Dahlia wiped her nose on her bloodied wrist. “Cyrus, it wasn’t my fault, she—”

He slapped her across the face. The sound of the impact made me wince. Leaning down, he grasped her chin in his hand and twisted her neck at an uncomfortable angle so she was forced to look up at him. “What did you call me?”

Fresh tears rolled down her face, mixing with the smeared blood from her hands and the layers of makeup that coated her face.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” She choked on her words. “Master.”

He shoved her away and dusted his hands together as though he’d touched something dirty and unpleasant. He signaled to the guard. “Take her and get her bandaged up. Then lock her in her room.”

He turned to me as the guard led Dahlia away. His beleaguered expression morphed to one of pure joy as he looked me over.

Fidgeting beneath his hot stare, I laughed nervously. “I hope you don’t expect me to call you Master, because you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

Stepping behind me, he laid his hands on my shoulders. I could smell Dahlia’s blood on them. “You might surprise yourself yet, Carrie. I can make you do things you’ve never imagined.”

It’s the blood tie, I reminded myself as a wave of pleasure buckled my knees. He doesn’t have any real control over you. I clenched my fists so hard that my nails slashed my palms.

He pulled me back, slipping his hands beneath my shirt. His skin was warm, as though he’d just fed.

“Don’t I?” The phantom desire that assaulted me was replaced by a hot, electric shiver as his fingers dipped into the cups of my bra. He snickered at my soft moan. “I’m not using the blood tie now, Carrie.”

I writhed away, though my flesh cried out to be touched. “Let’s get something straight. I came here to make good on a bargain. This, you touching me, wasn’t in the terms of our agreement.”

“I bet I’ll change your mind before long,” he said with a smirk. “In the meantime, let me show you around.”

I adjusted the bag on my shoulder.

“I can have your things taken to your room,” he told me.

“I’d rather keep them with me, if it’s all the same.”

“As you wish.” His tone was gentle, but he obviously didn’t take well to not getting his way.

We attracted a few curious stares as we walked through the foyer. Cyrus didn’t acknowledge the group of vampires as he leaned over to whisper in my ear. “The Fangs,” he explained. “They’re a motorcycle club from Nevada. They’ve had some trouble with the Movement there and sought safe haven with me. Hence the appalling sofa in the foyer and the intolerable stench of, what are the kids calling it these days? Reefer?”

“Yeah, about fifty years ago.” I sniffed the air. “It reminds me of college. You ever try it?”

His deep, rich laugh echoed off the polished marble floors. “Carrie, do I look like someone who’d indulge in such a filthy habit? I prefer more elegant intoxicants.”