It had been a long, long while since he’d had a good laugh at another’s expense. He thoroughly enjoyed laughing now, though he wobbled precariously against the cinder blocks at his back. “Oh, let me guess. You’re a sister, too, Sister?”

She blushed as if the thought was preposterous. “No.”

“It’s a shame. I always found nuns to be the most fun. They’d all say no at first, but they’d be begging for it by the time I was through.” He shrugged and ignored her sob of horror. “I want to use the toilet and have a bath. You’ll have to help me. And then you can find some of the preacher’s clothes for me.”

“What if they come down here?” She clutched his arm, apparently more afraid of their captors than his naked flesh.

“I’d suggest you drop the innocent act quickly. They’re more likely to let you live if you’re an active participant.” He shook her off, then promptly fell to the floor. He couldn’t stand the sound of her sharp, pitying gasp, so he tried to crawl.

“Let me help you,” she said quietly, kneeling at his side. And, because he was so damn weak, he let her assist him to his feet.

The bathroom was small, nothing like he was used to in his former life. But it had a bathtub, and the hideous orange shag carpet didn’t creep past the doorway. If it weren’t for the unevenly patterned tile floor, he’d almost say this was his favorite room yet.

He endured the humiliation of another human helping him to use the toilet, then the girl set about turning on the rusted taps to fill the gleaming, porcelain tub.

She helped him into the water, and he hissed at the sting of it on his skin. She didn’t seem to care, her thin arms quaking with obvious exhaustion as she lowered him into the tub. “Will you be able to sit up?”

“I am seated in a veritable cauldron of scalding water. I’ll endeavor to keep the rest of myself out of it, yes.”

She left him alone with his thoughts then, and there were a fair amount of them. Too exhausted to do little more than think, he considered the steps he would take now. First, he’d find out who had done this to him. Then he’d contact his father. Unless it is Father who has done this. That wasn’t as far-fetched as he’d like to imagine. What didn’t make sense was why dear old dad would bring him back as a human.

Of course, it might not have been his father at all. Cyrus prided himself on being a well-known name among vampires. Perhaps a fanatical group had raised him in hopes of fame or a favor.

Or for a sacrifice.