Now lust seethed inside him. Ignore it, Saroya will rise soon enough. And when she did, he'd touch her, taste her. Explore her new curves.
"Whoa! Your eyes are getting even . . . weirder."
Behold madness in a vampire. Everyone in the Lore knew Lothaire was on the brink; no one knew how close he was.
Most of the time, he had difficulty discerning his victims' memories from his own. When he slept, he uncontrollably traced to strange locales, as if sleepwalking. With increasing frequency, he'd been overwhelmed by rages.
One beckoned even now. "I want Saroya to rise," he told the human.
"Can't you take her from me instead? Maybe put her in the body of a red-eyed female demon-"
"She's no more a demon than I am! Saroya the Soul Reaper is the goddess of death and blood, the Vampire Horde's ancient deity."
"V-vampires?" Elizabeth whispered as she unsteadily stood. "Are you . . . you're not a vampire?"
He bared his fangs.
"You . . . you drink from people? Bite them?"
He enunciated, "Delightedly." Though not without express purpose, not any longer. His last prey had been calculated-Declan Chase, his jailer. The man would know where the Ring of Sums had been taken. Lothaire needed only to sleep to experience Chase's memories in dreams. . . .
Elizabeth put her hands to her knees, panting her breaths. "No sun. That's why the curtains are drawn so tight. A vampire. Sweet Jesus preserve me." Blood began trickling from the needle puncture on one inner arm.
His gaze locked on it, hunger racking him. He'd been injured repeatedly. Surely that was the only reason why he wanted so badly to sample her.
Not because the scent of her blood was exquisite . . . making his c**k swell in his pants and his fangs sharpen. He ran his tongue over one, savoring the spike of his own blood.
Elizabeth cried, "Look at you!"
He hadn't allowed himself a taste of her before. Her blood would serve no purpose, might put him over the edge. But gods, its call was irresistible.
"You're not gonna bite me! Come near me with those fangs of yourn, and I'm gonna knock 'em out-"
He was behind her in an instant, one arm looped around her waist. With his free hand, he fisted the length of her shining hair and yanked her head to the side. Her pulse fluttered before his eyes.
How many times had he hungered for flesh but denied himself?
Yet never had his fangs throbbed like this, dripping to penetrate her. . . .
"Don't touch me!" She thrashed, digging her nails into his arm, but he enjoyed his enemies' struggles. Always had.
He raked a fang down the golden skin of her neck, cutting a shallow length, blood gently pooling.
Voice gone hoarse, he said, "I'll like it more if you fight. You'll like it more if you don't."
Scores of women-and men-had enjoyed his bloodtaking. It made them hunger, made them cling to him as if they wanted to sacrifice themselves on his fangs.
Mortals seemed particularly susceptible. Many came in his arms.
Would Elizabeth? The idea made him harden even more. He dipped his head, mouth closing over the fine wound. When his tongue touched a drop of blood, his body jerked as if lightning-struck.
A searing current seemed to electrify every vein in his body. . . .
Delectable.
"Wh-what are you doing to me?"
He licked the seam again and again, wanting to roar when she began trembling, her resistance easing.
She leaned into him, her back pressed against his aching shaft. When he snatched her tighter still and ground it against her, she moaned.
Yes, mortals liked his bloodtaking, but she was shaking with need.
"Oh! Ohhhh, no. . . . Oh, please!" Her voice was throaty, her breaths shallow.
Yet just when he'd widened his jaw to pierce her neck for more, she began fighting again. "No, not now!"
Lothaire tore his mouth away, saw her face go even paler.
She swayed on her feet. "Not now. . . ."
Saroya was rising! "Don't fight her, girl!" he commanded, yanking Elizabeth upright.
"No, no, no-" Her lids slid shut.
He caught her against him, turning her in his arms. "Saroya, return to me."
After a long moment, her eyes opened, narrowed; then her palm shot up to crack across his cheek. "How dare you leave me to rot in prison, you filth! I'll play with your spleen before the night is through."
"Saroya," he grated, barely keeping his rage in check. Inhale, exhale. "Ah, my flower. I've missed you too."
Chapter 6
When Saroya drew back her hand to strike Lothaire's smirking face again, his expression turned deadly. "Once was forgiven, goddess, but twice would prove unwise."
Her hand faltered. Lothaire was a notorious killer, and as long as she was trapped in this mortal shell, Saroya was vulnerable.
Though her spirit would continue on after this human's death, just as it always did, this was the body she wanted. Saroya was determined to keep
it alive and unharmed. To do so, she needed this vampire's assistance.
Galling.
"Release me, Lothaire."
Without a word, he did. She took a step back, surveying him for the first time in years.
Of course he'd changed little, frozen for all time into this immortal form. He was at least six and a half feet tall, lean but muscled. His features were flawless, gold stubble covering his wide, masculine jaw and strong cleft chin. His pale collar-length hair was thick and straight-now stained with blood. "You killed? Without waiting for me?"
"To effect your escape from prison, yes."
Finally out of that hellhole!
She scanned her surroundings, finding them scarcely better. The area was decorated with a subtle flair, rich colors and fabrics of obvious expense, but it was uncluttered-aside from a pile of smashed marble and various shattered vases.
Saroya preferred flashy ornamentation, the elegance of a tomb filled with sacrifices to her, piled high with flesh trophies and bones.
Shimmering black silk against blood-spattered granite.
"Where have you taken me?" she asked in a pained tone.
"New York," he answered. "To one of our homes."
"I assume we have many."
"We own mansions, villas, chateaus. Any dwelling you desire will be yours."
As if she needed him to tell her that. She glanced down at her arm, at a drying track of red. "Did you bite me?" Narrowing her eyes, she added, "And do not think of lying to me."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "You know I can't lie, Saroya." Natural-born vampires were physically incapable of it. Whenever a lie arose, a vampire would feel the rana, the burn, a scalding sensation in his throat.
