stone floor in a lake of his own blood. It was encrusted on his neck, smeared on his freshly shaved scalp. The great gaping wound in his throat had somehow knitted together. It was still spongy and painful, but as he gingerly explored with his fingers, there was no longer a wide, open, bleeding gash.
Was he dead now?
His strength almost faded again as he struggled up to his knees, and he fought the lure of unconsciousness. Darkness surrounded him. It clung to him like grasping hands. Raw and cold, panic swept over him. Ever since he’d been a child, he has always awoken in the dark like this—sweating, frightened, terrified enough to run. He had hid these fears because it was his destiny to be a great warrior, but they rose up now, and made him whimper.
He was too old to make such sounds, like a child. And in the blackness, he looked around for the demoness. Had she left him for dead?
Slowly, he grew accustomed to the dark. And he saw her, curled up on a shelf of stone, watching him. A robe of dark crimson swathed her, and she stared at him with sorrowful eyes. “I am sorry, Lukos. But your eyes are next.”
He threw up his hands, but a sharp, searing-hot point slammed into his right palm. Instinctively, he pulled his hand away. This time the red-hot poker went into his eye. As he screamed in pain, something grabbed his arms and restrained him. He howled. He tried to fight. Some monster in the shadows had hold of him. He was raging against the grip, throwing his head wildly. The pain. God above, the pain—
But despite his wild struggles, the poker drove into his left eye, completely blinding him.
This would kill him.
Unless he was already dead.
Did the dead still feel pain?
He would have cried, but the searing heat had taken away his tear ducts along with his eye.
He smelled her. Over the stench of his own flesh, over the excruciating agony, he knew she had come to his side. She knelt by him. Her hands went around his bare shoulders, and in her sultry voice, she chanted. The soft, lovely sound flowed around him like a vivid light and took away the pain.
“You cannot see him, Lukos. It is not for you to see him until you have completed your apprenticeship.”
He laughed in anger and bitterness. “I’m blinded. I’ll never see.”
“You will. Lukos, he can give you ultimate power. He can easily give you sight.”
“What do you do now? Cut off my cock so I can’t fuck?”
“No.” The demoness’s voice was soft and soothing. “You have endured all that you must for now. I will take you to the chamber, and you will rest there. Tomorrow, you will begin to learn.”
Learn. With his eyes gouged out? His throat slit? Each breath was a torture, and he was rasping and wheezing like an old man. He’d run over corpses on the battlefield less wounded than this. “Am I dead?”
“You will be reborn, Lukos.”
She had opened his robe then and had taken hold of his cock. He had lost his eyes; he’d had his throat cut, but somehow she made his organ stand up. She straddled him, took him inside, and rode him. He could feel her slick heat engulfing his cock. He could smell her, smell the ripeness of their joining. He could feel her full buttocks slamming his groin. God, yes…
“You’re having sex with me—”
“No, I’m not. You are dreaming this, Lukos.” She slapped him. The sudden jolt of pain made his fantasy disappear. Instead of her creamy juices, he smelled the dankness of wet stone. Instead of warmth and pleasure, he felt sharp rocks beneath his knees.
“Sometimes men go mad from the fear and the pain, Lukos. They lose themselves in a world of darkly erotic fantasy. They believe they are always having sex, but they are trapped in the fantasy. They starve to death because they no longer know to eat. They are sometimes killed. Those who go among the mortals are killed or committed to asylums. But in their own minds, they are in a world of constant orgy.” Her laugh was wry and cold.
“But you are too strong to seek that kind of escape, Lukos. I would not have chosen to be the one to guide you if I did not believe so.” She took his arm. “Come with me now. For you are soon to be a demon born. And I know that you will be the strongest yet. You will make me proud, Lukos. You will give me the world.”
As she led him, he clung to her, the only thing he could trust in his newly dark world. He would have given her anything she asked for. If she’d wanted to cut out his heart, he would have let her.
He could taste the magic through her skin.
Zayan pressed his mouth to the Englishwoman’s delicate hand. Magic thrummed through her, snapping within her, raging inside her. He could sense she was resisting it. She was not willing to accept the unearthly power within her. It frightened her.
Through the contact between his lips and her silky skin, he could sense all these things. He’d had one glimpse into her thoughts before she had somehow shuttered them to him. He had seen a lavish bedroom, filled with white silks and fluttering lace curtains. Another young woman, a brunette, lay in the bed, pale and drawn, smiling a weak smile. Miranda, the fragile inhabitant of the bed had whispered, I feel so much better today, and I think it is because of you.
He felt in Miranda, the woman whose hand he was kissing, a love he had almost forgotten—a feeling of tenderness heightened by the need to nurture.
In an instant, the image had vanished. But now he knew the name of the dainty innocent-looking woman who possessed the strongest magic power he had felt in decades—in centuries.
Miranda.
He turned her hand and kissed her palm. Miss Miranda rewarded him with an unwilling shiver of pleasure. Now he understood what had intrigued Sebastien de Wynter about Althea Yates, the vampire slayer—it was all that sensuality trapped behind such rigid propriety.
As much as he hated Lukos, he had agreed to the game of seduction as an amusement, something to pass the time with their pretty captive. Something to distract him from the urge to kill the vampire who had once tried to destroy him.
Now he knew Miranda was much more to him than just a game. All that magic in her could be his last hope.
He needed it.
Which meant he had to dominate her. And now that he knew she was no an ordinary mortal, he would have to find a different way to do that. Even now, she was staring at him with narrowed blue eyes, and he felt her resistance to his seduction. She was fighting him with everything she had. And at the moment, she was winning.
Zayan admired her strength, though strong women could not be trusted. If they chose to be deceitful, they were more destructive than any army. More vicious. By the gods, he had seen women cut down their own men with axes when the males had retreated from battle.
If he wanted to control this woman and her magic, he would have to try harder.
Expertly, he dabbed his tongue in the center of her palm and made her whimper. Slowly, teasingly, he flicked his tongue over her wrist. He sucked her skin and felt the magic throb beneath his lips, along with her pulse.
Miranda moaned.
