"Come back in an hour. We should be done then."

Leo looked like he wanted to do anything but leave me there, but he walked away, his eyes flashing fury. I sucked in a deep breath, stepped over the threshold, and waited for Lannan to speak.

"I see you chose to dress for comfort." A statement. "Next time, wear something sexy." A demand.

Great. He wanted the full show. He was a master gamesman, that much I could already tell. But I'd play along. I knew how to pick and choose my battles.

"Yes, sir." My voice sounded like a mouse's squeak in a giant auditorium. I forced myself to stand still in front of his desk. Make him initiate the first move.

Lannan looked up at me, his dark eyes glittering. If there had been some spark of light in them, some semblance of humanity, I might have been able to keep it together. But those abysmal orbs sucked me in and I found myself starting to shake. He was a vampire, a Vein Lord, and he was going to be drinking from my body tonight.

He slid from behind the desk and silently crossed the room. "What brings you to this fear? The thought of offering me blood?" His voice was soft, so soft I could barely catch it, and he leaned in, nuzzling my neck. "You are a lovely thing, and your scent fills the room. You know vampires have a sense of smell, even though we don't need to breathe?"

As he lingered by my shoulder, my heart skidded to the side. I already had come to loathe the man, yet his very proximity was like an aphrodisiac and even though my mind and heart resisted, my body was responding to whatever pheromones he was putting out.

"Oh, Cicely, not all payment has to hurt. Mine usually does, but keep in mind that I can--and shall--make it a pleasure for you. Blood offerings aren't always torture." He lifted my chin with his hands. "Don't worry, in less than ninety minutes, you'll be safe at home, with your friends."

But the look on his face told me I'd never be the same.

Lannan let go and walked over to a small stereo system in an entertainment center and flipped on the music. Sinuous strains wove out, coiling around me, followed by a throbbing beat. He poured a glass of wine and handed it to me. I stared into the liquid, wondering if it was safe.

"I have no need to drug you. I could mesmerize you and take anything I wanted . . . if I chose to."

I froze, the drink halfway to my lips. Ice, I thought. The ice maiden. Stay still, remain in stasis, freeze-frame, do not respond. Let him do what he will and then walk away like it never happened.

"You understand that I drink from you as my right according to contract. You offer yourself to me." His voice was soft. Too soft.

I said nothing.

"Say it. Tell me that you have chosen this. I want to hear it from your lips, from your curving, sensuous, ever so life-quickening lips."

Again, silence. I stared at the stereo, willing myself to dissolve into the music. Become the chords, become the melody . . . float away on the breeze with the notes as they passed. Ephemeral.

"Cicely. I command you." And his voice was so strong I couldn't disobey.

I turned to stare at him. "I give my blood to you, I've chosen to do this. I signed the contract. Now do what you will."

His dark eyes flared and he let out a small grunt as he began to circle me. I stood at attention, unresponsive, not turning to follow. I managed to keep it together till he stopped in back of me and leaned in close. Then the panic started.

"I can make this ecstasy, or incredibly painful. Which do you think I should choose?" he whispered.

"That is up to you, sir." Struggling to keep my voice even, I began to breathe in shallow bursts. I'd rather have it hurt, to remind me of what he was.

"You must have some idea of what runs through my mind." He pressed his lips against my ear, as his hand began sliding down my right arm, his fingers icy cold against my skin. "What do you think I want to do to you? Tell me."

Damn him. It was another order. Command filled his voice and I couldn't disobey. Even though he'd promised not to enthrall me, that didn't mean he couldn't play head games and mind tricks.

I opened my mouth, unwilling to speak but unable to stop. "You want to fuck me. You want to drink me."

"Elaborate," he whispered, lifting my hair to the side and pressing his fangs against my neck. He didn't break the skin, but I could feel them there, poised, just waiting. "How would I fuck you, Cicely? What would I do to you? Tell me, in detail."

