“We are much alike,” Rodin remarked as he turned to leave. “Perhaps too much.” He paused, speaking over his shoulder. “Very well,” he said curtly. “I will appoint Olaf as head of the Council until you come to your senses.”

Drake stared after his sire. Rodin had changed in the years since Drake had last seen him, but then, change was inevitable, even for vampires.

It was near midnight when the drone known as Number Ten entered the dungeon, with one of the sheep in tow. Drake regarded the girl impassively as the drone unlocked the door.

“Her name is Sophie,” the drone said, and thrust her into the cell.

She was tall and slender, with long brown hair and timid gray eyes. He guessed her to be no more than fifteen or sixteen. Had he ever been that young? At the moment, he felt every one of his five hundred years.

He grunted softly as her clean feminine scent filled his nostrils. It was forbidden for vampires who were old enough to reproduce to mate with the sheep. It would be doubly forbidden for him, he mused glumly. He was to save his seed for Katiya in hopes she would conceive and bear a son.

But it wasn’t Sophie’s body he wanted, tempting as that might be. It was the blood he could hear whispering through her veins.

She took an involuntary step backward when he moved toward her.

Drake stopped, his eyes narrowing. “Is this your first time?”

She nodded, her gaze darting around the room, looking everywhere but at him. He couldn’t blame her for that. With his scorched flesh and gaunt cheeks, he must look like he had walked out of a nightmare.

“I am sorry the surroundings are not more pleasant,” he muttered with a wry grin.

She said nothing, only stared at him, like a fawn confronted by a wolf.

“I will not hurt you,” he said, and hoped it was true. She flinched when he reached for her hand. Swallowing his anger and his humiliation, he drew her down on the pallet. He could smell the terror on her skin, hear it in the rapid beating of her heart. Taking a deep breath, he murmured, “Relax, child,” as he wrapped her in his arms.

It took all his willpower to control himself. Her blood called to him. His body urged him to take her quickly, to drink and drink and put an end to the incessant pain that wracked him.

She trembled in his arms, her fear increasing his instinct to hunt, to take it all. She cried out when she looked into his face and he knew his eyes had gone red.

“Do not fight me!” he warned, his voice harsh. “I will not be responsible for what happens if you do.”

Eyes tightly shut, she went rigid in his embrace.

Hating himself for what he was about to do, hating Rodin for sending him a woman young and untouched, he lowered his head to her neck and took what he needed so badly, craved so desperately.

Relief was immediate, quickly soothing the pain that burned through him, easing a long and terrible thirst.

He growled when the drone entered the cell, hissed when the girl was wrested from his arms. And then, with a cry, he slammed his fist against the stone floor, despising himself for what he had almost done; indebted, in spite of himself, to Rodin for sending the drone to take the girl away before he drained her dry.

Rodin entered the dungeon two hours later.

Drake regarded his sire through narrowed eyes. Clad in a long wine-colored dressing gown with a high, black velvet collar, the Master Vampire looked like royalty. Which he was, as far as the vampire community was concerned.

Rodin leaned one shoulder against the cell door. “I trust the woman was to your liking?”

Drake shrugged. “They are all the same, as you well know.”

“She satisfied your need?”

“Why did you send that particular female to me?”

“She was young and untouched, exactly what you needed for a quick recovery. Judging from your improved appearance, I would say she was just right.”

“I almost killed her.”

Rodin made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It happens now and then.”

“But you made sure it wouldn’t happen tonight.”

“One of your brothers fancies her,” Rodin said with a shrug. “I promised him he could have her when you were through.”

Striving for calm, Drake took a deep breath. The indifferent attitude of his sire and his brothers toward the sheep was one of the reasons he had left the Fortress. He was a vampire, but he had fought against becoming what they were. In some ways, he thought it would be kinder if they killed those they fed upon. He couldn’t help thinking that death would be preferable to captivity, knew that he would rather be dead than live the kind of life the sheep led, never knowing freedom, never seeing the outside world, forced to surrender their will to that of their captors. Occasionally, if one of the vampires took a liking to a particular man or woman, they claimed them for their own, a private stash, as it were.

Years ago, one of the human males had led a rebellion against the vampires. It had not ended well for the human population. Many of them had perished here, in the dungeon.

