was killed?" he asked, as if he knew what I'd been thinking.

I poured syrup over the mage's untouched hotcakes and slathered on some butter. "I don't think so. At least, I never heard of any more problems. Tony didn't always tell me everything, though."

Mircea gave me a sardonic look. "That makes two of us, dulceaţă. Bogatia strica pe om."

"You know I don't understand Romanian, Mircea."

"Prosperity, like want, ruins many."

I shook my head. No way would Tony risk angering the Senate and the Circle for profit alone. "I'm thinking it's more power Tony wants. He has money."

"You are wise beyond your years. Do your ghosts teach you such things?"

I almost blew hot tea all over Tomas. "Ha! Not likely." The only things Billy had ever taught me were some illegal card tricks and a few dirty limericks.

"Do you hear yourself?" Pritkin was looking at me with revulsion. "That thing just committed murder and you didn't even blink! Are you enslaving the spirits of the dead, as you did your ghost servant and the dark witches? Is that why you sit there and say nothing?"

I almost decided it wasn't worth the trouble. But I was feeling much better since polishing off the pancakes, and Pritkin really needed a reality check. "First of all, the were isn't dead; he only passed out. Second, I don't 'enslave' spirits; as far as I know, that isn't even possible. And third, weres don't leave ghosts. Neither do vamps. I don't know why, but they don't."

"Because their souls have already gone to Hell?" he asked, with apparent unconcern for the looks Mircea and Rafe sent him. The others didn't react; Tomas because he was eating, and Louis-César because he was apparently suffering from a severe migraine.

"When I saw how you acted in the Senate, I wondered if you have a death wish. I'm beginning to think you really do."

"Then you admit they would as soon kill me as not."

I glanced at Mircea, who was looking like he was contemplating having dessert. "Sooner, at the rate you're going." I figured I'd better explain before the mage had a conniption. "This guy was part of a group that tried to kill us a few hours ago. But the vamps aren't going to kill him, at least not this time. A warning is given for the first offense, along with an object lesson to make it memorable. If the lesson is impressive enough, most people don't have to be told twice."

Pritkin looked disgusted. "So they're not monsters and murderous beasts, only misunderstood; is that it?"

Mircea was trying not to laugh. He wasn't trying very hard. I felt my own lips quirk as I caught his eye. "Are you a murderous beast, Mircea?"

"Of a certainty, dulceaţă," he replied cheerfully.

Mircea winked at me before trading his cowed victim for another that had just been brought in. This one was human, part of Tony's daytime muscle, I assumed. He must have been one of those hired for brawn instead of brains, because his hazel eyes were bright with outrage he didn't bother to hide. Apparently he'd already mouthed off to someone, since in addition to the chains he wore on his ankles and wrists, he had a gag stuffed in his mouth. I glanced at Pritkin and saw his jaw tighten. If he objected to weres being given the usual punishment for defiance, what was he going to think about a human undergoing it?

Maybe because the young man looked so rebellious, Mircea passed over the neck, the usual feeding point, with nothing more than a contemplative glance. The man was physically close to perfect, with tousled copper curls, classic features and well-defined muscles. But there was a small scar just below his left nipple that drew Mircea's attention. The vampire's long, white fingers ran across the slight blemish as if he was memorizing it—or, knowing Mircea, thinking of adding a matching one on the other side. The breast is another popular feeding point, and the man stiffened as if he knew that. I saw sweat bloom on his upper lip and he swallowed nervously. The nub hidden in the man's thick ginger body hair drew up temptingly under Mircea's touch, and his nerve broke. He jerked away, eyes wide, but got all of about a foot before a nod from Mircea caused Rafe to return him to the sofa.

Their captive tensed from the feel of Rafe's body pressed up behind him, one arm circling his waist like a vise. He seemed more worried about him than about the way Mircea was eyeing his pulse points as if trying to decide between favorite items on a menu. The man looked up and met my eyes and his own widened in surprise, as if that was the first time he'd noticed that the room held other people. The flush that already colored his cheeks quickly ran halfway down his chest. It made me wonder how long he'd been with Tony's outfit; most of them hadn't blushed even when they were alive. But he forgot about me when Mircea's deceptively slender hands suddenly forced him to his knees. He hadn't realized that struggling only made it more fun for the vamps, and the muscles of his calves and upper legs bulged as he resisted. I saw the direction of Mircea's gaze and knew what was coming.

