Sacred Blood

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Sacred Blood ISBN # 1-4199-0581-3 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Sacred Blood Copyright© 2006 Claire Thompson Edited by Mary Moran. Cover art by Willo. Electronic book Publication: August 2006

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Warning: The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated S-ensuous by a minimum of three independent reviewers. Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

TRUE KIN: SACRED BLOOD Claire Thompson

Claire Thompson

Prologue Yasmine surveyed the scene in the Saudi Arabian marketplace, secure in the back of a stretch limousine, the windows tinted dark, the air-conditioning blasting. As she gazed out at the hustle and bustle in the open-air market, it could have been 1822 or the present day. It was as if time had stood still since she’d last been back to her homeland. She stared out at the women dressed in their abaayas, the long, black outer cloak that drapes a woman from head to toe, ostensibly to protect their “purity”, their faces covered in dark veils. Yasmine, dressed in a cool, silk tank top and soft denim jeans, would have been thrown down and whipped on the street if seen by a mutawa, the religious police. She shivered, thinking how little had changed in the past two hundred years, thankful she was hidden behind tinted glass. “Look at how those poor women are forced to dress on this hot day!” she said in an angry voice to the man next to her in the backseat as she pointed to a large, bent figure covered in black. “Apparently the male population is so lust-ridden even a middle-aged woman weighing over three hundred pounds is an irresistible sex object! Rather than control their own impulses, they force their women to dress like bags of black rice. And the women comply!” Yasmine cautioned herself as she felt her anger rise like a live thing inside her. She knew these women had no choice, subjugated from the moment they were born, denied basic human rights taken for granted in the countries Yasmine chose to frequent. But she hadn’t returned to Saudi Arabia to right the wrongs of mortal women—an impossible task at any rate, as long as the entire population remained complicit. She stifled a snort of disgust. Yet now gazing out at the marketplace where their driver had stopped for some plump, fresh figs that had caught her eye, she found herself feeling a touch of nostalgia that surprised her. She felt transported back to another time, another marketplace with its closely packed stalls brimming with fruits, vegetables, kitchen items, clothing, bolts of fabric, jewelry and souvenirs. As she eyed the stacked khobz—an unleavened bread—and smelled the delicious pungent aroma of lamb turning slowly on its spit at a food stall, long-dormant memories were stirred. She could almost taste the fuul an old man near her was noisily eating, a hearty dish of fava beans, garlic and lemon. The smells and sights of the marketplace caused Yasmine’s memories to come rushing back at her like a flock of dark birds. Yasmine Hilal, millionaire, artist, world traveler and a great beauty had a secret, the secret that shaped her life and colored her world. Yasmine Hilal was a vampire. To think, she had once been nothing more than a miserable slave girl, powerless and at the mercy of her master.

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Chapter One Riyadh, 1822

Yasmine was one of a dozen slaves in a middle-class merchant’s house in the town of Riyadh. As a female, she spent all her days in the kitchen and small courtyard of the compound, at the mercy of her master’s number one wife Atifah and the cook Fatima. Back then Yasmine had been a skinny, gangly girl, her arms full of washing or carrying loads far too heavy for her thin body. She was born in 1804, not far from the marketplace in which she now stood. Back then, Riyadh, not yet the capital of the Saudi kingdom, was a still just a small settlement in the Arabian Peninsula. She hadn’t been born a slave, but was the daughter of servants at a much finer home than the one she ended up in. Her mother had been the personal maid of the mistress of the house and her father worked in the stables as head horseman. When a fever had taken her parents and decimated most of the staff as well as the family, relatives took over, disbanding what workers were left. Yasmine, only ten, had been summarily sold off as part of the estate, with no say in the matter. She was assigned to the scullery in her new home, peeling vegetables, tending the kitchen gardens, hauling water from the river for washing and scrubbing the stone floors of the kitchen, working from the moment she was awakened from her little rug by the wood-burning kitchen stove until she collapsed at night. On many a night, exhaustion would battle with hunger, finally overtaking it. There was sufficient food to feed the five slaves and four servants of the household, along with the master, his three wives and their twelve children, but Yasmine often went hungry because she too often failed to exhibit the virtues of docility, humility and silence deemed admirable in a woman and essential in a slave. She tried to behave, and when it came to performing her duties she was above reproach, working hard and long to get tasks done that would have daunted anyone not used to such hard labor. For Yasmine it was a matter of pride, a character trait greatly frowned upon for an Arabian slave, especially a worthless female. Her first ten years as the only child of parents who had been in love with each other and delighted with their little daughter had given Yasmine a major advantage over the other slaves born into their status. She had known a different life, albeit briefly, where she was cherished and encouraged. Her father had taught her to ride and her mother had taught her to sing and sew. Most importantly they had taught her through their love that she was valued and important. So far, no whip or boot had convinced her otherwise.

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Yasmine had always had a soft heart for those weaker than herself. As a child she had delighted in nurturing the runt of a new litter of goats, or carefully splinting the wing of a baby bird that had taken a premature tumble from its nest. At age eighteen, dressed in castoff robes too small for her lanky frame, her face hollowed by hunger, she still made heads turn. She was singularly beautiful with dark, flowing hair, a lush mouth red as pomegranate juice and large, almond-shaped, clear gray eyes edged with smoky dark lashes. Those eyes made some people uneasy, the gray so clear it seemed silver in certain lights. Her mother had told her they were the eyes of a princess, but she had endured several beatings as a result of flashing “those insolent demon eyes” at her betters. Yasmine got into trouble most often when she saw others being preyed upon. When they were punished without cause or taken to task for something they had not done, Yasmine couldn’t seem to control her tongue. Invariably she would protest their innocence, drawing wrath away from the errant slave and onto herself. Zahra, a slave girl two years Yasmine’s senior though much smaller in stature, was lately the favorite target of the cook and the focus of her frequent bouts of bad temper and ill will. Yasmine knew the real reason for this selective treatment. A few months before, Zahra had accidentally witnessed Fatima’s consorting with a man, a male servant in the household. From an early age, Saudi women spent almost all of their time with other women. Even a free woman was only permitted adult male contact with her father, the relatives she could not legally marry and later, her husband and sons. In many Saudi houses— even poor ones—there are separate entrances and reception rooms for men and women. Yasmine’s household was no exception, and Fatima’s flirtation with the male servant, had it been discovered, could have resulted in a severe beating at best and her dismissal without references at worst, in itself a death sentence if she had no family to take her in. Zahra had been sent by another servant to get rice from the shed next to the kitchen where it was stored in large, sealed barrels. She had been scooping cupfuls into a burlap sack when she’d heard scuffling and feminine giggles. As she raised her head toward the sound, Fatima appeared from the shadows, her face flushed and dark eyes bright. Abdul, the gardener, had appeared behind her. They’d both frozen at the sight of the slave girl staring open-mouthed at the man. As a slave with no prospects of marriage, she’d never seen a grown man so close. She’d stood rooted to the spot for some seconds until Fatima had hissed at her to get out. From that day on Fatima seemed to find fault with everything Zahra did, boxing her ears for the slightest infraction and often sending her to bed hungry. One day Fatima had misplaced her favorite ladle. She accused Zahra of stealing it, just as the mistress of the household stepped into the kitchen to oversee the dinner preparations. Guests were coming to celebrate a holy day, and Atifah wanted to make sure everything was perfect so her husband would be pleased and allow the women to remain throughout the meal, rather than being sent away after formal greetings, as he sometimes decreed. Already on edge due to the impending arrival of the guests, Atifah 6

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overreacted, shouting, “A thief! So we have a thief in our midst! Fatima, why did you not tell me sooner! I’ll have her flogged! The master will not tolerate thieves in our household!” Atifah was not known for tolerance when slaves or servants were concerned, and even Fatima had felt the hard blow of her hand when Atifah lost her temper over some perceived infraction. Fatima started to backtrack but stopped mid sentence, perhaps seeing a way to finally get rid of the one witness to her improper behavior. Bowing obsequiously toward her mistress, Fatima said, “Well, I’ve never caught her red-handed, but she is a sneak and a liar so I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she were also a thief.” She smiled a thin, cruel smile as she spoke—she hadn’t directly accused the girl and thus couldn’t be held accountable for whatever happened next. She would let the mistress take over, as she had known she would. “Girl!” Atifah thundered toward Zahra, her double chins wobbling with indignation. “Do you know the penalty for thievery? I could have your hand cut off, you worthless slave! I’ve given you a roof over your head since you were born, you wretch! And this is how you repay me! By stealing my silver!” Zahra stood spellbound at her mistress’s furious display. “P-p-please,” she finally managed to gasp, “I would never, oh! Mistress, I would never do that! Cook is mistaken, please—” Atifah grabbed Zahra by her long, dusty braid, yanking her down to her knees. “How dare you accuse my faithful cook of lying! Fatima is beyond reproach! I would trust her with the life of my first-born son!” As Fatima puffed with pleasure at this rare—and untrue—compliment, Zahra paled and swayed on her knees, fear rendering her nearly senseless. At that moment Yasmine, a silent and horrified witness to the unfolding scene, blurted out, “Look behind the stove. That’s where it was the last time.” She hadn’t even meant to speak but now the words were out, curling like smoke in the air. The two women’s eyes swiveled toward Yasmine, standing tall, her eyes flashing with barely controlled anger as she watched Zahra slump forward in a faint. Atifah had never liked Yasmine, always having found her too beautiful for her own good. Atifah already had to compete with two other wives in the household, both younger and more beautiful than she. Her husband had been known to bed a servant or two over the years, though she doubted even he would bother with a mere slave. Still, Atifah had never trusted Yasmine, correctly assessing her strong nature, never a good trait for a slave girl. She preferred servants and slaves who would bow and scrape before her, as Fatima did. Now Atifah narrowed her eyes toward Yasmine, the unconscious Zahra at her feet almost forgotten. “How dare you address me directly, slave? How dare you speak to the mistress of this house as if you were my equal? Your insolence has earned you punishment along with this worthless wretch.” She prodded Zahra’s inert body with her slipper. “I will have Abdul personally whip each of you raw, and then you’ll spend a day without food or water in the shed, thinking over your behavior.” 7

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Yasmine was struck dumb by this decree. A whipping was bad enough, but a day in the hot, airless shed could result in dehydration and even death. She could only hope the cook would come to her senses and let them out before the sun rose too high in the sky. Yasmine glanced at Fatima who stood implacable, her large arms folded across her bony chest, her expression smug. Atifah swept out of the kitchen, no doubt going to find her eldest son, who would be instructed to find Abdul and give him his orders, as she herself would never speak directly to a male servant. Yasmine knelt next to Zahra, who was stirring awake on the cool stone floor. Zahra clutched at Yasmine as memory flooded back. Yasmine held the young woman as she sobbed against her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Fatima reach surreptitiously behind the stove, drawing out the ladle that she quickly secured in her robes, but not before Yasmine had witnessed that final betrayal.

***** The dinner was lavish, with roasted chicken, stewed goat with vegetables and saffron, fragrant rice and potatoes, dried dates, a variety of cheeses, lemon cake and sweet, sticky pastries filled with honey and nuts. Atifah was wearing her best gown, its full-skirted, long-sleeved yellow cotton heavily embroidered with gold thread so she fairly shimmered as she moved gracefully around the table, serving the menfolk, her eyes discreetly averted. She gave little thought to the two worthless slaves she’d ordered soundly punished. It was the only way to control them—break their spirit early to show who was mistress. Now her mind was on other things. Her husband had allowed her to remain at the table as the male guests were all relatives. He’d allowed the other two wives to remain as well, that irritated Atifah, though one would never have known her true feelings as she smiled tranquilly at her guests. She couldn’t help but stare at the one guest she had never met. She had been told he was a distant cousin, but he didn’t favor the rest of her husband’s family, who tended toward a swarthy squatness. This man was devastatingly handsome and Atifah knew the other women were sneaking indiscreet peeks as well. Taller by a head than any of the men at the table, his hair was a deep shade of brown. As she glanced at him, unfathomable smoky green eyes surveyed her from some concealed lair deep inside. She almost thought he was laughing at her, an arrogant curve to his lips. Atifah blushed hotly and looked quickly down. Her boldness at staring directly at him would embarrass and enrage her husband, a man of quick temper. The man’s name was Samir Yasin, and her husband said he came from the north of the peninsula and had agreed to grace their table in his travels. Her husband had not mentioned the bag of gold he had brought as a gift, but Atifah had her spies among the

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servants and knew this was the main reason a veritable stranger had been admitted into their home, relative or not. The man had the bold nose, high cheekbones and strong jaw one associated with a creature that survived on his hunting skills. His skin was pale but somehow golden, as if the very desert sun resided inside him. Perversely Atifah found herself aroused, her nipples perking on sagging breasts, her sex moistening between heavy thighs. When she dared to glance at him again, she observed with barely concealed irritation that his eye was now fixed on the youngest of the three wives, Nadirah, a slender girl barely out of her teens, her body still untouched by the ravages of pregnancy and repeated childbirth. Atifah compressed her lips and looked down, focusing on her stew. She would find some reason to punish Nadirah later, that, as the number one wife, she had the right to do. When dinner was over, the women were summarily dismissed while the men sat on, sipping their tiny cups of very strong coffee and talking in a low rumble of important things women had no need to hear. The men seemed to hang on Samir’s words as if he were their tribal leader, their expressions respectful and interested as he talked about his travels over the world. When the hour was late, Samir thanked his host and bid them all good night. He was staying at the finest inn in the town and professed exhaustion after his travels. He left the house through the front door and mounted his horse that the groom had waiting for him, freshly brushed and fed. The other men returned to the house, shutting the heavy wooden garden gate behind them to keep out any stray animals or thieves. The cool of the evening had finally overcome the blazing heat of the day and Samir licked his lips as he contemplated the meal ahead. For, though it had appeared he had eaten as everyone else at the table that night, in fact Samir had barely touched his food, simply moving it artfully around the plate. His true sustenance lay elsewhere as Samir was not in fact a distant relative of Atifah’s husband at all. He wasn’t even a human being, though he liked to move among them, pretending to be one of them. Samir was a vampire, and a dangerous one, in that he took blood without concern for human life, leaving a trail of fear and awareness in his wake. He had been chastised by the Elders of his circle for his indiscretion. It wasn’t that they valued human life per se—the mortals lived so briefly, what difference did a few years really make? But discretion was paramount if vampires were to move freely in human society, as they liked to do. Most vampires took only enough blood from their prey to satisfy, stopping before the life was drained. Their victims would awaken some time later, no conscious memory of what had befallen them, fevered dreams and tiny punctures in their skin the only evidence they had been visited by one of the true kin. Samir had been banished by his Elders from Europe for one hundred years as a result of his indiscretions. He could have ignored the injunction, but had decided he would visit his place of origin in the Arabian Peninsula. They were still an agrarian people in 1822, the population scattered and easy prey. He would take his fill among 9

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them, often pretending to be a rich, distant relative of these gullible folk, eager to bask in the reflected glory he seemed to offer. A little gold went a long way toward gaining admittance into the houses of merchants and noblemen. Once past their gates he would take his pick of slaves and servants, and sometimes even members of the family, especially the nubile, sheltered young women. He delighted in their terrified gasps in the moments before he rendered them unconscious and hypnotized them into forgetfulness. Often he would take his sexual pleasure as well, plunging his cock into a virgin entrance as he plunged his fangs into a delicate throat. He had to be careful though, as arousal sometimes obscured his judgment, causing him to suckle too long, inadvertently killing the young woman he had deflowered. He felt no particular remorse, but it was an inconvenience, as it necessitated his rapid departure before the death was discovered. Now Samir sat astride his horse, sniffing the air as he turned his head. There were humans about, somewhere nearby. He could smell the rich, bloody scent, as if it had been recently spilled. He felt his canine teeth distend with desire at the heady odor. Following the scent, he guided his horse around to the back of the establishment, dismounting near a back gate. The gate was bolted, but Samir was able to break it from its hinges with his shoulder, his vampire strength much greater than a mere human’s. Once in the back courtyard he surveyed the area, sniffing for the delicious blood he’d smelled a moment before. His eyes rested on a little shed as he stood quietly, making sure his illegal return to his host’s home had not been observed. Samir glided toward the shed, certain it housed the human he would use tonight. The door was locked from the outside. Samir slid back the bolt, correctly assuming an errant slave was spending the night in the shed as punishment for some infraction or other. Slowly he opened the door, breathing in deeply as the rich scent of human blood assailed his quivering nostrils. The room was dark, save for the moonlight Samir let in through the open door. He actually preferred the half-light, his sight keen as he surveyed the mortal lying inert on the dirt floor of the shed. He could sense she was still alive though her mind was closed to him as she slept. Cautiously he knelt down, his long fingers greedy to find the tender flesh beneath ragged robes. As he rolled her from her side he saw her robe was tattered, strips of cotton sticking to her bloodied back. A beating, he mused. What had this mere slip of a girl done to deserve such rough treatment? Bending over her, he pulled the robe, little more than a rag, up her body, revealing small, bare breasts and pantaloons covering narrow hips. His fangs ready, he felt his cock lengthen at the sight of this supple young virgin, so clearly unsullied by any other man. It had been some time since he’d both lain with and suckled from a woman. But now as he gazed down at the girl, still unconscious, her high breasts tipped a dusky rose in the moonlight, he let his sexual desire dictate his actions.

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Slowly he pulled the pantaloons down thin thighs, tossing them away before untying the sash of his own robes and opening the loose cotton pants beneath them. The girl sighed and moaned a little but otherwise did not come to as he lay his long, hard body across hers, taking her head in his hands. Bending her back, he found the pulse, weak but still thrumming beneath dirty skin. With the fierce pleasure of anticipation welling up inside him, Samir bit, easily slipping past skin and artery to the hot, red perfection of her blood. As he gulped, taking no heed of the risk, he pressed his cock at her sex, trying to push past her obviously virginal entrance. The girl moaned again, this time her eyes coming open, though she did not focus. With a savage thrust he entered her, aware he was tearing her flesh, which only excited him further. The girl cried out, pain fully waking her at last. Samir clamped a large, strong hand over her mouth as he silently hypnotized her back into unconsciousness. Her blood was bubbling sweetly against his tongue as he moved inside her. The exquisite combination brought him very close to a release after only a few moments. Just as he prepared to suck the woman dry and leave his vampire seed inside her, he heard a sound in the corner of the shed. Stilling, he released his death grip from the girl’s throat and listened. Someone was there. A witness. A witness who would have to be silenced.

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Chapter Two Yasmine stirred, wakening suddenly, her face still pressed against the cool, dirt floor. She had heard a noise, the sound of someone pulling back the bolt of the shed door. Quickly she rolled away from Zahra, still unconscious beside her in the center of the small room. Instinctively Yasmine hid behind the large barrels of rice. She assumed it was Abdul, come back to cause more harm. At dusk he’d come for them, both sent out into the courtyard by the cook to await their punishment. Zahra was already whimpering as they stood huddled together, Yasmine’s arms protectively around the smaller woman. When she saw Abdul, Zahra had begun to wail, watching him approach with the whip in his hand and a cruel gleam in his eye. He too was aware of the risk Zahra had posed since she’d seen him with Fatima that day in the shed. “Come,” he ordered gruffly, moving toward the shed, certain they would obey him, which they did. “Close your eyes and think of something sweet. Something you love,” Yasmine whispered urgently to the wailing Zahra. “Close your mind to the pain. It will be over soon.” Abdul turned and pulled Yasmine roughly by the arm. “You first, wicked girl!” Docilely Yasmine followed the gardener into the shed, trying not to betray the tremble in her limbs. She knew she had no recourse—if she fought him he would kill her and no one would question the death of a worthless slave. He bound her wrists and strung them up over a hook used to cure meats during the winter. Unlike a man, whose back would have been stripped bare for his whipping, at least Yasmine was spared this humiliation, as Abdul wouldn’t dare take such liberties. He struck her hard across the back and shoulders. Yasmine gasped and flinched with every blow, but didn’t cry out until the lash finally ripped the thin cotton of her robe, leaving bare skin to feel its cut. Abdul continued until Yasmine sagged against the hemp around her wrists, sweat stinging along the bloody welts he’d so cruelly raised. Abdul released her and pushed her with his foot as she sank to her knees. Zahra, who had been cowering by the door of the shed, her head in her hands as she cried bitterly, was next. Abdul was sweating, his face flushed and eyes bright. He smiled cruelly as he used the same length of rope to bind and hang the smaller woman’s wrists from the hook, forcing her up on tiptoe. Her robe was quickly reduced to tatters as the whip struck her frail body, drawing blood with each savage lash. Zahra mercifully fainted after only a few strokes, though Abdul continued to whip her to his satisfaction. Finally he let her down, catching her as she fell forward, taking

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the opportunity to slip his hands into the front of her robe as he settled her on the dirt floor. Glancing over at Yasmine, still lying on the floor curled in a fetal position, he withdrew his hands and grabbed the hemp, wrapping it around his knuckles as he stood up. “They said to leave you here, slave, to think on your sins.” Yasmine didn’t answer, staring back at him, her eyes cold with a hatred she couldn’t conceal. Her own beating had been bad enough, but being forced to witness poor Zahra beaten senseless had been almost more than she could bear. Abdul was the first to turn away. “Shameless harlot,” he hissed, embarrassed by her direct stare and shamed by the bald hatred he’d seen there. “I’ve given you nothing you didn’t deserve.” He spit in her direction and stamped from the shed, slamming and bolting the door behind him. Only after she was certain he’d gone did Yasmine permit herself the luxury of tears. She cried as she hadn’t in years, for her pain, for Zahra’s suffering, for the miserable dead-end life she led as an orphaned slave, for her parents who had loved her. She moved next to Zahra and put her arm around the bony shoulders of the one person left in the world she could call friend. At some point she must have drifted into a troubled sleep. Now several hours later she crouched fearfully behind the barrels, straining to hear. The moon let in some pale light but Yasmine didn’t dare move, fearing to draw attention to herself. Yet she knew she had to protect Zahra from further torture and humiliation. As she argued with herself on her course of action she heard someone entering, but so quietly she almost doubted there was anyone there. As she sat straining to hear, she became aware of the painful welts stinging along her back. Gingerly she reached back to touch the skin, still sticky with her blood. She stiffened as she heard a small moan. What was happening? She had to find out—Zahra could be in danger. Slowly she edged around the side of the outer barrel, poking her head out. What she saw stunned her for a moment into horrified inaction. A man was draped over Zahra, his body thrusting and swiveling in a way Yasmine was sure meant rape, though she’d had no personal experience with a man. She’d heard the whispered murmurs among the older servant girls and knew what copulation looked like from watching the goats. This man, whoever he was, was passing a death sentence on Zahra. If she were found despoiled like this, the fault would be solely hers to bear. She would be stoned for wanton behavior, with no thought as to her complicity in the matter. Rage filled Yasmine’s brain, pushing out fear. Adrenaline pumped through her veins giving her back the strength sapped by her missed supper and a severe beating. She edged forward on her knees, gathering the courage to attack, when the man lifted his head, tilting it in such a way that indicated he had heard something. Knowing she had to seize the moment, Yasmine hurtled from her hiding place and leaped onto the back of the stranger, wrapping her arms around his neck as she did so,

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without thought of her own safety. His shoulder was bare, his robe having slipped during his rape of the helpless girl beneath him. Using the only weapon at her disposal, she bit down hard on the man’s shoulder at the tender spot where neck and shoulder met. She tasted blood and recoiled a moment in horror at what she’d done. As the taste of it registered, a strange thing happened. Yasmine realized with a shock she had never tasted anything so sweet or perfect in her entire life. Without thinking, she bent back down to suckle the little wound, eagerly seeking the hot, delicious nectar without any understanding of what she was doing. Greedily she sucked the blood, feeling it heat her veins like liquid fire. Slowly the man stood with Yasmine still clinging to his back, the poor girl beneath him forgotten. Turning, he shook his shoulder, slinging Yasmine to the floor. “A fighting wench,” he breathed, his voice throaty and low with unrequited lust. Touching the wound at his shoulder, he stared back at Yasmine in disbelief. She licked her lips, stained with his rich blood. “More,” she mouthed, her eyes blazing though she barely knew what she was saying. He laughed and lowered himself to her, ripping her robes from her shoulders as he did so. Yasmine screamed and tried to cover herself, but the vampire easily pulled her arms aside, lifting her wrists over her head with one hand as he lay himself over her, ready to do to her what he’d just done to Zahra. As he pressed himself between her legs, the bloody wound at his shoulder brushed Yasmine’s lips. Even in her terror at what was happening, she again locked her lips against it, pulling the impossibly sweet blood from the gash. Samir’s cock was rock-hard as he slid it along the entrance of Yasmine’s sex. The sacred blood now coursing through her veins had aroused her sexually, though she didn’t understand what she was feeling. She barely registered the man atop her, except for that perfect liquid swirling into her mouth, coursing down her throat. Brazen human, the thought seeped into her dizzy brain. You know not what you do. I am vampire. This blood will change you. If I allow it, there is no going back. Yasmine was too absorbed in her task to register the fact someone was speaking inside her head. After a moment Samir inserted a finger into her mouth, releasing her hold. He pulled up and stared down at the girl, her eyes wild, her mouth red with his blood. Aloud he said, “Woman. I could kill you with a single blow. Now you have spilled the sacred blood. You have signed your own death warrant. And yet…” he paused, staring down at her beautiful full breasts tipped with brown nipples. She was thin—too thin—but lovely nonetheless, her skin an olive tan, her long, black hair splayed over the dirt floor around her shoulders. “And yet, what a lovely mortal you are. I see a change already. Something is glowing within you. You’ve stolen my scared blood. Perhaps, just perhaps, I’ll allow you to continue. Not in all my long years on this earth have I encountered a mortal such

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as you. One so lovely and so frail, yet one so courageous to take the blood of a vampire unbidden.” He bent back down, his mouth seeking her throat. As Yasmine struggled against him, he bit, his teeth easily penetrating the skin as vampire’s canines do not tear flesh as her human ones had done to him. Instead they pierce like fine needles, finding the rich lode beneath the skin, letting it bubble and bead into a ready mouth. Yasmine moaned and stilled as he sucked her blood, taking back what she’d stolen. As he did, instead of rendering her unconscious as vampire law dictated, he allowed her to be aware of what was happening. Perversely, he was intrigued with this strange, brazen human who had dared to bite one of the true kin, who had dared to suck from the sacred fount. Precisely because he was forbidden to do so, Samir now decided to allow this strange turn of events to continue. After he had suckled from the girl for a few minutes, he released his hold and again lowered his shoulder to her, all thoughts of raping her now forgotten. Samir craved new and dangerous experiences and this was certainly one! He would allow this human to become vampire, arrogantly violating edicts that forbid such a turning without preparation and express permission from the Elders of one’s circle. He’d already been banned from civilization as he defined it—which meant Europe— and thus considered himself at least temporarily beyond the confines of the Elders’ dictates. The fact the girl could easily die in the process if his blood proved too rich didn’t even enter his thoughts. Yasmine, now dazed and barely conscious, smelled the delicious vampire blood and roused, opening her mouth like a little bird’s as Samir offered himself again to her. She sucked, reopening the little wound with a gush of pungent, hot blood. She moaned with carnal, primal pleasure, giving herself over completely to an experience she did not understand, but one that would change her life forever in a way she could never imagine.

***** “What in Allah’s name…” Fatima stood at the door of the shed. Dawn filtered in a pink light that fell over the three figures on the ground of the shed. Samir leaped up, gathering his robes around him as he pushed past Fatima so quickly she almost thought she’d imagined there had been someone there. She looked around the little shed, taking in the scene. She had expected to find the worthless slave girls huddled together in a corner somewhere, repentant and waiting for their release. She’d planned to scold them some more and leave them to stew until midday. That would teach them to fear her properly! Instead she saw Zahra inert on the floor, her head tilted at an odd angle. She was naked beneath her torn and open robe and white as death. Yasmine was nearby, also

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unconscious and similarly bared, though her skin seemed almost to glow with a golden luminescence. Hurriedly Fatima bent over Zahra to cover her obscenely displayed body. The girl’s skin was icy to the touch and Fatima screamed, howling out to Allah to protect her. That man, whoever he had been, had raped the slaves and killed them! After a moment, Abdul and another servant came rushing to the shed at the sound of her wails. They stood frozen at the door at the sight of Fatima huddled over Zahra and of Yasmine nearby, her naked, young body still exposed. “Dead! Dead, dead, dead!” Fatima cried, “Raped and murdered! Allah, save us all!” Her words moved the men to action. “I didn’t kill them!” Abdul protested unnecessarily, not aware Fatima had seen the stranger flee from the scene. Hurriedly he bent down and covered Yasmine’s body with her tattered, bloodied robe, his fingers trembling with fear he would be blamed for their deaths, and worse, their defilement. As he touched the girl, she murmured and turned her head slightly. “She’s not dead!” he shouted, “Allah be praised, this one yet lives!” Fatima shook her head. “She would have been better off dead. Look at her. She is no longer a virgin. She will wish she was dead before this has played out, mark my words. The girl has been sullied. She is filth now. No man will touch her.” She spit toward the unconscious girl. Now the second servant moved forward. His name was Ibrahim and he worked in the stables. He was married with three children of his own and his heart ached for the poor slave girls. Cradling Yasmine’s head in his lap he ordered, “Cook! Stop standing there gaping and sniveling! Go get your mistress at once! This girl needs tending to. If she dies now, her blood will be on your hands! Go!” Fatima stared at him a moment and then turned, the command in his voice spurring her into action. It was not her mistress who returned, but the master himself, wrapped in his fine linen robes, a thick yellow sash at his waist. He touched his long gray beard as he surveyed the scene in the shed. Kaleb Ali almost never concerned himself with servants, and certainly not female slaves, but murder was something else again. His primary concern at the moment was to get these girls off his property. Some beggar no doubt had broken into the shed seeking rice and found nubile virgins instead. What point would there be to pursue a man surely long gone by now? Rape and death were not things Ali wanted associated with his good name or his fine household. Addressing Ibrahim, who seemed to be more in command of himself than the bowing and scraping Abdul, he said, “Get them out of here. I don’t care how you do it, but dispose of the dead one and sell the other. You may keep a quarter of the profits for your trouble, but I’ll want proof of the sale.” He turned on his heel and left the courtyard, eager to hurry to his mosque for morning prayers and to put the disturbing

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image in the shed behind him. He would deal with his stupid wife later, for allowing such discord into his home.

***** Yasmine opened her eyes. She was stiff but otherwise felt fine, if possible better than she ever remembered feeling. Where was she? Stretching, she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. She was on a soft pallet in a small room that contained two other pallets, a table with chairs and a cooking stove. This was someone’s quarters, someone’s home. “Mama, she’s awake!” a little voice cried out, and Yasmine saw a small boy in a white cotton top and pants, a red skullcap covering the top of his dark hair. A woman put her head into the room and smiled. Yasmine recognized the stableman’s wife Dalal. She must be in their little home over the stables. How had this come to be? “Praise to Allah.” Dalal brought her hands together in prayer. “She is awake! Yasmine, you terrible girl, you gave us all such a fright!” Yasmine sat up slowly on her pallet. She saw she was dressed in a new robe, much nicer than anything she’d ever had, though the sleeves only covered her long, slender arms three-quarters. She looked up at Dalal with a question in her eyes. Dalal said to her little son, “Boy, hurry and bring some hot tea and bread for Yasmine.” As the boy scurried into the small scullery that comprised the second room of their apartment, Dalal crouched next to Yasmine and asked softly, “What do you remember, dear? You’ve slept for two days! You must be starving.” Lightly she touched Yasmine’s arm in a motherly gesture. Yasmine’s large gray eyes widened as memory flooded back, the shield of sleep slipping away like a belly dancer’s veil from her mind. Gasping she touched her neck, feeling for the spot where the vampire had bitten her. She recalled it all—his rape of Zahra, her attack and the taste—oh the taste!—of that perfect offering. She realized as she turned toward Dalal that instead of feeling weak and hungry, she felt strong, as if she could leap up and run around the room. As the taste of the strange man’s blood slid through her mind, Yasmine did feel a kind of ache in her gut, but it wasn’t hunger, at least not the hunger as she was used to feeling. Dalal was waiting patiently for Yasmine to respond, no doubt assuming the poor girl was collecting her thoughts. Her eyes were wet with pity. Yasmine started to speak but stopped. What could she possibly say to this woman? Dared she admit what had transpired? Though she did not yet understand the import, she and a man—a vampire, he had said, whatever that was—had drunk each other’s blood! Over and over he’d allowed her to suckle from the torn flesh of his shoulder and even now she sighed with the memory of its sweetness.

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She must be mad! Perhaps the terror of the night—first the beatings and then the stranger bursting in—had addled her brain. She was no longer in her right mind. Be that as it may, she knew she mustn’t confide in this woman or in anyone for that matter. Instead she said, “I-I don’t remember much at all, ma’am. I was in the shed. Zahra and I were punished, you know.” She flushed with anger at the memory, which Dalal misinterpreted as shame. “Yes, there, there,” Dalal murmured, stroking Yasmine’s arm. “Poor dears. You must have been very wicked to incur the mistress’s anger. But what could such a girl as you have done to merit such harsh treatment?” She stopped and looked around, her hand on her mouth. “I must be quiet. Ibrahim says you never know who is listening.” She peered around her own little apartment again, seemingly satisfied there were no spies hidden beneath the table. “Poor Zahra, poor dear, she’s in a better place, let’s hope. This world was never kind to her.” Yasmine grabbed Dalal’s arm, her stomach dropping. “What? What are you saying! What happened to Zahra!” She remembered the vampire thrusting against the hapless girl beneath him. But dead? Tears obscured her vision as Dalal nodded sadly. “It’s for the best, dear. She was defiled.” Yasmine stared in horrified disbelief. Even this kind person seemed to believe a woman was better dead than without her “virtue”, as if such a thing even mattered for a slave with no prospects. Suddenly Yasmine paled, feeling sick with apprehension. If they knew what had happened to Zahra, even though Yasmine had not been raped, did they believe the same of her? “Oh Allah,” she murmured. “What of me?” Dalal’s small son came in at that moment, balancing a cup of tea and a pile of unleavened bread on a wooden tray. He set it down with a flourish and grinned proudly. He couldn’t have been more than six, and this was probably the last year he would take orders from his mother, a mere woman. Dalal handed the cup of tea to Yasmine and said, “Drink, dear. It will revive you.” Absently Yasmine sipped at the hot tea as Dalal said gently, “I don’t know how to tell you, so I’ll just say it. You are to be sold. The master doesn’t want you here any longer. You have,” she lowered her voice to a whisper as she looked toward her child now playing in a corner, “brought shame to his household.” Yasmine’s eyes widened and she felt indignation rising like a bitter gall inside her. “I! I was wrongly punished, whipped, locked in the shed, attacked by a madman—” She snapped her mouth shut—she had been about to reveal more than was prudent. Dalal again put her hands to her mouth and said, “Please. The child.” She added, her voice less warm, “We have taken you into our home, Yasmine. My husband has a huge heart. The master wanted you sold immediately, but Ibrahim wanted you at least to recover first. I can’t say as to your punishment, right or wrong. These things are not for us to say. But what’s done is done. It is Allah’s will, and you have no say in the 18

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matter. You might as well reconcile yourself to your fate. The master could have had you stoned to death, as you have been sullied just as Zahra—” “No! That isn’t true! Not that I see why a girl should be punished because some brute of a man forces himself upon her—” Dalal stood. “That’s enough. That’s enough, girl! You were born a woman, but you talk like a man! No wonder you were whipped, with a tongue like that in your mouth!” She left the girl, grabbing her son as she moved back into her small kitchen to prepare her husband’s midday meal. Yasmine lay back, suddenly exhausted. Sold! She was to be sold, and because she was considered “damaged goods”, she would be given to the first bidder, if anyone even bid on her at all. Tears slipped down her cheeks at her predicament. Though she had hated her life in Ali’s household, at least she was fed enough to stay alive and she had had Zahra for company… Zahra… That man, that mysterious stranger, had murdered Zahra and had done something to Yasmine she could not yet define. Whatever she was now, she knew it was not what she used to be. Dimly she recalled his words. I am vampire. This blood will change you. If I allow it, there is no going back. What had he meant? Again she felt strength rising like a fiery sap in her veins. Would she passively accept this turn of events, allowing herself to be bundled off and sold to whoever would accept “damaged goods” at a discount? She stood, stretching her limbs, feeling strong and limber, ignoring the slight ache in her belly. Were they so sure of her docility they’d left only a single woman and a small boy to guard her? So much the worse for them! Surveying the room, she spied two silver goblets on a sideboard. Whispering to Allah to forgive her, she hid them in the pocket of her new robe and retied the sash. Silently she moved toward the door, taking Dalal’s outer black coat and veil from its hook. Praying she would be mistaken for the stableman’s wife, she opened the door as quietly as she could and slipped down the old back stairs behind the stable. If they caught her, they could do no more than kill her. Suddenly spending even one more day as a slave seemed a fate worse than death. There was no one to witness the slender figure shrouded in black as she glided through the gate and away from a life of servitude and misery. She never looked back.

