Damned by Blood

Chapter Twelve

The feeder, Maya, stopped him before he got in the cab.

“Where are you going?”

“I left a note for your mistress.” It was inappropriate for him to stay in the house before the challenge—and intolerable.

“But she wants to talk to you. She sent me to find you.” The girl’s doe eyes were guileless, but he’d just seen her writhing under Alya’s mouth. Even though she was just a feeder, he hated her.

But she was brave, because he knew his dislike showed on his face, but she took his hand anyway and said, “Come. Please.”

He told the driver to wait and the girl led him through the house to a door padded in burgundy leather and studded with brass tacks. It led to the cellar. He knew that from studying the house plans. The cellar would be the most secure room in the house, light proof, defensible. Mikhail nodded to himself in approval. Considering the likelihood of retaliation for the slaughter of the Halversons by the Northern families, she would be smart to conduct her business in a safe place. But there was one problem—she wasn’t down there. He could tell.

“She’s not down there. She’s…” He spun on his heel like a compass needle and pointed to the northwest corner of the house. Upstairs.

“You’re right. She’s coming right down. She told me to bring you here.”

He consented to go down. They rounded the corner of the stairs and he walked into a torture chamber. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Maya said.

Mikhail scanned the sumptuously finished, low-lit room. He’d heard of such places, but had no experience of them. The room was not big, but it was packed with exotic objects. A tall, person-sized cage, a padded wall fitted with many hooks and rings, something that resembled a gymnast’s vault, and a towering ebony chest of drawers. That he went to first, perhaps because it reminded him of the little black chest that held her pearls. The upper part of the chest was topped with a cabinet, and in that were prosaic items like bottled water, lubrication, cleansing wipes, folded towels, rolls of tape and, most strangely, an enormous stock of cling wrap. He shut the door with a snap, feeling uncomfortably like a voyeur.

But that didn’t stop him from going on to open the drawers. The first one was long and thin with delicate silver pulls. It held a row of paddles on a black velvet bed, one a heavy wooden rectangle, a second a soft oval of red patent leather, a third studded with steel knobs.

The next drawer held coiled lengths of rope, some rough, some slick. Among them sat his bride rope. At his touch, it stirred and crawled up his arm like a fond pet. If he died, at least this could be returned to the family. Maybe his brothers’ sons would find better use for it.

The next drawer held a selection of flails.

Alya was a complicated woman.

Maya peeped around his shoulder. She reached over his arm and pulled a small buckskin flail out of the drawer. Sighing, she drew it across her throat. “This is my favorite.”

“You let her beat you with it?”

“It’s very nice, really.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. It’s like…have you ever had a fever so high you felt like you were floating?”

Mikhail had never been sick, not as humans became sick.

“It’s hard to explain. I like the rush. I like letting her take care of me—”

“With a whip?”

She returned his gaze frankly, very bold for a feeder. “Yes. With a whip. Or a paddle. Or a length of rope. She takes me to new places. When it’s over, I feel relaxed, clean inside.” She tapped her temple. “It’s like being rebooted.”

“Absolute submission,” he said.

“Yes, but by my rules.”

“That’s not true submission.”

She lowered her eyes prettily, while simultaneously thrusting out her chest. Was she actually flirting with him? “Some people say the sub is the one with real power. Alya respects my limits, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

Alya was one of the strongest vamps in the world. This girl was a feeder. She had no power at all. If she thought she did, she was delusional. Among the vampyr power was not negotiated, it was quantifiable. The strongest always won.

He shut the drawer and walked away. “I don’t play with my food.”

But he was remembering a game. A game of wills, where Alya teased him mercilessly, brought him to the darkest place within and out again into the light. Afterward he’d felt reborn.

I am not one of her toys.

“Where is she?”

Maya flinched. “Please, sit.” She gestured to a black chair with a high back and scrolling arms. Alya had a damn throne. He didn’t even want to think about what went on around that throne. “I’ll go check.” Mikhail slumped in the throne, his chin on his fist, thinking about power.

Dominick met Alya on the stairs. “Faustin’s in the cellar. He wants to talk to you there.”

“What is he doing in my cellar?”

Dominick shrugged. “Damned if I know. It’s private?”

Alya didn’t want to be anywhere private with Mikhail. Ideally, she wouldn’t set eyes on him until they fought. Fighting the bond took all her strength. If she allowed herself to think about him for even a second she’d go soft. She’d start to think about the way he’d caressed her ear, and how his voice resonated in her bones, and how every step he took was perfection and grace, and how, just possibly, she might be tempted to give up an empire just to curl up on the sofa with him again.

“Surely you don’t think I should go down there?” She paused, and closed her eyes, fatigued. “Of course you do. You want me to change my mind.”

Fortunately, Mikhail was furious. No matter how much she girded herself against his thoughts, his emotions reached her. She’d succeeded in pissing him off so thoroughly that he was looking forward to killing her.

That was good. She couldn’t fight him if she knew he was pulling his punches.

“My job is to keep you safe. The code of honor protects you. Until the challenge, both of you have to mind your manners. There’s no harm in hearing what the man has to say.”

“There’s nothing left to say.”

Maya loped past and waved. “Hiya, guys!”

Dominick frowned at the girl and waited until she went out the front door before he continued. “By the rules of the challenge, you must give him a hearing if he asks it.”

“Oh, hell. I’ll give him a minute. But no more than a minute.” She couldn’t keep up her defenses for long. “And you’re coming with me.”

Dominick bowed. “Of course.”

They went down the hall. She swung open the heavy, padded door and hesitated on the first step, Dom at her back. Though she couldn’t see Mikhail, she could sense him. It was so eerily clear, the knowing of the bond. He was down there, he was agitated, in motion—pacing, she guessed.

You can do this. Just hear what he has to say and get out.

The door slammed behind her and the lock turned.