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  He swallowed around the lump in his throat and approached the closest vampire, a woman who had just released the arm of a villager. He waited until the fellow human had bowed and withdrawn before clearing his throat lightly.

  "My lady?” he asked softly.

  Head cocked to the side, she gave him a questioning look. “I already accepted an offering today, I am sure you saw as much."

  "I did. I was just wondering ... Would you know where Lady Eyrin is?"

  Her face immediately darkened. “Resting,” she said curtly. “Find someone else to make your offering to."

  Common sense told Ian to do exactly as the vampire was suggesting—especially since it sounded more like an order than a suggestion. After all, it wouldn't be the first time that he had given his wrist to a vampire other than Eyrin, as disappointing as it might have been. However, it would be the first time since they had become lovers, and he couldn't imagine leaving the lair without at least seeing her.

  "Please,” he insisted. “I wish to speak to her. Could you—"

  "I told you to offer to someone else,” she interrupted him abruptly.

  For a second, Ian thought he could see angry flames in her dark eyes. He couldn't understand what he had done or said to anger her so.

  "Tiana, that's enough,” a strong voice called from behind Ian, and the vampire immediately dropped her gaze, clearly chastised.

  Turning toward the voice, Ian felt his breath catch in his throat. Eyrin had pointed the tall, fair-haired male vampire to him before. The Master. He had created all the vampires in the lair, and forged pacts with seventeen villages, swearing to protect them from demons in exchange for daily blood. Ian wasn't sure whether he ought to kneel, avert his gaze or bow. In doubt, he did the latter, murmuring a respectful greeting.

  "Why do you seek Eyrin?” the Master asked.

  Ian dared to look back at him. “I am from her village,” he thought necessary to explain. “I always make my offering to her."

  The Master's eyes ran over him, lingering for a second at the small wreath Ian still held in his right hand, and a slow, cold smile curved his lips.

  "Something tells me it's not just blood you offer her,” he said, almost challenging, and Ian felt heat rise in his cheeks.

  It wasn't uncommon for vampires and humans to become lovers, nor was it frowned upon, but humans were always warned by their elders that for vampires, these affairs were about sex, not feelings. Ian knew as much, and he knew that Eyrin would probably disapprove of his feelings for her if she ever learned of them, just as the Master would if Ian betrayed himself.

  Unsure what to answer, if anything—after all, he hadn't been asked a question—Ian remained silent. After a few seconds, the Master nodded as though to himself, and uttered a cool “Follow me,” that left no place for hesitation. He led the way through the halls humans weren't supposed to visit on their own, finally stopping in front of a door that Ian recognized as Eyrin's. Ian was already reaching for it when the Master's hand closed on his wrist, cold and unyielding.

  "No need to knock. She will probably ask you to leave as soon as you walk in,” he said. “Don't listen to her. She hasn't fed from a human in three days and she needs fresh blood. You can tell her that I forbade my other Childer to share with her, and that I won't either until she starts accepting offerings again."

  Even though he wanted to ask for an explanation, Ian merely nodded, trying to understand what was going on and why the Master would give him a message for Eyrin when she almost certainly had heard every word he had said.

  Releasing his hand, the Master gave Ian a short nod and started walking away, but he stopped again before Ian had opened the door. “Do not stare at her,” he said, and now he sounded tired. “And try not to be scared."

  Frowning, Ian watched him go until he had disappeared in a nearby room. What was that supposed to mean? He had known Eyrin for years, why would he be scared of her now? And why bother with warnings if they were so vague?

  With a shake of his head, he finally reached for the latch and pushed the door open, stepping in noiselessly. It was even darker in the room than in the rest of the lair, the only source of light coming from the dying flames in the fireplace.

  "I wish you hadn't come,” a quiet, muffled voice rose from the bed. “I suppose it's no use to ask you to leave?"

