Cyrus reclined against the pillows, utterly shameless in his nudity. “I only did what I would have done with any of my pets. I took what I wanted from him, and in return he’ll get what he wants from me.”

The guards laid the covers over us both, and Cyrus pulled me into his arms.

Though I was still angry, his touch felt so good that I didn’t resist him. I rested my head on his chest. “Promise me you won’t do that to him again.”

I felt his breath on the top of my head. “Fine. I won’t touch him against his will. But I won’t promise not to try to bend that will. He was a lot of fun.”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” I snapped.

He chuckled and stroked the exposed skin at the neck of my robe. “You’d be disappointed, anyway. I don’t kiss and tell.”

I started to rise. “I’m going back to check on him. He’s pretty beat up. But you already know that.”

“Stay.” It wasn’t a request.

“You there,” he called to one of the guards. “Blast, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Thomas, sir,” the guard replied quickly.

Cyrus nodded. “Thomas. Go and see to the young man in Carrie’s room. He’s in your care today.”

As the guard moved to do as his master bid, I called after him. “If he complains about the quality of care you give him, I’ll kill you myself. Understood?”

Thomas didn’t even blink at the warning, but I felt Cyrus’s pride through the blood tie. “Very good, Carrie. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were enjoying your role as lady of the house.”

His arm slipped around my waist and he cupped my bottom through the robe. I pushed his hand away. “Don’t think you’re going to get any. Ever.”

He replaced his hand and pulled me tighter against his side. “Do you really think I could perform after the energy I expended with your friend?”

“I said I don’t want to hear about it.”

He laughed softly. “Sleep, princess. All I wanted was to feel you beside me. Where you belong.”

His words were like a death sentence.

Though it was nearly noon, I couldn’t sleep. I listened as my sire’s breathing grew slow and even, and his gentle snore returned. I propped myself up on my elbow and studied him.

He couldn’t have been very old when he’d been turned. Twenty-five at most. In sleep, his face was smooth and devoid of lines, unmarked by the volatile emotions that ruled him in wakefulness. His skin, though pale, stretched across a body hardened from years of physical labor. From what little I knew of the time he’d been born to, I guessed he’d worked hard as a human.

This man is your sire. This man is the blood that pumps through your heart. I pressed a kiss to his lips. No matter how much I tried to hate him, something defeated the effort. The blood tie? Or my own, insane attraction to him that grew despite his cruelty and depravity?