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Chapter Three Ya’acov and Yael, Elders of the Crescent Circle of vampires, sat across from David Lawrence, and to a human observer it might seem they were simply staring at him. In fact they were telepathically communicating as vampires could, sending their thoughts directly to his mind. David nodded and stood, his directive clear. Apparently that rogue Samir Yasin had worked yet more mischief, this time of a much more serious nature than simply killing his human prey when he took the blood. The Elders, who usually resided in what was then still called Palestine, had summoned David to a small Arabian town on the Persian Gulf where they maintained a dwelling, to find and claim the fledgling vampire they were aware was now in their midst. As Elders, they were telepathically connected on some level to all members of their circle. When a new vampire entered the fold, a rare occurrence resulting either from a new birth or a turning, they could sense the new life. There were four other Elders of the Crescent Circle, ancient vampires who had lived several thousand years and had assumed the mantle of leadership over their circle of vampires scattered across the world. Because Ya’acov and Yael were local to the region, they had been the first to sense the new life, created or born some three days prior. Sending out psychic feelers, Yael, highly skilled at long-range telepathy, had connected with Samir and for a brief moment had entered his mind, seeing the image of a young Arab woman, black glossy hair, huge gray eyes filled with terror, the sacred blood now flowing in her veins. They had known Samir was in the Arabian Peninsula, after having been banned from Europe for his careless, dangerous ways. David would have preferred to hunt Samir, his passion for adventure far outweighing any desire to nurse some terrified and confused fledgling. Yet the Elders’ decree was law and he would obey. Others would have the task of seeking the now outcast Samir. David’s mission was clear. “We’ve pinpointed the location of the fledgling as Riyadh, a settlement town about a hundred miles west of here. We don’t know what she knows or if she was complicit in the turning. You will have to find her and discover these things for yourself.” David rode a strong stallion, his golden blond hair blown back by the wind as he leaned forward, urging his horse over the desert sands. A native of England, David, as did most vampires, loved to travel. He was fluent in many languages, including Arabic. The luxury of hundreds of years to learn a language was a decided advantage. Just past midnight, David approached Riyadh, his horse sweating with exertion though the cool of the desert night was now upon them. Vampires need far less sleep 20

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than humans, so he was able to ride for hours, limited only by the endurance of his steed. He’d been able to purchase a second fresh horse along the way in exchange for his exhausted one and a little silver. At length he rode into the town and found an inn. After much banging on the tin gate, an old man finally shuffled forward, calling out, “Who goes there?” “A weary traveler,” David answered in flawless Arabic. “One in need of a bed and with silver to pay for it.” The gate was opened and the old man peered up at the tall stranger, dressed in the headgear and robe that were the custom of his people, but finer than he was used to seeing. David’s robe was dyed a deep blue, though the hem was gray with dust. With bowing deference in the face of obvious wealth, the man showed him to a private room, one of several that faced a little courtyard, each room with its own entrance. Once inside the room, David stripped and made use of the pitcher and basin on a small table to wash himself as best he could. He dressed again in a clean cotton robe, this one black, with a wide scarlet sash, covering black linen pants and high black boots of leather. He again added the traditional Arab head garb to cover his blond hair. For good measure he placed a scimitar through the loop in his sash created for the purpose. As he had entered the town, he had been on the alert for some sign of the fledgling. Individual scent is very strong between vampires and is one of the prime ways, along with telepathic connection, that they could find one another hidden amongst the unsuspecting humans. For a moment as he had moved along a main boulevard, he thought he had caught a scent, something fresh and flowery, feminine and definitely vampire. But as he’d turned to follow it, it had seemed to vanish. He stepped out into the darkened courtyard, lit only by a thumbnail moon. He put one booted foot on the fountain at the courtyard’s center and rested his forearm on his thigh. For a moment he studied the dark waters in the pool, gathering his thoughts. He had caught a scent, so she was somewhere close by. The hour was late so perhaps she was sleeping, still used to her human ways. She would be harder to find while asleep as her thoughts would be stilled and she would probably be indoors somewhere, less easy to detect. Feeling restless and a little hungry, David decided to use the time until dawn to satisfy his blood-thirst. Leaving his horse at the inn’s stable and tipping the sleepy stable boy handsomely to see to it, he moved along the deserted streets, almost invisible in his black robes, only the curve of his golden sheath glinting in the moonlight. He walked until he came to narrower streets and dark little alleys, dank with refuse and crowded with empty crates and barrels. Unlike Europe, where a vampire could easily find ready prey, here most of the people were followers of Islam and as such took no alcohol. Thus the usual assortment of drunken beggars passed out in doorways and back alleys was not so readily available.

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Slowly David slipped along an alley, sending out his telepathic feelers to connect with the humanity within the thin walls of the shacks in this poorest part of town. At the end of the alley, behind the last paint-chipped blue door he sensed a single presence. Someone old and enfeebled. Easy prey. Effortlessly pressing past the flimsy lock on the door, he was inside in a moment, moving swiftly toward a straw pallet on the floor. The room was hot and close, with only a slit in the wall for a window and it reeked of dirt and death. Kneeling before the old man, David touched his throat, feeling for the pulse, which was there, though weak. The man’s breathing was labored as he snuffled and snored in his sleep. This was a mortal not long for this world, David felt certain. Still, he did not intend to hasten his death, but only to take what he needed to ease the ache in his gut. Carefully he lowered himself so his now distended canines were at the jugular. With graceful ease he pierced the gray flesh and found the life-sustaining elixir just below, as sweet and hot as any mortal’s. Greedily David took his fill, the man never even stirring. Just in case he should rouse, David sent the telepathic signals to assure continued unconsciousness. He could feel the man’s suffering and knew he was in pain. Rest easy tonight, father, David whispered in the man’s dreams, for soon you will be in paradise, with all the fruit, honey and beautiful virgins you could wish for. The man shifted and sighed, a slight smile now on his face as David took his leave, the only proof he had been there the two tiny holes lost in the sagging wrinkles at the old man’s throat. Feeling refreshed and invigorated from the feed, David moved again through the little alleys and streets, gravitating toward the marketplace that was at the center of the town. His senses were heightened by the new blood coursing through his veins and his head swiveled toward a long two-storied building that housed several permanent stores. That scent, light and sweet as fresh jasmine blossoms after a rain, tickled his nose. She was nearby! He decided to rest a while as dawn was fast approaching and soon the storefronts would be opening. Time enough to search when he could blend more easily into the early morning crowd of shoppers. As the sun rose red into the graying sky the shops and little stalls began to open. The owners emerged and with a harsh rattling, raised metal night grilles from their windows. Displays were adjusted. The butcher slapped down pink slabs of meat on his enamel shelving. Chickens with their necks just wrung were hung by bound feet in a neat row over one stall with fresh eggs placed below on the little counter alongside fresh and dried dates, leafy green vegetables, barrels of fragrant rice and jars of honey. Delicious smells of fresh loaves of yeast bread and sugared doughnuts emanated from the bakery.

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David stood quietly against a wall, melting into the shadows with vampire skill, his senses alert as he sought his quarry. Amidst the many smells of the marketplace he suddenly caught the scent again, flowery and seductive. Mostly men were about, making their purchases and sharing news of the day over little cups of strong coffee. He saw a few women, shrouded in the black costume of their people and herded by men as if they were cattle. Keenly observant, he noticed a slender figure hovering near but not quite with a family. Her robe was too short and he thought he caught a hint of ankle. The feet were bare. He watched as long, elegant fingers slipped from the robe and plucked a handful of figs from a table piled high with the luscious fruit. There could be no doubt—it was she! The woman glided from the market, hurrying alone down an alleyway. Just a woman alone was enough to cause as stir, but in the early morning bustle no one had seemed to notice. David followed stealthily behind, waiting to see what she would do. The girl darted through a door that clicked shut behind her. In a moment David reached the door and opened it, seeing a narrow flight of stairs through another door, this one left open. He mounted the stairs, which rose steeply past the two stories of the building and ended at the rooftop. Slowing now, David cautiously put his head over the top and scanned the area. As he climbed the last of the stairs, he saw several large crates scattered about the flat roof—the space was being used for storage during the dry summer months. It was a perfect hiding place for someone with no place else to go. Standing still, David closed his eyes and entered the mind of the person nearby. He sensed grief, anger, guilt and fear, but this was overlain with something approximating joy. Intrigued David moved closer. He saw a golden-skinned leg, the shapely calf of a young woman, dust etching the firm, strong muscle. Experimentally he sent a thought to her, to see if she would respond in kind. One of the true kin has come for you. All will be put to rights now. You are safe. The leg disappeared as the girl let out a tiny audible gasp. No telepathic response was received, but David had realized that was a long shot. A vampire’s telepathic skills had to be developed and honed. The ability to interpret feelings came first and then actual thoughts. It was far easier to receive the thoughts than to send them. Still not directly confronting her, David spoke aloud. “Fledgling. You have been turned by someone of the true kin. You are one of us now. You are a member of the Crescent Circle by virtue of the blood now flowing in your veins. You are vampire. Show yourself. I come in peace.” Instead of appearing gratefully in front of him as David had expected, the girl seemed to vanish, her scent now blunted, her thoughts muffled. He moved forward to find her, walking swiftly past the crates and peering around them for her.

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Baffled, he came to the edge of the roof and turned back, trying to see where she was hidden. He sensed she was no longer there and turned toward the front of the roof, now spying a little metal ladder nailed down the side of the old stone wall. The girl had given him the slip! Foolish fledgling! Quickly he descended the ladder, catching her scent again as he pursued her. What had been a babysitting assignment was in fact becoming rather an adventure! Intrigued and challenged, David pursued the girl, catching a swish of her robes as she rounded a corner just ahead of him. Just as he got to the square someone shouted and he heard a girl’s cry. He stopped, standing back against the wall to see what was happening. His fledging had run straight into a group of surprised men. “Who claims this girl! She cannot be out alone! Shame on you, wicked girl! Where do you belong?” A stout man with a long black beard had pudgy fingers curled tight around the girl’s arm. When she didn’t answer, he slapped her face, ripping her veil as he did so. No one moved to intervene. David moved from the shadows, his eyes falling on the most beautiful young woman he had even seen. His breath caught in his throat as he studied her. Her face was grimaced in fear, though her gray eyes flashed with something like defiance. Acting quickly, David stepped forward and said in an icy, haughty tone, “How dare you handle my wife’s slave girl! I should have you beaten for removing her veil! Unhand her at once, sir! I will take care of her.” The man dropped Yasmine’s arm as if it suddenly burned his fingers. He stepped back, bowing obsequiously. David, broad-shouldered and tall in his fine robes with the scarlet sash round his trim waist, could have passed for Arabian nobility. The long curving sword at his side helped discourage any further protest. No one seemed to notice his eyes were blue. Gently David took the girl’s arm, whispering in her head, Foolish child. Don’t run away again. I have been sent for you. I am here to help you. Yasmine turned terrified eyes to David, but she went with him, perhaps deciding he was the lesser of two evils. David led her confidentially away from the crowded marketplace, and though the fat little man glowered after them, he made no move to follow. As they walked along the few blocks to his inn, the girl’s arm firmly in his grip, David mused on her youth—she was barely more than a child! What could Samir have been thinking to turn a mortal such as this, an Arabian girl who had probably never even seen a man up close, much less felt the pierce of his teeth or tasted the sweetness of his sacred blood! Turning was permitted, though David himself had never sought permission to do so. It was dangerous for both human and vampire as one or the other could become sapped, stripped of the blood necessary to continue. Usually it was the human who died in the process. Only with full awareness and prior permission could such an act be

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undertaken. David knew no permission had been obtained and was certain this girl had had no understanding of what was happening to her. Samir had lost the right to be vampire when he turned a human without regard for the edicts of his kind. He was dangerous, a rogue who had violated the secrecy necessary for the true kin to survive in this world. What David wouldn’t have given to be the one in pursuit of such a madman. Ah well, that hunt was for others this time. David had done his duty—he’d found the fledgling.

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Chapter Four Yasmine sat huddled on the bed. She had never actually sat on something so soft and yielding but she barely noticed. The man who had taken her from the street sat at the little table across the room, quietly looking toward her, seeming to size her up. She looked back, somehow sensing this was permitted though normally she would never have dared look a male older than eleven straight in the face. Though she’d never been alone with a man before, this was obviously no ordinary man. He had entered her thoughts as that other man, that vampire had done. But unlike the other man, whose intentions were cruel, Yasmine sensed an innate kindness. She was fascinated by his face, certainly the most unusual and beautiful face she had ever seen. His eyes were not black or brown, or even gray like hers, but blue as the desert sky. His nose was long and straight and his mouth looked like it might smile easily, though now his expression was somber. His skin was pale and shaven clean like a boy’s, unlike the men Yasmine was used to, all of whom wore long beards of black, graying as they aged. Since she’d taken the blood of the vampire, Yasmine was more keenly aware of her surroundings. Colors seemed brighter and scents were stronger. This man next to her had a particularly wonderful smell—of fresh leaves just crushed for seasoning a stew, and the clean freshness of the rare rains that blessed the desert lands. She startled as he removed his headdress, revealing thick blond hair that looked as if streaks of sunlight had been painted through it. It hung in soft waves against a strong well-muscled neck. She blushed hotly and turned away as he removed his outer robes, revealing a white linen shirt opened at the throat, and a V of dark blond curling chest hair. Strongly muscled thighs were covered in fine black leather that molded to his body like a second skin. A strange sort of heat seemed to emanate from Yasmine’s loins, not altogether unpleasant but certainly new. She realized she was trembling, exhausted from her ordeal in the shed and from days of hiding in alleys and on rooftops while she tried to come up with a plan for a new life. She had thought to sell the stolen cups with a vague idea of getting silver and finding someone to take her away from Riyadh, perhaps to another town where she could find work as a servant. As her head had cleared, she had quickly realized the futility of her plan. No one would buy those obviously stolen goblets from a runaway slave girl. No one would agree to transport her. No one would ever give her work without references and without a man to present her.

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No, all she could hope for was to be able to steal enough food to stave off starvation until she could either come up with a better plan or give herself over to the mercy of her master. Oddly, the food she was able to procure did nothing to alleviate the ache in her gut, an ache that had seemed to grow more intense and insistent with each passing hour. Even the luscious figs she had managed to grab, while pleasing to her palate, had done nothing to satisfy a hunger she couldn’t define. She wanted to speak to this stranger—this savior who had chased her into the arms of the townsmen only to take her back from them. Yet her tongue was tied with shyness and fear. Help me, she silently implored. The man took in a sharp breath and tilted his head. “Quite adroit for one so new,” he said aloud. When Yasmine didn’t respond he added, “You sent a thought to me! An unusual talent for one so recently turned. I will help you. I have been charged to help you and to teach you and to take you home.” Yasmine began to cry, as absurd hope fluttered up to fight with the utter confusion in her head. He was going to help her! Or at least he wasn’t going to kill her or sell her. Relief flooded through her veins, leaving her weaker than even the lack of food and the constant terror of the last few days had done. As the man stood to approach her, she curled into herself, as if she could disappear. Perhaps she had been wrong, and now he would defile her as the other vampire had tried to do. As she lay down in an effort to hide from him, she sank into the thick featherbed. He had not come closer, perhaps sensing her terror. Sleep, little one. It was a command, and one she couldn’t seem to help but obey. Even weighed down with fear and misery, she fell into an almost instant sleep, unconscious by the time he reached her. David sat next to the sleeping girl, lightly touching her soft cheek with two fingers. He had probed her mind and heart as she sat huddled on the bed, trying to decide how best to approach the situation. David had walked the earth for several hundred years, conceived under a blue moon by two vampires and born in England during the reign of Charles I. Once vampires achieve maturity, their aging process ceases to mimic that of humans, instead slowing to no more than ten years for every three hundred mortal years. Thus in 1822 he looked barely twenty-five, but had the experience of several lifetimes. He had advised kings and made love to queens, slipping into women’s beds as easily as he entered their hearts but remaining impervious to their charms. Oh he enjoyed mortal women, make no mistake, but David was a very careful man, reserve an essential part of his nature. He would never do something as foolish as fall in love with a mortal woman, only to watch her age and die while he himself barely changed from century to century.

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He had lain with vampire women as well, though much more rarely. Vampires tended to come together with a fire that burned brightly but sputtered out with time. Who, after all, can sustain such passion for decades, much less centuries? Most vampires, jaded by long life, avoided one another as lovers, preferring the easy love of adoring mortals. It was thus much easier to keep their own hearts shielded with an indifference sometimes feigned but that all too often became real. David found it simplest to avoid love altogether. As he smoothed back the disheveled black tangled hair from the waif’s delicately featured face, he felt his heart seize with a painful little ache he had almost forgotten existed. Her scent was intoxicating—the spicy, sweet smell of fresh jasmine blossoms. She looked so vulnerable and helpless lying there completely at his mercy, with no friend in the world to come to her aid. He traced his finger down that impossibly soft cheek to her throat, feeling the delicate pulse. He felt his canines distend just slightly and mentally chided himself. Now was not the time to even think of sharing sacred blood! Certainly not with a fledgling. He sat a while longer gazing at her lovely face, at the thick fringe of dark lashes soft against her rounded cheek. Her skin was pale, its normal olive tone muted with the vampire blood running hot in her veins. There was the telltale golden glimmer of her vampire essence, but her pale, waxen color could not be entirely blamed on her new blood and suddenly David realized the reason—she was hungry! Of course! She had been turned without knowledge of her condition or what she must do to sustain herself. When she awakened, he would teach her to hunt and take her prey. He would give her the gift of sustaining herself. He would teach her the vampire ways, just enough to give her a start. Then he would deliver her to the Elders and let them take over the job of babysitting a fledgling.

***** Yasmine stirred and moaned, her mind slowly awakening from blood-soaked dreams. The vampire was sitting in his chair, staring out at the darkening sky. She must have slept the day away. Sensing she had awakened, he turned toward her and said, “I hope your sleep was restful. I realize we haven’t even exchanged names. My name is David. David Lawrence of the Crescent Circle. I am, as you already know, though you don’t yet understand its import, a vampire. “You too are a vampire, newly turned by someone without the right to bestow such a gift upon you. Yet you survived the turning, a testament to your strength and courage. What is your name, little one?” “Yasmine,” she whispered. David’s eyes widened and then he laughed. “How perfect! Your scent matches your name. Like the fresh blossoms of flowering jasmine just after a spring rain.” Yasmine 28

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colored and looked down as David continued. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to embarrass you. I know you’ve been sheltered from the company of men, or I presume that is so. Is it not?” As Yasmine nodded he went on. “If you can, I need you to tell me what happened. I know a vampire, a rogue called Samir Yasin, shared his sacred blood with you in a dangerous exchange that could have easily resulted in your death. How did this come to be? How could you, a slave girl, have come into such intimate contact with a vampire?” Yasmine swallowed, her mouth dry. The ache in her gut was a constant now and unconsciously she pressed her hand against her flat belly. She wanted to speak, to answer this man whose intentions she sensed were good. How to explain what had happened in the shed? The humiliation of the punishment, the terror of the intruder, the horror of Zahra’s murder and her own physical confrontation? The sweet, hot perfection of that unexpected elixir dripping like life into her mouth— David said softly, “Forgive me. I’m rushing you, I can see that. I sense some of what happened from your thoughts, though they remain something of a jumble.” He smiled gently. “There is time, all the time in the world now for you to share the tale. You have pain, yes? An ache in your gut that feels like someone is twisting a knife?” Yasmine nodded, surprised he knew this. “You are hungry, fledgling. You need to feed. We are vampires, Yasmine. Have you heard tales of vampires in your folklore?” As Yasmine shook her head no, he nodded thoughtfully. “No, this is not Europe where tales abound about the ‘creatures of the night’. Though we do travel the world, most of us prefer Europe and thus, I suppose, do the most mischief there. “Vampires are a different people, different from humans, though alike in appearance for the most part. We have a different sort of blood, a blood we call the sacred blood, as it only flows in the veins of the true kin. Vampires are long-lived, not like humans who pass from birth to old age in a matter of decades. “Vampires can live for well over two thousand years, as long as accident does not overtake them. We do not suffer the ravages of illness peculiar to humans. Only the loss of the sacred blood without its replenishment causes death, until at last old age claims even the true kin. “Humans can be ‘turned’—given the sacred blood in an exchange that gives them the same advantages and needs of a born vampire. The process is risky and should never be done lightly. Often the human perishes in the exchange, because vampire blood is too rich for most mortals to tolerate. And making the decision to live for centuries instead of decades is not one to be made without grave consideration as life takes on quite a different meaning when time means almost nothing. “Vampires tend to lack that fiery passion for life short-lived mortals possess. An almost endless tedium and boredom can beset a vampire, leaving them listless and aimless as they travel the world incessantly in search of some intensity of experience.

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“Yet you, little flower, have been turned without understanding or consent, that much is clear. Because you were turned by one of the Crescent Circle, you are now one of us. The Elders sensed your creation and sent me to discover your whereabouts and teach you our ways. “But I’m talking too much!” He laughed a little self-consciously. “You need to feed. Now that night has fallen, I will take you out and teach you to take the blood of humans without doing harm to them. Many vampires are indifferent to human life, though I am not. Indifferent or not, they must exercise caution so as not to attract attention to themselves. Thus we learn to feed only when necessary and to spare the life of our prey whenever possible.” David stood and held out his hand. “Come. It is time. You must feed, especially as you are new and still acquiring your strength.” Yasmine stood and timidly put her hand into David’s. She felt a warmth flood through her as he gently closed his fingers around hers. Again the warmth heated her cheeks and made her feel terribly shy. As they slipped quietly out of the little room Yasmine realized she never wanted him to let go of her hand. She had heard stories, whispered among the servants, about marriage and the closeness of a man and his wife. She knew they not only held hands, but shared much greater intimacy. Not the horrid violation she’d seen that wretch commit on Zahra and attempt with her, but something special and secret just between two people whose hearts were meant for one another. Of course she knew most marriages were arranged with the couple having little or no say in the matter, and certainly the woman had no say! But sometimes, so she had heard during the rare times when she’d been privy to servants’ gossip, sometimes the couple was actually in love, wishing only to be together. Back then she’d given little thought to such fancy, knowing she herself was destined to remain alone, always a slave in someone’s kitchen with no chance of a husband or family of her own. Indeed, at the age of eighteen, she was already considered several years past the ideal age for a girl to be married. How amazing then to be walking along next to this tall stranger, her hand held in his warm embrace, her heart brimming with more than just gratitude. She gazed at his strong profile and imagined for one ridiculous moment kissing his cheek, lingering over his lips… David glanced back at her, his expression bemused and Yasmine turned sharply away, painfully aware he might have been reading her girlish thoughts. He said nothing however, and continued to hold her hand in his. They walked along narrow alleys, moving very quietly. An old woman was sitting alone on a little step outside a narrow door, one in a row of conjoined houses. She can’t sleep, David whispered into Yasmine’s mind, making her jump a little. She’s hoping the moon will calm her and allow her to return peacefully to her bed. We will help her to sleep. He smiled sardonically as he sent these thoughts her way.

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Yasmine watched wide-eyed as he stealthily approached the old woman. She was gazing at the moon and didn’t hear his silent vampire tread until he was upon her. With practiced skill he pinched a nerve at the base of her neck, at the same time sending a hypnotic message to her brain to assure she remained unconscious while Yasmine fed. Gesturing for her to hurry over, David bared the woman’s neck and whispered, “There. Just there. You will bite and feel the artery. Take the blood. Don’t suck too hard at first—let it flow up to you. Concentrate on swallowing and evening the flow with your suck once it slows.” Yasmine crouched, barely understanding what he was saying. How could she possibly do this? She hadn’t the knowledge or the skill! She was at once horrified and drawn toward the idea of sucking this woman’s blood. For several moments she sat still, unable to begin. Finally the intense memory of the other vampire’s rich blood sliding like heaven down her throat gave her desire, and sheer hunger gave her courage. “I don’t know how,” she murmured, even as she bared vampire canines already distending with bloodlust. “You do. It’s a part of what you are now. Just let your senses take over. Hurry!” Yasmine bent and touched the old woman’s sagging neck with her teeth. Lightly she bit against the rubbery flesh and was surprised to find her teeth went straight through. She had acquired the vampire needlelike ability to pierce the flesh without ripping it and she bit more confidently now, striking the artery beneath, easily piercing it as well. A puddle of blood suddenly gushed up into her mouth, making her choke with it until she could swallow sufficiently. Oh! It was delicious! Not as rich or pure as the sacred blood she had first tasted, but heavenly just the same. She felt its coppery red heat coursing through her body, filling her with a wild, heady strength. Greedily she suckled, eager not to miss a drop as she released her grip, using only her lips and tongue now to draw the sweet nectar into her system. After a moment, surely it had only been a moment, David was pulling her away, forcing her to stop the suckling, forcing her to stand and move away. For an instant she felt a blaze of anger. How dare he stop her in her feed! She must have more! She must! Even her newfound strength was no match for his however, and he pulled her along the alleyway just as an old man opened the door behind the old woman and let out a hoarse cry upon seeing his wife slumped over unconscious on their little stoop. “Not bad for a first time,” David laughed as he continued to hurry his charge along the alley and away from the scene. “I’d say you’re a natural.” For the first time in memory Yasmine smiled, her teeth glowing white in the moonlight, her gray eyes flashing with pleasure and some new inner strength that David found even more alluring than her shy, girlish trepidation. As they reentered the little room, Yasmine laughed, a sweet, lush sound that thoroughly entranced David. He caught his breath as she whirled suddenly, her robe flying up to reveal those long, shapely legs. 31

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“I feel amazing!” she cried, the blood coursing like fire inside her, giving her courage and energy like nothing she’d ever experienced before. The numbing terror of the past few days seemed to melt away as she began to appreciate the amazing the new potential her life now held. In a gesture completely uncharacteristic of the slave girl she no longer was, Yasmine reached up and put her arms impulsively around the man who had rescued her and given her, her first life-giving blood. As her soft lips met his, it was David who sighed.

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Chapter Five “Please, sir. Before we go. There’s something I would put right, if it were possible.” It would soon be dawn and now that Yasmine had regained some strength from her feed, David felt a rising sense of urgency. “They’ll be looking for you. I’m sure they are already. My appearance in the marketplace was bound to have caused a stir as I appeared quite literally from nowhere. We need to get you out of here. Out of Arabia altogether, to somewhere where slavery is outlawed and women aren’t treated like chattel.” Yasmine, unaware such places existed, was in awe at the thought of such freedoms. Yet as David handed her the clothing she was to wear for the flight—a boy’s robe and male headdress, for she would travel as his son if they were stopped—she pulled the silver goblets from the borrowed robe she had been dressed in by the stableman’s wife. “And what is this?” David asked, taking the cups and examining them. They were crude affairs, clay plated in silver and etched with simple geometric designs. Yasmine blushed and looked at the ground. Softly she said, “I-I stole them. From the stableman’s house. I thought perhaps somehow I could trade them for food, for passage out of here. I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time.” “No, of course you weren’t. It’s amazing you were able to escape at all. Some time when we are not pressed, you must tell me the whole story. I want to know all about you.” Yasmine’s blush deepened, this time not from shame, but from a confused pleasure. Never had any person other than Zahra, not since her beloved parents had died, expressed the slightest interest in any aspect of Yasmine’s life. As long as she worked like a mule, kept her eyes averted and her thoughts to herself, they were content to leave her be. The only attention she received was negative in the form of kicks and blows when she forgot herself and let her temper give voice to her tongue. “Please, sir,” she tried again. “David, you must call me David. We are kin now, you and I.” Softly Yasmine echoed his name, both of them using the Semitic pronunciation of Dah-veed. She continued. “Do you think there is any way we could return these goblets? Ibrahim was supposed to sell me. I’m sure the master was very angry when he discovered I’d escaped. And poor Ibrahim was the one who insisted I be nursed before they sent me away. He risked himself for me and I betrayed him by stealing the one thing of value he owned.” “Remarkable,” David murmured to himself. To think this young woman who’d known nothing but harshness and cruel treatment still possessed a conscience and

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sympathy for someone she felt she had wronged. David doubted this Ibrahim had given much thought to Yasmine’s wellbeing, but was more likely interested in her recovering her health so as to fetch a higher profit! Nonetheless, he wasn’t going to dampen the naïve, sweet spirit of this girl. “You show me where they live. It’s risky, but your intentions are noble and I shall honor them if I can. But hurry. Dawn is fast approaching.” While Yasmine sat astride David’s horse, stroking the soft flank of the large animal, he settled the bill with the sleepy innkeeper and then mounted behind her. Yasmine shivered with an uncontrollable pleasure as his strong legs gripped hers. His arms came around her as he took the reins and spurred his horse forward. Yasmine hugged herself, touching her bare nipples beneath the robe. They seemed to ache, but the ache was not unpleasant. She pressed on them to ease the tingling but they only seemed to stiffen further, especially when David’s legs hugged hers as he guided the horse. It wasn’t long before they arrived at the property that had been Yasmine’s home and her jail for the past eight years. She began to tremble and a little whimper of terror escaped her lips. “I made a mistake! Oh, we should not have returned. I shall be killed. They will find me.” “Shh, shh, hush now, little one. You are safe with me. I have the goblets. We will rest the horse here in this glade behind the property. Those are the stables, correct? And you say he lives above them? I’ll go up the back steps and leave the goblets by the door. You can even give him some gold if you like. We can leave it in the cups and then these goblets will really be worth something!” “You mock me, sir,” Yasmine answered softly. “I have no gold. I have nothing.” “Ah, but you’re wrong, little one. As we ride from here I will begin to tell you of our ways. Suffice it now to say that each vampire in a circle is bequeathed with their own wealth at the time they become vampire, either by birth or by turning. Your wealth is already waiting for you to claim it. The Elders will be compiling a portfolio of riches for you—jewels, gold, silver, paper money deposited in banks all over the world. You are a wealthy woman, Yasmine. The richest slave in all of Arabia!” He laughed with delight at her incredulous expression. He saw she didn’t yet believe him nor quite understand what he was saying. She had probably never seen paper money and certainly had no idea what a bank was! But she would learn. There was time—all the time in the world. Now he simply said, “I’ll just be moment. I’ll leave these goblets and I’ll lend you a bit of gold if you like. Shall I?” Yasmine nodded. She stayed hidden in the shadows with the horse as David slipped silently toward the gate. It was some minutes before he returned and Yasmine had started to feel a hot edge of panic in her belly. He had been caught! She would be found as well and this brief sunlight in the long darkness that had been her previous life would be doused forever.

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But David reappeared, leaping nimbly onto the horse and steering it through the trees. It wasn’t long before they came to open desert and David spurred the horse, shouting, “Ya! On to freedom!” Several hours later as they rested by a stream on a little oasis complete with date trees and a waterfall, Yasmine asked, “Excuse me, sir, but what took so long back at the house? I was afraid you’d been captured.” “Captured!” David laughed at the thought. “By those unarmed humans? Don’t be ridiculous. No, far from it. In fact I was watching the scene unfold as a result of your kind gesture. The stableman, your Ibrahim, was just coming down the stairs as I placed the goblets there. I was waiting silently in the shadows for him to pass before I ventured out to return to you.” “He found the goblets?” Yasmine breathed, hanging on David’s words. “Yes, he did indeed. He picked them up and praised Allah and started to curse you.” Yasmine took a sharp breath, her expression one of indignation. David laughed and continued. “But then he noticed the gold coins inside each cup. He dropped to his knees and began to cry. Then he stuffed those coins in his robes, dried his eyes and looked warily from side to side to see if he had been observed. “As I left, he was hurrying up to his wife to share the astounding news. I probed his mind to see if he planned to keep it secret from her, but I sensed his jubilation and his eagerness to share it with the woman he loved. “You did a noble thing, Yasmine,” David said, touching her hand with his fingers. Yasmine felt the touch zing through her nerve endings and she turned away, not wanting to reveal how he affected her. “He is an independent man now, if he chooses. He needn’t be the servant of your master any longer. He can buy his own stable of horses or do whatever he wishes.” Yasmine nodded. Gold was everything, she thought. At least to men. Was it the same for David? As he lay back, closing his eyes for a moment in the cool shade of the palm tree, Yasmine studied his face. The smooth cheeks were now stubbled with dark golden whiskers, making him look even more manly. She liked the square, firm jaw and those brilliantly blue eyes. He was a man of character, it was clear in his face and even more so in his actions. He could have told her it was too risky to leave those goblets. He could have said Ibrahim deserved what he got. And she never would have known she had her own gold if he hadn’t said so and then so kindly offered to lend her some. Her own gold! This wasn’t yet real to Yasmine. She looked at her hands, the skin red and roughened. She hid them in the folds of her robe. Perhaps if she had the smooth, soft skin of her mistress, with jeweled rings and golden bangles at her wrists, David would look at her in a different way. She felt that strange warmth in her groin as she looked at his long, strong body stretched out easily as he sat with his back against the tree. Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to the somewhat alarming bulge between his legs. She had a vague awareness of

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a man’s anatomy, knowing they had genitals the same as goats and sheep, but knowing this and actually seeing the evidence was something altogether different! Instead of being horrified and frightened as she knew she should be—alone with a strange man who could easily subdue her and have his way—she found herself strangely drawn to him. If she’d dared, she would have like to touch that bulge, to glide her fingers along it. Abdul and Samir seemed to bear out the theory that men were brutes, but Ibrahim and David were kind, and her father had been kind as well. She sighed a little now, wishing for the thousandth time her parents had not died and left her. But this time the wish was more habit than anything. Her world had been so turned on its head that things that had once seemed important barely mattered now. She was vampire! She was rich! And she was with the most handsome man in the all the world. They made the journey across hot desert sand, stopping to rest and water the horse when the midday sun became too hot. Had she imagined it, or did he seem to hold her closer than need be as they rode? They spent two nights sleeping out, camping each time under the date trees of the tiny oases that dotted the desert. Yasmine knew they would arrive the next day at their destination. She found herself almost wishing the journey would not end. This handsome, kind man talked to her as they rode, telling her stories of his vampire circle and explaining some of their ways. He also listened, something Yasmine was certainly not used to. He wanted to know about her life before the turning and about the turning itself. When she spoke of Samir, his face took on a dark, angry look that almost frightened her. She sensed the implacable strength and resolve beneath his pleasant, polite exterior. David Lawrence was clearly not a man to be crossed. That second night as they lay sleeping, David’s hand fell as he turned over in his sleep, the fingers grazing Yasmine’s arm. She awoke instantly, at once frightened and aroused by his touch. But he remained still, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and deep. She sighed a little, the thump of her heart slowing as he shifted, withdrawing the hand as he moved again. She felt the warmth of his touch on her arm and wished for its return. Sitting up a little on one elbow, she took the opportunity to examine David under the light of the moon. She admired his strong features and thought he looked younger now, his face smoothed with sleep. What would it be like to kiss those lips again? Not the chaste little press of lips she’d impulsively engaged in when she’d felt so energized by her first drink of human blood. But a real kiss, a lingering, sweet kiss where he kissed her back. Lying back, she looked up at the moon glowing silver in the black sky. Though it was full and bright that night, the moon couldn’t wash out the thousands of diamond pinpoints glittering in the desert darkness. Yasmine looked up at the stars for a long

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while. She was usually asleep on a mat of straw at this hour, exhaustion rendering her dead to the world for the few hours she was permitted to rest. Now she could take her time, with nothing to do but wait for the dawn. David sighed a little in his sleep, drawing her attention back to him. He was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his face now. Her eye followed the strong lines of his body, stopping again at the alluring bulge between his legs. Without realizing she was doing it, Yasmine’s hand slipped between her own legs. She pushed past the rough cotton pantaloons to the cleft, pressing against it to ease the sudden ache she felt there. Though eighteen, the harsh life of a slave, confined to a kitchen and courtyard with almost no contact with men and no time for dreams, Yasmine was innocent in all ways of the flesh. She had never examined her own body and was only vaguely aware of her sex. Yet since the moment David had first touched her, when she’d been handed over to him when he claimed to be her owner in the marketplace, Yasmine’s body had begun to come alive. Not only did she long for his touch and admire his handsome features, she found she loved the way he smelled, a compelling sexual scent that made her want to kiss him, though she didn’t dare. As she watched him sleeping, allowing her eyes to linger over each lovely part of him, her body began to respond with a heat unfamiliar but thrilling. Moving her fingers over the soft folds of her pussy, she touched the hard nubbin at the center and jumped a little. It tickled, but it also felt wonderful! Quickly she glanced at David’s face to assure herself he was still sleeping. Again she moved her fingers over her sex, gasping at the unfamiliar but delicious sensations zinging through her nerve endings. As she rubbed herself, her nipples began to tighten and ache and she slipped her other hand beneath her robe to touch them, pulling them between thumb and forefinger to ease the ache. Her eyes closed of their own accord as her fingers seemed to take on a life of their own, rubbing and swirling against her sex, now suddenly moist with her own juices. Forgetting to wonder if what she was doing was unclean or unholy in some way, Yasmine gave in fully to her pleasure. Her breathing became labored and she breathed hard through her nose, keeping her lips pressed together to keep from moaning aloud and waking the sleeping man nearby. Her hips rose of their own accord, arching off the blanket as she lewdly spread her legs wide to reach that sweet, hot spot better. Her robes fell open as she did this, and if David had awakened he would no doubt have been quite startled to see the naïve little slave girl with one hand rubbing furiously between her legs while the other caressed the tips of her young, firm breasts. The moon silvered her skin and gleamed against her dark hair spread like a storm over the blanket.

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The tension in her loins seemed to mount suddenly to an almost unbearable pitch and she forgot to keep her lips pressed together. A long, low moan forced its way from her mouth as she jerked suddenly, her heart pounding, waves of rolling pleasure racking her body until she collapsed against the blanket, her hand resting lightly against her throbbing sex. For a moment she lay still, her heart pounding wildly against her ribs, gulping in breaths of cool night air. What had happened? The sensations were like nothing she had even experienced. As her heart slowed, she turned her head toward David. He hadn’t moved his position, one strong arm still thrown over his face. “Thank heavens,” she whispered to herself. Now that she was returning to her senses, she felt her face hot with embarrassment. What if he had seen her! She surely would have died on the spot from shame, her heart just giving out with humiliation. Slowly she sat up, pulling her robe back around herself and straightening the pantaloons underneath. She retied her sash and pulled her hair back, quickly braiding it into a long tail down her back. A delicious, languorous fatigue seemed to settle over her, coupled with a curious sense of wellbeing. Whatever she’d done with her fingers, she’d certainly have to try that again! Pulling her blanket back around herself, Yasmine snuggled into a fetal ball, her back to David. He turned slowly away from her, his expression bemused.