  All Ian could see was that Eyrin had her back turned toward him. Approaching the fireplace to add some wood to the fire, he answered her on what he hoped was a playful tone.

  "You wouldn't want me to disobey the Master, now, would you?"

  There were only small branches left in the niche by the fireplace and Ian transferred all of them to the fire before prodding it lightly with a metal prong. After a moment, the flames rose high and bright, the way Ian had long ago learned Eyrin liked them. Fire was dangerous to vampires, but she seemed to enjoy the heat enough to disregard the risks.

  Turning back to face the bed, Ian could now see Eyrin's form more clearly, although she still presented him her back. She was on top of the covers, fully clothed, curled on her side in an almost protective pose. She remained quiet as he observed her and tried to understand what was wrong.

  "Will you tell me why you haven't taken offerings in days?” he asked softly as he came to sit on the bed behind her. “I thought vampires couldn't live without human blood."

  "We do need blood,” she replied after long seconds. “From humans, demons, or other vampires."

  "And you've decided not to take human blood anymore?” he prodded when she stopped, and ran a light hand over her shoulder and down her arm until he had reached her hand. The flower wreath slid easily onto her wrist. “Why not?"

  Her body tensed beneath his fingers.

  "Give me your hand,” she demanded harshly. “I'll take your offering, and you will leave."

  Something tightened in Ian's chest, making it hard for him to breathe. He had waited weeks to see Eyrin again, and now she refused to even look at him. The pain turned into anger, and his hand tightened on her shoulder as he pulled her backwards so he could see her. She resisted and evaded his grasp, sliding out of bed and retreating to stand in front of the fireplace. With her back to the flames, he couldn't see her face, and he hated not being able to read her emotions in her eyes as he had learned to do over the years. What he did see however was how she limped.

  "What do you think you're doing?” she lashed out, her voice as ice. “You forget your place, human. You are here to offer your blood, and if you dare raise your hand on me again, you will be sent away and forbidden to return."

  Despite the rage in her words, her voice broke down on the last words to the point that Ian could have sworn she was crying. But it couldn't be. Eyrin was a strong woman, quick to laugh, witty, courageous. Why would she cry? Why would she hide in this room, and refuse the blood she needed?

  "Eyrin?” he questioned hesitantly as he stood and took a step toward her. “Please, let me..."

  When he advanced she moved back, and the flames suddenly cast light upon her face. Ian lost his voice even as he remembered the Master's admonition not to stare. Yet how could he not stare? Eyrin's once lovely face was now marred on its left side by four long wounds that descended from her eyebrow to her jaw, and continued, it seemed, on her shoulder if he was to believe the hint of flesh he could see above her tunic. Her left eye was gone; the right one was tearing up.

  "Go,” she asked no louder than a whisper. “Go, Ian. Someone else will take your blood, someone who doesn't look like—"

  Refusing to listen, he walked to her. He evaded her hands when she tried to push him away, and wove his arms around her, pulling her to him until she stopped resisting and rested her intact cheek against his shoulder. He had a small idea of how physically strong she was and knew she could have escaped him easily if she had tried. Somehow, her acceptance of the meager comfort he could give her felt more important than the way she had tried to push him away at first.

  "What happened?”
he breathed, unable not to ask even if he could guess already.

  For a long time, she was silent. When she finally spoke, her words were hesitant murmurs. “My group fell into an ambush, four nights ago. There were too many demons, and not enough of us. I gave the order of retreat, and...” She paused, and took a deep breath her body had no use for. “I wasn't fast enough, that's all."

  Ian had heard her speak of her fights and of leading others into battle; he had also seen her spar with other vampires. He had a small suspicion that ‘not fast enough’ actually meant that she had bought the rest of her group time to escape.

  "Does it hurt?” he asked, his words quiet from being pushed past his too tight throat.

  "Not much anymore. But I...” Shaking her head, she took a step back again, fully turning into the light of the fire.

