The necklace loosened slightly. Her eyelids drifted up, vague bright blots taking on solidity and definition.
Light. A darkness looming over her, and her heart slammed against its bony cage before another swallow hit the spot where the thirst lived, spreading warmth in every direction. Her hands were locked, held near her face, and between them was a wrist. Sharp teeth buried deep, she was drinking.
Monster blood. She couldn’t stop, despite a frantic internal retreat. Her vision sharpened, took on the funny rainbow oscillations and sparkles. Again and again she swallowed, wondering when it was going to stop.
“Enough,” he said, finally, and the flow cut off. Her hands fell away, strengthless. But she could blink now, hold herself upright without swaying too badly. The thirst was gone.
Yet the necklace’s clear, rippling wall still stood between her and the world.
I passed out. They were fighting. Oh, God, please tell me it’s not the crazyass biter in a bathrobe.Funny, sure, real hilarious. But why was she so hopeful it wasanothervampire?
“Be still.” The unmistakable note of command, and there was no loophole to exploit. The necklace had a good grip on her, plus the monster-blood high was deep and irresistible, spreading lazily through arms and legs, tingling in her fingers. “I will return in a moment.”
Okay, but who the hell are you?Layla was left gazing blankly as the shadow retreated—yes, there was an open bay window, filmy white drapes fluttering on a soft breeze. A table to one side, thick tan carpet reaching from white-painted baseboard all the way to her bare feet. She could move her toes a little, feel the scratch against her soles, and the sensation was utterly luxurious.
Clean skin. Damp hair. Her hands lay demurely in her lap, on a bed of silky wine-red material. So she was dressed? Yes, she felt the straps on her shoulders, the fabric against her breasts and back, the soft folds over her knees.
That’s good too. The edge of a mattress under her—she was sitting on a bed, which was faintly concerning for reasons she absolutely didnotwant to think about.
Warm air brushed past her. The shadow had returned.
Layla managed to tip her head slightly. Dark work trousers, a shirt-hem of black knitted material. A sweater, too heavy for a balmy summer night, leather patches at the elbows. Broad shoulders.
“Better?” Max asked.
The world went away on a white-hot rush of relief. Came back full of color and scent, laden with the warmth and swimming sensation of a monster-blood high, and yet she still couldn’t move.
She wasstilltrapped.
“You need not concern yourself with Antinous. My Maker is dead.” He sat on the bed next to her, half-turned, watching her profile as he tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear. “You were very weak, I carried you from the battle well-wrapped against daylight.” A pause, as if he expected her to reply.
There wasn’t a single blessed thing she could say, even if the necklace would let her talk. Layla strained against its grip, achieving only a slight twitch.
Max eventually continued. “I did not know he had a collar. It is… a rare thing, and I am amazed you were able to move while wearing it. Any other fledgling would be utterly helpless. But he was not your sanguinant, so I suppose his commands were not wholly inescapable.” His hand moved again, smoothing her hair; he brushed her cheek with his knuckles, very gently. “Leila. Look at me.”
She didn’t want to. Her head turned, calmly, smoothly, and she gazed at his face.
Same curls falling messily over his forehead, same dark eyes—thankfully without those glaring, liquid crimson dots—and same proud beaky nose. His mouth was drawn tight, though, and his cheeks were hollow. Cords stood out on his neck; he wasn’t quite gaunt, but he was certainly drawn.
Rolling around fighting with a cuckoo-ass biter will do that to you. It was a wonderful thought, asanethought, and she clung to it. Her lips wouldn’t move; she couldn’t talk.
“I am sorry.” Almost mumbling, and he looked down—not staring at her chest, but as if he couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “It was the only way to make certain he would not pursue us. It was a gamble, and you suffered for it. A sanguinant should not use his leman so, and I never will again.”
Between the necklace and tripping on monster blood, she was having a difficult time following. Use her? She’d been decoy, and got caught—but it was sounding like he’d planned for that?
There was a bigger consideration, though.
He hadn’t abandoned her. In fact, he’d shown up, beat all to hell—again—and put down a super old, absolutely batshit biter. If that had been part of the plan, it had worked. She couldn’t feel anything but relief on that score.
Yet the collar was still on. She still couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, had a hard time eventhinking.
He was talking again, still in that low harsh tone, ripping every word free against invisible resistance. As if his own throat hurt, perhaps. “You will hate me, you will struggle, but I will not let you go. I tell you this now, so there is no misunderstanding. You aremine.”
Which was weird. Nobody had ever… Layla lost the thought, distracted by the light, the wall behind him—this looked like a hotel room, a nice older B&B maybe. Patterned wallpaper, anda mimosa tree outside. How long had it been since she smelled one of those?
“Now I must hunt.” Max pushed his shoulders back and rose, stalking for the window. In a trice it swung closed, the sheers fluttering to a standstill, and he drew heavier drapes with quick, almost brutal efficiency, closing any hint of a gap. “You will rest, safely under seals. I shall return in less than an hour.”
Uh, aren’t you forgetting something?Layla’s lips twitched. Her fingers tingled, but the goddamn necklace wouldn’t let her move.