“You are to meet with Katiya tomorrow night,” Rodin said. “It will give the two of you a chance to get acquainted. Your mother has requested that we hold a reception in two weeks to honor your betrothal. You will dress appropriately and you will dance every dance with Katiya. When the evening is over, you will escort her to her chambers.”

“Am I ever to have any freedom again?”

“That depends on you. You will feed again tomorrow night, and every night until you are wed.”

“Send me someone with experience.”

Rodin nodded. “As you wish.” He turned to leave, then paused. “Do not shame me in front of Katiya’s parents,” he warned, then vanished from sight.

Drake grasped the bars in his hands. Katiya’s father, Cezar, was a Master Vampire in his own land. Rodin and Cezar had been allies for centuries. In the past, they had joined forces to fight off legions of human hunters bearing torches and swords and stakes.

But it wasn’t the past that concerned Drake now. It was Elena. For the first time in days, he could sense her whereabouts, knew she was in one of the guest chambers upstairs, sleeping.

And dreaming of him.

Drake smiled faintly. He had promised Rodin he wouldn’t try to see Elena, but he hadn’t promised not to visit her in her dreams.

Elena stirred restlessly, tormented by dreams of Vardin holding her down, forcibly taking her blood, his eyes a hellish red. And then, abruptly, her dream changed and it was Drake holding her, his voice softly whispering her name, his hands gentle as they lightly stroked her hair, the curve of her cheek. She sighed as he kissed her. Was this also a dream? It felt so real.

“Drake?”

“Yes, love?”

“Am I dreaming?”

“Yes. And no.” He kissed her again, kissed her with such aching sweetness it brought tears to her eyes.

His hands caressed her out of her nightgown and then he was lying beside her, molding her body to his, arousing her with strong, masterful hands. She reveled in his touch, her own hands moving over him, reacquainting herself with the width of his shoulders, the swell of his biceps, the taste of his skin on her tongue, the thick silk of his hair.

When he rose over her, his eyes glowing with need, she opened to him gladly. If she lived to be a hundred, there would never be anyone else for her. Only Drake, always and forever, whether they were together or apart.

“I love you,” she murmured.

“And I love you,” he replied. “Whether you are near or far, you will always be the other half of my soul, the wife of my heart.”

He caught her close, their bodies melding, moving together, her heat warming him, his kisses arousing her, until she writhed beneath him, reaching, reaching, for that one perfect moment in time when two became one.

She sobbed with pleasure as he moved deep within her, caught up in the wonder and the magic that sparked between them, bound by the passion between them, bound by the night.

Breathless, she clung to him as pleasure exploded deep within her, cried his name when she felt him withdrawing.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice fading. “I will always love you.”

She woke naked and alone in her bed, her cheeks damp with tears.

The woman the drone brought him the next night was in her late twenties. There was no fear in her eyes when Drake took her in his arms, only a kind of weary resignation that twisted like a knife in his gut, flaying him with guilt and regret for what he was, for the need that would not be denied.

He bent her back over his arm, his hand sweeping her hair to the side as he lowered his head to her neck. He took what he wanted with uncharacteristic roughness, and sent her away.

When she was gone, he wrapped his hands around the bars and rested his forehead against the cold steel, grateful that Elena would soon be gone from this place, a place that he hated with every fiber of his being.

Chapter 19

Katiya stood in the middle of her chamber, one foot tapping impatiently as her mother and Liliana fussed over her gown and her hair. She did not want to be there, did not want to marry Rodin’s oldest son. She had tried both anger and tears, but, for the first time in her life, her sire had turned a deaf ear to both.

Even her mother had refused to be swayed. “We do not marry for love,” Stefanya had replied, her patience quickly coming to an end. “You have a duty to our people to produce as many offspring as you can, while you can.”

Katiya heaved a sigh as Liliana and Stefanya stepped back to admire their handiwork. There were no mirrors in the room, but she could see herself reflected in her mother’s eyes. The dress, of fine burgundy silk and satin, was exquisite. They had piled her hair atop her head, leaving several ringlets to fall artfully over her bare shoulders.

What would Lord Drake think when he saw her? Not that she cared. She wanted nothing to do with him, or his family, or this impending wedding. She didn’t want to live in the Fortress, or—she shivered with revulsion—share Drake’s bed.

“You look lovely,” Liliana said, smiling.

“Thank you,” Katiya muttered. “How long do I have to spend with Drake?”