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Chapter Six Yasmine twirled with delight in front of the mirror. She’d never seen a mirror before, and she’d certainly never seen herself before like this! Her long, dark hair, usually braided and gray with dust, was hanging loose, swishing like a horse’s tail as she danced. She was wearing a dress of the softest satin, a fabric utterly new to her, in a pale blue the color of a bird’s egg and hugging the curves of her body so she blushed each time she saw her figure in the full-length mirror. Yet the old woman Yael had assured her this was the fashion of European women and she’d better get used to it, as she was leaving the Arabian Peninsula to make a new life in a new country where she would be safe from slave hunters. Yasmine was not a vain girl, not by any stretch. She’d never had a moment to contemplate her looks, and certainly no one had commented on them to her in the last eight years. Yet she couldn’t stop staring in the mirror, fascinated with her own image. Her large silver-gray eyes shined back at her. Her skin was paler than it used to be, but a sort of golden light seemed to suffuse her features. David had explained this was the result of her vampire blood. She would be taught to use makeup to dampen the luminescence and hide the paleness when traveling amongst humans. But here in the safe bosom of her Elders’ seaside castle, she needn’t worry. When Yasmine had been introduced to Yael and Ya’acov she had sensed they were very old, though they were not wrinkled and sagging as the old people Yasmine was used to seeing. Instead their skin seemed stretched over bone, their faces almost skulllike. They weren’t animated and talkative as David was, but mostly sat still in silent contemplation. Yasmine didn’t realize they were in fact talking telepathically to one another, mostly about her. Yael did speak to her, more than Ya’acov, who mostly nodded and smiled. Yael explained about her new wealth that included not only money and jewels but a whole wardrobe full of beautiful clothing, the most beautiful things she had ever seen. It was different from the finery she’d glimpsed on her mistress from time to time— the fine cottons decorated with tribal motifs, coins, metallic thread and jewels, and the veils in smoke-thin chiffon or opaque black, gaily printed cotton or heavy blood-red linen, stiff with gold embroidery and silver ornaments. The clothing, while beyond anything Yasmine could have imagined for herself, was ultimately designed to cover and obscure a woman’s body. Especially the veil, covering the lower face like a mask, separating the woman who wears it from the outside world

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as surely as a wall. Whereas these dresses seemed designed to titillate the observer, offering its wearer up like a beribboned gift, waiting to be unwrapped. Yasmine lifted her heavy hair, coiling it on top of her head like the woman in the painting on her bedroom wall. She eyed the woman in the mirror, smiling a little at the young woman who smiled back. “Oh!” She jumped as David entered the room unannounced. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were in here…” His words trailed away as he took in the sight of the young woman in her finery peering at herself in the fulllength mirror. “Yasmine,” he breathed, his voice full of admiration. “I barely recognize the little waif I found hiding on the roof! You look like, well, like a…” Yasmine blushed hotly as he paused, turning her body sharply away from him. Yael had misled her! She was dressed improperly and now David was embarrassed at her wanton display. “Excuse me, David,” she said, her voice low with shame. “Perhaps Yael has given me bad advice.” “What?” David sounded genuinely confused. As he saw her stricken expression and read the anguish in her mind he hastily said, “Oh! You silly girl! No, you are not dressed inappropriately! You are dressed like a fine European lady! One that will break more than few hearts someday.” He looked at her appraisingly, tilting his head. “I’m sure Yael’s had fun choosing these dresses for you from her collection. She has closets full of this finery. She collects clothing just for the fun of it. You’ll find many vampires are collectors. Gives them something to do, I suppose, though I never saw the allure. She’ll never miss these few items she’s selected for you, and I must say,” he looked her up and down as Yasmine continued to flush prettily, “she has impeccable taste.” Yasmine turned back toward him, reassured. He looked so handsome in his white linen shirt and charcoal gray pants. She still couldn’t help but stare at the V of dark blond curling chest hair at his throat. She felt that hot sensation again between her legs and flushed, looking down. The memory of David sleeping next to her was sharp in her mind as her body recalled the pleasure she’d wrought from it with her fingers. For a moment she imagined turning boldly to David, wrapping her arms around those broad shoulders, pulling him down to her. What if instead of her own fingers at her sex it was his hand! Or his body, his manhood. Yasmine blushed furiously at her own wanton thoughts, turning her body completely away from the man. She had to stop this! He could look into her mind. She would die of embarrassment if he knew her secret girlish fantasies. Of course he had no interest in her! He was a man of the world! A vampire with dangerous ways, able to bend mortal women to his every desire with those vivid blue eyes that seemed to promise a bit of paradise. Yasmine couldn’t turn back to face David, certain now he knew her heart. She would rather die than face his indifference. Sweeping past him, Yasmine hurried out of the room, desperate to get away. David did not follow.

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After that, Yasmine saw little of David, instead being taken under the wing of Yael, who explained the rules and laws of her new people and showed her the clothing and jewelry she still didn’t really believe was hers. She didn’t seek him out and he was apparently busy with business of his own. Rather than focus on her own longing and confusion, Yasmine turned to what Yael had to offer, eager to learn the tools necessary to begin her new life. Yael began to teach Yasmine to write, starting with the Arabic alphabet. “There’s time,” she assured the young girl as she struggled to make the symbols that represented each sound. “You will learn to read and write in your native language, and as time passes, you will learn the language of your adopted country and many more. Time is on your side now, and there will always be someone you can call upon to help you with your portfolio as you begin to acquire your own property.” “David? Will he help me?” Yasmine couldn’t keep the hopefulness out of her voice. She bit her lip, embarrassed to have betrayed any feeling with her remark. Since she was ten, she’d learned not to show a desire for something as that was a sure way to lose it. “You are no longer a slave, Yasmine,” Yael had said softly, responding to her unspoken words. “But you’ve spent the last eight years learning you were worthless. It will take some time to undo the harm done to you.” With cool fingers Yael smoothed Yasmine’s heavy hair from her forehead. “Meanwhile there is much to learn. David has gone away for a few days, to attend to some important matters.” Gone away! And he hadn’t even had the courtesy to say goodbye! Yasmine felt herself stiffen with indignation. Yael eyed her curiously, a slight twinkle in her expression. “It was sudden, as we had an urgent errand for him, dear.” Yael touched Yasmine’s hand with her own. “He will return in a few days’ time to take you on to Europe. His home is in England where you may also wish to settle at first until you get your bearings.” “England.” Yasmine rolled the word on her tongue. Yael had pronounced the word in Arabic, and now said it in English. “If that is to be your first adopted country, we must begin to teach you that language as well. It’s not quite as orderly as Arabic and may take some getting used to! But it is a language widely understood the world over and one well worth learning.” She had spent the next week at her studies, learning so much new information her head fairly spun from it all! David had been gone for three of those days, and while she found she missed him terribly despite her chagrin at his sudden departure, her own sense of modesty and shyness prevented her from asking the precise day of his return. Ya’acov took over the job of teaching her to hunt. Though ancient, he moved with surprising alacrity and grace, subduing his prey with ease. He taught Yasmine how to move more stealthily and how to pinch the nerve just so on her chosen victim. She practiced the telepathic arts, finding it easier to enter the minds of her human quarry than to enter the minds of other vampires. “It will come with time,” both Elders

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assured her. “Patience is a virtue you will cultivate out of necessity. From a human point of view, you literally now have all the time in the world. The trick is learning to use it well, and not take foolish action that might draw attention to your true nature.” Well, maybe so, she thought, but she didn’t feel at all patient when it came to waiting for David to return! Thus at the end of three days, when she heard his horse clopping up the old cobblestone road to their castle, she could barely contain the little cry of joy that escaped her lips. When Yael had told her he would be arriving that afternoon, she’d made sure to wear the lovely pale blue gown he’d so admired. Yael had taught her how to put up her hair in the European fashion and had given her large teardrop pearl earrings that she clipped to her ears, feeling quite exotic as the jewels dangled against her cheeks. She’d even applied some of the rouge and face powder Yael had told her European ladies wore to entice the gentlemen. She added some paint to her lips as well, feeling very grown-up and sophisticated. She’d felt brazen but excited, hoping to appeal to the fine Englishman by making herself more like what he might find attractive. She was waiting near the door, pretending to work at some sewing Yael had given her. It had been a long time since she’d handled needle and thread, but memories of sewing pretty tapestries with her mother came back with bittersweet sharpness as her fingers recalled their work. As David entered the front hall she stood, smiling nervously. He greeted her with a smile that changed quickly to a frown as he looked her critically up and down. “Playing dress up, are we? Surely that makeup is a bit much.” His tone was that of a father to a child. Yasmine sensed his disapproval. The impression she’d hoped for had obviously not been made. She felt heat lick her cheeks and she turned away, humiliated. The stays of her gown were pressing against her narrow torso, making it difficult to breathe. The clips on her earrings were compressing her earlobes so they felt numb. Suddenly she longed for the simple flowing robes of her people. What had made her think she could wear these ridiculous and uncomfortable clothes? Why had she thought they would please David? As she turned, the full skirt of her gown swished and the needle from her tapestry poked her finger sharply. “Oh!” she gasped, looking down at her finger. She raised it to the light and they both watched as a single bead of bright red blood bubbled up. They both stood frozen for several seconds, the scent of her sacred blood ripe between them. David slowly moved closer, as though mesmerized by the sight. Yasmine felt his desire, actually felt it, for the first time truly sensing another’s feelings with vampire awareness. She looked up at him, hope soaring through her on wings. His eyes seemed to glitter from within, as if he were on fire. Slowly he licked his upper lip as he took a step toward her. Yasmine felt her pulse quicken as she felt his yearning. If he wanted her blood, she would give it to him! Joyously!

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Not like with that foul creature who would have killed her, who had murdered poor, dear Zahra! No, it would be a beautiful exchange! A loving exchange of the sacred blood. It would bind him to her. It would make him love her. She realized as these thoughts raced through her head this was what she wanted more than anything. She wanted David to love her. She would learn to dress as he liked, to behave in a way that pleased him, to love him in a way that would set his blood on fire for her. Trembling, she held out the bloodied finger, long and slender, the drop at its tip glistening in the lowering sun. Make love to me. Share the blood. Please… David was staring at her, her thoughts open to him, easily accessible. Suddenly it was as if something snapped awake, wrenching David from his own private dream. The fire in his eyes faded and he closed his mouth, swallowing hard. He took a step back, his arms rising in a defensive gesture. “No, no…” he whispered, shaking his head. “I cannot, I must not. You are but a child. You know nothing of the world, Yasmine. You have the form of a woman, but you have lived such a sheltered life when it comes to men. You don’t know what you’re asking. The exchange is sacred. It’s not something to indulge in because of a girlish crush. You only think you want me.” As Yasmine paled and turned away David moved toward her, touching her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. “Please,” he offered, “I don’t mean to hurt you. You’ll thank me later, little desert flower, when you’ve truly bloomed and understand what love is. For me to take you now would be a violation. A violation of your virgin spirit along with your virgin body. You must take your time now, Yasmine. Learn first to be a vampire and you will become a woman with time.” He moved forward, again touching her shoulder. Again Yasmine shrugged him off. She didn’t dare turn to face him, her shame leaving her trembling with equal parts humiliation and rage. How dare he call her a child! She was years beyond an acceptable age to marry! She had the form, as he said, of a woman. Who was he to decide she was not yet ready for a man’s touch! If she asked for it, she was ready! The memory of those stolen moments under a desert moon assailed her. She wanted to have those feelings again, but with him! Her body was weak with desire for this man, for this vampire who she now realized regarded her as little more than a child. How could she have permitted herself such a naked display of desire! She should have known better—the world had always been a cruel place, why should it be different now. She took a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full height, her head held high. All feelings of love toward him seemed to vanish like so much mist on a lake, burned away by his rejection and by her own chagrin at her foolish dreams. Still turned away from him, Yasmine swallowed and stood still some moments, collecting herself. She would not give this man the satisfaction of knowing the depths of her pain. That day offered Yasmine her first lesson as a woman and it hardened her heart just a little, enough to allow her to finally turn around, her expression cool, her mind closed.

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Quietly she said, “If you’ll excuse me, sir. I have to pack.”

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Chapter Seven 2006

Sweet spice, fresh rainwater, his scent drifted over her senses, settling like a veil along her naked body. Strong fingers traced circles around her sensitive nipples, the thumb rising up to meet the finger, pressing the engorged tips until he wrenched a groan of raw pleasure from her lips. His hot mouth replaced his fingers, his beautiful blond head bowed over her breasts as his hands moved over her naked flesh, creating rippling shudders of desire in their wake. She was leaning against a wall, an outer wall of some ancient castle, naked against stone, the creamy light of a huge moon coloring the scene. He stepped back, his strong hands pinning her shoulders to the wall. Her legs felt weak, her sex wet and swollen between them. He stood gloriously naked, his proud form strong and lean, his manhood rising up from dark blond curls. His blue eyes met her dark ones, captivating her as they had so long ago. Slowly she sank to her knees, the wall dissolving as the grass beneath their feet shifted to crimson satin. He moved toward her as she knelt, his perfect cock touching her lips, bidding them to part and take his offering. Eagerly she obeyed his silent command, touching the head of his cock, circling it with her tongue as he sighed softly. She felt his fingers entwining in her hair, taking handfuls of the tumbling locks as he pressed his shaft past teeth and tongue, impaling her with his shaft as she knelt, obedient as a slave, eager as a slut. His taste was pure, his clean, male scent intoxicating. She knelt up, eager to accept the length of him, her hands dropping to her own breasts to pull the aching tips. She moaned around his girth, dropping one hand from her nipple to her sex, feeling its heat, its wetness. She was open and ready for him, longing to be filled, to be claimed, to become his in the most primal of ways. All at once he withdrew from her mouth, gently pressing her back onto the satin sheets. She gave a little petulant cry, still hungry for the salty sweetness of his shaft, even as her legs fell wantonly open of their own accord, eager to offer her most secret places for his inspection and use. His face was partially in shadow, the light of the moon through tall windows glimmering on his blood red lips as they parted, revealing pearly fangs distending to take their due. She felt her pulse begin to throb as her head fell back, the artery at her throat showing pale blue beneath the skin. Pulling her up in his strong arms, he brought his mouth to her throat, even as his cock nestled between her legs. She felt his sharp teeth prick her sensitive flesh, drawing her sacred blood to his lips as his cock slid into her hot, wet sex. The sharp sting as he penetrated flesh and drew in the first mouthfuls of her hot, red blood soon changed to raw, fierce pleasure as his cock filled the emptiness within her. Euphoria filtered through her veins as his cock pummeled her sex. 45

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Even as he continued to take her blood skillfully, he played her body like a fine instrument of lust, using his cock and the friction between their bodies to thrust her into a delicious climax that left her body shuddering and spasming in the aftershock of orgasm. She lay limp in his arms, near to a swoon as the loss of blood began to weaken her. And yet he did not stop his strong suckle, drawing her blood from her without the offer of the gift returned. She felt herself weaken and knew he should release her, he must release her soon or she would weaken too much. His cock was still buried inside her, his hips twisting another cry of pleasure from her mouth, even as he suckled her lifeblood past the point of return. As the dream shifted, so to did their surroundings. She lay in his arms, unable to move, the sunlight now bright against her closed eyelids, beating warmly against bare skin. His body was stretched over hers, pinning her to the warm oasis grass on which they lay together, his mouth still locked in a death grip at her throat. Instead of terror at the prospect of death, she felt a calm acceptance, even a yearning. This was it—this was how her life would end after all this time. Her blood stolen by the lover she had never had, and had never stopped dreaming of in the most secret recesses of her soul. She felt the world leave her as she rose effortlessly into a crystal blue desert sky… Yasmine jolted awake, her heart thumping, taking a moment to recall where she was. For several moments the dream felt more real than the first-class cabin of the jetliner speeding her to her destination. Smoothing back her long, dark hair, she sighed and leaned back in her seat, watching the sun rise blood red over the ocean fifty thousand feet below. What a vivid dream! And how odd he had been the subject. She hadn’t even thought of David Lawrence in longer than she could remember. She hadn’t been able to see his face in the dream—indeed she barely remembered it, but she knew in her bones it had been David—Dah-veed as she had called him when Arabic was her only tongue and the language of love was a complete mystery. Those days were long behind her, both chronologically and emotionally. That young girl, naïve, utterly innocent and yearning for a man who saw her as nothing more than a pathetic child, had died the day he’d rebuffed her. Now close to two hundred years later Yasmine Halil looked like a twenty-five-yearold mortal, her silver-gray eyes no longer widening in surprise at each new experience, of which there had been so many. Especially those first twenty or so years when she was learning her way as a woman and a vampire in a Europe changing so fast she could barely keep up with it. She did settle in England, London in fact, choosing for her primary home a brownstone townhouse near Essex Square, one she still owned. She still loved to look out her front window at her little front lawn covered with red petals, the fallen blossoms from the chestnut trees she’d had planted a hundred years before. After their falling out, as Yasmine thought of it, David had taken her part of the journey, putting her on a boat for Europe and into the care of another vampire named Jacques, who had helped her to understand her portfolio of assets, had helped her to refine her hunting skills and had put her in touch with a fine teacher of English named 46

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Betty Ann Gable, a mortal woman who had been raised in Mecca and was fluent in Arabic. She was of course unaware of Yasmine’s true nature, seeing only a young Arab woman in need of a teacher. Yasmine and Jacques had remained friends for many years, though now she rarely saw him. He was much older than David, appearing to be about fifty years of age, with silver hair and a carefully waxed and curled mustache about which he was quite vain. Yasmine hadn’t felt the same sweet heat in her loins when she’d looked at him as she had with David. When he touched her during a hunt, guiding her as he taught her effective nerve pinches and chokeholds to render a mortal unconscious in a few seconds, she had felt nothing but his cool skin against hers. No fire burned in the touch and no girlish dreams were dreamt for him. As for David, he had tried a few times to make amends with her as they traveled to the port where her ship would sail, but she’d rebuffed him at every turn, insulted he’d pretend to a tenderness she now knew he had never felt. He’d seemed relieved to be shed of her when her ship sailed and she was glad to see him go as well, denying the prick of pain piercing her heart, refusing to acknowledge the wound. David had been so eager to go off in pursuit of the rogue Samir. She had heard a few years later he’d been successful. Perhaps she could have found out more about him, but she never tried. Indeed, at first she consciously avoided him, not wanting to face the man who had rejected her girlish overtures. Those first twenty years or so had been bittersweet as she strived to put her fantasies of David behind her. She recalled now the hot prick of humiliation as she relived over and over his rejection of her. Back in those early days, she would concoct scheme after scheme in her head of how she might have behaved to have changed his reaction. If only she’d known then what she knew now. She could have twisted that man around her little finger. He would have been the one left with the burning longing for what might have been while Yasmine moved on to her next lover with barely a glance back. But time passed and Yasmine grew up. Eventually she forgot David, or at least she relegated him to the past, letting his memory sleep next to those of her mother and father and Zahra, the one human she had loved beside her parents and whom she still thought of from time to time. She found romance, some of it enduring, some of it fleeting, some of it with mortal men and some with vampires. Unlike most vampires however, Yasmine never shared the sacred blood with another. Perhaps it was the violent way in which she first tasted the wild, heady offering. She had stolen her first mouthfuls, unaware of the huge import of her actions, unaware her life would change forever as a result. Or perhaps it was because she had never found love. One lover she had had teased her over this, explaining in tones he didn’t realize were condescending that love wasn’t a necessary ingredient in the exchange of vampire blood. “What an old-fashioned girl you are,” he had laughed. “Love is such a human notion. Really, Yasmine, I would have

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thought someone as worldly as you would have discarded such ridiculous ideas by now.” He’d pressed, apparently eager to taste her blood and give his to her. In fact, they’d parted ways as a result, and she’d been glad to see him go. She never “gave in” to men, never felt compelled to do things to please them. Along with her beauty, this was very attractive to most men who viewed her as all the more desirable because she seemed to be hard to get. What many of them failed to understand was she wasn’t posturing as a way to lure them to her bed. She was simply making every effort to be true to herself. The trauma of her early life and the violent way she’d been given vampire powers had shaped her psyche and how she related to others. Life was so precious to her. But even beyond that—it was about love. At the crux of her dreams, whether or not David Lawrence figured in them at all, and she might deny he did, it was love that motivated Yasmine. She had made a secret, unspoken promise to herself to hold out for “true love”, though she had only the vaguest of notions of what that might be. For her, love and the sacred exchange were inextricably linked and nothing could shake her of this notion, old-fashioned or otherwise. Where she fooled herself was in her own desire for love. She told herself it didn’t matter that love had never found her. She told herself perhaps it didn’t even exist. But in fact, she kept her secret dreams nestled like pearls hidden in her heart. Yasmine was beautiful in a dusky Mediterranean way most men found utterly captivating. Her dark coloring, though paled by the vampire blood in her veins, provided a vivid and unexpected backdrop to those astounding silvery irises. When she chose to turn them on the man of her choice, he would invariably succumb to her considerable charms. As she matured and became fully aware of the power of her beauty, she grew more cautious, aware men might love her for the shape of her face or the curve of her breast, indifferent to the girlish heart that still beat with longing inside her. To protect that girl, the girl never fully recovered from the rebuff of tender first love, Yasmine learned to behave in a worldly way, choosing her lovers like she chose fine paintings or rare wines. She avoided the messiness of involving the heart inside the man, preferring to focus on his strong body or his power in society or his ability to arouse her with his lovemaking skill. Instead of looking for love with its fleeting potential, Yasmine chose adventure, gravitating toward men who challenged her and were not easily conquered by her charms. Love was for the weak and Yasmine was determined to be strong, whatever the secret, unacknowledged cost to her heart. She spent the first hundred years or so after her turning savoring her newfound freedom, learning about the various cultures of Europe, spending some of her vast wealth and learning her craft. She worked on honing her telepathic skills and learning to take her prey with grace and ease. As she grew more comfortable and confident, various vampire and mortal acquaintances gained her entrance into high society whose doors invariably opened to the obvious wealth of the mysterious Arabian princess. She would laugh to herself as 48

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she thought how horrified her blueblood acquaintances would be if they knew she was no more a princess than their lowest scullery girl—only a bizarre twist of fate landing her there among them. She never forgot her roots, always employing as her servants the most miserable and wretched girls she could find, teaching them gentler ways and elevating them to a better life, a life filled with hope and possibility. Those who worked hard and bettered themselves with her help were richly rewarded by their benefactress who also became their friend, though she never revealed her own humble origins. She learned English, French, Italian and German, reading all the great works of the day in their original languages. She loved to ride, always keeping a stable of a few prized horses, even when horseless carriages came into fashion. She even developed a passion for painting, preferring fine oils that could capture the light, shadow and vivid colors of her new world. Yasmine thought about a painting she’d done of her friend, a French countess she had first mistaken for human. Comtesse Adrienne de Pierre Rouchard had been a consort of kings and an impossibly elegant beauty who had quite taken Yasmine’s breath away. It was the late 1800s and Yasmine’s first extended tour of France. She spent most of her time painting lush landscapes—capturing the vivid red poppies in the fields, the ancient green and gray forests, the splashing vivid blue lakes and waterfalls. She especially loved the water, having grown up in the yellow-brown dust of the Arabian Peninsula. She rarely signed her canvases, not painting for others but for herself. From time to time she painted people, usually country folk delighted to pose for a few coins. Her painting of Adrienne had not been planned. They had met at a ball, Adrienne approaching her with a dangerous glitter in her eye. Yasmine hadn’t known she was vampire when they first met. There was no telltale scent of the true kin, no hint other than her pale, smooth skin, painted with rouge to disguise its pallor and luminescent glow. They had politely conversed for a few moments as Adrienne steered Yasmine out into a courtyard. “You’re new,” she had whispered in English. “I’ve never seen you before and I’ve seen everyone. Where are you from?” “I beg your pardon, Madame,” Yasmine had answered, “I’m from England. London, in fact.” “Maybe now you are, but that is not your country of origin, is it? What is your circle? Who do you belong to?” “Excuse me?” Yasmine had been startled by this reference. What did this mortal know of her vampire circle? Suddenly her senses had been assailed by something vampire, something primal and wild hidden beneath the woman’s expensive perfume. Adrienne had smiled, her canines distending as she traced a line along Yasmine’s long, supple throat.

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“Silly girl. You can fool them,” she had waved toward the human crowd dancing on the marble floors just inside, “but don’t you see? I am one of your kind. I am of the true kin.” They had become friends. Yasmine had learned much later it was Adrienne’s utter loneliness that led her to reveal herself as vampire to Yasmine. Yasmine had seemed safer to her than other vampires more connected to her circle, as she knew nothing of Adrienne’s past life or her wanted status. Adrienne had not confided why she sometimes cloaked herself from her kin, hiding her true nature from those of her kind. She had told Yasmine she had developed the skill on a lark and honed it out of boredom. Yasmine had not believed her, sensing Adrienne had secrets but she had not pressed. Most vampires had secrets and it was understood one didn’t pry. Adrienne had seemed to take a special liking to Yasmine, still a new vampire, with only fifty years as one of the true kin. She still had an innocence Adrienne professed to find charming. Adrienne took her one day to a favorite little lake in the Loire Valley. It was midsummer and they sat alone in a secluded glade, sharing a bottle of cold Champagne. As always, Yasmine had her large leather case containing her paints as well as an old wooden easel she had set up facing the lake. She had planned to paint the scenery but her attention had shifted as Adrienne slowly removed her clothing, peeling off layers of the confining fabric, stays and petticoats a lady of fashion of the day wore. They were sitting on large, flat, mossy rocks under tall shade trees. With a complete lack of self-consciousness Adrienne stripped herself bare and sighed happily, leaning against the soft moss, dappled with muted sun slipping through the leafy branches. Overcoming her own embarrassment at the other woman’s naked form, Yasmine’s artistic nature took over. She changed her subject, first sketching the nude form with charcoals and then setting up her paints. Adrienne lay still, her black hair falling across her face. Yasmine struggled to capture the sweet curve of her full breasts and the hint of pubic curls partially obscured by the line of smooth, white thigh. She had finally managed to capture the pearly glow of Adrienne’s skin, though it had taken her weeks, back alone in her own studio with only the memory of her friend in her mind’s eye. What had become of that painting, she now wondered as she accepted the roast beef sandwich and glass of white wine the flight attendant handed her. She had given away most of her work to friends who expressed an interest, not aware of the depths of her own talent. It was the process she loved more than the final product. The flight captain’s voice came over the intercom, buzzing in a deep baritone about their arrival time and the weather below in Paris, France, her destination. How wonderful it would be to see Adrienne again—it had been too long! Yasmine had cut short a tour of Japan where she had been studying silk scroll painting with an esteemed master because of an urgent summons. During the past century a new and highly disturbing trend had begun to emerge. Strong vampires still

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in their prime were being found dead, their lifeless hulls sapped of all their lifeblood. For the dwindling population of the true kin, this was a catastrophic development. Vampires, by the peculiar nature of their physiology, could only procreate under very specific, if rather poetic, circumstances. The dual factors of a blue moon—the second full moon in a calendar month—and true love between the vampires were essential for life to be kindled within the womb. Since blue moons only occur once every two and a half years or so, and true love between vampires occurred even less often, such a birth was rare indeed. The second way to create a vampire was, of course, turning a human, but this process was rare as it was risky not only to the human in question but to the vampire performing the act. Taking the blood of humans could be a dangerous act as well—for the human. Vampires could learn, and most did, to take what they needed with restraint, leaving the mortal prey unaware they’d even been used. Some vampires were less careful, greed overtaking common sense, resulting in the death of their quarry. Even if they didn’t regret the loss of a life—many vampires holding the belief that human life was so woefully short anyway, what was another year or another decade— vampires had to be careful not to attract the attention of mortals. Their continued existence and comfort depended on secrecy and the ability to move among the mortals without undue attention. Nevertheless, deaths did happen, unexplained deaths due to loss of blood. Often the victim in question was old and infirm or a homeless drunk found dead on the street with little attention paid as to the real cause. But murder between vampires was virtually unheard of. Wealth or want of wealth was not an issue as the members of the twenty-five vampire circles scattered over the globe had ample assets, accumulated over the centuries and wisely handled. Romantic passions rarely ran high enough to lead to murder—what was the point when one knew love would fade, if not now, in a decade or a century… The deaths of these vampires hadn’t been recognized at first as murder. Vampires did die before their time by accident. The loss of too much sacred blood without its proper replenishment could lead to death. A vampire could lose a great deal and still linger on for decades, falling into a kind of hibernating state, but without someone to give them blood, either sacred or human, they would never recover. But as the evidence began to mount and communication between circles made it clear these were not random coincidences, the Elders became alarmed. Something had to be done. The community had to find out who was murdering its people and take action to stop them. Several months before Yasmine had been on a photo safari in Africa. Back at her hotel, she received a letter from her old friend Adrienne, written in her graceful hand with real ink on fine, old paper. Like many vampires born or turned before the last few hundred years, Adrienne had been never been bitten by the technology bug, preferring the old-fashioned ways of communicating, even if it took a little longer.

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In it, Adrienne had joyfully described her reunion with her on-again, off-again lover Daniel O’Shay. Yasmine had grinned at first as she read it. Those two had a history of wild, tumultuous affairs, after which Daniel would mysteriously disappear, leaving a brokenhearted but furious Adrienne behind. Yasmine had spent many a moon comforting her friend, commiserating on the hopelessness of true love. “Why do you take him back?” Yasmine had asked once, doubtful she would accept such behavior from any man. “Who knows the ways of the heart?” Adrienne had answered. “When he returns, I don’t question. I don’t push. I just laugh and say, ‘Why, Daniel O’Shay, you’ve come back to me.’ And he keeps coming back.” Only this time it hadn’t been Daniel’s supposed wanderlust that had parted the couple for seven long years. In fact Daniel had been attacked. Unbeknownst to Adrienne, he’d been in secret pursuit of one of the suspected vampires, hoping to capture and deliver her to the Elders. But Yuki Chan had managed to deceive Daniel, drugging his wine and getting the better of him. Instead of him delivering the criminal for her just punishment, Adrienne had discovered her lover at last, bound and insensible in his own cellar, lost in delirious dreams and nearly dead from loss of blood. Adrienne had joined Daniel and a few others in their redoubled efforts to track down and stop the killers. Not surprisingly, very few vampires were willing to come forward in the hunt. Believing themselves almost invincible and jaded by centuries of easy living, most vampires saw no reason to seek out the killers. While they abhorred what was happening, as long as it didn’t happen to them, they weren’t willing to risk themselves. Yasmine, the memory of Samir still vivid even after close to two hundred years, had been eager to join the cause. She was strong and brave, with a sense of adventure that had yet to be tapped. Her blood had burned hot in her veins at the thought of somehow, at last, getting vengeance for the death of the poor, innocent slave girl Zhara. Samir had been caught and stopped, but Yasmine had not been involved in that capture. Irrationally she still harbored guilt because she had lived while Zhara had died. Shifting back to the present, Yasmine mused on the mystery. Who was behind this string of murders? Was it a coordinated effort or the act of a single madman? How were they slipping past the defenses of experienced vampires? It made no sense. Who would kill another for mere sport? And if such a sadistic impulse existed, why not kill the fragile humans? They were certainly easier prey. As she thought about that, it occurred to her that maybe for jaded vampires that was part of the thrill. Vampires lived for centuries. Perhaps for some, the only way to experience the intensity of feeling they sought was to exert the ultimate power—the power to take another life—a sacred vampire life. When she’d told Adrienne she’d like to join in the hunt, she had at first been refused. Daniel and Adrienne shared that unusual ability to cloak themselves from others of the true kin—shutting off their scent and their thoughts. This was an 52

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advantage, though it worked both ways, denying them the ability to sense other vampires as well. Still, this talent was regarded as an asset in the pursuit. Daniel was believed to be dead by the rogues and Adrienne was an unknown entity, having been in hiding for the past three centuries for reasons of her own. What could Yasmine bring to the table? She’d petitioned her own Elders, explaining the situation and her confidence in her ability to aid the cause. “If nothing else, I can help study the clues. I have an eye for detail and a passion for justice. I’m strong and I’m ready. I need a purpose and this has involved friends of mine.” She’d been respectful, ready to obey their decision but aware there was another factor in her favor since not too many vampires were stepping up to the plate and the murders were continuing. She pressed her advantage and was given permission to join the hunters with a promise to keep tabs with the Elders at each step of the way. She was told she would be given a summons in a few months’ time—for vampires this was acting immediately. While this lack of urgency frustrated Yasmine, still with human sensibilities in that regard, she’d been patient, taking the trip to Japan to distract herself. When another vampire had been found murdered, Adrienne had reached Yasmine in Japan, asking if she could join them right away—they needed all the help they could get. Of course she’d left at once, her spirit of adventure soaring. Despite the horrifying situation bringing her back to Europe, she couldn’t help but feel the thrill of knowing finally she was going to do something that mattered. As they landed at the airport Yasmine’s cell phone rang. She flipped it open—it was Adrienne confirming her arrival. “Darling,” Adrienne said in French, “Daniel and I have been held up. We missed our flight out of Heathrow. We should be able to meet you at the hotel later tonight.” “Oh I don’t need to be met, don’t worry,” Yasmine said. She could get a cab, it was no big deal. “No, no. You must be exhausted from your long flight! A friend will be waiting at the gate. He’s part of the mission, Yasmine. He’s fully briefed and working with us already.” “Okay. How will I recognize him?” “You may have heard of him. His name is David Lawrence.”

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Chapter Eight Margo sat up, stretching deliciously. Fresh air wafted through the window, ruffling the curtains gently. Francois sighed a little in his sleep, his eyelids flickering as he dreamed. Gently she touched his cheek, softly echoing his sigh. Diagnosed at the age of fifty-four with an inoperable brain tumor and near death, Margo had been given the gift of renewed life by her vampire friend Adrienne as a reward for helping to save Adrienne’s lover. Since she had been turned, Margo wondered what would become of her relationship with Francois, her mortal lover. A fledgling vampire, Margo had so much to consider, so much to discover! Widowed years before, she’d turned her attentions away from the amorous, focusing instead on her abiding passion for vampire folklore and history. For distraction, she’d become involved in a vampire role-playing club known as the Red Covenant back in her hometown of New Orleans and as L’Alliance Rouge here in Paris. Through a series of adventures and intrigue she’d met and fallen in love with Francois Chevalier, founder of the Paris branch of the vampire club. His silver-haired aristocratic good looks complemented her still beautiful dark-eyed, olive-skinned face, with her charming dimples and wide, easy smile. She was not aware of her own beauty that made her more charming still. She ran her hands through her thick, dark hair, streaked with silver glinting in the early morning light. In the pale dawn, she glimpsed a dazzling vision of the very different future that now faced her. It was a future free of the terror and pain of illness and imminent death. No longer shackled and defined by her illness, she felt healthy and strong—better than she had since she was a young woman in her prime. But what of her mortal lover? Adrienne had warned her—connections with mortals invariably ended in sadness, bittersweet at best. Passions of the heart were best avoided, she’d been warned. The price wasn’t worth the fleeting pleasure. For while Margo would barely age, Francois, already in his fifties, would of course follow a human path, giving him at best another forty years, each one less vibrant than the last. Well, what of it! Margo shook her head, refusing to be maudlin on this fine morning. Whether or not she had accepted the sharp, perfect kiss of Adrienne’s gift, and in so doing given herself a chance at life, Francois would still be doomed to his brief flicker of life on this planet. Would she rather she had never met him, never experienced his tender and loving attentions and the thrill of his love? She shook her head, smiling. She’d share what she could with the only man who had been able to stir her passions since her husband had passed away six years before. She leaned over to kiss his lips, lightly parted in sleep. He responded with a murmur as

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she slid her lips down his still firm neck to his chest, enjoying the warm skin beneath which beat his strong heart. Margo felt a stirring of bloodlust, her fangs distending slightly at the thought of stealing a little of Francois’ blood. Now that she was vampire, she required the blood of humans for sustenance. They were prey, to be used, but carefully and with stealth. To take the blood of a lover was at best foolhardy and at worst, fatal. For once in the grip of a blood-thirst, a vampire could lose her reason, greed and pleasure affecting judgment. Resisting the urge to taste the sweet liquid pumping in his veins, Margo moved lower, taking his manhood in her small, cool fingers. She wrapped them around it as it swelled of its accord in response to her touch. She inhaled the sweet musk of him, marveling at her own heightened senses. Since she’d been turned, she could taste, smell, hear and see more clearly. It was as if the world had been shrouded in a kind of perceptual mist, now burned away with her transformation. Colors were brighter and the world seemed to glitter with possibility. The sun itself blazed almost too brightly for her newly sensitive eyes and she found she preferred the half-light of twilight to the burning noonday glare. Lightly she tickled his cock with her tongue, laughing softly with pleasure as Francois moaned and shifted on the bed, lying on his back to give her better access, though his eyes remained closed. She could sense his dreams, erotic in nature and concerning her. Eagerly she bent over him, taking him into her mouth, sucking and licking his shaft as she cupped his balls with her hand. He tasted so good! She felt the pulse of his lifeblood where his groin met his leg. The artery throbbed and she fancied she could hear the whoosh and flow of hot blood with her vampire-sharp hearing. She should have fed the night before, but instead she’d tumbled into bed with Francois, ever ardent for her, his hands finding all her secret places and leaving her breathless and utterly spent. Now her gut ached with need, churning and empty of the sustenance she required. Her lust for human blood burned hot in her now as she teased her lover’s cock to rock-hard erection. Her tongue slid up along the shaft, releasing him as she moved down to the sweet, hot spot of his femoral artery. Lightly she grazed the flesh with her teeth, her mouth filling with saliva as she imagined the impossibly sweet taste of her lover’s blood. Like many unwise and novice vampires before her, Margo, sexually aroused and hungry for the only sustenance she now needed, ignored the warning voice in her head and bit. Needle-sharp fangs easily pierced the skin, breaking through the supple artery below that yielded its liquid fruit with a gush against Margo’s lips and tongue. She was aware of Francois’ cry as he tensed and then struggled against her, his weak human hands ineffective against her new vampire strength.