The man was dragged onto the sofa and his knees pried apart. He seemed more concerned about being exposed in front of a group of strangers than about his imminent danger, but when a set of perfect, gleaming fangs appeared on Mircea's handsome face, he forgot to be embarrassed. He tried to roll off the couch, but his shackled ankles and arms allowed him little purchase. Mircea hauled him back to his knees to get a better angle but did not take him immediately. He drew it out, letting the man's panic rise as he discovered exactly how strong a vampire can be. He bucked uselessly against Mircea's hold, small whimpers escaping from behind the gag. Even I could see the femoral artery, bulging noticeably in his straining thigh.

When his struggles finally lessened, either because of fatigue or because nothing else had happened, Mircea struck, sinking those fangs into the silky skin at the junction of the man's hip. A muffled scream came from behind the gag when the artery was pierced, and his eyes bulged when Mircea's lips sealed over the bite and he began to suck. The struggles renewed, but Rafe moved up to ensure that his master could feed without having to bother to restrain his meal.

Pritkin flinched noticeably when Rafe suddenly bit into the straining jugular, but he was smart enough not to interfere. The vamps were well within their rights as long as the feeding stopped short of death. Looking at their captive's expression, I wondered whether anyone had told him that. Somehow I doubted it. But although it wasn't a pretty scene, I didn't like the revulsion on the mage's face. The man was an attempted murderer who was getting off pretty damned lightly. And Pritkin certainly had no room to talk. "How many did you kill tonight, Pritkin? Half a dozen? More? I didn't keep count."

The mage bristled. "That was in self-defense, and to protect you from the results of your folly." He looked at the man, who had started to sob like a baby, with growing anger. He flushed and his hands clenched at his sides as the captive contorted his body wildly in an effort to get away from the burning pain every pull of their lips caused. "This is grotesque."

I would have considered it far more grotesque if I'd been the one who ended up writhing in agony so the guy could bag a reward from Tony. But then, I'm practical like that. "They have to feed. Would you prefer it if they hunted at large like in the bad old days?"

"Everyone knows they feed from anyone who can't defend themselves! The Circle was created to give humans a fighting chance against such things, and yet you, supposedly a human, sit there defending them! You disgust me more than they do." Pritkin wanted a fight. It was in the set of his jaw and his wide-legged stance. He wanted to hit someone but didn't dare, so verbal assault it would be. Too bad I wasn't feeling very diplomatic.

"I'm as human as you are, and I saw you tonight, Pritkin. Until the Black Circle got involved, you were having a good time and you know it. Don't give me that self-defense crap. You're a predator. I grew up around enough to know."

I broke off because the man on the sofa chose that moment to put on a show. The vamps must have felt it coming, because they sat back to watch as their victim was gripped by a fine shiver that spread along the length of him like tremors from an earthquake. A few seconds later, he arched his back at what seemed an impossible angle, so that only his bound hands and the back of his thighs were still in contact with the sofa. Then he climaxed powerfully, spasming helplessly again and again. His head was thrown back and his eyes wanted to close, but Rafe caught his gaze and held it, refusing his prisoner the slightest chance of distancing himself from what was happening. The man stared at him, wide-eyed and shaking, as he spilled over his own tanned skin and the polished wood of the floor.

It seemed to go on forever, as if his body couldn't calm itself and he would keep erupting until his heart gave out. But finally he finished, slumping bonelessly forward so that his hair covered his flushed face. The vamps gave a slight shove, and his body fell heavily onto the floor between the sofa and coffee table. I realized that they'd been waiting for the sexual side effect of the feeding to hit him before they stopped, banking on the triple whammy of humiliation, pain and fear being enough to ensure that they never had to deal with him again. Judging by the shattered look on his face as he lay there, trembling, I was betting they had succeeded.

The mage was resolutely not looking at the pathetic heap on the floor. I felt slightly guilty that I wasn't more upset about the man myself. I wasn't sure that I ought to be, but looking at Pritkin's set face made me wonder. It also made me defensive, although what I told him was the truth. "Vamps don't go around killing humans unless they try to kill them first. The Senate doesn't like it—too many chances someone will see and start dangerous rumors, or that a new vamp will fail to dispose of a body and cause an investigation. Unrestricted hunting hasn't been legal since 1583, when the European Senate made a deal with your Circle. Even Tony's guys don't do it."

"I am relieved to hear it," Mircea commented, taking out a monogrammed handkerchief to wipe his mouth. Other than his lips, he didn't have a speck on him—practice, I supposed. Since he hadn't bothered to just absorb the excess blood, I figured he was pretty sated. The guy must have held on longer than he'd expected.

"I know what their laws say." Pritkin looked around the room with a sneer: I was beginning to wonder if he had another expression. "But there are thousands of vampires spread all over the world. Most of them feed at least every other day. That is a lot of enemies. Or are you going to tell me that they live off the blood of animals? I know that's a lie!"

