Blood Ties Bundle: Blood Ties Book One: The Turning / Blood Ties Book Two: Possession / Blood Ties Book Three: Ashes to Ashes / Blood Ties Book Four: All Souls' Night

“I didn’t feed enough. I didn’t want to anger you,” he said, supporting himself on the heavy wooden arm of the sofa. “As you get older, you’ll find you need more blood to function. It makes life rather difficult if you have to go a day or two without feeding.”

I shifted into doctor mode. “If you don’t feed, will you die?”

“Not right away.” He eased onto the couch and patted the seat beside him. “But it’s very uncomfortable after a while.”

I joined him, fitting familiarly to his side. “How many days has it been for you?”

“The last time I drank my fill was the night we first met.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ve been a bit distracted since.”

And he hadn’t fed tonight because of what I’d uncovered as I’d snooped through his brain. To assuage my guilt, I changed the topic. “You were going to tell me about the New Year.”

“Oh, yes. A fitting topic, actually. You remember what I told you about my father?”

I nodded. How could I have forgotten?

Cyrus seemed to draw strength from talking about his father. “Though he hasn’t been a vampire much longer than I have, the blood of the elders he drained seems to have sped up his—blast, what’s the word for it?”

“Metabolism?” I supplied.

“Yes, exactly. Within fifty years of turning, he needed to feed from two, sometimes three bodies a night. It was too hard to keep his identity concealed for long. We moved from village to village, but suspicion followed us everywhere. Father discovered that if he ingested vampire blood, his hunger was sated longer.

“For a while, it was easy. I would turn them, and Father would feed from them. We left them with enough blood to live, but we didn’t provide them with the guidance they needed to survive. We didn’t expect so many of them to last as long as they did.”

Clarence entered without knocking, but Cyrus didn’t acknowledge him. “Carrie, would you be so kind?”

I poured him a glass from the decanter Clarence handed me, then returned to the couch. “If your father kept making vampires, there would be a lot more of them by now. What stopped him?”

Cyrus didn’t answer until he’d gulped down the first glass and handed it back to Clarence for a refill. “Fear, I suppose. My father was a brave man, but he wasn’t stupid. I think he knew that someday, one of his fledglings would do to him what he’d done to his sire.

“Now my father feeds only once a year. In the meantime, he goes into a sort of hibernation. The day will come when he can walk the earth again, but until then, I serve him at the New Year.”

“Walk the earth again? What does that mean?” All this information overwhelmed me. “Where does he live?”

With a knowing smile, he waved his index finger at me. “It’s a heavily guarded secret. For the time being, all we need to do is make sure Father is fed every year.”

“Cyrus, that doesn’t make sense. You’re weak after a few days without feeding. If your father’s metabolism has accelerated beyond that, how can he survive drinking blood only once a year?”

“Oh, he doesn’t just drink their blood.” A cruel spark of the Cyrus I recognized returned to his eyes. The blood he’d consumed flushed his cheeks. “He takes their very essence. Carrie, my father is the vampire other vampires fear most. My father is the Soul Eater.”

Fifteen

Consummation

Cyrus’s proclamation shook me to the core. Once I was sure he’d fully recovered from his fast, I left him alone to finish his reading or whatever the hell he did when he was locked away in his study.

The Soul Eater. Though I’d never heard the name, it struck fear into my heart.

Cyrus had given me a brief rundown of the New Year’s festivities. They’d picked January thirtieth because of its proximity to Bride’s Day, an ancient Celtic holiday celebrating the young Sun God’s courtship of the Virgin Goddess.

“It’s all about innocence,” Cyrus had said smugly. “The point of the New Year’s festivities is to choose someone with a pure soul and turn them. When Father kills them, instead of a frothy afterlife of clouds and harps, their souls have nowhere to go. Father collects those souls, and they sustain him for another year.”

What would it be like to be forever trapped in another person’s body? I prayed I’d never find out. I had yet another incentive to stay on Cyrus’s good side. Not that staying on his good side would be any trouble after sunup, if his enthusiasm of the night before was any indication. I tried, and failed, to keep my hormones in check as dawn drew closer.