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She grabbed his wrists, holding him still as she drank the delicious, pungent nectar. Oh just a little, and a little more, and she would seal the wound with her kiss and return to her sensual attentions. Dimly, with her just developing telepathic skills, she felt Francois’ panic, still mingled with the lust of arousal. Ignoring his silent plea, she held him still in her grasp. The blood raced through her, filling her with a wild, hot joy more fierce than anything she’d experienced as a mere mortal. She wanted to shout with it, to leap with it. Again his muffled cry and then he stilled, going limp against her. Finally the warning voice in her head made itself heard and Margo forced herself to withdraw, love giving her the impetus to master her bloodlust at last. Two tiny holes remained, already sealing due to the special vampire secretion that permitted the wounds to heal with amazing rapidity. Francois sighed but remained very still, his penis now flaccid, his head fallen back as if in a swoon. Margo sat back, wiping her bloodstained mouth with the back of her hand. What had she done? Even as she stared down at her now unconscious lover, she licked the last trace of his blood from her hand, not wanting to miss a drop. She touched his brow—he was warm and his face looked peaceful. The pain in her belly had eased and she returned her attentions to Francois’ still strong body, pressing her palms against his chest and again moving slowly down his torso with her smooth fingers and hot kisses. She took his cock back into her mouth, feeling her feminine power as it elongated and rose against her lips and tongue. What she had done had been very foolish, but she was still in the grips of the feed, human blood zinging through her veins like liquid gold. Eagerly she suckled and kissed Francois’ cock, milking him, using him almost roughly in her passion. When he was rock-hard, though still seemingly unconscious, she rose over him, straddling him with her wet, hot sex, easing herself onto his shaft as a sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. Suddenly his large, strong hands were on her hips, his eyes opening wide as he regained himself. He moaned with pleasure as she did, thrusting up into her as she swayed and writhed over him. Now his strength seemed to overcome hers as he held her hips, impaling her on his cock and moving his body beneath hers. A whirlpool of pleasure swirled through her loins as Margo fell over her lover, pressing her ample breasts against his chest, feeling the strong, fierce pumping of his blood, blood that now also flowed in her own veins. “My love,” he breathed in French as he rolled over, pinning Margo beneath him. Now the human was fully in control of the vampire. Eagerly Margo gave in to her lover, delighting in the strong body over hers. He moved his hips until she cried his name, thrusting her body up to take him in as far as he could go.

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“Yes, cher!” she cried breathlessly as he shuddered against her, his lips finding hers. He didn’t have to say the words she could read in his heart at the moment. She felt his love wrap around her like a cloak and she held him in her arms.

***** “Adrienne and Daniel are coming in to Paris tonight, Francois!” Margo was sitting at her little vanity, applying makeup to give bloom to pale vampire skin while dampening its luminescent glow. “And a few others. The rogue hunters are meeting. They’re forming a plan to capture the last of the killers. At least they hope they’re the last.” Francois sat up. He had been present when Margo and Adrienne had discovered the near-dead vampire who was an intended victim of the rogues. It was because of Margo’s bravery and the selfless offer of her own blood that the Elders had granted her permission to be turned. Francois was still deeply conflicted about the issue as the mortal woman he had fallen in love with was now a vampire who would surely tire of him as he aged while she remained youthful and vital. Margo knew of his fears and she was very tender in her assurances that she would love him forever, but Francois was not a foolish young man. He was well aware that despite one’s best intentions, love could not be forced. Of course to the world Margo was still mortal as most humans naturally believed there was no such thing as “real” vampires. Francois himself had become convinced such beings did exist but only after extensive research as well as the happenstance that brought Margo and her vampire friends right to his door. At first the vampires had been reluctant to trust him as secrecy was paramount for obvious reasons. But he had been Margo’s lover and steadfastly stood beside her as she lay in a coma after the turning, almost not pulling through. Now the little group of friends accepted him, knowing he would never betray them. He was looking forward to seeing the vibrant, beautiful Adrienne and her tall, dashing, redheaded lover Daniel. He wished it weren’t under such dangerous circumstances, especially because Margo had been hinting she herself would like to offer her services in the pursuit of the murderers. All Francois wanted to do was make love and take long walks along the river with his vampire angel. He most definitely did not want her running off into the arms of danger and possible death! Still, he kept his counsel as he’d learned of his American lover that she didn’t like to be pushed. Her stubborn instinct was to push back. He stayed quiet on the subject, merely asking, “What makes them think they’re the last?” “Well, they’ve caught three so far. The last one admitted they were a band, a group with a pact to see who could wreak the most havoc on our people. The rogue they caught referred to the group as the Gang of Five. That doesn’t mean these are the only vampires doing the killing, but since it’s such a rare and bizarre thing for vampires to do, we’re hoping that’s the case.” 57

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Francois didn’t like how Margo said “we” but he let it go. “So there are two left?” “Hopefully, yes. Yuki Chan, the woman who tried to murder Daniel. They’ve located her at last—she’s apparently staying in Seville right now for the bullfights. And they’ve found the other one too. Someone’s been tracked in the Middle East and they think he’s one of the killers. Adrienne has two more vampires coming in to help with that.” She narrowed her eyes, her expression determined. “Somehow I’m going to get in on that meeting.” Francois didn’t need to be a telepathic vampire to read Margo’s expression. He’d only known her a short while but already he recognized that look in her eyes and knew it meant trouble. Somehow or other, Margo was determined to get involved in hunting down dangerous criminals—murderers. He sighed, knowing her vampire status had given her the renewed chance of life when as a mortal she would have perished within the year. Yet how much simpler to have been in love with a mortal woman—one content to stay quietly by his side. “What is it, cher?” Margo put a hand on Francois’ arm, her smile dimpling her cheeks. A gleam of admiration appeared in his eyes as he drank in her simple beauty— those dark eyes, that lovely smile, those luscious breasts and the glow of health that seemed to surround her since she’d been turned. He felt a clutch in his gut as he contemplated life without her. They’d only been together a few short, perfect months, but he had a sinking premonition all that was going to change, and not for the better. Margo watched him, perhaps reading his mind and heart, her eyes softening. “Be careful,” was all he said.

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Chapter Nine Yasmine checked her face in the little gold compact. After a moment she snapped it shut, irritated with herself. What did she care how she looked? So it was David Lawrence, big deal. She’d gotten over him years ago—more than a century ago! She smiled ruefully as she recalled the incredibly naïve and innocent girl she had been, with zero exposure to men and no thought of sexuality until David had appeared. She recalled that first night she masturbated—the sensations so intense, at once exciting and terrifying. Surely she’d only fixated on David because he was the first man to show her kindness, other than her father when she was a child. As a lonely and easily impressed young woman, she’d simply fallen for David because he was there—like a baby duckling bonding with the first thing it saw after hacking itself out of its egg. It had been so many years ago—it was easy to discount the feelings of anguish and rejection she’d felt when he’d denied her what she had then thought she wanted. Really, he’d been right to rebuff her—what would a mature vampire want with a child of eighteen? She laughed a little to herself. How foolish she had been! Her first time had come a year later, at the gentle if rather dull hands of an older mortal, her first French teacher Henri. He was a handsome man, with a mane of rich dark brown hair and wide hazel eyes that seemed to devour her as he gazed at her. She’d been flattered by his ardent attentions, and finally after they’d been working together some months, she’d allowed him to kiss her. Sparks didn’t exactly fly, but he was gentle and so full of compliments for her beauty she’d gotten rather carried away with it all. At first he’d only kissed her—her lips, her eyelids, her cheeks, her throat. Slowly, slowly, he’d make his way down, carefully unbuttoning her bodice and stopping at each button to make sure he had her unspoken permission. He would stop just at the top of her full, luscious breasts, noting her blush and hesitation and respecting it. They fell into a sort of pattern—the first hour being devoted to French lessons, the second to his lips moving over whatever part of her body she’d permitted that day. Eventually she’d allowed him more liberties. She still remembered his mouth on her nipples. The sweet aching sensation he created by licking and lightly biting them even now made them stand slightly at attention. When he finally had her completely naked, several weeks into their little game, Yasmine had shivered with nervous but eager anticipation. The very fact he’d never touched her sex, never came near it, had left her wet and hungry for his touch. After that first time masturbating with David nearby, Yasmine had touched herself alone in

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the dark several times a week. It was no longer a terrifying experience, but neither was it earth-shattering as the first time had been. Yasmine suspected David’s presence had had a lot to do with the intensity of the experience. She found herself wondering if perhaps this man could provide the same sort of catalyst for her pleasure, but she didn’t dare suggest it or make a move in any way. She was far too shy at that point to do much more than accept what he offered. Once he had her naked, Henri had climbed over her, himself still fully clothed. He’d opened his pants and pulled out his long, thin cock, moving it against her thigh for a few minutes until, moaning, he’d grabbed her breasts roughly and jerked against her. He laid on her for a moment and then stood, quickly closing his pants and looking rather embarrassed. In rapid French she only partially understood he seemed to be apologizing. Apparently the experience hadn’t been what he’d intended, though it was only later, when Yasmine became a more experienced lover that she understood he’d finished the game rather before he’d started it. He tried again the next time they were together, quickly pulling at her clothing, eager to make amends perhaps. This time he reached down, touching her sex, sending a little jolt of tingling pleasure through her. As his fingers pressed up inside her, Yasmine had tensed and cried out a little. At once Henri had pulled back, murmuring assurances and promising to go slow. “My little Arabian virgin,” he whispered in French. “It’s only because you are so lovely, so ripe and fresh that I can’t seem to control myself. I know you are shy, little one, and I won’t rush you.” True to his word, he’d gone very slowly, so slowly she wanted to scream! Touch me! Make love to me! But she didn’t have the courage or the words yet for that. Nor had her vampire skills developed to the point where she could place thoughts in this man’s mind to do her bidding. So she lay back with closed eyes, let images of David swirl through her mind and enjoyed what she could of Henri’s incessant kisses and tentative groping. After another several days of this, the man regained his courage to try again, and this time he managed to penetrate her. It had hurt, but not too much. Again, after only a few thrusts Henri had pulled himself from her, spurting his gooey ejaculate into a handkerchief he’d prepared for the moment. As she was now vampire, his seed could not impregnate her, but he of course believed he was deflowering a mortal. And so it was done, at last. No rushing passion, no wild pounding of her heart. Perhaps that had been a fantasy and this was all there was. Still, Yasmine had wanted to lose her virginity, the sting of David’s remark that she was not yet a woman still resonating painfully in her heart a year later. Perhaps now he would consider her a woman! Perhaps now he would desire her… But she had not seen David Lawrence again. She had not sought him out, her pride forbidding it. At first she had waited for him to appear, eager to prove to him she was

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now a woman, hoping he would succumb to her charms. Yet, though he must have known where she was, he had never come to see her, to see how she was faring in her new life. Over the years she did hear of him from time to time from other vampires who had run across him in their travels. She would pretend an indifference that eventually became real. What was he to her but some long-forgotten dream of a foolish girl from long ago… The plane was emptying and slowly Yasmine stood, her body stiff from the long flight. She walked out of the plane and down the long, narrow hallway to the gate, her heart doing a tiny flip-flop that annoyed her. Putting on a casual expression, she came out into the gate area, scanning it for the man sent to meet her. She didn’t see anyone who fit her memory of David Lawrence, with the sunny blond hair, the intense blue eyes, the broad shoulders and the delicious peek of masculine chest hair curling beneath the white linen shirt… There were several men standing nearby, all of them turning an approving gaze on the tall, elegant young woman standing before them, dressed in a silk dress that clung alluringly to narrow hips and long, lean thighs, revealing shapely calves and slender feet with perfectly manicured toenails peeking from low-slung golden sandals. Her dark, glossy hair was pulled back in silver barrettes that made her gray eyes look almost silver as well beneath thick black lashes and delicately arched eyebrows. Yasmine stood uncertainly for a moment, hefting her carryon bag over her shoulder. She didn’t feel the presence of another vampire, she didn’t catch a scent of one of her own kind. Had she gotten the message wrong from Adrienne? Didn’t she say he would be at the gate? Well! She had said she didn’t need anyone to pick her up, and she didn’t! She’d just head over to baggage claim and collect her suitcase. The disappointment she felt was quashed by annoyance. Yasmine hated people who didn’t do what they said they would. Why volunteer to meet someone and then not be there? Taking a deep breath as she rode down the elevator toward baggage claim, Yasmine laughed a little at herself. As if it mattered! David Lawrence, her first crush, nothing more. Perhaps he had been there and hadn’t recognized her, nor she him. After all, it had been one hundred and eighty-four years since they’d laid eyes on one another. Even vampires can change in that time! What did she care anyway if he was there or not. She’d meet Adrienne as planned later at the hotel. She had much bigger things to consider than if someone had been at the gate to meet her. Yasmine stood at the revolving carousel, scanning the passing bags for her own red leather suitcase with the discreet YH tooled into the leather. She was just reaching for it when a large, masculine hand reached out and grabbed it for her. “Let me get that for you, Yasmine.”

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The world stopped for a moment as his delicious, erotic scent assailed her full force. Even after all this time, she knew at once it was he. She stayed turned away from him a moment, willing the world to begin again so she could catch her breath. There he was, David Lawrence, as handsome as he ever was, if not more so. He appeared to be a man of perhaps thirty, the fine smile lines around his eyes and mouth adding a maturity to his features. His nose seemed a bit crooked now, though instead of detracting from his looks, it lent him a certain rugged appeal. It’s you. Dah-veed. This thought in Arabic escaped her before she recovered herself and she said aloud in low, well-modulated English, “How nice to see you again, David. After all these years. I had thought you were to meet me at the gate, but I see I was mistaken.” A smile ghosted through his eyes as he answered smoothly, “My apologies. My taxi got caught in traffic and I thought I’d better come straight here since your plane had already landed.” That voice! It was the voice in her dreams, her most erotic dreams, laden with sensuality and desire. That seductive voice whispering her name until she awoke with fingers already seeking her hot center to ease the longing. Until that moment Yasmine hadn’t consciously realized it was the voice of David Lawrence, a man she’d thought of as just an old memory, nothing more. David was watching her, tilting his head just as he had so long ago when he was eavesdropping in her mind. Yasmine flushed and turned away. While she did not have the skill of Adrienne and Daniel to completely cloak one’s vampire essence from prying vampires, she could “layer” her thoughts as all mature vampires learned to do out of necessity. Because vampires shared the ability to telepathically enter the minds of mortal and vampire alike, they developed an ability to sort their thoughts, presenting the most innocuous ones for public consumption while keeping their heartfelt feelings hidden below—hence the term layering. It was a conscious exercise, and a discerning vampire could penetrate the layers if one relaxed one’s vigilance. Smoothing her thoughts into a serene blanket that hid her strong reaction to his voice, Yasmine turned back toward David, her expression calm. “Well, no matter. I can certainly find my way around the airport. It was kind of you to meet me, but certainly unnecessary.” “It was my pleasure. I confess I was curious to see how the Arabian slave girl had turned out.” Not curious enough to find me before now. Furious with herself, Yasmine again clamped down on her thoughts and said aloud, “So, what have you been doing the last couple hundred years?” A mortal nearby overheard this remark and raised his eyebrows, smiling a little. No doubt he assumed she was joking. David however took the question at face value. “Oh 62

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the usual, I suppose. Lots of travel. I did an extensive tour of the Middle East, studying the cultures there. Other than Israel, most of the peoples I observed might as well still be living two hundred years ago. The repression is astounding and the people don’t even realize their own oppression, having known nothing else. It is changing as the Internet seeps into corners and pockets of society, but some things, like the plight of their women are as shocking and abysmal as ever.” Despite her intention to remain cool toward this man, Yasmine was intrigued. She had never returned to what was now called Saudi Arabia. Though her master and his wives were all dead now, they lived on in her memories. Indeed, she still carried a scar along her back where a particularly nasty lash had permanently marked her skin. As they left the airport David signaled for a taxi while Yasmine breathed in the fresh air. Despite herself, she felt happier than she had in years. She chalked it up to the adventure awaiting them and the lovely spring weather. As they sat together in the backseat of the taxi, Yasmine’s thigh touched David’s and she felt a tingle of pleasure. She pulled her leg away just as he did. His expression was blank and his available thoughts seemed to concern the route the taxi driver was taking. Was he hiding something from her or was his layered thinking just the habit of a careful man? Not that she cared, of course! What were his thoughts to her? He was simply her guide, taking her to see her old friend Adrienne so she could offer her services in the cause. She was quite indifferent to his past or his present for that matter! Despite her promise to herself to simply look out the window as they rode along busy Parisian streets, curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, “How did you get involved with the rogue killers?” David turned toward her as if he had forgotten she was even in the cab. “Oh quite by accident really. You may recall I was sent to help track and hand over the vampire who turned you without permission.” Yasmine nodded as if she only vaguely recalled. David continued, “Ever since then I’ve found myself paying attention, I guess you would say. When there seemed to be too many human deaths and it looked like the work of one of our own, I would begin to investigate quietly, to see what I could turn up. I found I liked the detective work and was rather good at it. I would track the vampire, following and watching until I had proof of their indiscretions. I would contact the Elders of their particular circle and present my evidence. I was rarely involved after that, letting them handle their own as they saw fit. “I did get a little too close to some dangerous blokes now and again.” Lightly he touched his nose, leaving Yasmine to understand it had been broken, probably in a physical confrontation with another vampire. “As you know, we have no official police in our community, but this past century, as murders of our own kind have occurred at such an alarming rate, there are those among us working to put a stop to it. I met Daniel O’Shay quite a while back when he

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was just beginning to get involved in the hunt. We’d get a clue or a warning from someone and be off in search of the rogues. “Daniel preferred to work alone. I worked both alone and with a partner. But we’ve come to the conclusion we’re going to have to combine our skills and our strengths if we’re going to continue to make headway with this Gang of Five. Daniel at least has the advantage of cloaking himself. You may have heard of this skill, though few among us possess it. I don’t, although I’ve tried for years to develop it.” “Cloaking! Why, Adrienne possesses it as well! Did Daniel teach her? When they became lovers?” “Oh I don’t think so. She had developed the skill before he was even turned as far as I know. She used it to shield herself when she was running from her circle, an outcast in her own right.” “No!” Yasmine breathed. In all the years she’d known Adrienne, though admittedly they would only spend a few days or weeks together every couple of years, the older vampire had never told her of this past. Was she still running? David answered the unspoken thought aloud. “No, she was forgiven. Time served, I suppose you’d say. She spent three hundred years hiding, alone and outcast from her people. Her Elders decided it was enough, I suppose. They forgave her and restored her to her place in the Dark Circle. Now she works with them, helping to capture rogues who are a dire threat to all of us as long as they are permitted to roam this earth.” “Have you ever caught one?” Yasmine asked quietly, shivering a little at the thought. “Yes.” He was quiet a moment and suddenly an image of a fight, two men covered in blood, fangs distended, arms wrapped around each other, slipped into her brain. She knew it was David and a rogue in a fight to the death. “It’s a dangerous occupation, Yasmine. But no, I didn’t kill him. We were both so weakened from the fight the specter of death did loom over us. But I wasn’t alone. My partner had been bound and left unconscious from poisoned wine. She was able to free herself and come to me in time. He had been planning to finish me off and then take his time with her.” “So he didn’t succeed, obviously.” Yasmine focused on his last sentence, though her real interest lay in this partner of his. This female partner! Not that she cared! A hint of a smile played at David’s lips, but he only answered the spoken question. “That’s right. We were able to subdue him. He was tried by his circle and put to death by a letting of the sacred blood.” Yasmine was quiet. She knew she was volunteering for a very dangerous mission, but instead of fear, she felt invigorated, more alive than she had in years. She was poised to leap into the adventure and prove her mettle. The fact David Lawrence had suddenly entered the picture after one hundred and eighty-four years had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.

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Chapter Ten “Welcome, friends. David, it’s been too long altogether!” Daniel O’Shay opened the door to admit their guests. The tall Irishman wrapped his arms around David, who embraced him in return. Yasmine couldn’t help but stare at the man who had been the object of Adrienne’s affections for so long, here at last in the flesh. He had reddish-gold hair and eyes of emerald green slanting upward at the corners, giving him a mischievous, sardonic air. His mouth curved in an easy smile, the smile of someone who was truly happy. Adrienne had met them in the hotel lobby and brought them up to the suite. “We’ve only just checked in ourselves!” she said. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t meet you at the airport, Yasmine. I hope you don’t mind I sent our old friend David.” She smiled, her dark eyes sparkling with something that looked very much like mischief. Yasmine smiled back in spite of herself. Now as Yasmine stepped into their suite, Daniel said in his charming brogue, “Why, what a bonnie lass you’ve brought with you, David! Is this the beautiful Arabian princess I’ve heard so much about! Aren’t you the lucky fellow?” Daniel only laughed as David said rather stiffly, “I beg your pardon, Daniel. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” “No, ‘course you don’t, lad. More the fool’s you!” He winked at Yasmine, who flushed and jutted her chin out a bit, not sure if she wanted to punch Daniel for being so off the mark it was ridiculous or David for so obviously agreeing with her. Adrienne ushered her to a large, plump sofa into which Yasmine gratefully sank. The long journey from Asia was catching up to her. Though vampires don’t require as much rest as humans, they still need to sleep at least a few hours a night and are as subject to jet lag as any mortal. Yasmine was suddenly aware of her hunger. She hadn’t had an opportunity to feed for several days and she felt weak and achy. She glanced at Adrienne and Daniel, both of whom seemed positively to glow with health and wellbeing. They kept smiling as if they shared a precious secret, their whole bodies seeming to lean in toward one another as if they were connected by some invisible thread. Yasmine felt a quiet yearning for what they shared. She had never been in love. Not for a moment. There had been any number of men in her life but none had touched her heart. The ridiculous crush she’d felt for the man now standing next to the window, looking out at the city in twilight had been just that. She had foolishly fixated on him only because he had taken her from the misery of her prior life. He’d made it abundantly clear all those years ago he was not interested in her and he’d continued to make it clear by never reappearing in her life. To hell with him! 65

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She glanced again at the lovers, suppressing a small sigh. Daniel said, “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” As the three of them sat down in chairs facing the couch on which Yasmine reclined he said, “We’ve been able to track what we hope are the last two rogues. We’re pretty sure neither one is aware of our presence. We’ve been talking over some ideas and we’d like to get your take. Especially you, David, as you’ve had experience in tracking.” Yasmine sensed Daniel’s disapproval of her part in all this. Adrienne had warned her he could be difficult—even keeping his true mission a secret from Adrienne for all those years to protect her until he could hide it no longer. Yet beggars couldn’t be choosers—they needed Yasmine, and she knew she could prove herself if given the chance. There was a knock on the door. “Who could that be?” Adrienne asked, looking toward Daniel. “I don’t know, lassie,” he replied. “Are you expecting someone?” “Yoohoo! Have I got the right room, chérie? Adrienne, love, are you in there?” The deep honey-rich voice was unmistakable. Both Daniel and Adrienne laughed. Margo had a knack of showing up where she wasn’t invited. Adrienne got up and opened the door. “Margo! What are you doing here? We said we’d meet for breakfast, didn’t we?” Margo flushed a little but lifted her chin, entering the room with something like defiance. “I know. I know. But this couldn’t wait!” “’Tis herself, none other than the famous New Orleans mischief-maker, here in the flesh, uninvited as usual!” Daniel’s eyes twinkled. Margo, twisting her hands together said hurriedly, “I had to come! Don’t you see! You need me! I’ve got it all worked out. I know just what to do. I’ve been thinking about it endlessly and I have the perfect plan.” “Oh you do, do you? I seem to remember you as a mortal who stepped into matters of the true kin without much regard for what was sensible, not once, but at least three times!” Margo stood still, her face red but her chin still stuck out defiantly. In her low, smooth New Orleans drawl she said, “But I’m not mortal now, am I? I’m one of the true kin, a member of Adrienne’s circle, and as such I’ve as much right to be here as you! They are my people too, those being taken from us by those bastards!” Adrienne touched Margo’s arm lightly. “Sit down, Margo. Daniel’s only having a bit of fun. Despite his hopelessly chauvinistic ideas about women, he can be taught.” As Daniel glowered at her, Adrienne laughed, a merry, sweet sound like little bells, and said again, “Sit down. Join us. I’d say any vampire willing to step up and help should be welcome. And Margo has certainly proven her valor! You might not be here if it weren’t for Margo, Mr. O’Shay. Don’t forget that. Two women saved your life, even if we crushed your ego a bit in the process!”

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Daniel laughed and answered, “Touché, Madame. I concede defeat. Margo, welcome, and let us introduce our friends to you.” He gestured toward David. “This is David Lawrence, an experienced hunter who has some experience tracking rogues, and this is Yasmine Hilal, another volunteer for our cause, just arrived from Japan to aid us.” Margo nodded toward them both, expressing her pleasure at meeting them. She looked more closely at Yasmine and exclaimed, “Why, child, you look terrible! This is more than jet lag. She’s famished!” Margo sat next to Yasmine, touching her cheek. “When was the last time you fed, chére?” “Oh,” Yasmine answered, acutely embarrassed at the attention now focused solely on her. “It’s only been a few days. I-I left Japan so quickly I hadn’t time. I’m fine, really. I shall feed later. Please, don’t let me interrupt the discussion.” But Margo insisted. “Don’t be silly. I can show you the perfect spot. We won’t be but thirty minutes! Then you can concentrate.” It was perhaps ironic, as Margo had only been a vampire for a few months and the rest of them had centuries behind them, but they all deferred to her now. Perhaps because she had been turned when already a woman in her fifties and thus appeared older than the rest of them, or perhaps because she still maintained her human maternal instinct that had yet to be blunted by time. Whatever the reason, they all seemed to agree a break would be no inconvenience. Yasmine stood, feeling dizzy for a moment but determined not to let any of them see how hungry she in fact was. She acted as if she were only going along to please Margo. Dutifully she followed the older woman out of the hotel room, down the thickly carpeted hallway, down the elevator and out into the cool spring night. This way. Margo sent the thought to Yasmine and then smiled proudly. As a fledgling, she was still working on her telepathic skills. Yasmine smiled back and followed her, her canines distending at the thought of blood. Margo led her behind the large hotel to a small parking lot where her car was parked. She sighed a little, looking at Francois’ small sports car. She’d invited him to come to the meeting, indeed she had implored him, but Francois had refused. “These are not matters for mortals, Margo,” he’d said. “At best I’d be in the way, a nuisance inhibiting their discussion.” More gently he’d added, “I don’t think you should go either, darling. You haven’t been invited. We’re to see them in the morning. You know you’ll just get yourself into trouble.” “Hush now, Francois.” Margo put her hand over his mouth and then replaced it with her lips. Francois knew all about her past indiscretions with two others of the true kin, Julian Gaston and Grace Davis, vampires she had discovered in New Orleans and two of her favorite people in the world. She had been an unwitting participant in their ritual of sharing the sacred blood and her interference in the process could have cost her her life.

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Answering his unspoken fears, Margo said, “Francois, you still think of me as mortal. I am a vampire, one of the true kin! As long as I keep my wits about me, I’m virtually invincible! Oh if only you too were a vampire—” “No!” Francois almost shouted. Then more softly he reiterated, “No, my love. I have no wish for immortality. One lifetime is plenty for me, I assure you.” Margo nodded. She understood the appeal of decades, centuries, of life was not necessarily for everyone. Francois was a lucky man, in that he was content with his lot. So Margo had left him at home, driving herself to the hotel to surprise her friends. Now she drove Yasmine along the wide main road, turning along several smaller streets until they found themselves in a sort of warehouse district. “Over there,” Margo pointed. Under the darkening sky they saw a small group of men, some sitting, some standing, some passed out in doorways of what appeared to be an abandoned building. Margo, having just fed, said, “I’ll come with you if you like. Or shall I wait here?” Yasmine surveyed the scene. It could have been any big city anywhere in the world. Homeless men, misfits of society, untreated addicts with nothing left to their name but a crack pipe and a half empty pint of plum wine. She’d taken her fill of these sorts a thousand times over, as had any vampire looking for easy prey. “I’ll go alone, thank you.” Silently she glided from the car, moving with vampire stealth, coming up behind a man lying alone on a bench facing the oily river, his face obscured by his arm. Yasmine silently slipped between nodding bums and bits of garbage. She was barely noticeable as she moved toward the man on the bench. No one was near, preferring to congregate under the lamplight several yards away. Sitting on the bench just beside his head, she lifted and cradled it in her lap as if he were her child or her lover. Yasmine looked at the man’s face. He couldn’t have been much older than thirty, but his features were drawn and haggard, the dirty hollows of his cheeks covered with scabs and a scraggly beard. Yasmine recognized the ravages of crystal meth and knew this man would be dead within the year. But now his pulse beat softly beneath her lips as she dipped her slender neck down, her jet-black hair falling over his face and throat. Beneath the stench of his unwashed body, Yasmine smelled the ripe, sweet scent of blood as her teeth pressed easily through the skin. She drew long, deep pulls of the man’s blood, taking it as quickly as she could, aware of the other men stirring nearby, though none of them were conscious of her presence, hidden in the shadows of the darkening night. Within moments she’d swallowed enough to feel the delicious, hot surge of renewed life soaring through her veins as the pain in her belly eased. Resisting the urge to take more than she needed, Yasmine released her canine grip on the man, sending soothing, hypnotic words into his fevered dreams.

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Gently she touched the spot where she’d bitten, spreading her vampire saliva to hasten the healing. As she slid out from beneath the man, letting his head again rest on the hard wooden bench, he sighed and whimpered but otherwise did not stir. Margo was waiting in the little car, the engine idling. Flipping the lights back on as Yasmine slid into the seat next to her she said, “Much better, eh, chère? Now you look alive! What a lovely girl you are. A heartbreaker, I’d say.” She smiled her lovely, dimpled smile toward Yasmine who smiled back but shook her head. “Somehow I seemed to have missed the boat in that regard,” she said a touch sadly. As Margo started to protest Yasmine added, “Oh I don’t mind the flirtatious games and the little sexual adventures, but I don’t think I’ve touched any hearts, much less broken them.” Margo looked toward Yasmine as they idled at a traffic light. “Oh I don’t think that’s true. You may be talking about yourself—perhaps your heart has remained unscathed. That I can believe—I sense an aloofness about you in matters of love. But as for men, I’m certain you’ve left a wake of shattered hearts, smashed to bits by the charm of those amazing silver-gray eyes and those pouty lips just begging to be kissed.” Yasmine laughed, clearly embarrassed by Margo’s words. She couldn’t help but think of David, his heart obviously impervious to her so-called charms. Not that she cared! She knew men found her beautiful—ever since she had made it out of Arabia, they had been quick to assure her of her loveliness. Vampires had an edge over humans— whatever natural beauty they possessed seemed to be enhanced by a certain essence that rendered mere mortals easy prey, not only for blood but for passion. Yasmine knew she could turn her smoldering gaze on most men and soon have them on their knees, begging to be permitted to serve her. She found her own natural penchant was to serve a man, not the other way around, but she did enjoy the game from time to time, using her sexual powers to control men and bend them as she wished. But perhaps precisely because she had the added vampire advantage and was aware of it, she tended to discount her own very real beauty and natural grace. She assumed her powers derived solely from her vampire essence, and in that, she was humbly but woefully wrong. They returned to the hotel and were welcomed back into Adrienne’s room. “Ah, you were right, Margo! She fairly shines with healthful beauty now!” Adrienne exclaimed. Indeed, now that she had fed, Yasmine’s inner glow was restored. Though she wore no eye makeup, her thick, dark lashes looked like kohl liner around those smoky silver eyes. Her skin, naturally darker than the European vampires’, glowed with the luminescence of a blood-thirst satisfied. “Don’t embarrass the lass,” Daniel chided Adrienne gently. David glanced Yasmine’s way, seeming to look through her as he sipped brandy from a crystal snifter.

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Yasmine took a breath, feeling his indifference like a cold slap in the face before recovering herself with a slight toss of her head. Two could play his cool game. She sat directly across from him, her long, slim legs bare, smooth and soft as toffee-colored satin, delicately crossed at the ankle. She gazed at him through thick lashes, a slight enigmatic smile on her rosy lips. This time he seemed to notice her, fixing his eyes on hers before letting them slide down to her breasts, high and round, the nipples poking through her silk blouse. He took a long drink from his glass, his expression almost insolent as he stared at her nipples until Yasmine flushed and sat up straight, turning her body toward Margo, who had sunk down with a contented sigh next to her on the couch. “Well, Margo. We’ve been waiting for you,” Adrienne said, completely unaware of the little game their two guests were playing. “Tell us this marvelous plan of yours. How are we to catch the last two rogues? We’ve several ideas of our own of course, but the more ideas the better.” Margo leaned forward, her voice animated. “Yes! What I’ve been thinking is, we need to play on our strengths. And what are those? Well, for one, this Yuki Chan thinks Daniel is dead. So she won’t be looking for him. She doesn’t know he can cloak himself from those of our kind nor does she know who Adrienne is or the fact she can also hide herself in this way.” “Yes, obviously we’ve thought of that, woman,” Daniel interjected. “Of course, I’m sure you have,” Margo said. “But the thing I was grappling with in my head is, how do we use this to our advantage? And where do I come in?” “Where indeed?” Daniel said skeptically. Margo turned her gaze on him, her expression impatient, though she didn’t say anything directly. Instead she continued. “What I’ve been thinking is, we keep assuming there are only five, because of that rogue’s use of the term the Gang of Five. But we don’t know that for sure. We need to gain’s Yuki’s confidence before we subdue her and hand her over to the Elders. I think I have a plan to do this.” They were all listening intently as Margo continued. “Adrienne has told me this Yuki, uh, likes girls.” She flushed a little as she said this. The other vampires smiled indulgently. During centuries of sexual play, most vampires had experimented many times over with members of their own sex. It was nothing unusual and certainly nothing to blush about. Margo, being a fledging, evidently still maintained her human shyness in this regard. “What a scandal!” Daniel laughed as Margo’s flush darkened. “Go on, dear,” Adrienne said kindly. “Ignore him.” “Well,” Margo said, her voice determined. “I have a plan. Entrapment. I’ll get to know Yuki, you know, uh, sexually.” She blushed as much as a vampire can blush but then laughed a little. “I’ll get her to trust me. And I’ll convince her I’m serious about joining her twisted little gang of murderers by ‘killing’ Adrienne. That is, I’ll take

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Adrienne’s blood until she cloaks herself, making it seem as if I’ve snuffed out her life’s essence, just as you were able to do, Daniel.” “Not a bad plan, lass,” Daniel said with grudging admiration. Adrienne added, her voice animated, “If we can pull it off, Yuki will have seen firsthand you’re a killer. Perhaps then she’ll take you into her confidence and we’ll finally learn the truth of the extent of this band of murderers.” Margo nodded, looking very pleased with herself. Daniel’s expression was sober as he said, “This woman is a killer. A murderer. You’re putting not only your life, but Adrienne’s at risk as well. Think on that, lassie. This is no game. We are in this for keeps.” Margo’s smile faded and she nodded. Her rich brown eyes flashed a little as she said softly, “Yes, Daniel, I know. I don’t enter this lightly, I assure you. I’ve faced death before and I’m not afraid. If you’re up to the challenge, so am I.” Daniel nodded gravely, apparently satisfied. “We need a plan for our Middle Eastern rogue as well. We’ve been discussing some ideas. David?” David said in his smooth British accent, “Well, I’ve spent the last several months observing the rogue and I’m certain he’s our man. You’ll no doubt be surprised to learn the man in question is in fact none other than Hasan Jawhar.” Yasmine looked questioningly at him, not recognizing the name. She did not keep up with Middle Eastern current events, indeed avoiding the region entirely if she could help it. “Prince Hasan,” David said a little impatiently. “He’s presented himself as a distant cousin to the Saudi royal family. In fact he’s no such thing, being a vampire from what is now called Iraq, but when he came into being was still called Mesopotamia. He’s been posing for about ten years as their relative and apparently has everyone fooled, including them. “We became aware of him while tracking a series of vampire deaths in the region. Apparently Hasan is given free rein over his own little bastion of power located just outside of Riyadh. He maintains a palace there on sprawling grounds where he keeps servants, slaves and any number of concubines who serve at his pleasure and his whim. He’s been known to punish his human possessions with death, but no one questions him as his wealth is as great as the royal family’s and is generously shared with those who might otherwise censure him. “But we’re not here to protect the mortals. Not now that this greater crime is being perpetrated against our people. We suspect Hasan is one of the so-called Gang of Five, and we plan to infiltrate his compound and deliver him to the authorities if we can.” Riyadh. Yasmine knew the once small-town settlement was now a bustling city, the capital of Saudi Arabia and home to great wealth and power concentrated in the hands of very few. She felt a finger of dread drag itself through her at the prospect of returning to the land where she had been enslaved.