I wanted to cry but my eyes were dry. I wanted to run but my feet were frozen to the ground. My lips opened and I heard myself speaking even though I tried to bite back the words. "You'd slide your hands under my shirt and rip it off. Then, you'd unhook my bra and cup my breasts." As he licked my neck, a whimper escaped from my throat.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like for me to undress you? What would I find if I slid my fingers down deep in your pussy? Are you wet, Cicely? Don't lie to me, because I can check, and if you lie, the punishment will be far more severe."

Shivering as his hand slid around, flat against my belly and up under my shirt, my heart wanted to run, to push him away. But my body wanted to drag him down and let him do what he would. Lannan had a drug--one he didn't need to inject or shove down my throat. Pure pheromone, pure aphrodisiac. No wonder bloodwhores flocked to the vamps.

"Yes," I whispered. "I'm wet."

"Where are you wet? Tell me." Again the soft coaxing as he pressed against my back. I could feel him, rigid and hard and furious.

Stumbling over the words, I blurted out, "My pussy. I'm so wet I can't stand it."

Lannan laughed then, raw and coarse. "Good--very good. You want me?" When I didn't answer, his voice thundered through the room. "Answer me, woman. Do you want me to fuck you?"

A cry ripped out of my throat. "Yes . . . No . . . I hate you."

With another laugh, the soft, sensual Lannan was back. He slowly peeled my shirt over my head and tossed it on the floor. Then he unhooked my bra and that, too, went on the floor. My breasts bounced lightly as they fell free of the satin and he let out a low groan and reached out, touching just the nipples. I bit my lip, trying not to show my feelings as the points hardened beneath his touch. I wanted relief so desperately, I thought I was going to cry, but I didn't want him to triumph--didn't want Lannan to win.

"Good girl." His voice was low, but still carrying the command. "Now we can get down to business. I want you to beg me to drink from you. Beg me, Cicely. On your knees, with your lips on my feet. Beg me. Now."

I fell to my knees, unable to disobey. My forehead brushed his pants legs as I pressed my lips against his polished leather boots. "Please . . . please, drink from me, Lannan."

He lightly tipped my chin up with the toe of one boot.

"I can't hear you--a little louder, please. And more heart-felt."

My face flushed, burning. If he wanted to humiliate me, he was doing a damned good job. I wanted to stake him right there.

"Lannan, please drink from me. Please!" I forced all the sarcasm into my voice that I could, but I still sounded desperate and he let out a sharp laugh.

"Better. Only you forgot My lord and master. But I'll let that slip this time." He stepped back, yanking me up and into his arms. "Oh girl, if I weren't using incredible restraint, I'd be in you, reaming you so hard you'd never, ever forget me."

I let out another whimper. No, please, don't let him go through with it. I knew he was going to browbeat me, but please, oh please, don't let him lose control. My body was responding to him as my heart sank and a tear finally squeezed out and slowly wound down my cheek.

Lannan grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me to stare into his unblinking, ebony eyes. They glistened like dark jewels. The look on his face was cold again, the soft sensuality gone in the blink of an eye.

Numb, trying to ignore the rumbling desire that echoed through my body, I shivered as he whirled me around, pressing me face-first against the back of the divan. His hand reached around to squeeze my nipple so hard I let out a shriek. Squeezing my eyes closed, I held my breath and waited.

The music shifted. Nine Inch Nails blared through the room, the driving beat catching me up. Lannan's laughter grew louder, his icy hands groping me as he leaned close to my neck. No warm breath to tell me he was there, but just a chilling presence.

And then he plunged toward me, his lips licking my neck, as he grunted and pierced the skin. The pain was exquisite, sending me soaring so that I lost track of my anger, lost track of my fury and rode the wave so high that I came right there, screaming as his tongue rasped against me, coaxing the blood to the surface, one crimson drop at a time.

As my blood entered his mouth, communion, a connection forged between us. It coiled like a serpent and I fought it off, fought the hunger to give in and beg him to take me under, to turn me, to make me one of his own.

"No--you're not supposed to enthrall me," I whispered.

Stop, please, stop. Don't stop. Don't leave me hanging. Don't leave me unfinished, untouched. Tear me to pieces and rebuild me, make me new, make me strong, make me scream, make me love you.