"Don't put words in my mouth." I noticed that none of the vamps were bothering to defend themselves. Maybe they were tired of it, or didn't think Pritkin worth the trouble. Or maybe they doubted that he'd believe anything they had to say. They were probably right, but I didn't feel like giving him the last word. "Vamps don't waste blood, ever, so any living enemies are dealt with like this. But they are allowed a second chance, which from what I hear is more than your Circle gives rogue magic users. Only vamps get an automatic death sentence for defiance."

Pritkin watched helplessly as the human tried to crawl away on his bound limbs, his eyes still wide with shock, but he was hobbled by his exhaustion and the tight restraints. Lack of blood made him clumsy, and he slipped twice on the sticky floor. He finally made it to the door by using an undulating wiggle, but it did him little good since he couldn't get the latch open. He tried using his mouth, but failed, and had to turn and face the room again to give his bound hands access to the door. I finally felt a twinge of pity for him, despite the fact that he'd probably have put a bullet in my brain earlier without a second thought. It was hard to think of him as a cold-blooded killer, with his flaccid sex drooping between his sticky thighs, and his neck and groin oozing thin lines of blood that he couldn't wipe away. I was really glad that he didn't meet anyone's eyes this time.

Pritkin's face was angry when he turned to me. "You're telling me they punish their own people more than outsiders? You lie. Monsters understand nothing of mercy!"

I shrugged. "Believe what you want, but it's true. You don't see any vamps here, do you? If any were taken prisoner, they'll have been staked by now." Assuming they responded well to questioning. If not, Jack was probably having a field day.

"It isn't a matter of mercy, Mage Pritkin, I assure you," Rafe put in, his eyes on the man who was now all but clawing at the door with his bound hands. "We simply do not feel that your people are much of a threat." Pritkin made a sound of disgust and marched over to swing open the door. The man fell backwards into the hall, and several servants looked at him in surprise before hauling him away for his lecture. I doubted he needed it.

"So how do they usually feed? Do you expect me to believe they won't finish what they started later, when there are no witnesses?" Pritkin obviously wasn't going to let it go. I couldn't believe he didn't know. I had never seen a mage show surprise at Tony's during a feeding. Maybe they had simply learned to school their faces, but my impression had been that it wasn't a big secret. Yet Pritkin seemed genuinely confused. What the hell do they teach war mages, anyway?

I looked at Mircea. "You want to show him?"

Mircea laughed delightedly. "I would love to, dulceaţă, but I don't trust myself. The temptation to rid us of his annoying presence would be too great, and the Consul said most specifically that he was not to be harmed unless he gave cause." He slid his eyes in Pritkin's direction. "And alas, so far he has behaved himself."

"I meant with me."

"No." Tomas spoke up, causing me to jump slightly in surprise. He'd been so quiet that I'd almost forgotten he was there. "She is not to be harmed."

"I think, Tomas, that is the point our dear Cassandra is trying to make," Mircea replied. "That, done properly, it is not harmful." He looked at me. "You must have been a frequent donor at court, yes? You understand the procedure?"

I nodded. "Yep, not to mention feeding a ravenous ghost on occasion." Having done both, I knew that what the vamps did was little different than Billy Joe's feedings, except that he could absorb life energy directly and they had to get it through blood. Billy was able to skip that step, a good thing since his body was somewhere at the bottom of the Mississippi. He'd have trouble metabolizing even a liquid diet.

Mircea glided over with that peculiar grace of his. All the undead have it, but he made even most vamps look clumsy. He was an old hand at this; I knew he wouldn't hurt me and he was too full to take much. It was Billy Joe I would have liked to throttle—if the coward hadn't run off somewhere. Billy's feedings normally didn't bother me, since I could replenish the energy he took with food and rest. But he knew the rules about how much I was willing to donate at once, and tonight he'd broken them all to hell.

"What are you going to do?" Pritkin started forward, but Tomas would not let him by. Neither looked happy.

"Make sure he has a good view, Tomas," Mircea said, looking down at me thoughtfully. "I will do this only once. Cassandra is already tired, and we have much to talk about. I do not wish to put her to sleep." He smiled and cupped my chin in his hand. He felt warm, but then, he always did. The old ones don't have temperature fluctuations based on whether they have eaten recently or not. "I will not hurt you," he promised.

I was remembering why I'd always liked Mircea. The deep brown eyes and graceful physique had certainly played a part, adolescent hormones being what they are, but his appearance had been less important to me than his honesty. I had never once caught him in a lie. I was sure he was a capable enough liar when he wanted to be—it would be pretty much impossible to function at court otherwise—but he had always been frank with me. It might sound like a little thing, but in a system run by deception and evasion, sincerity was priceless. I smiled up at him, only half for Pritkin's sake. "I know."