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Though it was the twenty-first century, with generations succeeding generations, in the country of her birth it was as if time had stood still. Women were still chattel, slaves in all but name, subject to the capricious whims of male relatives who could kill them for walking alone at night unattended, if it pleased them to do so and no one would bat an eye. Did she really want to return to such a place, the place she’d been avoiding for close to two centuries? Adrienne answered her unspoken thoughts, sensing the turmoil in her heart. “Yasmine. You needn’t go. We called you when we became convinced who the fifth member was. You had expressed your earnest desire to serve the cause. We called you because of your heritage. You were born Arab, and you know the ways and the language of your people better than any of us. Because of your willingness to help, it seemed a perfect fit, but we understand. Truly we do, if you choose not to accept the mission.” “No. No, I want to go.” As she said it, Yasmine knew that she did. A sort of fierce exhilaration seemed to rise up inside her. To move among her Arab people, no longer a frightened and powerless slave girl, but a confident and strong vampire, beholden to no one! To return there triumphant and free, though admittedly none were left alive who had known her then. The other vampires sensed her determination. David said aloud, “You and I will handle this mission, Yasmine.” His voice was matter-of-fact, his expression neutral. “My plan is to use you, if you’ll forgive the term, to infiltrate his compound. His penchant for lovely young women is well-known. The added allure of your being a vampire should assure admittance and his attention. When the time is ripe we’ll strike, you and I together, subdue him and hand him over to the authorities.” “As simple as that, eh?” Yasmine couldn’t suppress a grin. Lovely young woman? Was this David’s assumption for Hasan or his own feeling? Not that it mattered! Aloud she said, “And just how am I to ‘infiltrate’ the so-called prince’s compound?” “I’ve been living in Saudi Arabia for the past several months as we watched, tracked and finally pinpointed the vampire killer. I’ve established myself there as a wealthy European scholar working on a new English translation of the Koran. Since I’m fluent in Arabic with plenty of connections from my years in the region, I’ve been able to get close to Hasan, though I haven’t met him yet. Indeed, I won’t meet him, since he would of course sense I was one of the true kin. “Prince Hasan is a womanizer. He’s spent time in Europe and developed some rather modern sensibilities when it comes to pleasure, though he keeps this well hidden of course behind a façade of Muslim sensibility. I’ve gotten to know some of his friends in the elite strata where he mingles and the word among them is the prince is bored. He needs something or someone new. Someone who will challenge his jaded sensibilities. Someone who won’t simply fall over in a swoon when he deigns to crook his finger in her direction.” David turned his blue-eyed gaze to Yasmine. “I’ve floated the word among them of a lovely young princess from Qumar, a woman of great refinement and background. 72

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She’s in her twenties and with the passing of her uncle, an orphan. She needs a home as her uncle was evidently in some serious debt and what assets he had were liquidated to pay for them, leaving the young princess, used to a life of luxury, suddenly penniless. “I let it be known this woman could be had, for a price.” “Had?” Yasmine inquired, her delicate eyebrows cocked. “Yes. Sold, if you like. She has no rights. Her uncle’s estate is being handled by the Qumar authorities. While the laws on the books forbid outright slavery, no one worries too much about enforcement. Same as in Saudi Arabia where the riyal speaks as loudly as it ever did and a woman’s life is only worth as much as her male relatives decide it is.” David continued. “This princess has the added allure of being a vampire. One of the true kin. Imagine the killer’s sadistic delight at having a vampire utterly at his mercy, a virtual prisoner in his compound.” “And who might this mysterious Arab princess be?” Yasmine asked. “Why, surely you know the answer to that.”

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Chapter Eleven Yuki Chan stood only five feet tall. Born a vampire at the turn of the nineteenth century on the island of Japan, she now appeared to be a woman in her mid-twenties. Her features were classically beautiful, her large black eyes pleasingly slanted, with a small nose and tiny rosebud mouth. Her thick hair was perfectly straight, hanging like black silk against alabaster skin. She was delicately boned and resembled the Japanese porcelain dolls so prized by collectors, though instead of the traditional kimono, she wore black jeans and a black sleeveless cashmere sweater that contrasted starkly with her brightly painted red lips. Yuki sat at the bar nursing a glass of wine. She was very curious about the enigmatic note that had been slipped through the small slot in the front door of the little cottage she’d rented for the season. I’ve been watching you, beautiful girl. Your scent is intoxicating. I can only imagine your blood is sweeter than any mere mortal’s. Meet me at Casa de la Luna at 9:00. You will know me by my smile. She pulled the note out again, reading it over as she looked toward the clock. It was close to nine o’clock on a warm April night. Yuki had come to Seville, as she often did, for the Real de la Feria, Seville’s weeklong spring festival. Yuki loved the festival with its parades, circuses and most importantly, its bullfights. She loved the stylized drama of a bullfight, its methodical enactment as precise as any Japanese tea ceremony from the moment the bull entered the ring until the matador drained the last of the beast’s lifeblood. She liked to compare herself to the bullfighter as he came to dominate the creature, exercising near-complete control over it. As she took her own prey, be it human or vampire, Yuki thrilled to the power of bending her chosen victim until they were enslaved, obeying her will as she guided them toward their own death with perfect grace and harmony. Very Japanese, she said to herself, smiling slightly. This letter was obviously from another vampire. The script was feminine, which further intrigued her. So far she’d stolen the sacred blood from seven vampires over the past thirty years she’d been playing this deadly, delicious game. Each of them had been men, which up until now had suited her, since she favored the gentler sex for love. Men

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were oafish and hairy. They were often chauvinistic and assumed because she was petite and lovely in their eyes, she couldn’t possibly have the soul of killer. But they were wrong. As they had learned, each one foolishly trusting her, dying naked in her arms—paralyzed with drugs, their pleading eyes rolling with terror. Even now the memories stirred her sex, making her shift on the tall barstool. Yuki, like all the rogue killers in her little gang of terror, had at last found something to excite her jaded sensibilities. Death of the true kin roused her like no mere loss of mortal life could do. She liked to take her time, drawing out their suffering as she sapped them of their essence. Torture made the final demise all the sweeter in Yuki’s twisted mind. The door to the bar swung open and a woman entered. Yuki at once caught the scent of one of her own kind. She was older, appearing in her early fifties, but lovely nonetheless. Either she was ancient indeed or she had been turned. Watching her move, Yuki decided it was probably the latter as she seemed to have a vitality and vibrancy the Elders rarely possessed. Yuki noted the woman’s voluptuous figure, rounded sensual hips and full ass covered in a black sexy skirt that fell just below the knee and the large, full breasts almost spilling over the top of her red low-cut blouse. The woman had also noticed her and she moved with a kind of sliding grace toward the bar, her face lighting into a brilliant smile as she approached Yuki. Did you get my note? The woman’s words slipped into Yuki’s mind and she nodded. “Very mysterious,” she said aloud. “I don’t believe we’ve met?” It was possible, over the past hundreds of years, they had in fact met somewhere and Yuki had simply forgotten. Though she doubted she would have forgotten this one. She fairly shouted her sensuality. Yuki felt a tingle in her pussy and crossed her legs, layering her thoughts quickly to protect herself. “I’m Margo. Margo Patrick. Delighted to meet you. I hope you forgive my boldness. I thought it would add some spice, rather than just walking up to you, to drop you a little note. I saw you outside your cottage yesterday, tending your flowers. Of course I knew at once you were one of the true kin. I thought it would be fun to add a little mystery. Life can be so deadly dull. Don’t you agree?” Yuki liked the woman’s low, sensual voice. She seemed a trifle nervous but Yuki let it go, given the unusual circumstances. She took the offered hand, giving her own name in return. Margo’s grasp was firm and sure, not the limp-wristed offering so many women seemed to give. Yuki liked that. She liked her women strong. It made the subjugation all the more thrilling. She decided to probe a bit. Many vampires moaned about the dullness of neareternity, but few chose to do anything about it as Yuki had. Life was never dull now that she’d learned to dance on the razor’s edge of death, stealing the sacred blood of the true kin. The challenge was immense as these were no mere mortals easily subdued and sucked dry as a bone.

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No, vampires fought back. And vampires could see into one’s heart if one wasn’t careful. But Yuki was careful. Careful and clever. How fortuitous to have this lovely vampire drop, it almost seemed, straight from the heavens right into Yuki’s lap. She would teach her to long for “dull” by the time she was done with her. Smiling, Yuki nodded. “Yes. Deadly dull. Years and years stretching out, the last one just like the next one. You’ve got to seize life, you see. Force the thrill!” She tilted her head toward Margo, but Margo didn’t respond. Backing off a bit she said, “I like to spice things up a bit when I can. I was just going to go back out to the fairgrounds and see what human prey I could rustle up for a midnight snack. Care to join me?” “By all means,” Margo replied. Yuki sensed a sudden tension but when she probed, felt only Margo’s sexual attraction toward her. Yuki smiled a little satisfied smile. She was used to others, men and women alike, finding her irresistible. And why not, she was beautiful and she knew it. Why pretend to a modesty that served no purpose? She relaxed, rising from the stool as she dropped a few bills on the bar. What an interesting turn the evening was taking! Margo followed the petite woman from the bar. It had been easy, almost too easy, to connect. Yuki had barely seemed surprised to get a secret admirer note from a strange female. And her invitation to follow her to the fairgrounds had been almost made to order. Margo knew from her own life’s experience if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was. She was thus triply on her guard as they walked together, her thoughts carefully layered to reveal only the sexual attraction she projected toward the diminutive beauty. In point of fact, Yuki was singularly lovely, with her porcelain skin and those liquid eyes. Her slim body was as narrow as a boy’s, except the high, round breasts that left no question as to her sex. Margo wondered if it came down to it, could she actually get naked with this woman and make love to her? She knew she would have no trouble exploring the other woman’s body, but would Yuki possibly be interested in her? Though Margo’s body had hardened and strengthened since she’d been turned, it was still the body of a middle-aged woman and Margo had no appreciation of her own beauty, though Francois, and indeed men half his age, had assured her she was lovely. Well, this mission wasn’t about impressing Yuki. For now she simply had to convince Yuki of her sincerity as a bisexual vampire looking for a thrill. They moved together with vampire ease, flowing into the shadows so they were barely visible to the mortals drinking and laughing in the brightly colored tents strung with twinkling lights. Behind a tent they found just what they were looking for. Two young men were leaning against the tent, several empty bottles of wine at their feet. They were both snoring softly, their dark curly heads lolling against one another. Of one accord, Margo and Yuki each sat one on either side, pulling a boy down. Margo bit quickly, suckling the sweet, heated elixir, for a moment almost forgetting her mission or the woman beside her. As the blood coursed deliciously through her

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veins she marveled at herself. She was now committed to a deadly game with a known killer. It was good she was feeding, as her strength would be at its peak for whatever lay ahead. She felt the young man weaken, his pulse slowing, and knew she had to stop before she took too much. Reluctantly she withdrew, licking his precious blood from her lips as she sat back, propping him again against the canvas wall of the tent. Yuki’s mouth was still locked on the other man’s neck, her small hands holding his face as she took her fill. The mortal’s skin was white, as pale as death. Margo realized he was going to die in a moment if Yuki didn’t release her grip. “You’re going to kill him! You need to stop,” she whispered urgently. Yuki didn’t respond, continuing to suck the man’s blood until she had sated herself completely. She let him fall forward, his face hitting the packed dirt. “I-I think you’ve killed him!” Margo breathed. New to the kin, Margo had not yet had the misfortune to kill a mortal, though she knew it happened by accident from time to time. She was horrified at what she had just witnessed. Yuki turned toward Margo, her eyes glowing like black coals. Her lips were stained red, blood running down her chin. She smiled cruelly. “Did I? What a shame.” She stood up, seemingly completely indifferent to the dead mortal at her feet. Margo turned away, composing herself. Daniel had warned her this was not a game. “Let’s go back to my place and get to know one another, shall we, Margo?” Yuki was already walking away, the humans forgotten. Margo followed, not knowing what else to do. Though she felt alone, she took solace in the fact Adrienne and Daniel were cloaked and somewhere nearby. “Sounds like a plan,” she said, forcing a gaiety to her tone as she hurried after the little Asian beauty. “She killed the mortal,” Adrienne whispered to Daniel. “Aye, love, she did at that.” They were standing outside at the back of Yuki’s home. To have come so close at last! Daniel, not a vengeful man, was nevertheless determined to bring Yuki to justice. Because of her, he had lain shackled and starving, near death for seven years in his own cellar. Because of his own foolish certainty he could overpower a mere woman, he’d let the little Yuki lull him into a sense of false security. Not this time! This time Daniel was determined to get the better of the killer. That young mortal she’d killed simply for pleasure would be the last life she took, if he had anything to say about it. “Adrienne, come over here. Can you see?” Standing on tiptoe next to her lover, Adrienne peered into the little room where Yuki was pouring white wine into two tall glasses. She handed one to Margo, who was sitting perched on the edge of a black leather couch looking nervous but quite lovely, still flushed with her feed, the red of her blouse reflecting in her cheeks.

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“You killed that boy on purpose, didn’t you, Yuki? I, uh, I have a confession to make.” Margo leaned forward, her lips parted. “When that happens I get an almost sexual thrill. To know the power of taking a life. It’s like, I don’t know, like being a god! We control their very blood, sapping it at will with our sacred kiss.” Would Yuki buy it? Margo focused her entire fledgling skill on keeping her thoughts layered and her words sincere. Yuki smiled slowly, her dark eyes flashing. “I know just what you mean, Margo. You seemed a little disconcerted back at the fair…” “Oh! Well, yes. I know the protocol. Everyone always harping on safety and discretion. Like those pathetic little lives matter! What’s a day, a month, a year, to them? They’re little better than animals, really, put here on this earth to serve our needs. Good for occasional sex and for blood, to my way of thinking!” Oh God, had she gone too far? But Yuki seemed pleased with this response. “I do believe, Margo, we are kindred in that regard. Much too much fuss is made over humans.” She sat next to Margo, letting her small hand drop lightly on Margo’s thigh. Margo was wearing a black skirt slit down the middle, so Yuki’s fingers grazed bare skin as her palm rested on the fabric. Margo resisted an urge to pull away. While she found the young woman undeniably beautiful, this charade was becoming more difficult. Yet she knew she needed to prove to Yuki she was sincere, and she felt the easiest way to do this was by showing her attraction for and approval of Yuki. Closing her eyes and imagining her darling Francois waiting safely at home, she leaned forward and whispered in a throaty voice, “May I kiss you?” Yuki laughed a delighted little laugh and said, “Why yes you may, Margo. That is, if you get on your knees like a good little girl.” Margo’s eyes flipped opened, surprised. For a moment Yuki’s thoughts were clear as she whispered telepathically, I like to be in control, Margo. I like to claim the woman I’m with. Can you handle it? Margo flushed and swallowed, collecting herself. Could she do this? Slowly she knelt, not having to feign her shyness as Yuki said, “Very good, very good. That’s how I like my lovers—on their knees.” She took Margo’s face in her hands and leaned down, lightly kissing her on the lips. Margo closed her eyes, experiencing a tumult of feelings. Repulsion at Yuki’s cavalier disregard of life, human and vampire alike, was overlain with an explosion of pleasure as Yuki’s tongue lightly teased her mouth. Margo gasped as fingers reached brazenly into her blouse and bra, finding the sensitive nipples, rolling them into hard little marbles, pulling them almost too hard to attention. “I will own you when I’m done,” Yuki whispered. With vampire strength she easily pulled the older woman up and onto her lap, bending over her for an open-mouthed kiss. Margo’s heart was thrashing at her ribs as she felt Yuki’s teeth graze her throat. Struggling to sit up she managed to say in a breathless voice, “Please. Wait. A moment. I want to share something…to give you something…”

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“You have what I want right here,” Yuki murmured, as nimble fingers quickly unbuttoned Margo’s blouse. Pushing down the satin fabric of Margo’s bra, Yuki bent over her breasts, biting a nipple until Margo moaned then licking it shiny before moving to the other nipple to do the same. “You came to me, Margo. You sought me out. Now you’ll serve me. I’ll use you until I use you up.” Yuki stood, rolling Margo from her lap. Margo tumbled to the floor, hitting her head against the corner of a low table. Before she could even react Yuki had pulled her back up, pressing her down onto the couch, this time straddling her waist as she gripped her throat, smiling in a grimace of pointed fangs, her eyes blazing with hypnotic power. Margo could barely catch her breath. She didn’t fully understand what was happening. Was the woman trying to seduce her or kill her? She knew about this sort of rough play between consenting partners, but this didn’t feel consensual and Margo felt her fear like a fist gripping in her guts. How had she let this spiral out of control so quickly? Where were Daniel and Adrienne? Suddenly the image of Daniel, his expression doubting, his sentiment that women had no place in a vampire hunt hurtled into Margo’s brain. If she collapsed in panic now, he’d be proven right. She was bigger than this little Japanese doll—why was she so helpless before her? She had just fed—the blood of a Spaniard resounding in her veins like a call to arms. Instead of crying out in fear, she reached up and grabbed Yuki, pulling the little woman down so their faces were touching. She bit Yuki’s lips and then pressed her tongue between them, forcing her most amorous and sensual thoughts to the fore. “Hot, lovely girl,” she whispered in her low, melted-butter voice. Yuki seemed to ease against her suddenly, the wind for a moment out of her sails as she succumbed to Margo’s kiss. “You have the passion, Yuki,” Margo whispered, emboldened by her small success. “I think we share the passion for the hunt, for the kill. Would you like to see me kill another of our kind? Would you like to watch me take the sacred blood?” Yuki sat up, her eyes wild, her hair covering her face. Shaking it back she stared at Margo. “What are you saying? What do you know?” Her voice was insistent, edged with anger. “I read it in your heart,” Margo ventured, deciding to go all out. In fact Yuki’s heart had been completely obscured from her, but Yuki couldn’t know this for certain. This was, after all, their plan. Adrienne and Daniel would be waiting back at the little inn where they’d procured rooms once they saw the two emerge from Yuki’s cottage. “You have dared to do what I have only dreamed of. Yuki, your power, your grace—how I admire that! I’ve never had the courage to take the sacred blood without returning it. To spill the blood for the sheer power of the act. I can’t think of anything more intensely thrilling.”

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Yuki was still, watching Margo closely, her pupils dilated, her nostrils slightly flared. Margo swallowed and pushed on. “What I meant, earlier, when I said I had something for you, something I wanted to share…” “Yes, go on.” “I have a friend. Not a friend exactly. A vampire I met in France. We’ve been traveling together. We’re lovers, but nothing serious.” It was common for vampires to come together for a day, a week, a year—and have it mean very little to either side, just a way to pass the time. Yuki didn’t bat an eye, assuming now Margo was gay. She’d sold that part of the story at least! Margo continued. “She’s lovely. Her name is Adrienne. I keep having this recurring fantasy of taking her blood. Of sucking her dry. Of watching her die in my arms. I get so hot thinking about it! I obsess about it. I dream about it. But I haven’t had the courage to act upon it. I know it’s dangerous. I could be caught. I could become hunted by those vigilantes with nothing else to do but mind other people’s business.” “Why are you telling me this, Margo? What is this to do with me?” Yuki’s voice was careful but Margo sensed her underlying desire, her heat. The woman was deeply intrigued by what Margo was saying. Her own murderous bloodlust had been aroused. In a perfect imitation of a love-struck girl, Margo breathed, “Yuki. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I worshipped you from the moment I saw you. Somehow just being with you tonight has given me the courage I’ve sought for so long. I’m going to prove my worthiness to you by taking the life of another vampire—of my own lover! It will be my offering to you.” “Very well. I will let you show me.” Yuki said as she stood, taking the bait. “I need to get something. Wait a moment.” She reemerged from her bedroom in a moment, carrying a small black leather tote. Margo stood as well, hurriedly buttoning her blouse as they headed out into the darkness of the Spanish night. “And to prove your worthiness,” Yuki said in an imperious tone, “you won’t be the one taking the sacred blood. I will.”

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Chapter Twelve The driver returned to the car, solemnly handing the packet of figs to David before starting the limo, driving it slowly from the edge of the bustling marketplace. “I don’t know why you had to have these,” David said, smiling wryly toward Yasmine. She took the packet and opened the twist of paper to reveal the plump, ripe green and pink figs below, their skins fuzzy and soft. “It was such a treat back when I was mortal. I remember once Zahra and I stole a handful of them from the wooden bowl by the window. The sweet, fresh taste when we bit into the fruit was like nothing I’ve had since. It was definitely worth the beating we received when the theft was discovered.” She held a fig up between two long, slender fingers, smiling. “It’s true since becoming a vampire I’ve lost the need for food but I can still take pleasure in it. Can’t you?” “I suppose,” David said noncommittally. He couldn’t help but watch as Yasmine took a bite of the lush fruit, its dark pink juice running down her chin as she bit, closing her eyes in something close to ecstasy. He suppressed a sigh. When he’d seen her at the airport he’d known right away it was she, even though it had been close to two centuries since he’d seen her. The subtle lingering scent of fresh jasmine and the graceful curve of her body as she bent toward the luggage carousel—why had he waited so long to see her again? Though this was not the skinny, woebegone waif he’d rescued so long ago. The funny little thing made up like a Parisian whore twirling before a mirror like the queen of England herself. No, this was all woman—with her dark, lustrous hair, her eyes that amazing color of clear gray, those breasts, like perfect mounds just begging to be squeezed. As he gazed at her long, slender neck he actually salivated, feeling his canines become fanglike at the thought of her sweet blood. Ridiculous! He again glanced her way as he properly layered his thoughts to make sure she couldn’t eavesdrop. How absurd to even contemplate a tryst with this woman when they had so much at stake right now. Indeed, it was his job to help her take her place in Hasan’s compound. David wondered for the hundredth time if this had been a wise plan. He knew Yasmine was fully on board and prepared to risk her own life in the process, but was he willing to let her? When David had come up with the plan he hadn’t yet seen her again—hadn’t been prepared for the absurd clutch in his heart when he’d looked at her and heard her low, sweet voice, a foreign trace still evident in her British accent, even after close to two centuries of practice. Of course she’d been very clear from the moment they’d reconnected at the airport she was not in the least interested in him. Indeed, he even read a trace of the anger she 81

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still harbored in her heart toward him for treating her like the girl she had been, instead of the woman she had thought she wished to be. No, he didn’t regret refusing her immature advances so long ago. She was simply reaching out to the first man who had ever been kind to her. To have taken her at her word, to have made love to her when she’d just been brutalized and violently turned, would have been little more than abuse. A gratification of his own petty lust perhaps, but no more. He wasn’t interested back then in some confused little fledgling. David had been perhaps especially careful, as at the time he had just stumbled out of a devastating affair with a petite blonde vampire who had briefly wrapped David’s heart around her finger, shamelessly using him though he himself had fancied he was in love. She’d tired of him and had summarily dismissed him, ready to move on to new adventure. “Ah, Alena,” he thought with a sigh, more from habit than any residual feeling. She had come into his life like a burst of golden sunlight, burning him with her bright flame of passion before melting away. This brief, incendiary sort of affair certainly wasn’t unusual among the true kin. A vampire’s heart was rarely involved in adventures of the flesh, and, after that singeing of his heart, David had been no exception. Yasmine too had no doubt learned to keep her heart tucked carefully away. It was the only way to survive. He himself would never reveal his attraction to Yasmine, even if she seemed willing to play. He never let a woman near his heart and hadn’t for centuries. He was no mere fledgling, and he had no interest in love. Glancing at Yasmine, who was delicately licking the fig juice from her fingers, David crossed his legs, willing away the tingling in his cock her action elicited. “So,” he said to distract himself as much as anything, “let’s go over the plan again.” They spoke in English, David having made sure the driver they’d hired spoke only Arabic. “Tonight you’ll be presented at Hasan’s spring festival ball. He likes to hold these elaborate parties, complete with full orchestra, black tie and plenty of lovely women dressed in their silks and satins. “He has learned through his ‘sources’—sources we control, of course—that there is a young vampire princess, recently orphaned and nearly penniless. The deals have been made behind the scenes, and though you will be presented as a guest in his home, in fact you will be regarded as little more than his slave, as are all the other women he keeps in his harem.” Yasmine shivered a little and David knew she was reacting to the word “slave”. What was just a charade, a plan to entrap and ensnare the evil vampire, would feel real to Yasmine when she was left alone in Hasan’s power. David touched her hand lightly, reveling in the silky feel of her skin despite himself. “You won’t be alone. I have managed to infiltrate his compound. I have recruited an entourage of guards and workers who, though they pretend allegiance to Hasan, work for me, and will do my bidding when the time comes. I have paid them handsomely and they know the reward once he is brought to justice. They think it’s all 82

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in human terms, but given the money they’ve received and will receive, they won’t question any of it too thoroughly.” “If you’ve managed to get all those loyal men surrounding him, why not just kidnap him outright? We’ll just grab the fellow and hand him over.” “Two reasons. First, while these guards and servants will spy for me, they will not do something so rash as to try and kidnap him. If they failed, death would be a mercy compared to what would happen to them. “Second, though we strongly suspect Hasan, we don’t yet have definitive proof. We are not above the laws of our Elders, even if we would like it to be so. That’s why your part will be so critical. We are hoping you’ll be able to gain his confidence. Get him to confess to something. Pretend you share the same bloodlust or at least that you understand and even admire such a wild streak. He’ll have his guard down around such a lovely young vampire. I’m counting on his weakness for women to be his undoing, as it has been the undoing of many a man before him.” Yasmine smiled a little and took another bite of ripe fruit.

***** “Illustrious Prince, allow me to introduce Princess Yasmine of Qumar. She is honored to make your acquaintance, sir.” Habib Kabir bowed toward the tall, dark man. Yasmine had met Habib the night before at their Riyadh hotel. As far as Habib knew, this was merely a financial arrangement to take care of the displaced princess. His job, as a high-ranking nobleman in the Saudi kingdom, and one who could be rather easily bought for a few thousand riyals, had been to gain Yasmine access to the Jawhar compound. Previously Habib had delivered a sealed letter to Hasan. The letter had contained the secret of Yasmine’s true vampire nature, revealed only to the prince. It was to be her secret letter of introduction, and the compelling reason why Hasan should take her into his home. Hasan was led to believe the letter had come from one of his own vampire circle and was thus legitimate. Of course now he knew it to be true, as Yasmine’s vampire essence was as clear to the prince as his was to her. The prince smiled benignly as Yasmine bowed, a chiffon gray veil covering most of her face as befitted her modesty. The long, flowing gown, richly embroidered with silver and gold thread, could not obscure the lovely curves of her youthful body, though only her neck and hands were visible as befitted an Arabian princess. Yasmine sensed Hasan’s probing into her mind as she bowed. Carefully she presented her uppermost thoughts, not needing to lie about one thing—he was perhaps the most devastatingly handsome man she had ever seen. Her first thought had been that his name, Hasan Jawhar, suited him as it translates literally to “handsome jewel” in English. Hasan took her hand, bending his head over it as he grazed her skin with his lips. “A pleasure to meet you, Princess,” he said, his voice low and pleasing. Yasmine found 83

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it hard to believe this man was a killer. A brutal sadist who delighted in torturing and then murdering his human prey and taking the sacred blood of his own kind for sport. Perhaps there was a mistake? David had said they had no definitive proof… She glanced through lowered lashes at his face, the long, clean lines of noble Semitic beauty, the large, liquid black eyes, the mobile lips now spread in a smile revealing strong white teeth. His hair was hidden behind the traditional Arab headgear, but she guessed it was black, like the straight, high brows over those mesmerizing eyes. He smelled wonderful! She hadn’t expected to find him so appealing—his scent like melted chocolate mixed with a certain raw sensuality that made her pussy warm despite her knowledge he was a dangerous and evil man. Hasan was watching her and Yasmine swallowed, forcing herself to project the calm upper layer of her thoughts and a respectful submissive posture. She sensed he had correctly picked up on her sexual attraction toward him and she blushed a little, which only made him smile. “You are more lovely than the finest sapphire, lady. It is an honor to have you as a guest in my house.” He inquired about her life in Qumar as Habib stood politely by and then, as the music began to play asked, “Would you care to dance? I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the Western ways, but inside this compound we do not regard music or dancing as evil. In my home I rule and I—” he smiled widely “—like to dance.” Yasmine smiled and took his offered hand, following him to the dance floor already filled with swaying couples. Of course she knew how to dance, she was a vampire, not some mortal woman trapped in her father’s house! Aloud she said softly as he pressed her close, “I have learned to dance, sir. I am of the true kin, as you know. I have some experience in the world.” “Do you, indeed? You will have to tell me all about your experiences, Princess, when we get a chance to become better acquainted. For now, explain to me please why you are without wealth? As one of the true kin, why are your Elders not seeing to you, now that your uncle has passed?” His tone, while still pleasant, held an edge of steel. David had studied Hasan from afar for months and had played on Hasan’s Arabic sensibility. Vampires, like mortals, were still subject to chauvinistic beliefs and to influences of the cultures in which they lived. While most vampires traveled the world and truly were citizens of the globe, a few stayed where they were as Hasan had done, establishing themselves as human and living in one spot until their lack of mortal aging might begin to draw suspicion. Then they would simply move to another city or part of the countryside, creating a new persona. Hasan had always preferred the Middle East, though of course he traveled from time to time to the West and Far East as befitted a man of his stature and wealth. David had been able to learn Hasan still held the antiquated Muslim view that women, while they could own property under certain circumstances and were entitled to financial support from their husbands or male relatives, had no political or social rights and were most certainly not equal to men in any respect. David had coached Yasmine on Hasan’s beliefs. He’d also prepared her for just this question. 84

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Yasmine answered smoothly, “My family, my circle, is naturally influenced by the beliefs of our society, sir. Our circle is very small, confined to this region, and the Elders believe women should not have wealth of their own. It should pass from male to male, as is fitting. I have always been well provided for. At least until my uncle…” she paused, forcing a little catch into her voice. “He—how do I say this, sir, without showing disrespect? He was not always wise in his investments. He liked to…” she dropped her voice to a horrified whisper, “gamble.” Then, as if to make up for being such a disloyal niece she hastily added, “He would have won it all back, sir! He’d done it any number of times before. But he, he had an accident. A loss of the blood…” She trailed off, forcing the image of what she imagined would have been her uncle, had she had one, having illicit sex with another vampire, both of them bathed in blood as they made the sacred exchange without regard for safety. Indeed, it was a scenario actually played out from time to time in the vampire community. She allowed Hasan easy access to the “memory” and it seemed to work, as he nodded in apparent sympathy. “Not many circles still adhere to the ancient ways. What did you say the name of your circle was?” “Silver Circle,” she answered, silently thanking David for this additional bit of preparation. He’d researched defunct circles in the Middle East. Silver Circle had in fact died out a century before, its dwindling membership dispersed to other circles when the last of its Elders had perished and no new vampire had stepped forward to take their place. Hopefully Hasan would not think to check this himself. She felt a sudden clutch of fear as she realized he might know the circle was no more. He seemed satisfied however, as he simply nodded and pulled her a little closer. Despite herself, her body responded to his strong, masculine form. She could feel his hard chest and the slight bulge at his crotch. Perversely she wanted to grind her pelvis against that bulge and feel it enlarge against the silk of her gown, but of course she did not do that. The dance ended and soon after the guests were led into a huge dining room where a lavish feast was presented and consumed. If Hasan and Yasmine merely picked at their food, no one else seemed the wiser. After the meal the women stood. Those who had been wearing veils had removed them for the meal and didn’t put them back, so Yasmine didn’t either. She knew veils were only required in public and her costume that night was mainly symbolic of her status, not really intended to hide her features. The women filed out as if on some silent cue while the men settled back in European fashion to enjoy cigars and brandy. A young woman with small brown eyes and a shy smile approached Yasmine from where she had been standing along the wall with other servants. “Please, ma’am, you are to follow me. I’ll show you to your quarters.” Yasmine obeyed, resisting the urge to glance back at Hasan, though she felt his eye upon her as surely as if it had been a laser. The other women moved away down a hall, presumably to their own rooms. Hasan kept about twenty women on hand for his 85

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amorous pleasures, or so David had told her. They were all young and lovely, and Yasmine imagined he probably rotated the “stock” rather frequently. Despite her attraction to him, she’d be damned if she’d be just another in his harem of female flesh. She smiled a little at herself. She was acting as if this scenario were real! She wasn’t here to stand out among the women—she was here to catch a killer. She followed the small woman down another hall to a large door. They entered a beautifully appointed room, hung with silken tapestries and set with comfortable couches, as well as an antique writing desk and several chairs. French doors opened out onto a small terrace. The woman nodded her head respectfully and said, “My name is Ayat. I am at your service. I will be your handmaid, ma’am, and available for anything you need. I sleep just down the hall and my sole objective is to see to your comfort.” She moved toward a little desk and pointed to a little plastic box placed discreetly behind a large vase of flowers. “This is a monitor. You can call me at any time by pressing the button here. Don’t worry if it is day or night. I am here expressly to serve you, Princess Yasmine.” She bowed low, taking a deep breath. Yasmine could tell she had practiced the speech and could see Ayat was very nervous. “Thank you, Ayat. You are most gracious.” Ayat flushed with pleasure and relief. Yasmine wondered for a moment what she was used to, to be so nervous as to her reception and so grateful it was warm. “What’s in here?” Yasmine saw there was another door, leading no doubt to her bedroom. Ayat preceded her into what was indeed the bedroom, a large room with a huge bed as the focal point, draped with gauzy netting and piled high with soft quilts. “That’s quite a bed for one person,” Yasmine remarked as Ayat blushed. Probing the mortal’s mind Yasmine drew back, seeing a vivid image of Ayat, naked on her knees in front of another woman and a man engaged in sex. She felt Ayat’s shame like a physical thing and knew Ayat had been there against her will. And what woman had lain in this bed before Yasmine? What had become of her? “Please, ma’am,” Ayat ventured timidly. “I—I am to show you one more room.” “Oh the bathroom? That’s not necessary, Ayat.” Yasmine could see the tiled room from the open door, with a large sunken tub of pink marble against one wall. She knew she would enjoy having a bath in that! “I can surely inspect it once you’ve—” “No, Princess. It’s not the bathroom.” Ayat’s voice had sunk to a whisper and Yasmine turned to look at her, smelling the fear of the mortal. “What is it, Ayat? What’s the matter?” “I’m sorry, ma’am. He—the master—he likes each of his women to be reminded…” She trailed off again. “I can’t hear you, Ayat. Speak up.” Ayat moved to an elaborately embroidered tapestry of a traditional Arabian war scene with men in robes on proud horses wielding

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huge spears. She lifted the edge of the tapestry to reveal a small door in the wall. Curious, Yasmine advanced toward it, placing her hand on the little silver doorknob. She noticed it had a deadbolt, though it wasn’t locked now. Interesting that it locked from the outside. Yasmine drew back as she looked in the small room. The light had flipped on when she’d opened the door, some mechanism designed for the purpose. It was a small, stark room, nothing like the lavish surroundings of the rest of her quarters. In the room she saw a straw pallet on the floor and several hooks hanging from the ceiling. For one terrible instant Yasmine was hurtled back to that fateful night when she and Zahra had been locked in the shed, wrists hung from the meat hooks, whipped until they bled… She shook her head to dispel the image and said, “What is this, Ayat? A storage room? Very odd to have this here, surely.” “No. It’s,” she dropped to a whisper again so Yasmine had to lean over to hear her, “your punishment chamber.”

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Chapter Thirteen Margo used her key to enter the private door at the back of the little inn where she, Daniel and Adrienne had taken rooms. She had to trust the two of them had been watching as planned and knew when she and Yuki left the cottage. So far things were going according to plan, except for Yuki’s assertion that she’d be the one taking the blood! Margo wasn’t sure how to play it and wished she could somehow huddle with Daniel and Adrienne to determine their next course of action. She knocked lightly as she turned the key in the lock. “Adrienne, I’ve brought a friend,” she announced. Adrienne appeared from the bedroom, her dark eyes glittering. “I thought we would be alone tonight, Margo?” Margo inwardly applauded the sincerity of the comment—with just the right hint of petulant lover sprinkled with curiosity as to whom she had brought to their love nest. Yuki appeared behind them and Margo felt Adrienne’s sincere appreciation. The young Asian vampire was lovely indeed, her sweet face a mask to the dominant, dangerous soul who lurked within. “Adrienne, chére, allow me to present Yuki Chan, the gorgeous woman I was telling you about.” As Adrienne approached, Margo added, “I have a confession to make, darling. I sent Ms. Chan a little love letter.” As Adrienne began to speak, Margo hurried on. “I know, I know, we said we’d discuss meeting others before we went and did it!” She was almost having fun pretending to be the guilty lover, if only the stakes weren’t so deadly. Stroking Adrienne’s cheek, sending out amorous thoughts for both women’s consumption, Margo said in her molasses-rich voice, “She’s beyond lovely, isn’t she, chére? Oh Adrienne, we could have so much fun with this beautiful woman, that is, if you both agreed?” Margo turned wide brown eyes on each of them in turn, licking her lips suggestively. Adrienne fell into her role as well. “Well, if you think so, Margo. You know I leave these things to you…” Margo picked up the cue. Adrienne had probably sensed Yuki’s very dominant impulses and was playing to them. Margo said, trying to make her voice assertive, “That’s right. This is what I want and what Yuki wants. Isn’t that right, Yuki?” “Yes, indeed,” Yuki agreed, apparently accepting what she was seeing as reality. “You neglected to tell me just how beautiful your lover was, Margo. I should punish you for that.” They all laughed, but the sexual tension beneath the remark was real.

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Margo turned helplessly toward Adrienne, who smoothly responded, “Margo might need punishment, but I’m not the one to give it to her.” “Oh no?” Yuki moved close to Adrienne, so close their lips were almost touching as they stood face-to-face in the center of the room. Adrienne was an inch or two taller than Yuki, but somehow Yuki seemed to tower over her. Margo could feel the sheer will of the woman was exerting over Adrienne, unaware of Adrienne’s own strong will. But, playing her role to the hilt Adrienne seemed to back down, closing her eyes with a rapturous sigh as Yuki moved forward, very lightly kissing her lips. Adrienne stepped back, turning to Margo. “I’m not sure,” she whispered in a perfect imitation of a shy schoolgirl. “Give me a moment alone with her,” Margo said to Yuki, smiling conspiratorially. Yuki nodded, giving her head a toss of dismissal so her straight black hair flew back like a proud horse’s mane. She sat down on a small, plump sofa, her eyes flashing. “I don’t like to be kept waiting,” she announced imperiously. In the bedroom Margo whispered urgently, “She wants to do it. She wants to be the one to take your blood! She frightens me, Adrienne. She’s dangerous!” Adrienne smiled softly and touched Margo’s arm. “Remember, you are the one who begged to be a part of this. Don’t give Daniel a chance to say I told you so!” She sighed a little. “You are so new, Margo. A mere babe. This is beyond your experience, but not beyond mine. I’ve dealt with others like Yuki—beautiful, vain, dominant and deadly. We know what we’re up against. Let’s continue the game—it’s going well. I will be your shy but eager lover, ready to submit to new experiences with this beautiful stranger. “And think, now we won’t even need a confession—her very act of taking my blood without returning it is proof enough for any tribunal. Daniel is waiting in the next room. He will come to us when the time is ripe. He waits even now, cloaked from us but ready nevertheless.” Margo was comforted by that reminder. She stammered a little as she said, “You do understand, she expects sex too, Adrienne. I told her we were lovers.” “Of course you did, darling. Just as we’d discussed. You’re doing beautifully.” Adrienne stroked Margo’s arm and she felt a shiver of pleasure despite her trepidation. Margo had never considered herself bisexual, but in the space of an hour two women had aroused her with their skillful touch and their smoldering dark eyes. Margo felt confused. Gently Adrienne responded to Margo’s unspoken sentiment. “I would gladly be your lover, Margo. You’re a beautiful woman. Please, calm yourself. You need to layer your thoughts—I can feel your fear from here. Focus instead on the desire I feel emanating from you as well.” Margo colored as she continued, “Think of the greater good. We are fighting evil, you and I. If we have to get naked to do it, where is the harm?” She laughed a little silvery peal of musical notes and added, “Now, let’s go. We mustn’t keep our lovely guest waiting!”

