She brought her arms back to her lap, not wanting to feel him stiffen and withdraw from her, as he inevitably would. He needed to understand. Maybe if he did, he would abandon his foolishness. “A born vampire, from the time she attains puberty, must take an annual kill to replenish her blood, as I told you before. Throughout the remainder of the year we may feed without taking a life, but that one kill is essential. It’s a vaccination of sorts, where we get vital nutrients. Depriving ourselves of it is a slow starvation of the body, a weakening of it and the mind, a dangerous state for a vampire. Plus, the life taken must be a good one. It cannot be a cruel or wasted life, because the energy in the human’s blood does affect the vampire. My parents felt it was critical that I handle my first kill. That I take down the person, look them in the eye. They chose my nanny, the one who’d been with me from a babe.”

“A message. That your childhood ended with that kill.”

Startled, she looked toward him. “Exactly. That . . . they said that was the intent. If I look back on it,” she continued, clearing her throat, “I think that was a lie. It didn’t have to be her. I believe my mother did it because she knew it would hurt me, would transfer the agony of her own guilt.”

Dev’s brow furrowed. “What did she have to feel guilty about?”

“My twin brother.” Danny’s fingers twitched. Irritated with herself, she rose from his lap, moved away toward the landscapes, the substitute for windows in this room, though she missed the warm touch of his hands. “It was the first time, as far as we’ve heard, that a vampire ever bore twins. We’re much like human children when we’re infants, so helpless. It never occurred to anyone we could be dangerous to one another, that letting two vampire babies sleep in the same crib would be harmful . . . that one would wake hungry in the night and go for the closest source of blood that tasted like her mother . . .”

“Ah, Christ,” Dev murmured.

“Mother vampires feed their babies on blood, not milk,” Danny said tonelessly. “But it serves much the same purpose . . .” She grazed her fingers over the plump top of one breast. “Usually here. The veins in the breasts expand, become engorged with blood for the baby. It’s how you can tell a vampire has been a mother, because the scar the baby leaves from the nursing is permanent. A mark of honor among our kind, since our children are so scarce.

“I killed him. Ten months old and the bloodlust was getting stronger; my body was stronger. Strong enough. The ironic thing is when they found us, he had his fangs in me as well. I just got the idea first, and drank faster.” She turned, met his green eyes, full of horror and sorrow both. “I said I left because of Ian. I blamed him for adding to the Ennui that ultimately drove my mother to meet the dawn.” At his curious look, she added, “It’s a deep depression of sorts. A lack of interest in life. But somewhere deep inside me, I know I left because I couldn’t change her sorrow, not about my father’s loss or my brother’s, and in her mind they merged so I became responsible for both.” Lifting her chin now, she took a step forward. “So don’t humanize me, Dev. I don’t want you to be comfortable with me, or my kind. My mother’s motive aside, another reason many vampire parents make their children’s first annual kill the human closest to them is to ensure they understand the difference between us.”

“That’s a belief system to prop up a social order, love.” He rose, shook his head. “There’re plenty of blokes in the world who are stronger, faster and more knowledgeable than me. Doesn’t mean they have the right to consider themselves superior.”

“It’s not a matter of that. It’s knowing there are essential differences between us that will never be bridged, and we forget that to our peril.” She glanced toward the sticks she’d left on her vanity. “Chiyoko . . . Ian did give her the choice, Dev. Forced full servants are rare, though I’m not denying there are those servants who choose the third mark and then discover that their new Master or Mistress can be a sadistic monster. It happens. But it’s the exception, not the rule. The vampire-servant bond is a treasured one. The vampire will value them more than any other relationship in their life, though a servant’s place is not to stand as the vampire’s equal. He or she is the vampire’s shadow, to serve them with total loyalty. Some believe the reason the servant dies with the vampire is that he or she follows their Master or Mistress into their afterlife destiny.”

“Why would anyone agree to that willingly?”

She gave an unexpected chuckle. “In your own words—beats the hell out of me, Dev. Remember, I’ve never had a full servant.” Saying the words, Danny felt a hard lurch in her chest at the idea of never seeing him again. Never having the chance to find out if he was the one who should take that role for her.

“It’s not unprecedented.” He was moving toward her once again, not allowing her to keep a distance. Not realizing what was building inside her. “Monarchs have demanded it; some have deserved it. The whole concept of medieval chivalry romanticized it.” When he reached her, he didn’t stop until her hands were against the hard muscle of his chest.