  The details of her wounds became clearer, but Ian managed not to flinch. He had seen what demons could do to a body before. An older cousin of his had thought he could hunt demons to impress a woman. The vampires had brought his body back to the village—or rather, what had been left of it. The village council had called for all villagers above the age of thirteen to come and look at what happened to the fools who thought they could fight demons. In comparison to what had been left of Thom, the wounds on Eyrin's face were nothing. And furthermore, she was a vampire.

  "You'll heal, won't you?” he asked hopefully.

  Her mouth twisted on a bitter smile. “By the time your grandchildren are old enough to offer their blood to me, those will be just lines.” Her spread fingers hovered above the wounds, trembling a little. “But my eye is gone for good. Vampires are able to heal just about anything if they have enough blood, but they can't re-grow what they have lost. We get so used to the idea that we'll never change...” She turned to face the flames, arms wrapped around herself as though she were cold. Her voice dropped lower when she continued. “All the other Childer look at me and shudder at the idea this could happen to them. And humans will pull away when they see me."

  "They won't,” Ian interjected. “They will know this happened for their protection."

  "They have already,” she said, almost too quietly for him to understand. “That first day..."

  She didn't finish, but Ian could guess the rest. Gently, almost hesitantly, he laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I'm still here. I'm not pulling away. And you're still beautiful."

  Eyrin let out a quiet but sad spark of laughter. “Clearly, you're more blind than I am."

  "You are beautiful,” he repeated, squeezing lightly again, and hoping that she would understand how deeply he meant his words even if he couldn't explain it himself. “Take my blood. Heal."

  She turned to face him, silent for a long time, her eye searching his face and looking for something, it seemed. She finally nodded and reached for his wrist, but a rush of inspiration made Ian stop her. He wanted to offer her more contact, and a closeness that would show she remained the same in his eyes.

  Gently cupping her face where she wasn't injured, he drew her toward his arched neck. A ravenous look passed through her eye before she dipped her head and her lips touched his skin. Ian shivered, both at the intensity of her gaze and the softness of her caress. Her fangs slowly piercing his flesh made him gasp in pain. But soon the sensation became so powerful, so erotic that his body answered it as it always answered Eyrin's touch, and he unconsciously held her closer, as close as he could, wishing with all he was that the moment would never end.

  Chapter Two

  A warm embrace and even warmer blood had never seemed so good.

  When Eyrin had returned to the lair four nights earlier, stumbling on the first light of sunrise long after the rest of her group and with her own blood covering the entire left side of her body, her alarmed Sire had taken her into his chambers. With the help of Odela, his oldest Childe, he had bathed her, tended to her wounds, and given her enough of his blood that she had become drowsy with the sheer strength of it. She had fallen asleep in his arms, soothed by the repeated and reassuring murmurs that she would be all right.

  It had only been when she had limped out of the room a full day later, after being offered more blood again by her Sire, that she had realized just how badly she had been wounded. A hush had fallen on the common room when she had entered it, and several humans had gasped in horror. It had finally dawned on her then that her left eye would not heal, and that the slashes on her face disfigured her enough to cause repulsion in those who saw her. Feeling sick and dizzy, she had stumbled to her room and locked herself in, refusing to open when Odela had come to comfort her.

  She had remained locked for two days in the increasingly cold room, opening at last when her Sire had ordered her to do so. More reassurances had come that she would be fine, and she had been offered blood again, but none of it had been enough to pull Eyrin from her shock. She had wished she could have asked her Sire to hold her again, as he had that first night, but she hadn't managed to ask. She was supposed to be a fighter. Strong. With the single goal of defending her clan and the humans who were under her clan's protection. She couldn't let her Sire or anyone else see her as weak, even if she now knew she was. She had never retreated in battle before the ambush; now, she couldn't bear the idea of confronting simple stares.