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Yuki had helped herself to a glass of brandy while the other two women were out of the room. She stood again as they entered, her sweet face belying the murderous intent below the surface of limpid eyes, porcelain skin and rosebud mouth. Softly she said, “Margo, have you persuaded Adrienne of our good intentions?” Assuming the part, Margo laughed and nodded. “My little girl here is on board. She just needed a little reassurance.” Leaning down she lightly kissed the top of Adrienne’s head, wrapping a proprietary arm around her shoulders. Margo led the willing Adrienne to the little couch where the three of them settled down together, Adrienne wedged in the middle. Without preamble Yuki again moved her face close to Adrienne’s, her lips parting to reveal a little pink tongue. Margo could feel the sexual tension in the air and knew it wasn’t only on Yuki’s part. There was no denying her beauty. Probing Adrienne’s mind a bit, Margo found only desire, mixed with a little girlish fear. She admired Adrienne’s ability to shape her own thoughts so effectively for public consumption. Yuki took Adrienne’s face in hers, kissing her lightly for a moment. Adrienne responded, her voice a breathy little sigh as she kissed her back, her hands still folded passively in her lap. Yuki pulled back. “A shy little thing, isn’t she, Margo? Not like you, hmm?” Margo flushed at the reminder of her own wanton responses to Yuki’s advances back at her cottage. “Does your lover know of your submissive side, Margo?” Yuki’s voice was like silk over steel. When Margo didn’t answer Yuki persisted. “Answer a direct question. Does she?” Margo mumbled and looked down, a strange sensation settling over her. Her mouth felt dry and she was aware of her nipples poking hard through the sheer fabric of her bra and blouse. “Stand up, Margo,” Yuki said softly, but in a voice that brooked no refusal. Margo stood as Yuki continued. “Kneel down in front of your woman, Margo. Go on. Do it.” Margo obeyed, the strange sensation deepening, as if she were in a dream but the dream belonged to someone else. Things were going according to plan, weren’t they? Yuki seemed convinced Adrienne and she were in fact two lovers, eager to spend a wild night with another vampire. How many hundreds, how many thousands of times had Yuki and Adrienne done this sort of thing before? Though herself a fledgling, Margo well knew vampires’ penchant for casual play. “Take off her clothes,” Yuki commanded. Margo glanced at Adrienne, who smiled shyly and raised her arms like a child for Margo to strip off her top. Adrienne was wearing a cream-colored sleeveless linen tank top and matching pants. Her large, lovely breasts were bare beneath her shirt, bouncing free, the nipples round and plump like gumdrops waiting to be sucked. Without a hint of self-consciousness Adrienne lifted her hips as Margo pulled her linen pants down smooth, pale thighs. She glanced at Yuki with a question in her face

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as to the little silk panties of dark red satin covering Adrienne’s sex. Yuki nodded and Margo took a breath, slipping her fingers beneath the elastic at either hip to reveal Adrienne in all her naked splendor. Despite her own shyness, Margo was transfixed by Adrienne’s alabaster beauty. The neat, black triangle of pubic hair made Margo want to see what lay hidden beneath those sweet curls. Though not a tall woman, Adrienne was perfectly proportioned, with slender waist, strong legs, flat belly and generous breasts. “Make her nipples hard for me,” Yuki commanded. Telling herself she was only doing this “for the cause”, Margo bent over the compliant Adrienne, taking a gumdrop nipple tentatively in her mouth. It was of a pleasing consistency, soft and spongy, hardening and elongating as Margo teased the tip with her tongue and lightly grazed it with her teeth. Adrienne’s delicious vampire scent wafted through the room. Margo moved to the second nipple, so they both shined with her kiss, stiffly at attention. As she licked and suckled Adrienne’s breasts, she gently cupped them, enjoying the sweet heft. She only stopped when Yuki commanded, “Enough. Remember your promise. This one is mine.” Margo gasped a little as Yuki pushed her roughly aside. Her eyes were blazing, lit from within with something wild and dangerous. Adrienne lay back as Yuki whispered, “Show me your forbidden fruit, Adrienne. You smell like the sweetest peach. Let me taste your juices, let me taste your blood.” “My blood!” Adrienne feigned a surprise so real Margo believed it herself a second. “And why not? Are you not up to the sacred exchange? I sense your passion and your bloodlust. You would have me as I would have you, would you not?” Yuki smiled, her fangs distending as her dark eyes caught Adrienne’s in a hypnotic embrace. Adrienne’s pupils dilated, her mouth falling open a little. As if obeying an unspoken command, as indeed she was, Adrienne parted her legs, revealing the folds of her sex, as sweetly scented and soft as the petals of an orchid. She let her head fall back as Margo watched, her own hand slipping past the waist of her skirt and into her panties to press against the sudden swelling need she felt building in her pussy. Margo’s heart was pounding so hard she thought she might faint as Yuki lowered her face to Adrienne’s spread sex. But instead of biting, Yuki’s long, pink tongue darted out to delicately lap at the pink labia between Adrienne’s legs. Wantonly Adrienne arched up to give Yuki better access. Had the woman no fear? Yuki kissed and teased her for a while, making Adrienne moan while Margo stood by uncertainly. When Adrienne had reached a fever pitch of pleasure Yuki pulled back and said in a hoarse voice, “To the bedroom! Come!” Yuki walked quickly, dropping her clothing as she went. Margo helped the naked woman to her feet. Adrienne’s face was flushed, her pleasure clearly unfeigned. They followed Yuki into the bedroom. She now stood naked, imperious as an empress, her hands on her girlish hips, her small, high breasts

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tipped with pale pink nipples. There wasn’t a trace of hair on her body—she could have been a child but for those perfect high breasts and the haughty womanly expression on her face. “Where I come from, we revel in the art of sensual bondage. I’m sure you’ve come across nawa shibari in your travels, no?” As Adrienne nodded while Margo looked blank, Yuki retrieved her little tote, unzipping it and removing several lengths of red rope, soft as satin but strong as steel. “Lie down, Adrienne,” she commanded, and Adrienne did as she was bidden. Margo watched as the naked Yuki straddled Adrienne’s bare belly, her denuded sex pressed against it. Deftly she bound Adrienne’s arms together over her head, creating an artful design around her wrists and between her fingers. “I find the experience is heightened when you can’t struggle, don’t you agree, Adrienne?” Yuki whispered in her ear. Adrienne sighed sensually, closing her eyes as if giving herself over completely to the dominant Yuki. “Strip, Margo,” Yuki ordered. “We can’t have you fully clothed while we’re both naked, now can we?” Margo flushed and hesitated a moment, but she felt the powerful pull of Yuki’s command and began to obey, unbuttoning her blouse and letting it fall to the ground, her eyes fixed on the scene before her. As she continued to strip, Yuki turned back toward the lovely Adrienne, wrists bound over her head, legs spread in obvious invitation. If Margo hadn’t known better, she could have sworn Adrienne was aroused and enjoying this little tryst as if it were the real thing and not merely a prelude to a deadly game. “I’ll start, Adrienne,” Yuki said. “I’ll take your blood first and then you will take mine. Margo will protect us from anything foolish, won’t you?” She nodded toward Margo, who now sat on the edge of the bed, hugging herself to hide her voluptuous figure, which she felt couldn’t hold a candle to the lithe, bare forms in front of her. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’ll keep you both safe.” She willed her thoughts to reflect nothing more than her excitement and natural trepidation over witnessing a sacred exchange of blood of the true kin. Yuki nodded, her eyes fever bright. Margo watched as Yuki bent over Adrienne, her straight black hair obscuring white fangs as they moved over supple flesh. Margo almost felt the prick herself as Adrienne took in a sharp breath. Yuki moaned with pleasure as Adrienne’s blood spurted up, obscured by eager lips covering the gushing wound. Margo could smell the ripe, perfect offering, mingling with the scent of lust and musk. She felt her own fangs distending with desire. She licked her lips, watching carefully, trying to gauge what was happening. Adrienne’s vampire essence was still vital, the blood pumping hard as Yuki sucked. After several minutes Adrienne murmured, saying weakly, “Stop. My turn…must stop…” Margo felt her weakening and knew it was no act. If Yuki didn’t stop and give Adrienne the opportunity to take her blood in turn, she could kill her as she had done

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to countless others, as she had tried to do to Daniel. Margo started forward, touching Yuki’s shoulder. She was torn with indecision and fear. What if Adrienne was too far gone to cloak herself, to stop the game before it turned deadly? Margo couldn’t just stand by and let it happen! “Yuki,” she said urgently. “Yuki! You’ve got to stop. Please.” Slowly Yuki released her grip and lifted her face, lips bloodied with Adrienne’s sacred offering. “Margo. Are you changing your mind? What of your adoration? Your heartfelt desire to prove your ‘worthiness’ to me?” She looked back at Adrienne, who seemed to be lost in a swoon, her head lolling back, her hair a wild black storm on the pillow, her arms still high over her head, bound in rope red as blood. “Please…” Adrienne murmured softly. “Look at her! Smell the sweet scent of death,” Yuki’s voice was low, her eyes wild. She dropped one hand to her bare sex, rubbing herself as she ordered, “Hold her down for me, Margo. Let’s do it! Let’s finish the job!” Margo moved hesitantly forward, desperately torn, receiving no cue from Adrienne. Where was Daniel? If Yuki had dropped to her knees, offering her own throat for a return kiss, Adrienne could have revived and risen on a tide of bloody ecstasy. Instead Yuki bent forward, not to offer, but to take. Ignoring Margo hovering nervously by them, she bit again on the other side of Adrienne’s throat, the gush of a red tide pulsing from Adrienne’s artery. Adrienne moaned softly and with a little cry she was—gone. “Oh!” Margo cried, as she felt Adrienne’s vampire essence shut off like a flame flickering out in the cold, dark night. She lay still and waxen, her eyes shut, her lips parted. Yuki suckled a few moments longer before sitting back. “She is more beautiful in death than in life, is she not? The white of her skin, the jet black of her hair, the ruby red of her blood…very Japanese.” Margo burst into tears as Yuki began to play with herself again, her eyes triumphant and crazed. “Don’t cry, lass,” Daniel said, entering the room. “She’s not dead, only sleeping.” Yuki froze, her hand on her sex as she turned toward the sound of the man’s voice. Slowly she stood from the bed, staring without comprehension. There he stood, the vampire she’d left for dead many years before. Daniel moved quickly into the room, barely seeming to notice either Yuki or Margo as he strode toward his lover. Leaning over Adrienne, he kissed her brow and listened for a moment to her pulse, weak but still audible to his vampire ear. Slowly Adrienne opened her eyes, letting the cloak fall away as Yuki stared, confusion and fear swirling over her features. Quickly he untied the ropes that bound her arms. Gently he pulled the disheveled sheets up over the naked woman as he bent forward to kiss her forehead. “What? Who…? I felt her life force leave! She’s dead! You’re dead! I don’t understand…” Gone was the proud, imperious killer, a naked, terrified girl standing in her place, wrapping thin arms around her narrow body in a gesture of self-protection. 93

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In Japanese she murmured softly in a kind of singsong, “My Arab prince, it’s up to you now to carry the bloody torch…” Daniel advanced suddenly toward Yuki and was upon her so fast she hadn’t time to react. He easily caught her up in his strong arms, using spare lengths of her own bondage rope to truss her up, tying her wrists and ankles together like a felled calf. “Not very Japanese, eh, Yuki?” Daniel chuckled, pointing to the ungainly knots at her wrists, knees and ankles. “But I’ll wager ‘twill keep you still while we summon the Elders.” Yuki, who had struggled and wailed as Daniel had bound her, now keened, a high-pitched painful sound that made both Margo and Daniel wince. “We’ll gag you, lassie, if you don’t stop that horrible screech,” Daniel warned. He placed her none too gently on a chair, where she slumped awkwardly, still bound, her face now mottled with rage. “You can’t do this to me! I am Yuki Chan! I take the blood of vampires! No one can survive my fatal kiss!” Yuki let out a bloodcurdling howl as she struggled in vain against her bonds. “I warned you, woman,” Daniel said. Grabbing the pair of panties he found on the floor that in fact belonged to Yuki, Daniel forced her mouth open and shoved the bit of cloth inside. Taking more rope, he tied it around her head, silencing her at last. Margo had pulled her clothes back on, tears of relief and residual fear pouring down her face. She was shaking when Daniel took her gently in his arms. “It’s done. We’ve got her. The murderer has been stopped. She will not kill again.” He held her a moment longer and then said, “Now let me help Adrienne. She’s weakened by the loss of blood.” As Margo watched, Daniel sat down next to Adrienne. She was cold to the touch but breathing softly. Because she was so weak Daniel wasn’t sure she had the strength to bite. He withdrew a little pocketknife from his pants. Swiftly he cut his palm, dabbing at the bubbling liquid with a finger. He smeared the blood over Adrienne’s lips. A drop slid into her mouth and she moaned a little, responding at once to its heat. Daniel put his hand over her mouth, smiling with satisfaction as her lips came together over the cut, her tongue licking the life-giving blood as she began to recover. Eagerly she suckled like a hungry babe, her luminescence returning as Daniel’s sacred blood restored her. After a few more minutes, Daniel gently withdrew his hand from his lover. Slowly she opened her eyes. “Daniel O’Shay,” she whispered with a sleepy smile, “You’ve come back to me.”

***** Adrienne awoke in her lover’s arms. It was daylight outside, the only hint a line of bright light along the very top of heavy velvet curtains drawn over the windows. Daniel held her tightly against him so she could feel the sweet, steady beating of his heart. She

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could sense he was awake, the muscles in his body taut and alert. “What is it?” she whispered softly, her mouth against his warm, strong chest. “Ah, my love,” Daniel answered, kissing the top of her head, the relief evident in his voice. “You are awake. I have been worried when you slept so long and so deeply after the taking of the blood. I was afraid she took too much, and that I hadn’t been able to replenish it sufficiently. I gave you all I dared without receiving yours in return.” Adrienne shifted, pulling herself up against the pillows as Daniel released her. He sat up as well, turning on a small lamp by the bed. She felt weary, drained and exhausted, but at the same time curiously exhilarated. The events of the night before came tumbling into her mind. The game with the Japanese temptress had been very dangerous indeed, and yet during it Adrienne had felt no fear. The layering of her thoughts for Yuki’s consumption had been easier than she expected as her very real attraction to the beautiful but deadly little vampire had made her performance more genuine. Adrienne did not consider herself bisexual—indeed she didn’t think in those terms. She thought in terms of what was sensual and beautiful. If her tastes generally ran toward the masculine, there were definite exceptions. Yuki still lingered brightly in her mind’s eye, with her perfect little form, the high breasts tipped in soft brown, the glossy hair straight as a sheet of black glass, the unfathomable dark eyes, the little red mouth with its cruel curve. Though she knew the woman was dangerous, knew she had tried to kill Daniel and planned to take Adrienne’s own life’s blood as well, she couldn’t deny the sheer physical attraction she felt for the woman on some primal if irrational level. “Tell me,” Daniel whispered, eavesdropping on the tumbling images racing through Adrienne’s mind—images she made no attempt to hide. Daniel well knew of Adrienne’s lusty appetites. Indeed, she was convinced it was part of what kept him attracted to her. He liked the idea that he and he alone could subdue her sexually, as her dominant nature came to the fore with all but him. “When her hot little tongue touched my clit, Daniel, the pleasure was almost unbearable. I was almost expecting her fangs to pierce me there, to take my sacred blood from my most delicate parts. A part of me wanted it. I think the knowledge of the very real danger I was in acted as a kind of aphrodisiac. I don’t know how else to explain it.” She nestled back down, sliding against Daniel so her face was again flush with his chest. Leaning her soft cheek against it she whispered, “She was like a dangerous, powerful snake, undulating over me, ready to strike at any moment. She set me on fire with her skill. No one has ever kissed my sex quite as she did.” “No one, you little wench?” Daniel teased, his chagrin no doubt not entirely feigned. Adrienne laughed her little bell-like laugh. “Do I detect jealously, my love? You know you are my heart. Nothing could ever come between us. What Yuki gave me was a pure sexual thrill, heightened by the danger of her evil intentions.”

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Daniel moved his hands slowly over Adrienne’s round, supple breasts, rolling the nipples erect against his palms. “I couldn’t see you from my vantage point at the keyhole. I could only sense when it was time to take action. I felt your arousal though. I must say, lass, even as I feared for you, my body responded of its own accord to your passion.” “As it is responding now?” Adrienne dropped a small hand to Daniel’s cock, encircling it as she kissed his chest and laughed low. “Aye, lass. As it is now.” He allowed her to touch and fondle his manhood until it was thick and hard. Rising over her, he whispered, “She will never harm another, not now that the Elders will subdue her. Yet she came between us, not once, but twice.” Adrienne took the offered images, recalling that Daniel had also almost lost his life to this woman. He too had succumbed to her sexual charms, though at the time he’d been aware she was a potential killer, and had thought he had the situation under control. They’d never discussed just exactly what had transpired between Daniel and Yuki several years before, when he’d been seduced and nearly drained of his life’s blood. Now Daniel allowed an image of Yuki, naked and herself bound in the red ropes she loved to use on others, her denuded sex splayed, to slip into Adrienne’s mind. Adrienne gasped and punched Daniel’s chest quite hard. He laughed, grabbing her wrists and pinning them over her head as he bent to kiss her mouth. “You tied her up?” “She wanted it. She likes to dominate women, but with men, she is more submissive. Though of course for her it was all a prelude to death—mine. I went along because I had to be convincing, as you did, as a lover. An innocent lover, unaware of the danger of a vampire killer. I let her lead—I merely responded.” Adrienne struggled in Daniel’s strong grip but he held her firm. He whispered, “Remember, Adrienne. We are vampire, you and I. We roam the world, we take what we want. But you and I, my love, we always come home to one another. As you said before, you are my heart.” Adrienne stopped struggling, looking up at her lover with dark, flashing eyes. Tenderly he leaned over her, moving so his body covered hers, his cock finding the sweet heat between her legs. Though sex between the two lovers was often tumultuous, even violent by human standards, this time Daniel took her tenderly, carefully pressing himself into her velvet warmth, giving her exhausted body ample time to adjust to his loving invasion. As he moved inside her, his sensual movements slowly heated her passion to a fever pitch. No one had ever, and Adrienne knew no one else very could, arouse her as Daniel did. Over the many years of their coming together and parting, over and over again, her body was always left yearning for him, aching for his return, never satisfied. It was as if they were built for each other, crafted at the same time from one piece, and then torn apart by his eternal wanderings.

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Each thrust of his cock drove her a little closer to the edge of release. In no hurry, he swiveled and moved inside her, drawing her to the edge, pulling back, moving again until she thought she would go mad with lust. Fully aware of his control over her, Daniel whispered, “My heart, my love, my Adrienne. There was a moment I thought I had lost you. Just for an instant when you were cloaked, so pale, so still. At that moment, my heart ceased beating. I knew I could not bear to live without you. I love you. I will never leave you.” Adrienne sighed, his words sweeter than the finest wine.

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Chapter Fourteen Yasmine breakfasted alone in her room. For form’s sake she had accepted the tray of fruit, breads and fragrant tea and honey Ayat had brought for her. She sipped at the tea as she stood on her little terrace, admiring the lovely cultivated gardens and rolling lawns behind the castle. To keep all this watered and growing like this in the desert climate must cost a fortune, she mused. Were she really a destitute, orphaned princess, finding herself in this sumptuous palace would surely be something like a dream. The plan was working! At least so far. Hasan had seemed to accept her for what she presented to be. Now the trick was to keep his attention and get him to confess to his crimes. She shivered as she contemplated the little room that had so terrified Ayat. Even if he didn’t spill the sacred blood, the man was clearly a monster. Yet she mustn’t lose sight of her mission. She would have to find a way to see him again quickly. She knew that might not be so easy since he had a bevy of women at his beck and call. His handsome, masculine image floated into her mind, making her nipples tingle and warming her sex despite herself. His attraction was magnetic and she felt herself pulled toward the thought of him. If he insisted on making love to her, would she allow it? Did she have a choice? Would it be so terrible? Yasmine turned as she sensed a vampire presence just before she heard a knock on the door. The knob turned before she had time to respond and Hasan stood there, a smile on his face as he stepped into the room. He had come so soon! “Sir! You startled me. Isn’t it customary to wait for permission to enter a lady’s room?” Yasmine had in fact been startled. Busily she layered her thoughts, recalling her role as Arabian princess as she clutched her arms protectively around her body. “This is my room, woman. All the rooms in this palace belong to me.” He entered, moving toward the couch. Yasmine couldn’t help but notice how fine and powerful his body looked in the cream-colored, button-down shirt tucked into rich brown pants beautifully tailored to accentuate his strong, masculine build. No Arab headdress today, she noted, taking in his dark, thick hair that was cut rather long, curling just below his ears and touching the back of his muscular neck. She felt his power and again her own perverse attraction to a man she knew to be patently evil. “Including that one there?” Yasmine couldn’t help but ask, pointing toward the strange little closet hidden by tapestry that Ayat had said was her punishment chamber. Hasan laughed, his eyes glinting. “Most especially that one, little Princess.” He sat on the couch, crossing his legs expansively. “We are not in public now, Yasmine. There are no Saudi noblemen and power brokers to impress or fool as there were last night. It’s just you and me, two vampires alone together. You needn’t put up that girlish innocent front of the naïve, sheltered princess with me now. 98

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“You are vampire and you are beyond lovely, but you are still a female. A mere woman, and one who is now under my control.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking so directly at her she felt compelled to turn away. “I must say, I find it rather unusual that a vampire would allow herself to be sold into the hands of another. Surely you could have found some other means at your disposal? Surely this was a rash act? Or perhaps an act designed to confuse, to distract me from your real purpose.” His mouth smiled beneath dark, cold eyes. He continued to look at Yasmine steadily and she sensed his quiet, insistent probing of her mind. She allowed him to access her upper thoughts, willing herself to play her part of innocent naïf, though her heart was tapping with adrenaline. This wasn’t going quite as smoothly as she’d been led to believe it would. “My lord,” she said, dropping to a curtsey. She was still in her nightgown, a sheer satin floor-length gown, cut low to reveal her round, voluptuous breasts. She was aware he was staring at her cleavage and knew if she were to have an advantage, it would have to be sexual. She knew she had to present the proper mix of innocence, affronted royalty and sexual desire, all in one sensual package that would entice the prince without offending his traditional sensibilities. Softly she said, “Forgive me. I am vampire, yes, but in my small country I was protected from the improprieties of corrupt society. I was, I suppose you would say, sheltered. Regarding my stay in your lovely castle, I was led to believe you were generously allowing me into your home, sir, while perhaps other means could be arranged for me. I am no slave girl! How dare you imply I have been sold to you! As sheltered as I might have been, I am of royal blood! In fact, as soon as other means have been procured for me by my uncle’s executor, I will repay you handsomely for your gracious hospitality.” She tossed her head, her nostril flaring slightly with an indignation that was not entirely feigned. At the same time she pressed her breasts together with her arms, knowing his eye was still upon them, and knowing the effect this would have on him. Hasan threw back his head and laughed. “A feisty one! My God, no one has dared speak to me with such insolence in a hundred years! You must indeed be a princess, to dare speak to Prince Hasan Muhammad Ali Jawhar with such direct reproach. I could have you whipped to shreds for that, Princess. I could have you bled ‘til you were nothing but a lifeless corpse, a vampire sapped of her sacred blood, though to those miserable mortals you would be simply an unfortunate female who had incurred my wrath.” He stood, his legs wide, his hands on his hips in a classic dominant pose. “I’m impervious—I command this palace and all in it. I am immune from petty mortal considerations. I am above the law. If I call in my guards, who, incidentally, are just outside your door, and tell them to hang you by your thumbs and whip you until you are dead, they will do my bidding without hesitation. I am a prince, and here my word, and my word alone, is law.”

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“You would put a poor woman to death just because she displeased you?” Yasmine was deeply shaken, yet also excited by his reference to sapping the sacred blood. Would he confess to having done this thing as he boasted of his total control? His smile was cold, his arrogance unshakable. “Who would dare to stop me? I have the blind allegiance of all my staff. To them you are but another object I have obtained for my amusement.” Yasmine swallowed and tried to collect herself. How best to diffuse the anger she felt simmering in the man? Submissively she said in flowery Arabic, “Happily, then, I will rely on your good grace and compassion, sir. If I have offended you, it is only because my grief over the loss of my uncle renders my tongue thick and clumsy. I beg your forgiveness, your highness.” She fell to her knees in an elaborate curtsey, keeping her eyes on the floor so he wouldn’t see the flame of contempt that flickered there over a vampire who would abuse his power in this way. Hopefully he only heard the obedience in her voice and read the insincere thoughts she cast his way. “A gracious speech, lady.” He tapped her shoulder and extended his hand, indicating she should stand. Yasmine took his hand, unsure if she’d succeeded in placating the strange, dangerous man. As she glanced at his face she saw the smile that played on his thin, wide lips, but his eyes were cold. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her so her breasts were pressed against his hard chest. She felt his cock, hard as steel against her belly as he leaned down and roughly kissed her mouth, pulling her head back by the hair to give himself better access. Yasmine was so taken by surprise by his sudden action she didn’t even have time to protest. As his tongue snaked into her mouth, his teeth lightly biting her lips, his hands roamed down her back, finding and cupping her ass through the sheer fabric of her nightgown. He released her mouth only long enough to move down to a breast, the nipple of which he bit lightly through the satin until she moaned with pleasure despite herself. She didn’t resist when he easily ripped the gown from her shoulders, leaving her bare to the waist. He bit and licked her other nipple until both were standing rigidly at attention. Yasmine felt weak, her pussy aching and hot between her legs. Still holding her in his embrace, Hasan dropped a hand down, cupping her hot sex through her nightgown. His fingers moved lightly between her legs, arousing her with delicate pressure that made her want to press into his hand. “Slut,” he hissed, his voice husky. “Pretend all you like to be the innocent virgin. We both know better.” Violently he ripped the gown from her body, leaving Yasmine completely naked. Pushing a finger roughly into her sex, he withdrew it and smeared her own juice across her cheek. “I don’t know what game you play, but now you belong to me, Princess. I will use you as it pleases me.” He kissed her again, and though Yasmine was humiliated and enraged at his treatment of her, perversely her body again responded to his touch, and she couldn’t

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control the little moan that escaped her lips. After a few moments he let the naked woman go. Yasmine grabbed her tattered gown, holding it ineffectually over her body. Hasan watched her, his eyes glinting with lust, his smile cruel and seductive. “Now I have affairs to attend to. I will return this evening and we can continue this fascinating, eh, conversation. I will expect you to be dressed in the clothing your handmaid will lay out for you. I also expect your body to shaved smooth. Not a hair do I want to see, and I will be inspecting you. If you fail to please me, you will become acquainted with your little punishment chamber…intimately acquainted.” Before she had a chance to respond, he’d turned on his heel, closing the door with a click behind him.

***** David sat impatiently, waving away the little cup of espresso one of the men offduty offered him. He was sitting in the guards’ quarters, waiting for two of his secret spies to return. They should have been back by now for their midmorning break— where were they? David was satisfied with last night’s report. The lady had been accepted by the prince with grace. He had danced with her and given her a lovely set of rooms and her own servant. So far so good. David felt his admiration for the mysterious Yasmine growing as he thought about how brave and skillfully she was penetrating the secret walls of Hasan’s compound. All she had to do now was get the man to confide in her, and as David thought about those huge silver eyes fringed with smoky lashes, he had no doubt the prince would soon be eating out of her hand. Oddly, the image of the two of them dancing, and later perhaps sharing a drink in her chambers, gave David a curious feeling. It wasn’t just the fear for her safety, which of course he felt as well. No, there was something different at work here. Something David barely recognized until he thought about it for some time. Jealousy. Surely not! David Lawrence was jealous of no one, man or woman. To be jealous you had to be emotionally invested, and David was certainly not emotionally invested in Yasmine Hilal! Why, he barely knew the woman who no longer resembled the slave girl in the slightest as far as he could see. He must simply be on edge because of the danger he had put her in. What if the plan backfired and instead of merely confiding, Hasan decided to take her blood as well? Thank God for Ayat. Though he had felt her terror, she had been pressed into service fairly easily and David had sensed money was not her prime motivation. No, as he gently probed her mind, he saw the horror there. Things she had been forced to witness and to participate in, things that had frightened and hurt her, scarring her both physically and mentally. She hated Hasan with the hatred only a cornered animal can feel. That hatred was controlled as she was basically a slave in his house, though her title was servant and she 101

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received a wage, “kept” for her in an account to which she had no access. It was David’s gentle appeal that had won her over, not the stack of riyals in his hand. “You will help me protect the princess, without causing her alarm. She needn’t know you are part of our plan. It will be easier for her to act naturally around Hasan if she isn’t burdened by too much knowledge.” Ayat had nodded, promising to keep the princess safe. Though what could the woman really do? She was only another pawn, a slave in the household of a madman. The baby monitor had been her idea and he had instructed her to leave it on at all times so she could overhear any situation that might become dangerous. David knew the risk in this as the two vampires would probably reveal themselves as such when alone. To try and circumvent her confusion and questions, David had made up a story about a secret cult, the members of which referred to themselves as vampires. It was merely a game and one she should ignore. Her duty, he solemnly told her, was to make sure the princess was safe, and if anything happened to make her question that safety, to report it to the guard Ali, his most trusted recruit. David looked up as Ali and a second guard, also on his secret payroll, entered the small room. Ali nodded toward the other men lounging on chairs, waving his hand to indicate their dismissal. Ali was the head guard and as such their boss. The men stood and bowed respectfully before turning to leave. As David had been introduced as Ali’s private guest, none of them thought to question him further. “What news?” asked David softly in perfect Arabic, trying to ignore the sour feeling in the pit of his gut. “He came to her this morning. He will return to her this evening. Things are going as planned. He is very interested in her, naturally. He did not lie with any of his women last night, which is very unusual unless he is ill. I think,” the man blushed slightly but continued, “I think he is saving himself for her, if you’ll excuse my bluntness, sir.” David swallowed a sudden burst of rage at the thought of Hasan daring to presume he would lie with Yasmine that night! They’d only just met! Who the hell did the bastard think he was! Taking a deep breath, David forced a smile. Of course Hasan could presume that. He was used to complete control in this small empire he’d created for himself and Yasmine was merely another pawn added to the game for his amusement. This was insane! David should run in there now and simply kill the man! Bind him and stab him through the heart! Let his foul blood run over his satin sheets and marbled floors until they were stained red with it and he was no more. How could he have sent such a sweet, innocent woman into this madman’s clutches? Proof be damned! “…perhaps some water. You seem to be ill, sir…” He realized with a jolt Ali must have been speaking to him for some time. He felt clammy and a little sick. He needed some blood and time to think. He needed to make sure no one hurt Yasmine. If anything happened to her, it would be his fault. Looking up slowly at Ali, David apologized, “I’m terribly sorry. I think I may have a touch of something. Perhaps some

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rest is all I need. I’ll return to the old barracks and rest a bit. Thank you for the report. Tonight, I think, we’ll make our move.” Ali nodded respectfully, moving out of the way as David headed toward the door. He was staying in a small, unused building that used to house the guards before a newer facility was built closer to the main house on the palace grounds. Instead of going there directly, he would find some mortal, perhaps a lone gardener tending his flowers in one of the many gardens. He would take his fill of much-needed blood and this would clear his mind. Tonight they would make their move. He could sit in Ayat’s room, eavesdropping with the monitor on Yasmine and the false prince until he heard what he needed to hear—Hasan’s admission of his own guilt. Then, with the very guards who were stationed outside Yasmine’s door, they would burst in, truss him up and haul him secretly away to the Elders. Ali had a large, rolling laundry cart hidden in one of the linen closets ready to convey the criminal from the palace with no one the wiser. David had already paid a sizable sum to Ali and three other guards Ali had deemed trustworthy. He knew with the money he would give them upon completion of the mission Ali could retire in luxury, along with the three other guards Ali had assured David were trustworthy. David soon found a lone worker pruning some trees. Stealthily he approached the man, easily subduing him before dragging him to a nearby tree to take his fill of the delicious red blood that poured through his veins like the fire of life. He left the man leaning against the tree, and from a distance, he merely looked as if he were stealing a quick nap. When he awoke a few minutes later with the tiny wounds at his throat, the vampire would be little more than a hazy dream of bloody confusion. David slipped back toward the abandoned barracks, ready to wait until evening, when he would be taken by Ali along back hallways to Ayat’s little room, just down the hall from Yasmine. Quietly he lay down on a narrow cot, staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t see the cracked plaster or cobwebs. He was focused inward on memories of a brilliant blue desert sky and her lovely dark hair whipping back. He could almost feel her warm body held in his embrace as they rode together over the desert sands toward freedom. He was transported back one hundred and eighty-four years, to a time when he was younger and certainly stupider to have let such a lovely young woman simply slip from his hands. He fell asleep, his dreams laden with possibility. He didn’t hear the men slip into the barracks, rope and chain in their hands. He didn’t awaken until it was too late to fight them off, even with his superior vampire strength. As he struggled and fought, thick strips of duct tape were bound around his head. He was immobilized in heavy chains and rope. It happened so quickly he barely had time to react. As he lay there breathing heavily through his nose, the rage in his eyes flamed like a bonfire.

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“Leave him there. Don’t hurt him. The prince wants him intact. He’ll deal with him in his own time,” Ali said, not looking at David. He turned and walked out the door, the other guards following as David lay stunned. Yasmine, he cried silently, but of course there was no one to hear.