Pritkin couldn't get to me, but he could still yell. "This is insane! You're going to let him feed off you? Willingly? You'll end up like one of them!"

Mircea answered for me, his dark eyes steady on mine. They were not a true brown, I realized, but a combination of many colors: cappuccino, cinnamon, gold and a few flecks of deep green. They were beautiful. "If we fed on the population at large as you seem to think, Mage Pritkin, how could we avoid making thousands, even millions of new vampires? It only takes three bites over consecutive days from a seventh-level master or higher. Can you believe that, with no restrictions, it would not happen time and again? Either by accident or intentionally? Soon, we would be no longer merely a myth, and would again be hunted."

He stopped, but he didn't need to go on. I couldn't believe that even Pritkin was unaware of what had happened to Dracula, and Mircea himself had been almost caught and killed many times in the early years. Radu, his younger brother, had not been so lucky. He had been taken by a mob in Paris and delivered to the Inquisition. They had tortured him for well over a century, until, when Mircea finally found and freed him, he was dangerously mad. Radu had been locked away ever since.

"It was constant war once," Mircea continued, as if he knew what I had been thinking. "Between us and the humans, between families of vampyre, between us and the mages, and on and on. Until the senates rose, until they said enough, or we will destroy ourselves in the end. No one wants to return to that, especially the conflict with the humans. Even if we won against the billions who would oppose us, we would lose, for who would feed us if they were gone?" He looked at Pritkin. "We do not wish for huge numbers of us, running wild, with no supervision and no hope of secrecy, any more than you do. We bite to drain a subject in an execution, or to frighten as with the captives today. But for a normal feeding," he said, returning his attention to me, "we prefer a gentler method." He smiled, and it was like the sun broke through the clouds after days of rain. It was breathtaking.

"What are you doing to her?" Pritkin looked around Tomas' shoulders. "You're not doing anything." He sounded almost disappointed.

Tomas reached out and removed Mircea's hand from my face. "Leave her alone."

Mircea regarded him with amusement. "She offered, Tomas; you heard her. What is the trouble? I have promised to be gentle." Tomas' eyes flashed and his jaw clenched. He did not look appeased. Mircea's eyes widened slightly, then sparkled wickedly. "Forgive me; I did not understand. But surely you cannot begrudge me one small taste?" He stroked my face, a lazy caress, but his eyes were on Tomas. "Is she as sweet as she looks?" Tomas actually growled at him, and this time he flung Mircea's hand away.

I wished Mircea would get on with it. I wanted to question Pritkin, and I couldn't while he was on his vampire fixation. "Can we just do this?"

"I will do it, if it must be done," Tomas said and bent his head towards me.

I immediately pulled away. "Uh-uh. I never agreed to that." I owed Tomas a few things all right, but a feeding wasn't one of them.

Mircea laughed again, a rich, mellow sound. "Tomas! You did not tell her?"

"Tell me what?" My mood was not improving.

The glint in Mircea's eyes was pure mischief. "Only that he has been feeding from you for months, dulceaţă, and, as often happens in such cases, he has become… territorial."

I looked at Tomas in shock. "Tell me he's kidding."

The answer was on his face before he spoke, and I felt the world tilt. In vamp circles, feeding has strict rules. Even the same norm can't be fed from regularly, as it creates a feeling of possession in the vamp involved and can lead to all sorts of problems because of jealousy. But taking blood without permission from someone connected with our world is considered even more of a violation. That's not only because of the often sexual by-product of the feeding process, but also because anyone recognized as part of the supernatural community has special rights. Tomas had just broken a whole group of laws, not to mention betraying me yet again. So everything about him had been one vampire trick or another, from the way he looked to the way I'd felt. I might have eventually been able to forgive him the deception, but not this. I couldn't believe he'd done it, but looking at him, I knew he had.

Tomas licked his lips. "It was not frequent, Cassie. I had to know where you were at all times, and regular feedings create a bond. They helped me keep you safe."

"How very generous of you." I could barely get the words out; it felt like someone had hit me.

I started to rise—I'm not sure why—when Mircea put a restraining hand on my shoulder. His expression was suddenly serious, as if he realized something of how much the news had affected me. "You have every right to be annoyed with Tomas, dulceaţă, but now is not the time. It is my fault; I shouldn't have teased him. I will refrain, if you will please let it go for the moment. Otherwise we will waste the day in arguments."