It was 6:00 a.m. when I finally decided to go to him. My senses were so attuned to his that I knew I’d find him in his bedroom. Occasionally, a thrum of anticipation shivered through the blood tie, but I couldn’t tell if it was from his or my own desire.

I didn’t change or put on any makeup. I didn’t want to appear too eager. When I was stripped of my clothing, a cool facade was the only armor I’d have left.

Cyrus’s room was much different tonight than it had been on my previous visit. The sitting room was dark and cold. No fire had been lit. Cyrus was nowhere to be seen, but the door to his bedroom stood slightly open, and warm, flickering candlelight spilled out.

If I’d had any illusions about my purpose for being there, I would have been put abruptly in my place. Still, a gentle seduction would have been nice. No one likes to know they’re a sure thing.

My heart pounding, from trepidation or anticipation I didn’t know, I pushed the door wide.

The canopied bed, cream-colored furnishings and wrought-iron accents all appeared the same. I noted with relief that no heavily sedated pet lay on the bed. The bedclothes were turned down, and black rose petals had been sprinkled liberally over the ivory duvet. Apparently tonight was all about me. I would have been more convinced if he’d bothered to acknowledge me when I entered.

Cyrus sat at his small writing desk beside the window, head bent in concentration. His hair was tied back and he wore his black silk robe. He was so absorbed in his task that I had to clear my throat to get him to look at me.

He didn’t lift his face, but I heard the smile in his voice. “I’ll be with you in a moment, Carrie. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“You make it sound like we’re about to close on a house.” Was that my voice, tight and nervous as it scraped from my throat?

“In a way, we are closing a type of deal. Doesn’t this officially buy your little friend’s life?” Unadulterated excitement radiated through the blood tie. There was no tenderness from him, only dark, perverse lust. The intensity of it should have frightened me, but his desire overrode my fear and left me trembling in its wake.

I watched him fold the sheet of paper and noticed his hands shook. He was struggling for self-control, I realized. In a purely antagonistic gesture, I conjured a vivid picture of us in my mind, of myself naked, on my hands and knees as he pushed into me from behind, head thrown back in pleasure.

He hissed as the image materialized in his brain, and his back straightened. I heard him take a few deep breaths before he stood. “You have a very creative imagination, Carrie.”

With the deadly smile of an advancing predator, he moved toward me. His robe, open to the waist as usual, slithered against him like living skin in the candlelight. “Don’t you think this would have been more interesting?”

Blackness, then a crystal-clear vision invaded my mind. A girl, probably no more than sixteen, lay in the center of the huge bed. My hands pinned her arms to the bed and she screamed in terror as I sank my fangs into her neck. Cyrus captured her wildly struggling legs and parted them, thrusting into her as the spark of life drained from her eyes.

I shook my head to be rid of the vision, only to see anger contort his handsome face.

“Don’t ever forget whom you’re dealing with,” he warned, pulling me against him so I could feel his erection through the thin silk of his robe. “I am capable of things you couldn’t begin to comprehend.”

Just as suddenly as his sinister mood appeared, it faded. Kissing me on the cheek, he stepped back to look me over. He frowned as he took in my jeans and T-shirt. “I thought you’d wear something more…appropriate. Didn’t I buy you anything suitable for this occasion?”

He had. In the armoire were several revealing outfits, including a Catholic school girl costume that I’d stuffed far back in the drawer in disgust.

I shrugged. “I assumed I wouldn’t be wearing much for long.”

His mouth quirked at my blunt words. “Very perceptive of you.”

He motioned to the mantel above the fireplace. Just as in the outer room, no fire burned. “Would you like anything to drink?”

I eyed the green liquid in the crystal carafe and shook my head. The blood tie was intoxicating enough. I needed a clear head tonight. “No. I’d rather just—”

“Get it over with?” he finished for me, and I dared not reply.