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Chapter Fifteen The nerve of the man! How dare he instruct her in the grooming of her own body! Yasmine’s outrage finally overcame whatever primal sexual attraction she felt for the man. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, tapping her foot impatiently as the little Ayat laid out a lovely but see-through gown of gossamer chiffon in a deep silver gray, exactly the color of her eyes. It had flowers embroidered at the hem, sleeves and neckline. Next to the gown she set out a bra exactly Yasmine’s size along with thong panties, both of silk in the same silver as the gown. “Is this the attire of a princess or a whore?” Yasmine demanded angrily of Ayat, who flushed and mumbled something. “Speak up, girl. I can’t hear you.” “Please, ma’am,” Ayat said pleadingly. “You must wear it. The prince will have his way, and it’s best to go along with it. You will suffer the consequences otherwise, and I assure you, it won’t be worth it.” Yasmine stared at the young woman, with her small, heart-shaped face—the little, round brown eyes so full of fear, the uptilted nose, small mouth and pointed chin that made her look younger than her twenty-some years. Yasmine looked further, past the pretty features into the mind of the woman, sensing her fear, and beneath it something else. What? She sat on the bed, saying softly, “Ayat. Sit a moment. Sit next to me. Tell me, dear. What happened to you? Why are you so afraid?” “Oh no! Please. I am fine. We must get you bathed, my lady. I will draw your bath.” “There is plenty of time for that, Ayat. Relax. Look into my eyes.” Almost against her will, Ayat looked down at Yasmine. Slowly she sat next to her, their eyes still locked. “You have a lovely face. Has anyone told you that?” As Ayat blushed Yasmine gently took her face in her hands, her silver-gray vampire gaze instantly mesmerizing the young woman who stared back, her lips parting, her mind opening though she had no understanding of what was happening. I am safe. I can trust her. She is good. She will not harm me. Yasmine sent these thoughts gently into Ayat’s brain, which received them, processing without comprehending the origin of the thoughts. Her features relaxed and she drew a long, shuddering breath as Yasmine studied her thoughts and memories. She learned Ayat had not always been a servant. She had once been one of Hasan’s women, a member of the elite harem of concubines who existed solely for the prince’s pleasure and could live or die by his attentions. She had displeased him in some way and had been severely punished. But instead of killing her outright, he’d forced her into

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servitude, making her serve whoever his latest mistress might be, to reinforce her position as an object in his household. What shocked Yasmine most was not Hasan’s cruel and cavalier treatment of the girl but the fact she was still in love with him. In love with him! In love with a man she knew firsthand to be brutal and insensitive. Yasmine sighed. Who could explain the ways of the heart? She also felt the rage and the betrayal. As she probed deeper, pulling Ayat into a trance with her gaze, she realized the love she sensed might only be a residual feeling, an ache, a longing for something lost. Over it was anger and fear and a deep, abiding hatred. The sweet, passive little Ayat was filled with an explosive rage kept carefully tamped down by a lifetime of training as a disempowered female, as well as a prudent regard for her own safety. Yasmine wondered what Ayat might do if she were free to express that rage and free to live her own life, unshackled by the cruelty of her situation. She sighed, releasing her hold over the girl as she turned away. Ayat sighed as well, still staring at Yasmine without understanding or awareness of what had just occurred. Yasmine thought about what lay ahead. Hasan was coming to her bed that night. His intentions were clear as he planned to “inspect” her naked body, which was to be clothed in this belly-dancer’s garb designed more to reveal than to cover. Would it be between kisses that she would have his confession? Would she allow herself to be used in this way to entrap a murderer? Is this what David expected of her? Surely he hadn’t intended she prostitute herself! Had he? Did she mean so little to him? Where was he now? He had assured her he would be nearby, watching and keeping her safe, yet she’d had no indication he was even in the castle. How could she find out without the risk of revealing herself as something other than she appeared? She glanced into the bathroom at Ayat, who had gone to draw her bath. Could she confide in this girl? Or was she too controlled by her own fears to be trusted? She decided to feel her out a bit more. “Ayat. Will the prince be expecting…? I mean…” she trailed off, and then continued. “What does he expect of me? Tell me honestly. Am I to be forced to be his whore? Is there no one to protect me?” To her astonishment Ayat said softly, “The Englishman will protect you, Princess. He has promised me.” “The Englishman!” David! Ayat flushed beet red and hung her head. “Allah protect me! He said not to tell you, but you seem so troubled and I wanted you to know you are not alone. He is waiting. We are waiting. Biding our time.” “What do you mean? He has taken you into his confidence?” How much did the girl know? “He, I, that is…” Ayat looked away, her face suffused with misery and confusion. Yasmine said softly, “Please, Ayat. You can trust me. And I find I trust you as well. We are two weak women, ensnared in the evil plans of a dangerous man. Let us work

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together to protect ourselves.” Ayat nodded, her eyes wide. This was an argument she understood. “He paid me well—enough to buy my freedom,” she whispered. “But it is not for money that I do this thing. I know what it is to suffer at the hands of Hasan. I wouldn’t wish it a on a dog.” She spat the last word, revealing a glimmer of the rage Yasmine had sensed when she’d probed her mind. Ayat continued. “Not only me. The Englishman has paid a number of the guards to protect you as well, but I don’t trust them. Ali and his friends, they are not trustworthy, though the Englishman believes otherwise. They are firmly in the prince’s sway, I could almost swear.” “Not trustworthy!” Hadn’t David read their hearts, not relying on words alone? How could he have been fooled by mere mortals? But then Yasmine knew her people, though it had been centuries since she’d lived among them. Those like Ayat, subjugated all their lives, learned to hide their own feelings even from themselves, quashing emotions so thoroughly only respect and obedience could be detected. Clearly they had fooled Hasan and, if Ayat were correct, they had fooled David as well. “But then, our plans…” Yasmine trailed off, a cold mist of fear sleeting through her veins. With a feeling of foreboding she asked, “Where is he? Where is David? The Englishman?” “Calm yourself, please, Princess. The Englishman is discreet, a careful man. Sometimes he comes upon you and you don’t even know he’s there. He seems to fade into the very shadows.” Yasmine nodded—Ayat was referring of course to the ability all vampires possessed to be nearly invisible to their prey when they so chose. “My cousin, who is a driver for the guards, tells me he is staying in the old barracks. It’s no longer used since a new building was erected last year. He also stays,” she blushed again, fearing she would be misinterpreted, “in my room. But only—” she hastened to add, “only in order to protect you, Princess. He will be there tonight, listening, to make sure you are safe.” Yasmine took some comfort in this, though she flushed at the thought David would be an auditory witness to what would surely be a seduction, in one way or the other. Well, that was his problem, she supposed. It wasn’t as if she relished the task! She tilted her head toward the young woman. “And you, Ayat, are you not curious as to what we are doing here? Why David has paid you and some of the guards to spy for him, and why I am here as well?” “I do wonder, of course,” Ayat answered softly. “But it is not my place, Princess.” “No, you are right, it is not. I would not endanger you further by telling you more than you need to know. Your lot is difficult enough without me adding to it with secrets and lies.” Ayat nodded, and Yasmine could see she didn’t understand, but accepted her word. After all, what choice had she? Yasmine sighed as Ayat reminded her, “Now, you had better bathe yourself, my lady. Whatever your plans, the prince will be here in a while and you must groom yourself for his pleasure.”

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At this reminder Yasmine bristled. She would not shave her sex to please this villain, however handsome he was, and however much control he had over her! If she were artful enough in her conversation, things would not get to the point where he even saw her naked body! Who did the man think he was? “I will leave you now, Princess. Remember, I am only a call away.” Ayat looked toward the little monitor hidden behind the vase of flowers before she slipped out of the room. Yasmine dropped her nightgown on the bed and went into the bathroom. She stepped into the sunken bathtub, giving a little involuntary sigh of pleasure as the hot, fragrant water covered her body. She soaked a while, thinking about Hasan and David. How different they were— Hasan with his dark, flashing eyes, his noble features and charismatic appeal, David with his open smile, bright blue eyes and golden blond hair—both devastatingly handsome. One had a black heart, the other’s heart was obscured to her. Yasmine lathered her body with the delicately scented soap Ayat had left for her, rubbing her pussy with it as she mused that while her mind knew Hasan was evil and David was good, her body softened and opened with desire for each of them. There. She’d admitted it. She did desire David. She recalled his firm thigh touching hers in the taxi and she shivered. His touch was electric and he smelled so delicious. But so what! Just because she knew he was good-looking and sexy, that didn’t mean a thing. Not really. Not to vampires, surely. Maybe someday they would have a fling, and that would be all it was. She could forgive his casual cruelty of two centuries ago—after all, she had been a pathetic idiot. She flushed even now at the memory of herself dressed up in finery that didn’t suit her, her face inexpertly rouged and painted, her eyes shining with adoration for a man who saw her as nothing more than a foolish child. Well, she’d show him just how much that child had grown in his absence! Idly she massaged her nipples, enjoying the sensation as they stiffened and swelled under her fingers. Lifting a long, slender leg from the water, she squirted oil along her calf, slowly shaving herself smooth. She shaved the other leg, her underarms and did a bit of grooming around her bikini line. No way in hell was she going to shave her pubic hair, she thought, bristling again as she recalled Hasan’s command. Slowly she lathered up her thick, long hair, running the clear water over it until it was squeaky clean. She soaked a while longer, letting her mind drift, trying not to the think of the confrontation to come. She was beginning to feel the old, familiar ache in her gut. She would like to feed, but she was not free to walk the palace grounds. If she left her room without permission, she would draw unwanted attention to herself. Well, she had survived much longer than a few days without human blood. She would ignore the ache and it would subside after a time. Hopefully their plans would come to fruition tonight and this mission would be successfully completed.

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She mused on her own eagerness to join in this scheme, without really considering the possible risk to her life. It was a vampire’s curse, she knew, to assume because they lived for so long compared to humans, they were in fact immortal. But as these rogue vampires had so violently highlighted, vampires were in their own way as mortal as humans. Did she regret the decision to become involved in this dangerous game? No. Though the fear she felt at the upcoming meeting with Hasan was real, she also felt more invigorated, more alive, than she had in a hundred years! She was actually doing something that mattered—her life had some kind of meaning at last. She understood now David’s interest in pursuing justice for humans and vampires alike over the years. It gave one a purpose as the long years stretched out ahead. Yasmine slept during the heat of the day, her hunger coloring her dreams blood red. She awoke salivating, her fangs distended, and it took a moment to recall where she was and that there was not in fact a human in her arms with a sweet throat offered up for her pleasure. She read for a while, dreadfully bored in her confinement. At least the other women in Hasan’s harem had each other to amuse themselves! She was alone, with the one novel she had thought to bring. There were no books in the room, no television, no telephone. She had only the view from her terrace and her own thoughts. Finally night fell. She had dressed as ordered, pulling on the soft, silky panties and the bra that fit perfectly. Next she slipped the pretty gown over her head. It had little pearl buttons down the back. She called Ayat in to help her, as much to test the little monitor as because the buttons were hard to reach. In a moment Ayat was knocking softly at the door. Yasmine called out for her to come in. “Oh Princess!” Ayat breathed, her expression rapturous. “You look like something out of a dream.” Yasmine smiled. The gown was lovely, she had to admit. It flowed down her body like liquid silver, the color reflected in her eyes so they looked pure silver instead of the usual silver-gray. Her lustrous dark hair was loose in waves around her shoulders. “With your permission, I could arrange your hair. I know how he likes it.” Ayat looked down as she said this and Yasmine recalled what she’d read in her heart. The poor girl, forced to prepare other women for the man she’d once loved. Her own brown hair was pulled back and hidden in a black headscarf. She was nothing but a servant now, a slave in the household of a man who’d spurned her. Yasmine said a little too brightly, “That would be lovely, Ayat. Thank you.” Ayat eyed her mistress for a moment before saying, “I have just the thing!” She hurried out, returning in a moment with a long strand of gray freshwater pearls. “Oh those are lovely,” Yasmine said. “They were mine once. I mean, they’re still mine, I suppose, but I have no use for them.” She glanced down at her own plain blue robe, as severe as a nun’s attire and Yasmine understood, her heart breaking for the girl. An inkling of an idea inserted itself

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into her brain. Perhaps they could whisk Ayat out of the palace along with Hasan, only she would be a willing captive. She would discuss it with David when the time was right. At the moment Yasmine was fixated on the events about to unfold. She planned to turn on all her charms tonight, seducing the false prince with clever words and seductive gestures, drawing out his confession before he realized what he’d done. Then David would swoop in with his guards and everything would go according to plan. Whatever David’s plan was! He deliberately had left the details vague, remarking it would be safer for Yasmine if she wasn’t forced to hide that knowledge in layers of thought, and she had agreed. Ayat braided Yasmine’s hair, weaving the strand of pearls through the braids. The effect was simple but breathtaking, and with her hair pulled back, Yasmine’s long, slender neck and the delicate curve of her cheek were especially alluring. In truth, she had never looked lovelier, though she herself was only aware of her beauty in the abstract. She knew men found her attractive but she’d never been able to see herself objectively. The tousle-haired, gangly slave girl without enough meat on her bones still lived on in Yasmine’s psyche and no man had yet been able to penetrate past that image she still held of herself. No one had loved her enough, and perhaps no one would as she didn’t seem able to let them. None of this was on Yasmine’s mind as she eyed herself critically in the mirror. She noted her breasts looked like ripe fruit offered up on a plate in the low-cut French brassiere Hasan had so “thoughtfully” provided. The sheer fabric of the gown was like silvery icing on the cake that was her body. She was clearly dressed as an object for his pleasure. The trick would be to entice him sufficiently to let down his guard without his forcing himself on her. Ayat offered, “There are some scented candles in that cabinet there.” She pointed toward the cabinets lining one wall of the living room. “Perhaps it would enhance the atmosphere,” she said, flushing a little. Of course Ayat knew she was helping her mistress prepare to be seduced. What an odd feeling that must be, Yasmine thought, again feeling pity for the poor girl. Yet she silently agreed anything she could do to weave a spell of sensual trust over Hasan, she should do. If he liked scented candles, he would get them. Together they found and lit a dozen or more of the pretty little candles shaped like lotus flowers in silver and gold, the scent light and spicy. The effect was charming when they turned the overhead lights low. Ayat spun around suddenly. “They’re coming! I must go!” Yasmine listened and heard the sound of footsteps along the marble floor of the hallway. She nodded as Ayat slipped away, presumably to join David in her room. Yasmine had forgotten to ask if he was there! But surely he was. He must know through his spy network when Hasan would be coming to see her. There was no knock on the door as Hasan strode in bigger than life. She bristled at this intrusion but did not remark upon it this time, instead sinking to a courtesy where

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she stood in the center of the room. She stayed that way until Hasan tapped her shoulder. “Get up. Let me see you.” As Yasmine rose gracefully, Hasan sighed with satisfaction. “Ah yes. Lovely. You are like a silvered fairy in a Western tale, come to me on gossamer wings.” He laughed and waved his hands dismissively. “Or like the highclass whore you in fact are, ready to spread your legs at the snap of my fingers.” Yasmine colored but said nothing. What an arrogant bastard he was! Quietly she said, “I would expect more grace from a vampire, sir. And a prince at that.” She moved calmly toward the couch, her heart hammering at what she knew he would deem her insolence. Yet she sensed he would prefer a “strong” woman, something different from the poor cows he was used to, trembling in fear as they submitted to his every whim. He’d laughed before when he’d called her “feisty” and she planned, carefully, to exploit that possible advantage. Hasan sobered and smiled a little. “Grace, eh? Is that what you require, Princess?” He walked toward her, settling himself on a chair catty-corner from the couch. “Get me a brandy,” he ordered. Yasmine looked around the room as he added, “You’ll find some in the cupboard there,” he pointed toward the same cabinets that had held the candles. Dutifully Yasmine arose and found the brandy in a thick, crystal decanter. She poured him some, and as he hadn’t offered her any, only brought the single glass to him. He took it, holding it in front of him a moment in contemplation. The flickering light of the candle flame made the brandy in his faceted glass glow like a liquid jewel. Slowly he lifted it and drank. “A fine Cognac,” he remarked. “Though nothing replaces the blood. Speaking of which, you must be thirsty surely for a drink? There are several villages surrounding the compound. The poor, superstitious fools talk of a blood drinker who roams at night, eager to murder ill-behaved little children in their beds. They half believe it and half don’t. On the rare occasion when I am sighted by a lone villager, the rest of them assume he was sleepwalking. “But back to you, is the bloodlust upon you, Princess?” Yasmine licked her lips, not sure how to reply. Would he somehow use it against her if she admitted it? Or would his twisted sense of hospitality rise to the fore. Taking a chance she admitted, “Yes, I do feel the ache. But nothing terrible. I fed just before I came to you, sir.” “Back in Qumar.” She nodded, feeling a sudden tension she sought to dispel by saying, “Your palace is truly lovely. I hope you will allow me the pleasure of a tour of the grounds, your majesty.” Hasan nodded, his eyes hooded as he watched her. “If you please me, perhaps you’ll be granted that privilege. I don’t generally allow my women to go gallivanting around the place. It distracts the guards and the workers. Female servants, yes, properly attired, but one such as you—” he paused, raking her with his eyes “—you would stop

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everyone in their tracks. You would have to dress in a more suitable fashion, not like the lovely whore you present this evening.” Yasmine bristled again at this insult. He was the one who had dictated what she wore, and now he was insulting her for obeying? Hasan laughed suddenly and Yasmine realized she had forgotten to layer her thoughts. That one had been right on top, easily picked up by the vampire. “You know, for someone who claims to have been raised in the sheltered seclusion of your uncle’s household in a tiny country no one seems to have heard of, you certainly have a fiery disposition and a strong ego to match! Most unseemly in a woman.” Hasan’s tone was light, but his eyes were hard. “Forgive me, sir, if I’ve misled you. I have been sheltered perhaps, but not denied the benefit of an education and exposure to the arts and classics. If this has made me too worldly for your tastes, I apologize, sir. But please, let us not speak of a mere woman. Tell me about yourself. How do you spend your days?” Hasan pursed his lips a moment. He sat back and smiled. He truly was exceptionally handsome, especially when he smiled, revealing white, even teeth in his handsome, dark face. “I meet with my investors. I play chess and talk with my friends. I read my books and study astronomy. Sometimes,” he leaned forward, his voice soft, “I conduct little experiments with a human who has displeased me in some way.” Yasmine felt a shiver down her spine. He was going to admit to something, she knew it. Hasan continued. “I like to see how long they can last when I take the blood. I have a special room. Everyone knows to keep out. It’s my special chamber. Just for bad little humans…” He eyed her carefully, waiting for her to react. Yasmine mastered her emotions, layered her mind carefully and said, her voice low and husky, “That sounds very exciting, if you’ll forgive me, sir.” Her eyes were shining in the candlelight. “I myself have always held a secret fascination with the death of these mortals. To feel their life snuff out in your arms, it’s an—” she paused, feigning embarrassment, “excuse me, sir, but it’s an almost erotic sensation.” “Indeed, such feelings are most unusual for a woman,” Hasan remarked, his pupils dilating. “Yes, forgive me. I apologize if I am unseemly, your majesty. You are virile and strong. I’m not used to being around such a great man, sir. I’m afraid my tongue is looser than it should be! Forgive me.” “No, no. That’s quite all right.” He seemed pleased with the praise, puffing his chest a little as he gave her a wolfish grin. “To tell you the truth, I’m intrigued. Most women, even vampires, would quail at my admission of my, er, predilections. I confess I told you in order to test you—to gauge your response. I’m fascinated at your response. There seems to be more to you than meets the eye, or the mind…” She felt him probing her mind as she desperately strove to maintain the thoughts she wanted him to read. As much to distract him from her thoughts as anything she blurted, “I have a fantasy, sir. Dare I share it? Between those of the true kin, sir, it is a dark fantasy indeed.

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I should not confess it, but somehow, since you shared that with me, I feel safe in doing so.” Impulsively she reached over and touched his knee then withdrew her hand as if she were surprised at her own bold action. Looking coyly down, she waited for his next move. Hasan leaned toward her. She could smell his heady scent, intoxicating and inviting. She could feel his sexual arousal at her words and at her touch. “Look at me, Princess.” Slowly she obeyed, looking up into his face, channeling her real nervousness into this game for all she was worth. Hasan’s eyes were dark and hypnotic as she stared into them, willing herself to present with no guile and utter openness toward him, with a dash of shy admiration thrown in. “You may tell me. I will not condemn you for your fantasies.” “Well,” she said in a hushed voice. “I have a fantasy, a dream I suppose, of taking the sacred blood. Of taking it and not…” she trailed off as if too shy to confess this heinous crime. “Go on, go on.” His expression was intense, his voice insistent. “Well, Allah forgive me, but have you ever imagined what it would be like to take the life of one of the true kin? To suck their blood but deny them the sustenance in return? Not that I would ever do such a thing! But the fantasy, it beckons me somehow…” She waited, trying not to tense as she felt her world hang in the balance. Surely David was listening, his ear glued to the monitor, ready to hear the confession of a murderer, ready to leap to her aid. Softly with a hypnotic lilt Hasan said, “You dream of taking the blood of another of the true kin? Of watching them bleed, their blood spilling and gushing into your mouth? You feel their strength flow into you and you become a god! While they, they are nothing—just a vessel that held the sacred blood reserved for you. You feel them weaken in your arms, their pulse slowing as they feebly entreat you to return the blood, to share the sacred offering, to give them their due…” He was watching her, his expression dark. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Menacingly Hasan stood, towering over Yasmine. “You think you have the courage? You, a pathetic, feeble woman, you dare to claim you lust after the sweet nectar and the sweeter death? You dare to put yourself on par with kings? No. No, you would never have the courage to claim the sacred blood for your own.” He paused, evil radiating from his pores as he softly murmured, “Oh but I would.” Then in a strident voice, as if making a pronouncement he added, “Yasmine Hilal, princess of nothing, slave girl of Riyadh, I would claim your sacred blood for my own.”

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Chapter Sixteen David twisted his wrists again. He almost had it! The ropes were knotted tightly, cutting into his skin as he maneuvered as best he could in his bonds. He’d succeeded in breaking the ropes that held his forearms and elbows together behind his back, using sheer vampire strength to do so, but he couldn’t manage the knots at his wrists. His body was wrapped in several pounds of heavy chain, which didn’t make the job any easier. He cursed himself for the hundredth time in the several hours he’d been bound and gagged. How could he have let this happen? He read their minds! He’d felt their willingness to betray Hasan and their loyalty to him! How could he have been so thoroughly duped? Between bouts of fruitless struggling, David lay still, his mind wandering. He thought about all his experiences in the Middle East and about what he knew of the people. He thought of other cultures he’d been in where whole groups of people were subjugated, even enslaved. While slavery was technically forbidden in Saudi Arabia, it was still widely practiced, if more discreetly than when Yasmine had been a human slave girl. David realized miserably he should have been more sensitive to the slave mentality—to the ability, developed as a survival skill, to actually accept one’s servitude, quashing one’s own feelings and on some level believing the attitudes one was forced to present to one’s masters. Perhaps that was how he had been fooled, using his European sensibilities instead of putting himself in the place of these people. Their obedience was not feigned, but controlled and layered, much as vampires learned to do. And what of Ayat? Had even that sweet-natured, earnest little thing been fooling him as well? Was she even now standing by as Hasan… David wouldn’t permit himself to finish the thought. It was unthinkable. Instead he focused on Ayat, on willing her to him. He knew he was physically too far from her to reach her mind, though he tried anyway with all his might. He had told her he would be in her rooms by early evening to await the arrival of the prince in Yasmine’s rooms. David knew darkness had fallen and Ayat was probably wondering by now where he was. Would she seek him out? Did she even know where he was? David was not a religious man and held no particular faith, but just the same he found himself praying, praying to someone or something to give Yasmine the courage to withstand whatever befell her until he could get to her—and he would get to her, one way or the other. He also prayed for Ayat to seek him out and find him. She was his only hope. 114

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He was working again on his wrists, nearly succeeding in slipping one free when he heard the sound of the door opening. He lay very still on the little cot, holding his breath as he probed the mind of the human standing at the entrance. Ayat! She had come! Come to me! In the cot! Hurry! With all his psychic power David hurled these thoughts toward Ayat, indifferent to the shock she might receive at having him enter her mind in this way. She let out a little cry and hurried forward saying, “Dah-veed? Is that you? Where are you?” David made a muffled harrumph as she neared him, and moved his body on the bed as much as he was able, bound as he was in rope and chain. “Oh Mr. Englishman!” Ayat cried as she found him. “Oh Allah, what have those evil men done to you?” Carefully she seized the edge of the duct tape that covered the lower half of David’s face. “It’s going to hurt,” she murmured apologetically, as she ripped away the sticky tape. David winced and blinked, his cheeks now raw, but his mouth free at last. He licked his lips and swallowed before saying in a cracked voice, “Yasmine! Is she safe!” “He is with her! He’s been there over an hour already! Oh I didn’t know what to do when you didn’t come at the appointed time. I should have found you sooner but I didn’t dare leave my hallway while the guards were still there, standing guard. I listened to the monitor, but they were speaking quietly—it was hard to hear. I felt comforted by their voices, knowing if they were still speaking, at least she was safe. Then I did hear him. He raised his voice, calling her Yasmine Hilal, princess of nothing, slave girl of Riyadh. I had no idea what he meant, but it didn’t sound friendly, I can tell you that! “Then he came out into the hall and sent the guards away! He sent them away!” She shrilled these last words and began to cry. David probed her thoughts, understanding from them that Hasan only sent away the guards when he had some great evil planned. He didn’t wish to be overheard as he tortured his latest victim. The words she’d overheard played back in his head like a curse—Yasmine Hilal, princess of nothing, slave girl of Riyadh… Adrenaline shot through David’s veins, leaving him nearly sick with it. “Hurry!” he shouted. “My wrists! Help me with these knots.” Ayat moved behind him, helping him to an upright position as she fumbled with the knots at his wrists, working nearly blind in the darkened room. Her nimble fingers managed to loosen the knots enough for David to pull free. With her help he was soon free of the rest of his bonds. Quickly he stuffed the ropes into his pockets, hoping they’d be put to a different use soon. “We must hurry. We have to get to her. The man is a killer,” David said unnecessarily as Ayat knew this all too well, though she didn’t know anything about vampires or spilling of the sacred blood. To her, human blood was sacred as well, and she wanted no more spilled at her evil master’s hands. So Hasan knew Yasmine’s full name and that she was no princess. He even knew her origins, so his spies were as well placed if not better than David’s own. How

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blithely, how stupidly, David had assumed he had everything under control as he offered up the most beautiful, enigmatic woman in the world to a sadistic madman who even now might have spilled her sacred blood beyond recovery… As they sped along the edges of the gardens leading up to the palace, Ayat whispered breathlessly, “I’ll take you the back way, through the servant’s entrance. We’ll have to go by the guards’ room, but if we’re quiet, hopefully they won’t notice. There is a secret passageway into the wing where Yasmine is kept.” On they ran, fear making their feet fly as they approached the palace, entered, slipped by the guards and hurtled down the passage toward the two vampires, both praying silently for the same thing.

***** Yasmine leaped up as Hasan approached her. Involuntarily she glanced toward the vase of flowers behind which sat the little monitor. Where was David? Wasn’t this his moment to come bursting in? Hasan was on her in a moment, bending her head back as she pushed hard against him. He stifled her cries with a hard kiss on her mouth. Yasmine struggled, biting his lips as she pulled away from him, fear and rage completely overpowering any attraction she had once had toward the man. Hasan let her go, laughing as she stumbled. He gripped her again by the hair, pulling at the braids so the strand of pearls broke, scattering over the marble floor with a tiny clatter as Yasmine’s hair came tumbling down. “Wench! So you thought to fool me, to betray me, to trick me into something. What was it? Money? Surely you have all the money you need! Adventure? Well, I’ll give you adventure, you saucy little whore! All the adventure you can handle and then some!” Grabbing a handful of her hair, Hasan forced Yasmine to her knees. She was strong, but no match for the big man. He pulled her to his crotch, pressing her face against his sizable erection. He was dressed in soft linen pants and she could feel his huge cock painfully outlined against her cheek. “See, you excite me with your fire, wench! No one resists me, ever! You are more sport than I’ve had in six decades! I was intrigued when I heard tell of this so-called princess, a vampire princess of great beauty, supposedly seeking me out for protection and succor.” He laughed cruelly. “No one seeks me for succor! But I love a good game and you certainly offered me that! That’s why I let your partner bribe my guards, paying my servants to gain you access to my palace. How delightful—usually I have to seek out other vampires when I’m the mood for a bit of the sacred blood, but you two, why, you walked right into my lair, offering yourselves up like sacrificial lambs. It was just too perfect. And I did enjoy the charade, Princess.” …your partner… “David!” she gasped, and then bit her lip.

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Hasan laughed a low cruel laugh. “Ah, is that his name. Yes, David the Englishman, who thinks he is so clever but is no match for me. I’ve been at the game far longer than he. Opponents more worthy have fallen, as he shall fall.” Hasan pulled the girl up, holding her wrist in an iron grip as she fruitlessly struggled against him. As if barely aware of her efforts, he continued, “The mistake he made was thinking my servants could be bought. They cannot. They are not servants, you see. They are slaves, slaves of the mind and soul as well as body. I control them all, I rule with an iron fist covered in velvet. I use my vampire powers to keep them docile and obedient. None would dare betray me. None has the courage or strength to do so. “After I’ve toyed with you a while—I like to think of it as foreplay,” he laughed as if he’d made a splendid joke, “then I’ll find your darling David. He’s waiting for me, you see. Chained and docile, awaiting his punishment like a repentant little boy. After I thrash him for his insolence, I will drink his blood until he is nothing but a memory.” As Yasmine absorbed this horrifying information, Hasan continued, “After I’ve rested a while, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the next day, I’ll come back for you, my dear. And you shall learn what fear is and what death is like. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, as they say. Even for the likes of you.” He laughed maniacally, thrusting Yasmine from his body so she fell back on the floor, not able to break her fall. Hurriedly she scrambled to her feet, intent on getting to the door, on getting it open and getting out. Hasan was there in front of her, blocking her way. Roughly he slapped her face, knocking her again to her knees. She gasped, blinded with unbidden tears as the sting of his strong palm flamed over her cheek. Shock over the news David would not be coming to her rescue and was in fact imprisoned somewhere awaiting the same fate as she, left her dazed, her mind frozen. Hasan pulled her up by an arm and said, “No one will save you, Yasmine. No one will heed your cries. I have dismissed the guards and no one else would dare come to your aid, no matter what they might overhear. This is the prelude to your death. I will punish you for your lies and deceit and then I will kill you.” Yasmine started to cry, her eyes wide with terror as he moved toward her. Savagely he pulled the lovely chiffon gown from her body. Slipping his finger between her breasts he pulled up roughly, ripping the brassiere before pulling it from her shoulders. She was left only in the little silver panties. Gripping her arm again, he dragged the girl toward the woven tapestry, pulling it aside to reveal the small door. He opened it with one hand and pushed her in with the other. Yasmine fell to her knees in the small room and Hasan entered behind her. He moved to a small chest she hadn’t noticed when she’d seen the room before. Flipping it open, he pulled out a set of manacles. Roughly he grabbed her by the wrists, quickly snapping the thick metal cuffs on them as he pulled her toward the menacing hook hanging from the ceiling.

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He pulled the chain taut, wrapping it around the hook until Yasmine’s arms were stretched high overhead. He kicked her legs apart and said, “Don’t move. The less you move, the less severe your punishment will be.” Yasmine was trembling as she stood, her body shaking, her eyes wide with fear. Was this how her life would end? Just when she’d found a purpose and seen the one man who could move her, make her dream, make her yearn for the possibility of more? Were they both to die at the hands of this monster? She thought of Adrienne and Daniel, involved in their own dangerous adventure halfway around the world. How long until they discovered this mission had been a resounding failure? Would they follow, falling into another trap set by this monster? The thought was intolerable. “You bastard,” she hissed, rage overcoming fear for a moment. “This senseless waste of life!” Hasan slapped her face hard. Taking a nipple between forefinger and thumb, he twisted it savagely, making her scream. “Shut up! Why is your life any more valuable than a human’s? I’ve always thought we vampires had too high an opinion of ourselves as a people—sacred blood indeed. What’s so sacred about it! You bleed as easily as a mortal. You’ll die as easily as one too. I’ll show you, whore.” Again he twisted her nipple and again she screamed. “But first a little fun.” Hasan brought out a whip, a whip just like the one she’d been beaten with two centuries before. Yasmine shivered, her body remembering the cruel kiss of the lash as she tensed for the blow. “What have we here, slave girl?” Hasan remarked, drawing his finger down the faint scar that still stretched from her shoulder blade to her lower back. It was a reminder of her humble origins, and though Yasmine didn’t think about it often, she never entirely forgot it was there. “You’ve been beaten before and no doubt deserved it then as well.” He drew back his wrist and snapped the leather strands against Yasmine’s narrow back. She jerked forward and yelped, not expecting the suddenness of his stroke. He struck her again, three times in quick succession, each time harder than the last. Yasmine bit her lip, refusing to cry out again. She wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction. Hasan came around in front of her, his face very close to hers. Dropping a hand he cupped her crotch, slipping fingers past the silk. His face mottled with rage as he stepped back, pulling his hand from her panties as if her pussy had burned him. “You bitch! I ordered you to groom yourself for me! I can’t stand nasty, filthy, hairy cunts! You make me sick! None of my women are permitted hair on their bodies! You filthy pig! Now I will really punish you. I will whip you until you pass out and then I’ll revive you and whip you again.

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“I know how to do it so you won’t bleed. No, we couldn’t have you losing blood, now could we? I want to save every sacred drop for myself! I’ll leave on your panties so I don’t have to see your filthy, hairy cunt.” He laid into her, raining the lash down over every inch of her body, striking her from behind, from in front, on her sides, her legs, even her face. Yasmine was silent at first, only gasping. Her anger at his filthy diatribe against women had given her a measure of renewed courage. But after twenty or thirty more lashes, she forgot her determination to keep silent. Her entire being became focused on avoiding the lash as she danced and twisted in a fruitless effort to escape its fiery sting. At one point—it could have been hours, it could have been days, she had no idea, she finally felt the blessed darkness come to take her and gratefully she gave in to the sweet oblivion. But a moment later cold water doused over her head and face, reviving her as it chilled her naked body, crisscrossed now with angry red welts. Again Hasan loomed in front of her, his erection still clearly visible as it strained against his pants while he beat her. This time the darkness came sooner, but again the icy water revived her and again he continued to savage her tender flesh until she felt nothing but pain, her mind consumed with it, her body racked with it. She was left empty of thought, sagging in her chains, no longer resisting though she felt every bite of the whip. Finally he stopped, whispering he’d be back once he’d taken his fill of her lover’s blood. Yasmine didn’t hear the words, her brain too shut down to process them. This time when the darkness came she fell gratefully into its arms, swept away though her body still stood, her wrists shackled overhead, her head lolling against her chest, the long, dark hair streaming down like a shroud.

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Chapter Seventeen “Just down this hallway! Hurry!” Ayat and David had managed to get past the guards’ room unobserved and were hurtling through a back passage toward Yasmine’s suite. The hall was deserted, the sound of their hurried footsteps echoing against the polished marble. They reached the room and David turned the knob, ready to break down the door if need be, but it opened smoothly on well-oiled hinges. Clearly, Hasan was not expecting to be disturbed. As they burst in they saw Hasan standing in the middle of the room. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were wild. He had opened his pants and his hand was wrapped around his thick, turgid cock. He turned toward the noise, his face a grimace, fangs distended. Slowly his expression darkened as he saw who was standing there. He pulled his hand from his pants, no trace of embarrassment evident. David was looking wildly around the room. He ran past Hasan, pushing him aside as he went. The bedroom was empty, the huge bed in the center pristinely piled with soft quilts and pillows. The bathroom was empty as well. David ran back into the living room, his heart pounding in his chest. “Where is she! You son of a bitch, where is Yasmine!” “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you, David,” Hasan snarled. “Your so-called princess, the spy you sent to infiltrate my home, to nose her way into things best left secret. Hadn’t you heard what I do to spies and traitors, Mr. Englishman? Don’t you know the danger you sent your little whore into? Or don’t you care about a mere woman? And here I thought you Westerners were so enlightened when it came to such matters.” He laughed cruelly. “But when it comes down to it, they’re all just cunts, aren’t they? Filthy little cunts good for nothing but a cock or a whip.” He turned his blazing dark eyes on Ayat. In a booming voice he shouted, “And you! Pathetic, lying little whore. How dare you defy me, your lord and master! I’ll have you stripped naked and tied to a whipping post. I’ll let all the guards take their turns until you’re whipped to bloody shreds. Then I’ll let any who would have such a filthy cunt take their fill while the others watch. Then you’ll be whipped again. That’s what happens to traitors of the great Prince Hasan.” Ayat gave a terrified wail, hiding herself behind David. David’s voice was low, controlled where Hasan’s was wild. “You won’t touch her, you bastard. Your murdering days are over. Do you take me for a fool? I’m not acting alone. The net has been closing in on you for some time. The game is up. Your fate lies with the Elders now. But first you will give me Yasmine or I’ll kill you with my own hands!”

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Hasan glared at David, his sensuous lips curling into a cruel smile. Matching David’s tone he snarled, “She’s dead, you pathetic worm. Just as you will be when I take your blood, your sacred blood. You are surrounded by my guards and servants, all of them, save one—” he glared toward Ayat “—utterly loyal to me. Don’t speak to me of nets and Elders. You are the one in great peril, Mr. Englishman. Prepare to die.” Hasan’s eyes were glowing with sadistic pleasure as he advanced toward David, certain of his own power. Dead. Dead. Dead. The word echoed in David’s head. He’d barely heard Hasan’s threats, his mind jagged on the sharp edge of those first words. Desperately he strained to detect Yasmine’s presence, some sign of her, and could find nothing. There was no time to process the anguish that threatened to overtake him. The love he’d denied for Yasmine was crushed by Hasan’s horrible words just as it bloomed in his heart. His eyes filmed blood red with rage as he hurtled himself toward Hasan. The two men went down together, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. Ayat watched, wringing her hands as the two men crashed violently from side to side, Hasan on the top one moment, David the next. Whispering a prayer, she slipped from the room, leaving the door ajar. Running to her little room down the hall she slipped in, moving quickly to her narrow bed. From under the pillow she withdrew a small, sheathed dagger, a decorative sword she’d stolen from one of the display rooms in the palace after David had approached her with his plans. As she slipped it into the deep pocket of her robe she could hear the men fighting over the little monitor that rested on the night table next to her bed. They were grunting and wrestling and she felt certain one or the other was going to end up dead. She had to hurry, to make sure it would be the right one! In a moment she was back in Yasmine’s room, pulling the wheeled laundry bin they had planned to use to smuggle Hasan out of the palace. With a trembling hand she drew the dagger from her robe as she crept near the struggling men. They seemed to be evenly matched as first one and then the other appeared to gain the upper hand. She saw Hasan’s gaping mouth, his fangs distended, trying to find their mark as his hands curled around David’s throat. Terror filled her breath at the sight of those long, sharp fangs. She felt as if she were falling into a nightmare filled with demons and monsters. Yet she knew she had to act to save her friend. Taking a deep breath, Ayat raised the little dagger. She was aiming for Hasan’s arm, hoping the pain from the knife would give David the advantage he needed to subdue the man. But Hasan twisted just as the blade was plunging down, and it ripped through the back of his shirt, tearing into his flesh just below the ribs. Hasan gave a grunt, as if he’d had the air punched out of him. David felt Hasan’s steely grip loosen from around his throat and he gasped for breath as he pushed Hasan away. As Hasan fell back, the dagger was forced deeper into his back, blood pooling beneath him, bright red on the white marble floor. Hasan’s expression was one of incredulity. He reached down, touching the bright red blood with his finger, sniffing it as if he had no idea of its source. Slowly his face dawned with comprehension as he 121

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cried, “No! Not my blood. No one dares to spill my sacred blood. I am Hasan Jawhar, I am the one true kin. No…” His eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth went slack as he slipped into unconsciousness. David was sitting nearby, his expression dazed. He couldn’t seem to process what he was seeing. Finally he said, “What have I done? I’ve killed one of the true kin! I never meant to kill him. Only to trick him into confession and then deliver him to the Elders. They decide who lives or dies, not me! Not me!” Ayat knelt next to David, barely comprehending his words. Her voice was shaking as she whispered, “I don’t think he’s dead, sir. See how his chest still rises and falls. And you didn’t do it. I did. I stabbed him. I stabbed him for Yasmine. And for the other women he’s tortured. For the men he’s murdered. For the women he’s spurned and humiliated and enslaved.” She began to cry bitterly, falling to the ground, rocking herself as she sobbed. David turned to her, taking her in his arms. Her tears seemed to reawaken him to the continued urgency of the situation. “Poor Ayat. You’ve been through hell. You’ve lived in fear and misery for a long time. Your pain is stamped upon your psyche like a brand. It’s over now. We’ll take him away. You’ll come with me. We’ll leave this godforsaken hellhole. Oh Yasmine…” Tears were streaming down David’s face as he held Ayat. Where was Yasmine’s body? He had to find it. They would not leave her corpse here—she would be buried in sacred ground. Ayat stopped crying suddenly as she gasped, “Allah! She may yet live! I know where he put her! Hurry!” She stumbled to her feet, running to the heavy tapestry, which she pulled aside with trembling hands. As she pulled the door open, David pushed past her. He had suddenly sensed Yasmine’s vampire essence when the door had opened. The connection was weak because she was still unconscious. What he saw froze him with horror for an instant, but only an instant. Yasmine hung from her wrists, her head slumped over her bare breasts. Hasan had yanked the little panties askew when he’d invaded her last privacy, and they were partly down her thigh on one side, the fabric torn at the other hip. Her body was crisscrossed with dark red welts. Quickly they moved toward the woman. David released her arms from the hook as Ayat helped him to lower her to the ground. She was breathing shallowly, her face pale even for a vampire, its natural luminescence dulled. As David lifted her carefully into his arms she moaned, pain reviving her. “Death is too good for him,” he muttered, his heart breaking as he looked down on Yasmine’s beaten, welted flesh. Her heart still beat and the sweet scent of fresh jasmine mingled with the foul blood stench of the evil man lying unconscious on the floor in the next room. Yasmine opened her silver-gray eyes, staring up into David’s face as he carried her to the couch in the outer room. David! He’ll find you! He’ll kill you! These thoughts

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slipped into his head though her lips did not move. David could feel the terror behind the words and sense the misery in her heart that they’d failed in their mission. Gently David lay her down on the couch. “No, sweet girl. He can’t harm me or you or anyone else now. You’re safe. I’ll take care of you.” His voice was calm and soothing. As he spoke he sent gentle, loving thoughts into her mind and heart until he could feel the terror slowly subside. The look of trust and love in her made a warmth spread through him. She caught his hand and held it, though her grasp was weak. “Close your eyes, beautiful girl,” he murmured. “I will protect you. Nothing will harm you ever again, I promise.” Yasmine obeyed, her eyes fluttering shut. He tried not to focus on her glorious breasts. Even marked with angry red welts, they were beautiful, round and full with rich brown tips begging to be suckled. Ayat brought Yasmine’s nightgown and together she and David managed to get it on her. “A dream,” Yasmine whispered in Arabic. Her eyes were still closed, but she was breathing deeply through her nose. “David has come for me… What a lovely dream.” He gently smoothed her tangled hair from her brow, his heart overflowing with pity and love. “Sir, we must hurry,” Ayat said gently, smiling slightly at the little love scene that was playing before her. David nodded, stroking Yasmine’s soft cheek once more before turning toward the vampire still lying in his own blood. David pulled the lengths of rope he’d brought with him from his pockets. “Fitting we tie him with his own rope, the bastard.” They secured the unconscious man’s wrists before turning him to his side. The little dagger fell with a clatter to the ground. The man’s wound continued to ooze blood, staining his white shirt red. Grimacing, David took the towel Ayat retrieved from the bathroom and pressed it hard against the wound until the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. He stood, bending down to lift the unconscious vampire in his strong arms. As Ayat held the laundry bin still, David lowered Hasan into it, covering him with sheets. “And what of Yasmine? We can’t leave her here. What will we do?” Ayat fretted. “We’ll put her on top of Hasan. He won’t stir. He’s greatly weakened by the loss of blood.” As Ayat looked horrified David added, “It’s the only way. We must hurry. We don’t know how long Hasan told his guards to stay away.” And so, gently, David lifted the now sleeping girl, depositing her on top of the sheets that covered the body below. “Dah-veed,” she whispered sweetly, before lapsing back into sleep. They covered her as well, the bin now heavy and wobbling on its little wheels, holding a weight it was never meant to carry. David whispered to her, “Stay still, Yasmine. We’re getting you out of here. Don’t move or speak until I tell you it’s safe to do so.” He felt her telepathic agreement as she eased back into sleep. Together David and Ayat hurried down the hall as fast as they could with the heavy load, slipping into the secret passageway that led directly to the kitchens. “My cousin Ronan will help us. He can get the keys to the delivery truck. I’ll be right back.”