"I don't want to argue," I said, and it was true. I wanted to throw something at Tomas' head, preferably something heavy. But that wouldn't get me answers, and right then, I needed information more than revenge. "Fine. Just get him away from me."

"Done. Tomas, if you please?" Tomas looked like he was going to argue, but after a noticeable pause he moved off about two feet. Then he stopped, looking mulish. I would have pushed the issue, but he would only have said that he needed to be close to watch Pritkin. Since I tended to agree with that, I kept quiet.

Mircea sighed and cupped my face again. He didn't prolong it this time. His fingers gently stroked down my chin to my neck, and I could feel his power calling to me. His caress was delicate, barely a touch at all, but I shivered as a warm surge of pleasure danced through my body, driving away some of the shock I felt at Tomas' actions. My skin tingled and a mist of sparkling, delicious energy rose between us. I suddenly knew whose wards Billy Joe had broken earlier, whose power we had borrowed to fight off the attack at Dante's. This was the same giddy, bubbling, champagne-on-ice sensation I'd felt at the casino, a heady mix of desire and laughter and warmth that was almost instantly addictive. I knew I should be aggravated about the wards he'd put on my power, but no one could have bathed in that feeling and stayed angry. It was simply impossible. It poured over me like sunlight given form, and I laughed in wonder.

Mircea started when our energies mingled, then went very still. I barely noticed. I was happily drowning in a glorious, golden glow. It felt as though he was touching something far more intimate than my neck and, for a second, I actually thought that my robe had disappeared and a warm hand was caressing all the way down my body. I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone dry and a pulse began to throb insistently in tender places. I flashed on a long-ago evening, Mircea and I curled up together on the divan in Tony's study, him stroking my hair as he told me a story. I'd spent more time with him on that visit than Tony had, half of it snuggled in his lap, but I'd never reacted this way. Of course, I'd been eleven. Sitting on his lap now took on a completely new connotation.

Mircea was wearing an odd expression, almost confused, as if he'd never seen me before. He searched my face for a moment, then took my hand and bowed over it. I felt a brief touch of lips, then he released me and stepped back. The whole thing had taken maybe ten seconds, but it left me breathless, flushed and momentarily heartbroken, like the most precious thing in my life had been snatched away. I almost reached for him but managed to stop before I humiliated myself. I sat there, trying to lower my pulse back to something approaching normal, and stared at him.

I'd forgotten how much more personal vamp feedings were than what Billy did. I hadn't thought about that aspect with Mircea, a fact that amazed me now. He had the charisma for which his family was famous, his power was great enough for him to win and hold a Senate seat and there was no denying his masculine beauty. I had, of course, never met Dracula, who died long before I was born, or the unfortunate Radu, but looking at Mircea, I could understand why the family had become legendary. If you met one of them, you weren't likely to forget it, no matter what tricks were used to fog the memory.

I looked up to see Tomas scowling, his eyes moving back and forth between Mircea and me. What was his problem now? It was over. Then I glanced at my reflection and saw that my eyes had lost focus, I was rosy and my lips were half parted. I looked like I'd just had really good sex, which was not far from the truth. I quickly rearranged my face to look less like afterglow.

Pritkin appeared let down, as if he'd have liked to see something that caused pain, not pleasure. "I don't believe you fed. You didn't take blood; you never even broke the skin."

"On the contrary," Mircea adjusted his collar in an almost nervous gesture. "That was a feeding, if a very mild one." He glanced at Tomas as if he was going to say something, then decided against it. He suddenly turned a wolfish smile on Pritkin. "Raphael will demonstrate it for you, if you like."

Rafe had crossed the room and wrapped his fingers around Pritkin's wrist before I could blink. Power surged out from the mage in a panicked wash, and I felt my bracelet shiver against my wrist. "I'm not going to hurt you," Rafe told him, contemptuously. "I won't do anything other than what was done to Cassie. Are you less brave than she?"

Pritkin wasn't hearing him. His expression would have sent me scurrying for cover, but Rafe held his ground. He couldn't do otherwise, having been given a direct order by his master's master. "Let go, vampire, or by the Circle you will regret it!"

Abruptly, Pritkin's elements were all around me. He warded with both earth and water, and they flowed out from him at the same time so that I felt like I was simultaneously being buried and drowned. My bracelet leapt like I'd captured a small wild animal that desperately wanted to get away. I fought to draw a breath and couldn't. I tore at the neck of the robe, but it was no help; it wasn't the material that was threatening to choke me. I gasped for air, but it was like my lungs were solid, heavy lumps in my chest that had forgotten how to breathe. I slowly slid down in the chair, my vision going dark. My only thought was that, in a room full of vampires, it would be my luck to get killed by the only other human.