“Thank you for your service, Tom. Once you attend to your wound, please send in the next.”

Tom bowed. “Yes, Principe.”

Byron was always patient and extremely thankful to those that fed her, but now she resented the time Tom was taking to care for his wound at the first aid station. She wanted him out and her next attendant in now.

She tapped her fingers on the desk repeatedly, trying to quell her frustration that was going to become anger any minute. Finally, Tom was finished, and he bowed and said, “Goodnight, Principe.”

“Goodnight, Tom. Thank you.”

Finally, he left and a young woman came in followed by the Duca. “May I have a word, Principe?”

“Take a seat, Alexis. I need to feed.”

The young woman went to unbutton her blouse but Byron said, “Wrist is fine.”

When she held out her wrist, Byron attacked it in a millisecond, and the young woman let out a gasp, before the feel-good chemicals started to do their job.

Byron fed from her wrist like a starving dog, and all she could think was, It’s not Amelia. I need Amelia.

After a few minutes her feeding slowed to a calmer pace. She pulled back and said, “Thank you for your service. That will be all.”

When she left, Byron went into her bathroom to wash up, and just as it had earlier, her image in the mirror with blood drying on her face brought her shame. There was only one other time in her long life that Byron had felt shame for taking blood, and that was with good reason. But this? This was a normal occurrence. Why should she feel shame now?

Amelia. She was imagining Amelia seeing her like this, and how afraid and disgusted she would feel.

She washed and washed, but couldn’t get the blood off her fast enough. To make matters even worse, the blood was starting to have an effect on her physically and emotionally. She felt an intense high and one that demanded touching and making love with the one her heart wanted most.

Byron dried off and combed her hair so it was styled perfectly, and sprayed on some aftershave. There was at least something she could control now, even if was only her appearance.

She walked back into her office and put on her suit jacket that was draped across the back of her chair. Byron never looked up, but could feel Alexis’s eyes on her.

“Speak, Duca, because your silence is deafening me.” Byron sat down and took out a cigar, one of her few vices. She offered one to Alexis, who declined, and lit her own.

“I only say this because only I or Bhal could say this to you without being killed.”

Byron raised an eyebrow, and joked, “You’re sure of that, Duca?”

Alexis didn’t smile or respond to the joke. She just held Byron’s gaze steadily and said, “I’m sure of that.” Alexis tapped her fingers on the desk then said, “I saw how you were when you came back to the house. I know you were in pain, and struggling to control your hunger.”