"Did you dare pierce my skin?"
"There is little daring to it. But in this case, I only grazed your neck."
She reached up and brushed the nick with her fingertips. For some reason, her body seemed awkward, her br**sts heavy. "Taking straight from the flesh, cosaş? Twenty thousand years of my memories will undoubtedly send you over the edge," she said. "You must have been very desirous of blood to have stolen hers."
Was there a subtle flush on his face? "I wager you have to be at the forefront of consciousness in order for me to harvest your memories. As for Elizabeth's-I believe I can handle twenty-four human years."
"How long did you leave me in that prison, Lothaire?"
"A mere half decade."
"What was more important than I?"
He shrugged. "Finding a way to circumvent your curse."
"I assume that you've found such a means. Else I'd still be locked up."
"I freed you because the body was about to be executed. By mortals."
Too shaming to be borne! "I'd sensed a threat, but an execution? For such a paltry number of deaths?"
Some of the tension left his broad shoulders. "My exact thoughts."
"So we're no closer?" At least now that she was free, she'd be able to kill once more. In the past, she'd reaped souls from her kills, each victim providing her strength. She'd been a true vampire. Now she stole lives solely for pleasure.
"After years of searching, I unearthed the Ring of Sums."
"Sums?" Her eyes widened. "Clever Lothaire." For him to have thought of this possibility! That talisman was steeped in power.
"It will allow me to extinguish Elizabeth's soul and make your body undying. You're to become a vampire like me."
Female vampires could only be born-never made. Though vampiric blood could potentially transform human males into vampires, a mortal female like Elizabeth would never survive the turning.
Even a former deity like Saroya didn't know why.
But the ring would overcome that. What else might the ring do . . . ?
She almost felt like smiling-which she never did. Then her satisfaction dimmed. "I understood the ring to be lost centuries ago. Along with its owner." A sorceress named La Dorada, a particularly treacherous adversary of Saroya's, had guarded the ring.
No matter how zealously Saroya had sought Dorada's death, her assassins could never deliver it. "You stole the ring from the Gilded One?"
He inclined his head regally.
Her lips parted. "I knew you were ambitious, but this is scarcely believable! Even gods tread carefully with Dorada. Especially the evil ones." I've never been more defenseless against her. . . .
"I faced the sorceress and her lackeys seven days ago, yet here I
stand."
He'd survived a confrontation? "She will target your Bride to punish you! Unless you killed her?" Am I free from the prophecy at last?
"Not yet."
"If you left her alive, then she will be coming for us."
"Yes," he said casually.
"We must use this ring to return my godhood, Lothaire! And quickly."
"Even the Ring of Sums has limitations. If the ring could make one a god, then Dorada would have commanded it to do so. I believe we are bound to the realm of the immortals."
"In any case, give the ring to me."
"Three weeks ago, I was trapped by foes, an organization called the Order. They imprisoned me and confiscated it."
She was tempted to disbelieve such a story-few in the Lore were as formidable as Lothaire-but he couldn't speak untruths. "Why would they target you?"
"To examine me, determine my weaknesses, then execute me. Many other warriors from the Lore were captured as well."
"These foes must be exceptionally cunning to have trapped you."
"Their weapons are advanced. But I will steal the ring back. I depart tomorrow night, once you are settled. And once we have . . . caught up," he added.
"You must destroy Dorada, Lothaire. You must."
He narrowed his eyes. "I intend to, as soon as I reclaim the ring. Consider the sorceress as good as dead."
Reassured somewhat, she asked, "How long will it take to retrieve it?"
"A night? A month? I can't say for certain," he said. "I drank the blood of my former jailer. He knows how to find the ring, and I can tap his memories through my dreams. Have already seen some."
Saroya wasn't a patient god. "This body ages with each day."
Lothaire prowled around her, shamelessly raking his gaze over her form. "It is much changed."
"Mirror!" she ordered imperiously.
With a bored lift of his brow, he pointed behind her, to one hanging on a paneled wall.
Saroya crossed to the glass and gazed into it, cringing at her prison garb.
The scratch on her neck drew her attention. Would that scar? Would it heal before she was made into a vampire? Once this body became immortal, it would be frozen forever-its appearance fixed.
Lothaire traced to stand behind her. "You've suffered no ill from your time in prison, have only grown more beautiful."
She scrutinized her figure. Had Elizabeth lost weight? Saroya had resigned herself to her new short frame-mere inches over five feet-but she couldn't accept this leanness. "The body's too slim."
She recalled one of the few times she'd risen in that fetid jail. She'd read Elizabeth's journal, noting that the mortal "worked out" every day in her cell. Unfortunately, it showed.
How Saroya missed her own features! Her eyes had once been large and feline yellow, slit down the center with a thin black iris. Her lips had been bloodred, her skin pale like the moon. She'd been almost six feet tall and voluptuous to an obscene degree.
Whenever she'd descended from her godplane to earth, men had been awestruck just to behold her. Once she beckoned for them, they'd offered themselves to her insidious brand of death. . . .
She ran her hands over this new lean figure, groping for softness. How much flesh can the body gain before Lothaire finds the ring?
At least Elizabeth's bust had grown to a decent size. When Saroya cupped herself with relief, Lothaire's eyes grew hooded.
Saroya abruptly dropped her hands. In a brisk tone, she said, "This face is the most lovely of my temples'."
Though this present guise couldn't compare to hers when she'd been a cat-eyed enchantress, Saroya had enjoyed some success luring victims. Males wanted to protect the vulnerable-looking girl and pluck her innocence. Instead, Saroya had plucked their hearts, eyes, and testes.