  But to be in Ian's arms, to accept the comfort and blood he was offering so freely, was better than anything she could have hoped for. He had seen her face, and he hadn't flinched back like the others. No scent of fear or disgust had come from him, and nothing but compassion had touched his eyes. His blood had never seemed so sweet or so strong. No human's ever had. It would have been easy to let herself be drawn in, revel in the blood and take too much of it.

  Before she knew it, she was doing just that.

  She stopped at once when she realized Ian's heart was faltering and, for a fleeting instant, almost thought she could feel her own pounding wildly in her chest as panic seeped in. Humans offered their blood to vampires; not their lives. She was sworn to protect humans to the price of her existence if need be. Instead she had thought of nothing but the hunger, and now...

  "I didn't ... I didn't mean to,” she stammered, easing Ian down to the ground when his legs gave up on him. Kneeling next to him, she rested his head on her lap and pressed her hand to his neck, trying to stop the flow of blood.

  He blinked slowly as he watched her, and opened his mouth to speak but she shushed him urgently.

  "Don't speak. Keep your strength. You'll be fine."

  To her own ears, the words sounded more like a wish than a promise. She didn't even want to know what they sounded like to Ian. A lie, more than likely. She had taken too much, and he was about to die, they both knew it. Unless...

  She couldn't do it herself, she had no right to, she was only a Childe, but her Sire could. If she could only convince him before Ian died, he could save him.

  She didn't dare leave Ian now or release the pressure on his wound. Her voice broke down the first time she called out but she swallowed and tried again, crying out louder.

  "Sire! Please come!"

  Wherever her Sire was in the lair, he had to have heard her; closed doors would not prevent any vampire to hear her. And indeed, within seconds her door burst open and her Sire entered, followed by several of his older Childer. They remained by the entrance even as he strode in, taking in the scene in front of him and, Eyrin was certain of it, understanding what had happened.

  "I didn't mean—” she started, trying to convey her regret in her voice, but he stopped her with a shake of his head before putting a knee to the floor near Ian.

  Ian's eyes were closed, she noticed with horror, but they opened again at her Sire's quiet request.

  "You will die if I don't make you one of us,” he said once Ian was looking at him. “Do you want me to do it?"

  There was no hesitation before Ian's small but unmistakable nod. Eyrin wanted to cling to him still, but her Sire pulled him out of her embrace and closer to him. For
a second, his mouth was on Ian's neck, and Eyrin's fists closed tight enough to draw blood from her palms. Then he pulled back and brought his own wrist to his mouth before offering it to Ian's lips. The scent of her Sire's blood in the air was soothing, but at the same time an uncompromising reminder of what was happening. It was the first time Eyrin had ever heard a human heart stop beating and she felt a near physical pain at the loss.

  She remained kneeling on the floor as her Sire stood with Ian's still body cradled in his arms and went to deposit his precious burden on the bed. Her gaze followed him still as he walked to the door and motioned the silent Childer out of the room. The dull sound of the heavy wood closing on them was almost ominous, but not as much as the storm in his glare when he walked back toward her.

  "You know better than that,” he snapped, his voice as thunder.

  Eyrin lowered her head.

  "How many years since I sired you?” he continued on the same tone.

  "One hundred and fifty-six, my lord,” she whispered.

  "And in all these years, how many times did you see one of my Childer shame our clan—shame me!—and kill a human?"

  She flinched at the word ‘kill'. Something in her demanded that she let out the sobs she was barely holding back and beg for her Sire's forgiveness, but she refused to disgrace herself even further and struggled to remain as calm as she could.

  "Never, my lord."

  "Never. Because the first thing a fledgling learns is to feed from where?"

  It had been more than a century and half, but when she closed her eye she could still see it as though it had been the day before. Her Sire had taught her to bite softly but without hesitation so she wouldn't hurt humans. He had also taught her where to bite, how much blood to take, and how to close the wound with a few careful swipes of her tongue. All those lessons she had forgotten in Ian's arms.

  "The wrist,” she finally answered, her voice almost failing her.