“You won’t go, will you?” She tried to keep the desperation out of her tone, the building sense of inevitability.

“No, unless you knock me out, hog-tie me and cart me away. And I wouldn’t advise that, because if Ruskin catches on to your attempt, it’ll be much harder for me to participate in his little game with a concussion.” He gave her a little shake. “Leave it, love.

Let’s make the most of the evening.”

Tossing her hair back to look up at him, she had to suppress a smile when she caught the shift of his gaze, followed it and saw the flash of his thought. Her bushman who liked long fine hair, soft round arses. She curled her fingers in, ran them in a short strip across his pectoral, hearing his heartbeat.

“What kind of child were you, Dev? Did you get into trouble much?”

“All the time.” He lifted a shoulder. “But my dad was pretty tolerant. Said adventurous boys grew up to be brave men.”

“He was right. You are a brave, decent man.” She let her hand slide up to his neck, to the artery there, seeing the flicker in his gaze as she did it. “You don’t deserve this.”

Curling her hand around his, she slid up to her toes and sank her fangs into his throat.

At first, Dev thought she’d decided to take a late supper. Then he began to feel light-headed. With the clasp of his hands on her upper arms, then the use of his mind, he tried to tell her, because his voice had deserted him.

Danny . . . not feeling right . . .

It’s all right, Dev. It will be done in a moment or two. Just go with it. Don’t fight.

Fire erupted through him as if it had originated from the place where her fangs pierced him. He fell back into the wall, and she went with him, directing him so they rolled onto the bed, she straddling his body as she continued to feed, the folds of the gown trapped between them, her hand alongside his face, cradling and holding him at once.

Danny . . .

Shh . . . easy. It’s all right . . .

It was pain and not pain at once, the way a stretch upon waking could get to a point it was almost as good as sexual pleasure, and yet uncomfortable as well, when joints popped and sore muscles went past what they could endure. Only to find they could endure and were the better for it, stronger. The colors of the room became blinding, the smell of her perfume overwhelming, along with the soap that had been used to wash the linens, even the wax they used on the hardwood and the smell below that, of the hardwood itself. It was all bouncing against his senses, as if he were being pelted by hard, cleansing rain.

On top of that, her hands were on him, other hungers making themselves known. Abruptly, he was ravenous for her that way, too.

With an unexpected surge of strength, he rolled them, reversing their position, putting himself on top. As he struggled to find the hem of the gown, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on, pressing her breasts against him, the hardened nipples.

He needed her, now. She had her fangs still in him, the burning pain of it something that made his skin feel hot all over. She was tearing the shirt off his shoulders as he worked off the trousers, and found her beneath the gown, cool and satiny, female flesh. Slick heat, to fan the flame of his fire.

When he slammed into her, her sharp gasp told him he could have showed more courtesy, but there was no time. There was only hunger. Driving, raging need, like bloodlust, like screaming, mindless violence, only this was more than that. Everything was so vivid and clear, and he felt so strong, strong enough to band his arm around her waist and pump into her like a young buck on his first conquest.

His chest was raw, heat coursing across it as if it were eating away his flesh. Wings. In his mind, he saw dark wings spreading, taking off, sending him soaring through an abyss of lightning, fire and darkness, but he wasn’t afraid, because it was also filled with her breath, her erotic cries, the feel of her limbs clutching hard over his arse, urging him on, wanting more of him, more, more, more . . .

Her head fell back on the pillow, so he saw an ethereal blue substance glittering on her lips, glossing her canines. Holding her head still in both hands, he licked all of it off her elongated fangs, from end to tip, delicate as if he were licking her clit, while she breathed hot need into his face, panting with her reaction. Her pussy closed on him like a fist, her body undulating up and back with his, two waves hitting each other as if forced by a jetty, an immovable force causing a collision, over and over.

When she put her arms between them, he realized she had his knife in her hand. Before he could react in alarm, she’d drawn it across her forearm, the blood welling from the cut.

Drink, Dev.

He’d smelled enough blood in his life to be revolted by it, but for some reason, the smell of her blood was like the offer of sweetmeats. He put his mouth over the cut and drew her in, tasting her essence, feeling the flow increase as if in response to his need to quench his thirst on her. The taste was similar to the whiskey she’d given him. At first he thought that was because the alcohol had flavored her blood, but recalling the odd taste to the whiskey, he realized just the opposite was true.