Blood Ties Bundle: Blood Ties Book One: The Turning / Blood Ties Book Two: Possession / Blood Ties Book Three: Ashes to Ashes / Blood Ties Book Four: All Souls' Night. Jennifer Armintrout

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СКАЧАТЬ now?”

      “Because my father has now successfully killed all the oldest known vampires. He is the leader of our kind.” Though he said this in all seriousness, he shrugged it off rather quickly. “His blood runs in mine, and my blood runs in yours. We are royalty, Carrie.”

      I looked around helplessly as a tremor of—was that paternal affection?—passed across the blood tie.

      “So, in a roundabout way, what I’m saying is that there’s good reason for you to wear the dress again.”

      “I’ll see what I can do,” I breathed.

      A new, frightening possibility entered my mind. What if Cyrus wasn’t the man I thought he was at all, but merely a pawn under his father’s control? How much of the evil he inflicted on others originated from his own brain? He’d been a vampire for so long now, perhaps he couldn’t remember what it was like to be free from the blood tie.

      Cocking his head, Cyrus regarded me with the amused smile of a man viewing a prize that was nearly his. “My God, but you’re lovely.”

      The sentiment was a bit too heartfelt to sit comfortably with me. “Why do you say things like that?”

      He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Because I mean them.”

      I filed his words away under “Ploys to Disarm Me.”

      He nodded to Clarence, and the butler stepped forward to clear the table.

      Still hungry, I handed my glass over with some reluctance. “Are we finished?”

      Cyrus stood and moved to take my hand. “No. This was just an appetizer. Now we’re on to the main course.”

      He stepped behind me and covered my eyes with his hands. The feeling of him so close, his body brushing against my back as he led me from the room, set my nerve endings on fire.

      “Where are we going?” I asked as if I didn’t know the answer.

      “Look,” he whispered as he removed his hands.

      A huge bed on a raised dais dominated the room. Elegant curtains of sheer gold-and-cream fabric hung from the dark wood canopy, and in the center lay a young man, bound, gagged and shirtless.

      Although his hair was clean and trimmed, and he wore trousers instead of jeans, I recognized him immediately.

      Ziggy.

      “He’s for you.” Cyrus walked over to the bed and held his hand out to me.

      Don’t react, I urged myself, picturing a brick wall in an attempt to keep Cyrus from seeing my thoughts. Pretend you don’t know him. Deny you’ve ever met him. Just don’t do anything to endanger him.

      But my panic clearly transferred through the blood tie. His face full of concern, Cyrus moved from my side. “He’s completely harmless.”

      Ziggy’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated, but he didn’t struggle. I stepped closer. “What’s wrong with him?”

      “Drugged.” Cyrus sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for me to join him. “They tend to gain strength when fighting for their lives, and I wanted tonight to be perfect.”

      I stepped up cautiously, trying to cloak my thoughts from Cyrus while I frantically willed Ziggy not to show any sign of recognition.

      Was it possible Cyrus didn’t know who this was? It would be unlike him not to gloat about his prize, especially after the way he’d acted this morning. But it made no sense for Ziggy to be in the mansion at all.

      “Who is he?” I croaked, fervently praying Cyrus didn’t already know the answer.

      To my immense relief, he yawned and reached up to unbind his hair. “I don’t know. Some runaway. He showed up here a few hours ago. Isn’t he breathtaking?”

      The day before I wouldn’t have exactly agreed with that statement, but groomed and divested of his various piercings and odd metal jewelry, Ziggy recalled a Renaissance portrait of youthful, male beauty.

      Hesitantly, I climbed onto the bed. “Why is he here?”

      “For you to feed from, dearest,” Cyrus answered distractedly as he popped off his cuff links and shook out his sleeves.

      “But he’s conscious.”

      My mouth went a little dry as I watched Cyrus work the buttons of his shirt. “Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? No fun drinking from a victim who can’t feel it. But you’ll have to hurry. The paralytic will wear off soon.”

      I frowned. Paralyzing drugs were nothing to trifle with. Ziggy could die of suffocation if his lungs were affected. In the guise of lazily stroking his chest, I measured the rise and fall of the flesh beneath my hand. His respiration was labored, but not seriously. “He can’t be too paralyzed if he’s breathing.”

      Cyrus reached for me over Ziggy’s body, tracing a line up my arm, over my shoulder, to my neck. He pulled me forward. I rose on my knees and braced my hands against the smooth, cold skin of his chest beneath his open shirt.

      I heard Ziggy’s blood moving faster and faster through his veins between us. I remembered the rich taste of his blood and my stomach growled. Another hunger sprang to life in me, an ache that grew as Cyrus pushed my hair aside. He pressed his mouth to my neck, grazing his teeth over the surface.

      “I should have bitten you that night,” he rasped, one hand moving to cup my breast. “I should have ripped your flesh with my teeth and fed from you, rather than flee like a coward. If only I could have silenced your screams so I could have taken my time.”

      I moaned, dropping my head back to give him fuller access. Memories of the attack washed over me, some his, some my own. But now they were not horrific. Now, when I saw his hand twisted in my hair, saw myself kneeling and praying—had I prayed?—at his feet, the images were searing and erotic.

      I reminded myself of the blood tie, of the control he had over me, but I didn’t care. This wouldn’t be something that happened to me. This would be something that I chose to do.

      Ziggy groaned at our knees. Moving behind me, Cyrus eased me onto the bed so I lay beside the boy. With one arm draped over my waist, my sire leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Drink, Carrie.”

      And God, how I wanted to. But it was Ziggy. “If I do, will it kill him?”

      Obviously misinterpreting the nature of my question, Cyrus chuckled. “Go ahead, take his life if you’d like. Or, let him live and we’ll play with him later. Whatever you prefer.”

      When I hesitated, he reached over me to lay a lethally sharp fingernail against Ziggy’s exposed throat. “Do you want me to cut him for you?”

      I sensed his impatience through the blood tie and by the way his legs rubbed restlessly against mine. If he knew who Ziggy was, if he knew why I couldn’t feed from him…

      No. I could do this. All I needed to do was show Cyrus I was willing to perform the act. Even just a few drops would prove that. Then he wouldn’t hurt me or Ziggy.

      Yes, СКАЧАТЬ