“There have to be more like him,” said Roland. “But he won’t admit it. He won’t name them. He won’t tell me who he is or what he is or where he came from. And when I drink from him, I see the faces of others…a woman and three men. But names, I don’t hear names, no matter how deep I probe, and I don’t get answers. I don’t get words. He had an address in Madrid when I brought him here. I had it watched for a year through my lawyers. It yielded nothing. Why don’t you drink from him?”

“Drink from him!” whispered Rhoshamandes. He continued to stare at Derek as if there was something horrible about Derek.

Well, what could that be? Derek was formed exactly like a human male of eighteen to twenty years in age. He had been made to look appealing to humans. He would have combed his hair if he’d been given a comb. He would have cut it had he been given scissors. He had no idea really how he looked now, however, because he had no mirror.

Indeed, there was nothing in this prison cell but the bed, a table beside it, the shelf of books, and a small refrigerator with bland and uninteresting packaged foods that comforted him only a little when he had the stomach to eat them.

“Why don’t you try it?” asked Roland. “And drink as much as you like. Drink as you would from any mortal. Drink all that you care to drink.”

“What are you saying?”

“That’s how I discovered him,” said Roland. “Drinking from him. I’d marked him for a victim and didn’t realize what I had till he was in my arms. Arion also drinks from him. Arion has drunk from him plenty. I want you to drink from him, Rhosh. I think you’ll be very surprised when you do.”

“Why? How?” The new vampire looked fastidious and almost fussy. What a pair! And I’m not fit to be this monster’s victim? Derek smiled. He almost laughed.

For one moment Derek’s eyes connected with those of Rhoshamandes, or Rhosh. And the compassion in this Rhosh’s blue eyes amazed Derek. But then Rhosh looked away, down at the bed, at the walls, at the mean furnishings—anywhere but not back to Derek, who continued to stare at him in silence.

“You can’t kill him, Rhosh,” said Roland, “no matter how much you drink. Drink as much as you like, I mean this, as much as you ever drank from any victim. You’ll never feel the death pass into you because he won’t die. He will lie still, without a pulse, without a breath. But then the blood will begin to regenerate and, within an hour or two, he’ll be as he is now. Healthy, whole.”