“Your carpet is going to catch fire.”

I stepped back, and to my surprise, he let me go. I didn’t know if I’d have had the will to fight him. Without even looking at it, he ground out the cigar with the ball of his bare foot.

Swallowing hard, I looked him in the eye. “If you let Nathan die, the Movement will send someone else, someone stronger. They’ll hunt you down like a dog. And I don’t want that to happen.”

“Don’t you?” A menacing joy spread across his face. It did nothing to calm my nerves.

“No, I don’t.” My mouth went suddenly dry at the realization I meant what I said. “You’re my sire.”

He shrugged as if it were out of his hands. “Well, we can’t have Nolen coming after me. You saw what he managed the last time. And I don’t like fighting. It’s ungentlemanly. Can you think of anything that could entice me to take such an ugly risk?”

Of course I could. I just didn’t want to offer it to him. “Just say it, Cyrus.”

He closed his eyes as if savoring a delicious meal. “I love the sound of my name on your lips. It’s like music.”

“I don’t have time for this, just say it!” My vehemence startled me.

He clucked his tongue. “You have no appreciation for the dramatic. Fine. Promise you’ll return to me, to stay, and I will help your precious ‘Nathan.’”

I stuck out my hand in an attempt to appear confident. Instead of shaking it, he drew my fingers to his mouth and kissed the tip of each one. He might as well have set my hand on fire, for the scorching feeling that raced down my arm.

“Then it’s settled.” He strode to the doors and threw them open. “Dahlia!” His enraged call echoed through the dark foyer. Within moments, the room beyond the door flooded with light.

“You wanted me?” I heard her purr over the click of shoes on the marble floor. Then she screamed.

His hand tightly gripping her red curls, Cyrus yanked Dahlia into the room. She was dressed much the same as she had been the night I’d met her, in a tight black shirt and long skirt. The only difference I saw now was an abundance of jewelry, rings and necklaces all bearing silver pentagrams. Cyrus threw her to the floor, and she scrambled away as he kicked at her.

Normally I would have turned my head from such violence, but it was hard to feel pity for her after what she’d done. Especially since she’d intended to kill me.

She didn’t beg for mercy when he grabbed her again and pulled her head back, exposing her throat. His face changed and he bared his fangs.

Dahlia didn’t recoil, but I did. That face summoned the memory of glass piercing my skull, the slippery pools of human organs under my knees, and the sensation of being powerless in the grasp of a killer. I covered my mouth to stifle a gasp.