Closing my eyes, I desperately searched for something to block my rising desire. I thought of Grieve, of Heather, of my cousin . . . of everything except for the soft sound of Lannan's insistent lapping, but I couldn't hold on to the thoughts and I slid ever deeper into the crimson shadowed lust that filtered through my senses.

"I'm not enthralling you. This is only your first donation. It will feel better each time." And then he pressed against my neck again, drinking deep, and a euphoria washed over me that superseded every dark and overripe dream of ecstasy I'd ever experienced.

Except for one.

The memory of soaring as an owl over the darkened house rose up and I caught hold. I held on to it--pouring myself into the feel of the wind under my wings, of the sights and scents and sounds. The memory became a beacon, a lifeline and tether to which I held tight as Lannan's passion buffeted me. That moment--gliding into the night--was the most sublime experience I'd ever undergone. Pure, feral, primal, clean . . .

Even as Lannan's tongue against my neck drove me toward orgasm, even as I lost my control and threw myself into the dance, my mind held tight to the single image of myself-as-owl. A burning ember began to grow in the pit of my stomach, and I knew that someday, in the future when we were free from the Indigo Court, I'd return to Lannan and stake him through the heart to repay him for the depths he'd brought me to.

Then, lust hit me full force and I came again, shrieking in pain as much as pleasure as he pulled away, my blood dripping down his chin, a crazed, triumphant smile spreading wide across his face. But the part of myself I needed to save, the part of myself that could never be beaten or stripped of dignity, soared, riding the winds, winging high and wide and free.

Chapter 21

I said nothing as he handed me a bandage for my neck, which was still oozing. My knees weak, I stumbled. Lannan caught me up and--with a gentleness that belied his nature--he carried me over to the sofa and sat me down, exiting into the other room for a moment and returning with a glass of milk and a couple of chocolate chip cookies.

Staring at the food, awash in the contradictions that had rampaged through my evening, I could only look up at him, puzzled. "What . . . why . . . ?"

"You need food. I drank deep from you, but some sugar and a night of rest will restore you. Eat and drink, now, and put on your shirt. The wound is covered and shouldn't leak onto your clothing."

He returned to his desk as if nothing had happened.

I shook my head. "How can you be so nonchalant? How can you act as though you didn't just ravage me? You made me come, you made me scream your name, damn it. And you act like it was nothing."

Lannan raised his head, his golden hair falling forward as a perplexed look crossed his face. "Do you want it to mean something?" he asked softly.

"No--yes . . . I . . ." I stared at the cookies in my hand. "You drink from me--you steal my blood and act like nothing happened, like it's just a stop at the water cooler. Do you know how violated I feel? How angry I am at you right now?"

Perhaps it wasn't the wisest thing to yell at a vampire, but I felt hot and overtired and my mind had slid into a fog bank. Thickly, I bit into the cookies and sipped the milk, hoping to clear my head.

Lannan frowned, then slowly stood and crossed back over to me. He took the glass and food from me and put them on the coffee table, then helped me slip back into my bra, fastening it from behind, and then guided my shirt back over my head. Afterward, he sat beside me and took my hands in his, gazing at me so long I began to get nervous.

"Cicely, you truly are a gem. Most of the magic-born have an arrogance to match even the Vein Lords. But you . . . there's something different about you." He brushed my hair back from my face. "You're my type, you know--long dark hair, brilliant eyes, curvy and solid. Listen to me, Cicely. My kind--vampires--we're at the top of the food chain. We are no longer human. You--be you magic-born or human--are our prey. I drink from you because I can, because I want to. Your feelings really play no part in the matter either way."

Once again furious, I pulled my hands away. "If I'm just a juice box on legs, then let me go home since I've served my purpose tonight. Don't bother trying to explain yourself, because you can't. You can't ever hope to make me sympathize with you."

"Girl," he said, pulling me close so that I could smell my blood still on his lips, "listen to me. If the Indigo Court rises up, then you'll sympathize with us so fast and so hard that you'll beg me to turn you. They would eat you alive, like piranha going after a deer that stumbled in the water. They wouldn't care about your cries or your feelings or your pain--they'd eat you to the bone with your heart still beating. Don't be so quick to turn up your nose at me."