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Ayat sped through the kitchen, her eyes shining with something she hadn’t experienced before, something new and wonderful—hope. Ronan pulled the truck to the kitchen entrance a few moments later, gesturing toward David, who slowly wheeled the heavy bin out the door. Several women were working in the kitchen, but Ayat had whispered to them to pay no attention. For whatever reason they had obeyed, turning their heads back to their work, perhaps aware someone was getting away, even if it wasn’t them. David sat in the back of the truck with the bin as Ayat climbed up beside Ronan. The delivery truck drove down the long drive and out of the compound, Ronan nodding to the guard at the gate as he turned onto the road and toward freedom.

***** “She’s resting comfortably. Well, not exactly comfortably, as she took quite a beating. But she’s recovering nicely. She’ll need to feed, but she isn’t quite up to it yet.” He sighed. David was talking on his cell phone to a very concerned Adrienne half a world away. He looked down at the sleeping beauty and his heart caught in his throat. To think he had risked the life of this lovely, courageous woman with a cavalier indifference born of a hardened heart. If she had died at the hands of Hasan, David knew he could not have gone on living with himself. When he’d seen Yasmine chained, practically naked and beaten, his heart had swelled with such pain and longing it was as if something had burst open inside him. There was no going back now—no denying the feelings of tenderness and love he felt for her, though as yet they’d barely exchanged a word. Clearly Adrienne sensed something of David’s unspoken feelings. “David, we all did what we felt we had to do. Don’t be a typical male, please.” She laughed that delightful musical scale to soften her criticism. “Don’t be so egocentric as to assume you offered Yasmine up to danger and death. She understood the risks as well as the rest of us. She sought me out, eager to contribute in some way. And from what you’ve told me, you were successful! The Elders of my circle believe we may have finally wiped out the scourge of murderers among us. “As soon as Yasmine’s able, fly back to us. Leave that forsaken part of the world and return to France. Daniel and I plan to take an extended tour of India once we have seen you again. Perhaps you and Yasmine would care to join us?” You and Yasmine…did she automatically assume they were now a couple? Lovers, bound by their adventure? Or was it merely an invitation extended to two friends? He didn’t ask the question, instead saying, “And what of your fledgling friend Margo? Is she taking the trip as well?” Adrienne answered, “No. She is staying here with her mortal lover. That is a situation that will come to haunt her, I fear. Love between mortals and vampires is destined to end in sorrow.” She spoke as one who knew firsthand. David did not pursue this line of conversation. Instead he gave more details of the mission and of 124

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Yasmine’s present condition. Adrienne didn’t seem as concerned as he, noting before they hung up, “She’s stronger than you think, David. She’s made it on her own all this time without you by her side. She’ll be fine.” Yasmine had been sleeping most of the two days since her rescue and David was getting worried. He knew she hadn’t had a chance to feed since their infiltration of Hasan’s compound. She was weakened from the beating and the terror it must have inflicted upon her. All at once David wondered if something deep in her subconscious had sent her back in time to 1822, when that other evil vampire had tried to rape and had ultimately turned her. Then too she had been savagely beaten, bloodied and scarred. Was she staying asleep as a way to protect herself? Was her body keeping her unconscious so she wouldn’t have to face whatever fate awaited her? He looked toward her, sending tender, burning thoughts her way. Wake up, Yasmine. You are no helpless slave girl. Hasan has been caught and handed over to the Elders. He will never harm another, mortal or vampire, for whatever short time is left to him. Once they’d safely made their escape from the compound, Ronan had driven to a village some fifty kilometers north of Riyadh where Hasan’s Elders were waiting, grimfaced and ready to take charge of their errant kin. Ayat sat beside him in the passenger seat. David was in the backseat with Yasmine and Hasan was in the back of the truck, bound and still unconscious, laid out on his belly. Neither Ronan nor Ayat knew the true nature of the evil man but they were content to know he was being handed over to authorities, and would never have the power to harm them again. David had promised them each enough riyals so they could relocate anywhere in the world they chose and never work again, if that was their choice. Ronan shyly confessed his dream of opening a restaurant in one of the larger cities and Ayat was going to help him. They both smiled constantly once Hasan had been removed from the truck. As they drove toward the hotel where Yasmine would recuperate before she and David returned to Europe, they whispered to each other of their amazing luck, excitedly making plans for a future neither had ever dreamed possible. David had held Yasmine cradled in his arms as they bumped and swerved along rutted roads. She felt so good in his arms. He alternated between tenderness and almost painful arousal as her body pressed warmly against his. He never wanted to put her down. All through that trip she had remained asleep, so deeply asleep he could not rouse her for more than a moment or two. When she did revive, she would focus on his face hovering with a concerned expression over hers and she would break into a beatific smile that made his heart overflow with absurd joy. Dah-veed… David shook his head, staring at Yasmine now. She was saying his name. He saw with delighted astonishment her lovely clear gray eyes opening. Weakly she said, “Blood.”

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He understood instantly, knowing she must be famished. He helped her to sit up, pulling her thick, heavy hair back from her face. “Can you walk? Can you go out and get your own prey? Should I find someone for you?” It would be risky, but he could perhaps get a maid or waiter to come to the room under false pretenses and then have her take her fill right in the room. Yasmine shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice a little stronger. “I want to go outside. I don’t want to take that risk. We’ve taken enough risks as it is.” Though there was no reproach in her voice, David took this as a rebuke, silently cursing himself for the thousandth time at the risk he’d taken with Yasmine’s life. But he understood. It was deeply ingrained in a vampire’s psyche not to take human blood where one lived. The obvious risk of detection was too great and there was rarely reason for it. Thus he was relieved when Yasmine stood up, shaking her head a little as if to clear the last of the webs of sleep from her brain. “I feel a little dizzy, but I think I’m all right. Really.” She gazed down at her arms. The welts had faded to pale pink, almost completely healed. Vampires heal more rapidly than humans and as no blood had been drawn, there was less damage to repair. David nodded, pleased to see how steadily she stood. He went to a closet and pulled out the abaaya he had purchased in anticipation of Yasmine’s recovery. It was hard to believe so little time had passed since he’d first laid eyes on her at the Paris airport. Hard to fathom he’d told himself then she was just someone from his past, no more, no less. If things had gone according to plan, with Yasmine escaping unscathed, would this ridiculous, unfamiliar love he felt have been permitted to rise in his heart? David didn’t know, but nor did he care. Despite the fear of the unknown, not to mention the fact he didn’t yet know if his feelings were returned or in what measure, David felt more alive, more full of joy, than he ever remembered feeling. He draped the robe solicitously around her shoulders, watching as she secured it and tied the heavy scarf over her lovely hair. She attached the dark veil over her face so only her silvery eyes outlined in smoky lashes showed. David put on his kaffiyeh, the Arabic headdress he expertly wound around his head, tucking the fringes under in a roll to hold it in place. If one didn’t look too closely at his pale face with its blond whiskers and bright blue eyes, he could have passed for an Arab. Yasmine, of course, fit the part except for the unusual color of her eyes, which she would keep properly averted in public. Together they descended to the lobby, just another couple going out into the twilight, perhaps for a meal or to visit friends. But instead of seeking out the crowded cafés and bustling neighborhoods, they moved instinctively toward the seedier part of town where homeless men moved aimlessly through the alleyways or sat staring despondently into the darkening night sky. Silently they staked out a victim, moving together like shadows gliding toward their prey. They had selected an old man, his robes filthy, his eyes vacant. Though

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Muslim law forbid alcohol, this man clearly was not observant, a half-empty bottle of ouzo clutched in twisted, arthritic fingers tipped with broken, filthy nails. David was upon him before he was aware of their presence. With an expert pinch to a nerve in the old man’s neck, his head lolled over. Yasmine sank down next to him, pulling his head down on her lap. Her teeth slipped easily through thin skin, finding the sweet, hot pulse below. Yasmine swallowed greedily, sucking the blood as if her life depended on it—as in fact it did. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter. Yasmine sighed with heady pleasure as the blood coursed through her veins, renewing her strength. David watched, keeping an eye out for observers. As a group of young men came around a corner, David whispered urgently, “We must go. Hurry. We can find another for you if you need more.” At first Yasmine didn’t respond, sucking deeply from the tiny wounds at the man’s throat. David touched her shoulder, sending his thoughts insistently into her mind until Yasmine released her grip, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand as she stood. No longer unsteady, she slipped with David into the shadows, waiting until the young men had passed. The old man appeared to merely be asleep, the bottle still clutched in his fingers, his chin resting against his chest. “Do you need more, Yasmine?” David asked. In the light of a streetlamp, he could see the glow of bloodlust still in her eyes. He thought perhaps they could find another suitable mortal for her to feed upon nearby. To his surprise Yasmine shook her head. “No. Thank you, David. I feel ever so much better now. I feel restored to myself at last.” Her voice was strong now, its low, smooth timbre pleasing to David’s ear. “I rarely go this long without sustenance, but it has made me appreciate the intense pleasure of the feed all the more.” She looked toward him, adding softly, “When one has denied oneself for so long, the rediscovery of something deeply desired is all the sweeter, don’t you find?” David found himself falling into those captivating eyes, wondering if perhaps Yasmine was not talking about blood or feeding. When she took his hand in hers, pressing it between the folds of her robe to her soft breast beneath, he was sure of it.

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Chapter Eighteen Though she’d felt so bold with the first flush of mortal blood coursing through her veins after her feed, now that they sat alone in the hotel room, she leaning back on a chaise lounge, he on the couch opposite her, Yasmine felt suddenly shy. David was waiting for her response, his mouth curled up slightly on one side as if he hadn’t yet determined if he were amused or not. He had asked her, his tone light, if she’d ever thought about him over the intervening centuries since they’d first parted company. Her instinct had been to answer with a quip—something glib about some vague memory of the man who rode her on horseback across the Arabian desert, eager to dump her into the arms of someone who could baby-sit her better than he was obviously equipped to do. But as she looked up, prepared to banter, the intensity of his expression and the heat of his underlying feelings, feelings he was doing nothing to layer or disguise, quite took her breath away. “Yes,” she finally said. She took a sip of the freshly made lemonade and then held the cold glass to her cheek. He waited, his mouth slowly moving from the upward curl to a frown. “That’s it? Yes? That’s all you have to say?” Yasmine bristled a little. “What would you have me say, David? That I pined for you for centuries? That not a day passed when I didn’t remember the blond god who had rescued and then abandoned me? That my dreams since that time have been wasted on a man who couldn’t be bothered to find me, to see how I was faring, to see how vampire life suited me, to see if I’d grown up into the woman he’d prophesized I would become?” She bit her lip and took in a breath, looking away. What had compelled her to say that! An edge of anger made her words even more harsh—anger she hadn’t been aware she still harbored. She had honestly convinced herself, after the first fifty or so years without a hint of David’s presence, that he mattered less than nothing to her. For years she had told herself, and had come to believe David had been key in the beginning of her journey, sent by others to find, retrieve and deliver her. Because he’d been the only man to be kind to her since the death of her father, naturally she’d been attracted to him. She had been a naïve and completely inexperienced young woman who had awkwardly thrown herself at him, obviously so ineffectually he hadn’t even been aware of it. When he’d finally been hit over the head with it, his rebuke had been enough to turn her desire to humiliation, effectively shutting down her emotions where the blond Englishman was concerned. She’d barely given him a conscious thought for at least a hundred years. 128

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“Yasmine,” David said aloud, his features softening. She too had failed to layer her thoughts, and he had read them as clearly as if she spoke aloud. “Forgive me. I was a foolish man, resisting my own natural attraction to you because I didn’t want to take advantage of such a young innocent. If I had made love to you, just after that brutal assault, I would have been taking advantage of your frailty, of your neediness. I would have been taking what was not mine to take.” “Was that not for me to decide?” she asked, still stung by the ancient memories being stirred by this conversation. “Perhaps. You know, I was born vampire. You were born human. We are different in that regard. Vampires are very careful, as you know, when it comes to ways of the heart. We walk this earth too long to risk the sort of pain love can bring. When you have centuries to suffer, not merely decades, the prospect of loss is that much more difficult to bear.” “So you’re a coward. That’s what you’re saying. All born vampires are cowards.” Her voice was disdainful. David flushed but then admitted, “Perhaps. Perhaps in some respect you are right. We are afraid, more afraid surely than humans, who seem to leap into love as if it were a warm, beckoning pool, only to be stunned over and over again when they find the pool was but a puddle, with solid rock just below the surface waiting to dash their hearts to bits.” Yasmine laughed despite herself. “Such a poet.” She grinned. “Hiding behind your flowery words. Still a coward, if you ask me.” David laughed, and she felt his relief that she’d eased up on him a bit. It was hard to stay angry with him. Though the hotel boasted air-conditioning, on that hot spring day it wasn’t doing too good a job. He was dressed in white cotton, a comfortable lounging outfit of open shirt and pants that tied at the waist. Along with suiting the desert clime, it showed off his well-muscled, sexy chest with its blond curls at the breastbone. The pants were loose, but couldn’t entirely hide the strong, thick muscles of his thighs. His bare feet were well shaped with high arches and long, straight toes. Yasmine too was dressed for comfort, in a pale yellow sundress she would not be permitted to leave the hotel room in, not if she didn’t want to risk taunts or even possible physical assault by her brethren in the streets. No, even in the blazing sun, she and other women would be expected to drape themselves in full-length black coats to protect their men from their own uncontrollable lusts. Yasmine had no immediate plans to leave however. Everything she wanted at that moment was right there with her. David smiled, again eavesdropping on her thoughts no doubt, as he said, “Do you think, after what we’ve been through together these last few days that I could be given a clean slate? A fresh chance with you? You are not the same girl you were two hundred years ago and nor am I the same man.” He took a deep breath, as if weighing something in his mind. When Yasmine tried to penetrate his thoughts, she found them

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muddled but understood he was grappling with something. Patiently she waited, curious but content to wait. Finally he said, “I was just thinking about what I just said. About not being the same man. And I find, though it troubles me to admit it, in some ways I am a worse man. More of a coward, you would probably say.” He smiled ruefully at her and looked down at his hands. “Once, a long time ago, shortly before I first encountered you, I became involved with a beautiful vampire. She was stunning—with golden hair and pale pink skin like a delicate seashell. She was as cruel as she was lovely, and even though I knew it, I couldn’t help but fall madly for her. “In retrospect it was a kind of madness. Somehow she worked her way past my usual defenses, slipping into my heart like a razor blade, slicing it before I’d even been aware of her presence there. She took a sort of perverted pleasure in breaking men’s hearts. So I came to discover. I was no better than the next poor bastard, though I wonder now if I’d fall as easily her prey. She was the only one, Yasmine. The only one who ever moved me to tears. Who managed to make me care. Make me yearn for her. Long for her. Dream of her…” David trailed off, staring into the middling distance as Yasmine watched him. She felt a sharp stab of jealousy prick her as she thought of this “golden” woman breaking this man’s heart. David turned slowly to her. “Until now, Yasmine. Until now.” As he looked at her, Yasmine could see clearly into his mind. “Let me stop now. Let me stop being the coward you accuse me of. Let me show you the truth of what is in my heart.” Into her mind David sent images from his memories. He allowed her to sense the tenderness and pity he had felt when he’d discovered her shackled and beaten. He allowed her to see the tears he cried as he’d held her, beaten and broken in his arms. Turning fully toward her with his arms open, he let her into his heart. She felt his unspoken love for her, his passionate desire moving through her like clear, invigorating water rushing over pebbles in a bright, clear stream. Her face suffused in a becoming blush as he allowed her to see the full measure of his desire, the image of herself, naked, her arms opened to receive him. Would he too betray Yasmine? Take what he wished and leave her the one longing for more? “No,” he said softly. “Never.” He reached out his hand and Yasmine stood, slipping her smaller one into his. He pulled her close to him. She couldn’t help the little sigh as his delicious scent overwhelmed her. He felt so warm and strong as he wrapped his arms around her. Whispering into her hair he murmured, “I will not betray you. I foolishly led you into terrible danger and I will spend the rest of my life regretting that. But by the same token, it was that very danger and the realization you could be taken from me—you, a vampire with centuries left to enjoy—could be snuffed out by an evil madman while I stood helplessly by. It brought me finally to the realization we of the true kin are mortal too. And it mattered to me. It mattered terribly to think I would never again look in

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those fathomless gray eyes. Never again touch this impossibly soft skin.” Delicately he drew his finger along her cheek, making Yasmine shiver. “Never get the chance to do this. To do what I’ve been longing to do since I first laid eyes on you at the airport.” He bent down, his hair falling into his eyes as his lips sought hers. Yasmine moaned a little as their mouths touched. His lips parted as he drew her closer, holding the back of her head with his hand as his tongue explored her mouth. She could feel his erection hard against her belly as he held her. She could feel his heart, its hammer matching the strike of her own. Too soon—she wanted the kiss to go on forever—David pulled back, taking his hand from her head, but only to grip the little spaghetti straps that held her dress on her shoulders. Slowly he slipped them down her arms, all the while staring into her eyes. Butterflies fluttered in her belly as his fingers grazed her arms, pulling the dress down until it hung at her waist, stopped by the feminine flare of her hips. She was trembling, her bare breasts exposed to his ravaging stare. A part of her knew this was ridiculous. She was no mere girl terrified at the hands of a new lover. She was an experienced woman who had had more men over her one hundred and eightyfour years than she cared to count. What was so different here? Why did her heart hurt with longing? Why were her legs trembling so she thought she might collapse at his feet? Why did she feel like a virgin as she waited for his next move? David bent down, gently lifting her breasts, cupping the undersides as he brought his lips over each nipple, drawing a moan of pleasure from her. She started to pull away, to draw him with her down to the couch but he stopped her. “No. Stay just as you are. Don’t move. Keep your arms at your sides and stay perfectly still.” It wasn’t a request—there was command in his voice and somehow it didn’t occur to Yasmine to disobey. She stood still, except for the tremble still present in her limbs. David bent again, suckling and teasing each nipple until Yasmine was breathing hard, gasping with pleasure as he nibbled and suckled the delicate tips to full erection. Slowly his large, strong hands moved down her belly, hooking the light fabric of her dress and pulling it down past her hips. For a moment Yasmine was reminded of the last man to touch her in this way, as she stood defenseless in his palace, first aroused and then insulted. She tensed, the memory obscuring the pleasure she had been feeling at David’s loving hand. For a moment it was Hasan’s face she saw, dark and handsome when he smiled, but cruel and terrible as he leered at her, his expression distorted by power and lust. The specifics of the torture, once he’d had her tethered in the punishment chamber, were blessedly somewhat vague, her mind protecting her to some degree from a memory too painful to process. But she well remembered the time leading up to it—as he threw her to the ground, pulling the strand of pearls from her hair, delighting in her terror, eager to increase it with his promise of her suffering. Though she knew she was

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safe now, safe in David’s arms, Yasmine couldn’t control the tremor of residual fear that slid through her body like ice water. David took her into his arms, holding her close as he whispered, “Forgive me.” He kissed her eyelids, as if his tender touch could erase the pain of the dark images now in both their minds. “Forgive me for awakening those horrible memories.” He lifted her into his arms, carrying her into the bedroom as he kissed her lustrous hair. Carefully he laid her on the bed. He stripped off his shirt but left his trousers on as he lay next to Yasmine, now clad only in her bikini panties. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Thank you, but I’m okay. I know he was evil and his desire was not to arouse me, but to torment me for his own twisted pleasure. I don’t want to let him ruin anything between us. Please. Kiss me again.” She closed her eyes, tilting her face up sweetly. David did not disappoint, leaning over her and taking her in his arms as he kissed her mouth, gently at first and then with a passion he couldn’t control. She responded in kind, moving from his lips to kiss his throat and then his chest. She nuzzled her nose against him, glorying in his heady, intoxicating scent. David pulled her up and gently pressed her to her back. “Close your eyes,” he whispered softly. She obeyed. She felt his breath as he moved over her throat, his teeth lightly grazing the flesh as he moved again toward her breasts. As he teased her nipples his hands slid down her body again, this time finding the hot, sweet heat between her legs. With a twist of his strong fingers, her panties tore from her body, but she barely noticed, intent on those fingers as she spread her legs to receive their touch. His hand moved over her spread sex, the fingers lightly dancing over engorged flesh. He touched her with featherlight strokes, swirling over and around her clit, intentionally just missing her sweet center, making her want to grind her crotch against him to gain more friction. “Hungry girl,” he whispered, giving a low-throated laugh as he moved his head down past her breasts, past her belly. She felt his breath tickling her mons and she shivered with desire and anticipation. She shifted suddenly, turning her body away from him and trying to close her legs. The movement was an attempt to cover the touch of sweet embarrassment, which mixed with her delight at his attentions. David understood the shyness and the desire. He understood she was not being coy, but simply new with him. Gently but firmly he pressed her back into position, his strong hands spreading her thighs, revealing the sweet folds of her sex beneath the delicately curling pubic hair. When his warm tongue touched her center, sensation whipped through her—a glorious, heady, dizzying passion. As he licked and teased her labia, she arched up toward his mouth, fierce pleasure coursing through her entire body, but concentrated at her sex. He seemed to know just exactly how she was put together—where to lick, where to nibble, what pressure to apply and when to release. Slowly he brought her

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closer and closer to a searing climax, stopping just before she toppled over the edge of no return. Yasmine was desperate by the time he slipped a finger into her now slick entrance. She moaned and thrust against him, crying out as his tongue found its mark yet again. Her body was out of control as she spasmed and shuddered, a powerful orgasm ripping through her like some kind of electrical current that held her in its thrall until she was completely spent. For several moments Yasmine lay utterly still, her body bathed in a sheen of sweat. David lay quietly beside her, his huge erection evident beneath his pants, his hand gently touching her hip. When she could finally catch her breath she laughed, sheer joy bubbling through her like hot wine. She sat up and caught David’s face in her hands, kissing him on the mouth with a resounding smacking sound. She laughed again. “David, where did you learn to do that!” She put two fingers over his mouth, her eyes twinkling. “No, don’t answer that. I’m sure I don’t want to know!” She kissed his face, covering his cheeks and chin with light, rapid kisses before moving down to his strong chest and flat belly. He lay passively, content to let her explore his body. Crouching between his legs, Yasmine released the ties at his waist and pulled his trousers from his legs. The large mound of his trapped erection pillowed below his stomach, covered in black silk. Using her teeth, Yasmine pulled the underwear from his body. His cock grazed her cheek as it sprang free, now fully erect against his belly. Yasmine touched him experimentally with her tongue, wanting to give him the same drawn-out, delicious pleasure he’d given her. Slowly she licked the spongy head of his cock, savoring its sweet, salty taste. Lightly she licked down the shaft, taking his heavy balls in her fingers while her other hand cupped the base of his cock. She tried to go slowly—to think of him as a piece of candy she would make last all afternoon. But her own greed for his perfect rock-hard member made her forget her caution. She took his length back into her throat, drawing a low moan from his lips. “Oh,” he murmured. “I must have you. I must.” He pulled from her, pushing her suddenly onto her back. “That feels so wonderful but I need you. I have to have you, now!” David towered over her, his strong, naked body held up by his arms as his cock nudged between her legs. He whispered, “I have longed for this moment since I first saw you again. But I won’t take what isn’t freely given. May I make love to you, Yasmine?” As he said these words aloud, the unspoken words slipped into her mind. I love you. I adore you. My Yasmine. Yasmine reached up, encircling David with her smoothly muscled arms, pulling him down onto her as she arched up to receive his cock. She was wet and hot as he entered her, her vaginal muscles contracting in furious pleasure against his delicious, hard shaft. “Oh,” the word was a drawn-out cry of intense, uncensored pleasure. His cock melted something inside her so her whole body seemed to be liquid heat.

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They rolled together onto their sides, David still buried inside Yasmine. She rolled again, holding him tightly until she was on top of him, gazing down at his blond beauty, on fire with lust. She took his strong arms, pinning them over his head in a symbolic gesture of her control over him at that moment, though of course he could have easily subdued her, had he chosen to do so. Instead he only opened his blue eyes wide, taking in her heaving breasts, the nipples hard and dark, the skin of her chest stained red with lust, her lips parted as she panted. As he watched, she began to undulate on his cock, lifting and lowering her hips as she swiveled on him, grinding her pussy against his pubic bone. Her movements were as sinuous and sensual as a belly dancer’s. She moved closer to orgasm, riding her lover like a stallion, her hair whipping around her face, black and wild as she writhed out of control. Still she gripped his wrists, leaning hard against him with her hands as she bucked and panted. David’s eyes fluttered shut as he became lost in his own lust, his body arching up to meet her thrusts. All at once he lifted his arms, easily throwing her hands off as he reached out to pull her down against him, their bodies now moving together, Yasmine’s little mewling cries of pleasure harmonizing with David’s moans of release. He held her tight as they hurtled together to shared orgasm, shuddering with ecstasy. In the stillness of aftermath, their blood finally slowing and cooling in their veins, Yasmine whispered, “David, I’ve been waiting so long for you.” “And I for you. You are the we of me.” She smiled, understanding perfectly.

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Epilogue Grace Davis smiled around the large, comfortable room at her old and new friends. Adrienne and Daniel sat side by side on one couch, Yasmine and David on another. Margo was not with them, having returned to her mortal lover Francois, who had been eagerly awaiting her in Paris. Grace was seated next to her lover Julian Gaston, the father of the child still nestled inside her belly, revealed by the swell beneath Julian’s proprietary hand. There was a glow that lent her naturally pale vampire skin an almost mortal flush. Her red-gold hair was thick and shiny with health, her smile ready as she touched Julian’s hand on her belly. While their friends had been risking their lives in pursuit of the killers, Grace and Julian had remained secluded in the comfort of Julian’s chateau in the south of France. Only recently aware of her own vampire nature, Grace had fallen in love with Julian as together they had sought to unravel the mystery of her origins and her startling connection with Adrienne and Daniel. When they had learned of the vampire killers stalking their community, she had at first been eager to volunteer, her newfound sense of immortality perhaps making her reckless. When they had realized she was pregnant, a rare and special event in the vampire community, Julian had become endearingly overprotective, barely allowing her to get her own breakfast much less embark on an adventure to assist in routing the deadly vampire killers. Grace nestled against Julian as she listened raptly to Adrienne’s tale. Adrienne, always a dramatic storyteller, vividly described the beautiful little Japanese vampire so that Grace could almost imagine her there in the room, her delicate china-doll features belying the wicked nature just below the surface. She sensed Adrienne was glossing over some of the actual details of the encounter, especially her own strong reactions to Yuki as a lover. As all of them in the room were vampires and gifted with the ability to see beyond her mere words, these details were revealed nonetheless. As Adrienne’s story wound down, Grace turned toward Yasmine, perhaps one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. Her finely sculpted face, with those large dark eyes, straight brows and strong nose over a sensual mouth, was like something out of an Arabian Nights fairy tale. It was clear she and David were lovers, their eyes starry with affection when turned toward each other, their heads inclining ever so slightly together, as if each was a flower drawn to the sunlight of the other. Yasmine spoke softly, telling her personal tale from the beginning, her voice lilting and lyrical, pleasingly low. David and she took turns with their story, giving it their own perspective or augmenting a point of the other, their fingers entwining as they

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relaxed. They spoke long into the night, sharing strong, fine wine from Julian’s cellars and the pleasure of each other’s company. Finally Julian stood and said, “Grace needs her rest. We will bid you goodnight, and look forward to more details of your adventures.” Everyone stood, each couple having been given their own set of rooms for their stay with their gracious hosts. Yasmine and David retired to their bedroom, a large old room on the third floor of the chateau, with walls and floor of dark wood, bright tapestries and throw rugs lightening the otherwise rather dark atmosphere of the ancient room. David sat in a chair, looking out the large window at the sky, black as ink, the moon already set, the sun still an hour from rising. Yasmine undressed slowly, moving to the bathroom to wash and put on her nightgown, a pale peach silk that clung alluringly to her body. She thought about the stories they had shared that night. She thought of the tumultuous history of Adrienne and Daniel. She had felt something different between them since Adrienne and he had been reunited after his first close brush with death. Had danger and near death been the catalyst to finally unite the two? Or would they drift apart again after another year or so, as they so often had, Daniel wandering, Adrienne pining? And what of Grace and Julian? The girl still so new, her face shining with adoration for the dark and handsome Julian, the father of her child. Yet Yasmine well knew it was a rare vampire couple that stayed together, even with the potential of a child entering their lives. Would Grace and Julian be different? Yasmine found herself hoping it was so and smiled. She was becoming a romantic in her old age! She returned to the bedroom where David still sat, staring pensively out the window. He turned slowly toward her, his face softening into a smile as he saw her. And what do I wish for us? Yasmine wondered. Would she and David be different as well? Would they manage to sustain this dazzling new love they both were finally and freely admitting? Had she loved him all these years, never honest enough or brave enough to admit it? She realized on some level she had always held him in her heart, like a secret story written on an old piece of parchment, carefully unfolded and read then put away again, forgotten. The hurt of youthful disdain so casually offered by him, so painfully accepted by her when she was just a fledgling—scar tissue had grown over a wound that still lingered, though Yasmine had thought it long ago forgotten. “Yasmine,” David said softly. For she had made no effort to layer her thoughts or to control them, her heart on her sleeve as she gazed fondly at her lover. Whatever he had done two centuries before was meaningless now in the face of his expressed love for her. Each time they made love she felt it more strongly. Tonight, for the first time, she felt ready for something more. She was ready to experience in the flesh what she had dreamed about, and with the very man of her dreams. “David,” she answered. “I want to share the sacred blood with you.”

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David stood, moving toward her, his arms outstretched. “Are you certain, my love? I know you’ve never shared this gift with another.” She came into his arms, leaning her head against his chest. “I am sure. And you. Would you have me in this way?” She knew he could read her fear, her hesitation, as real as her desire. For some reason she had never fully understood until this moment, she had been saving herself for him. For David. For the first and only man ever to penetrate her defenses completely. The hesitation came because she was afraid the act could not live up to the years and years of denying herself. She knew the experience was an intense one, dangerous if not properly handled. Yet David had certainly shared the blood a dozen times or more over the decades, just another facet in the constant search for intensity of experience. She looked up beseechingly at her lover. Would he hold it against her—her virgin bloodlust? He looked down, smoothing a lock of her thick hair from her soft cheek. As he gazed tenderly at her, she knew suddenly on a gut level that he understood. He read her feelings, her passion and even her hesitation. He knew her confusion and felt her desire. Without a word he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the large old bed, gently dropping her there. He pulled off his shirt, kicked off his boots, took off his pants and underwear, all the while his eyes on Yasmine who lay still on the bed, watching him. She could feel her canines distend as she imagined sinking her fangs into the perfection of his blood. They hadn’t fed that night, perhaps a dangerous thing as they would be hungry as well as desirous. But Yasmine trusted David completely. She knew he would keep her from taking too much of his blood or sapping too much of hers. Love would keep them safe, she knew. David knelt beside her on the bed. He held out his hands and she took them. He pulled her up so that she too knelt up, facing him. She took off her silky gown, so they were naked together, blond and dark heads touching for a moment. “You will begin,” David said. “You know what to do. It’s going to be different from mortal blood. It’s richer. It has a power to transform your senses in a way that can leave you without judgment. That’s where I will help you. When I feel I am weakening, I will stop you with my fingers to your lips. You must do the same for me, my love. Together we will experience the ecstasy, made all the sweeter by the danger.” He shifted a little, lowering himself until his neck was positioned just so, his jugular bared for her sharp kiss. Yasmine didn’t need a second invitation. She was ravenous for him. With a guttural moan of pure bloodlust, Yasmine bent forward, lips parted, fangs glittering. Holding his strong shoulders, she bit through the sweet flesh, piercing it to find the ready artery below. A gush of sheer heaven filled her mouth, coated her tongue, made her swallow hard to catch every perfect drop. His blood was strong and sweet, more powerful than any mortal blood. She never wanted to stop—she could never get enough, his blood coursing through her veins like distilled sunlight so she fairly glowed with it. 137

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Though she felt she could have gone on forever, she responded to his fingers against her lips, reminding her gently to release her grip before she took him too far. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she fell back, swallowing the last of his perfection. David lay back as well, his eyes closed, his face deathly pale from the blood loss. Lifting her heavy hair out of the way with one hand, Yasmine lowered her own throat to her lover, certain in a moment he would be suffused with the same glorious liquid heat. She didn’t fear the pain of his sharp kiss. Instead she was longing for it, eager to give to him what he had given to her. When he bit, she sighed, letting her dark hair fall over them like a curtain to shield him as he suckled. She felt the pull of his lips as he took her blood, now mingled inextricably with his. He took less than she had, better able to control his lust, though no less desirous of her. Finally he laid her down, both of them fevered with desire and the sacred blood. Without preamble he entered her, and she was wet and ready for him, moaning as she locked her strong legs around his hips, pulling him deeper inside. They made love for hours, oblivious to the need for rest, to the rising sun, which set again while they remained locked in one another’s insatiable embrace. Again and again they exchanged sharp kisses, taking and giving of their blood and their bodies until finally they could give no more. They found themselves lying on their sides, face-to-face, hips touching. Pure emotion moved between them, their minds connected as surely as their bodies had been, words no longer necessary. Each was in that altered state brought about the sacred exchange—fully conscious, but on fire with a passion made infinitely more profound by that secret added ingredient—love.

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About the Author Claire Thompson has written numerous novels and short stories, all exploring aspects of Dominance & submission. Ms. Thompson’s gentler novels seek not only to tell a story, but to come to grips with, and ultimately exalt in the true beauty and spirituality of a loving exchange of power. Her darker works press the envelope of what is erotic and what can be a sometimes dangerous slide into the world of sadomasochism. She writes about the timeless themes of sexuality and romance, with twists and curves to examine the ‘darker’ side of the human psyche. Ultimately Claire’s work deals with the human condition, and our constant search for love and intensity of experience. Claire welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Also by Claire Thompson Bird In a Cage with J.W. McKenna Closely Held Secrets Club de Sade Continuum of Longing Crimson Ties Face of Submission Golden Boy Jewel Thief Pleasure Planet anthology Secret Diaries Slave Castle Slave Gamble The Seduction of Colette True Kin: Outcast True Kin: Sacred Circle Turning Tricks

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

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