For the first time in ten years, he was grateful for the damp air of the craggy castle his father called home. The wet soothed his aching skin and helped him to tame the blue fire that wanted to rush over his body.

Andros had told stories of those fabled immortals who could control fire. His education in both mortal and immortal history had been exemplary. But he had never expected to carry the burden of it. He closed his eyes again and tried to forget the terror of the flames bursting out on his aching body and the quick flash of water his father had used to douse him. Every hair on his body had been burned away within seconds after he first woke, and he rubbed a hand along the bare skin on his scalp.

He heard a commotion in the hall, and a sweet scent reached his nose, causing his new fangs to drop in his mouth. They pierced his lip and the pain caused his skin to heat. Steam rose from his arms as the door opened. Andros entered, dragging one of the servant girls.

She smelled like food.

It was the smell of an orchard when the fruit was ready to drop. The tantalizing aroma of new bread and freshly pressed olives. It was everything. He heard the rush of her blood, rich and sweeter than new wine, as a low growl built in his throat.

He spoke around his long fangs. “Why is she here?”

Andros held the girl up like a prize. “For you. My blood is gone from your system and you need sustenance.”

Her name was Serafina, and she was Paulo’s lover. Jacopo struggled to look into her eyes, forcing himself to look at her and remember her voice, her laugh, and her smile before she became nothing more than blood to him. He had known he would need to feed from one of the servants, but he had not known which it would be.

He closed his eyes and tried to block her scent.

“I don’t want—”

“You will not drain her. That only exhibits a lack of control. Though you are young, you must never be without self-control, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Father.”

Jacopo rose to his feet and approached, a small fire burst out on his shoulder, causing the once-friendly girl to look at him in horror. Though Andros quickly doused the flame, another pain twisted his heart. Serafina had once sung and laughed while she cleaned his room.

He held a hand out toward her, trying to calm the terrified girl who had reminded him of his uncle’s lover, Giuliana. She had the same dark brown hair and fair skin. The same sweet disposition. Tears streamed down her face, though she bit her lip and smothered her cries.

Andros tossed her toward him and he caught her in his arms. She slumped against him and he heard her whispering under her breath. “Per piacere, Signore. Abbi pieta. Per favore, per favore.”

Andros’s voice slipped over her cries. “Now feed.”

Jacopo tried to soothe the burn in his throat. He embraced Serafina, running a hand through her long hair. He could do this. The iron control that enabled him to stand the harshest beating from his sire would let him drink from the girl without killing her.

It had to.

“Shhh,” he whispered. He nosed against her neck, forcing himself to become accustomed to her scent before he bit. “Be still. I will try not to hurt you.”

As if by its own volition, he felt the energy flow from his fingertips, soothing the girl who ceased her struggles. Serafina lay limp in his arms as he put his mouth to her neck, felt for her pulse, and bit.

Heaven.

He moaned against her neck, pulling her closer as her blood poured down his throat. He pressed her body to his, feeling his flesh rouse as he drank the girl’s blood. For a few moments, he was lost in lust. Blood. Body. Desire for both wound him in iron coils until the girl’s cries broke through.

She was praying.

So Jacopo pulled his fangs from her neck, forcing back the monster inside that wanted to take her. He willed down his arousal and let his fangs pierce his own lips, pushing her away while he dug burning fingers into his arms.

The girl stumbled before she fell to the floor. He backed away from her and into the corner of the room. The scent of her open wound called to him. Her dress was torn at the neck. He swallowed the lingering burn in his throat and closed his eyes, licking the last of her sweet blood from his mouth. He stopped breathing. Anything to keep from killing the helpless girl.

“Nicely done. Your control is impressive. Exactly what I would expect of my son.”

Jacopo’s voice was a hoarse growl. “Thank you, Father.”

“Do you need another?”

Another? He needed thousands. A vision of the Arno River came to him. If the Arno was a never-ending stream of blood, he would swallow it whole. But that was not what Andros wanted to hear.

“I am fine.”

The old water vampire smirked as if he knew the truth, but appreciated Jacopo’s lie anyway. Then he walked over and picked up the girl by her arm.

“Grazie, Signore Andros,” she gasped. “Grazie per—”

Her words stopped when Andros twisted her neck. Jacopo heard the tiny snap before she fell to the ground, lifeless.

“No!” He started toward her, his heart breaking as he looked into the girl’s lifeless eyes, but Andros intercepted him. “Stop.” He put a hand on Jacopo’s chest and shoved him into the wall. “This will not do. She was human. You are a god. We do not control ourselves to have mercy, but to conquer our own lusts. To be master of them.”

“But she was an innocent.”

“She was a whore. She had no honor. The girl lay with anyone who paid her attention.”

A vision of Serafina and Paulo came to his mind as he stared at her body. They were whispering in the kitchen at night while Paulo snuck some bread and a few kisses from the pretty servant. It was the only time Jacopo ever saw the young man truly smile.