the drifting odor of the drug. Tallow. Strong. The candle sputtered, the glow radiated.
She blinked until her eyes stopped watering. Her lashes were wet, glued together by tears. The first things she saw were Roman’s hands, resting on a band of polished wood. She lay on green fabric. Something clicked over in her mind.
She was chained to a billiard table.
A soft male voice seemed to whisper in her mind, a charming Irish voice. “Such a lovely lass—her skin is the color of pale champagne.”
Serena jerked toward the voice. She saw the others in the light now. Candle glow touched the pale, austere faces of two men sprawled on a sofa and two who lounged in club chairs. White shirts and cravats gleamed, and the light sparkled at the tips of long, sharp fangs. Their eyes—their dark, soulless, eyes—were shadowed and hidden to her.
She was the captive of six vampires.
“You are wondering why we haven’t drunk from you, aren’t you?” Roman asked, his voice so compelling she couldn’t help but turn to him.
He was shirtless, his chest as pale as marble even in the golden light. Dark hair dusted smooth, powerful muscle. His hair fell in long, thick, black waves. She looked up higher, caught her breath. He was smirking down at her, impudent, confident, but the innocence in his face shocked her. He looked barely twenty years of age and beautiful, with a full-lipped, lush mouth, high cheekbones, straight white teeth, large mirror-like eyes of silvery blue. But he was not innocent.
“Unlock me!” she demanded. “You have fallen into a trap.”
“A trap, my dear?” Roman crossed his arms across his chest. His biceps bulged, solid and enormous.
Never once had she successfully bluffed her charges as a governess, but she couldn’t give in now. She watched Roman stalk along the length of the table toward her bound feet. She knew her eyes were wide, dilated, like those of mesmerized prey, but she replied, “Of course,” with the lazy disdain the male vampire hunters used.
Low, throaty, damning, Roman’s laugh washed over her.
He touched the chain securing her right foot, running his fingertips along the taut links. The cuff vibrated against her ankle. I know you are here alone, my dear. His voice resonated inside her mind.
She should try to block out his voice in her head—but she had to listen, had to know what he planned to do. So she could outthink him.
She saw the swift movement of Roman’s hand, the blur of it in the corner of her eye. He cupped her right ankle just above the cuff. His caress was gentle against the frail silk of her stocking. Serena swallowed a cry of surprise so abruptly she almost choked.
Wrenching her leg, she tried to pull away from his hand, but the chains restrained her. Her skin tingled beneath the web of silk as he traced his finger over her ankle and up along her calf.
“Roman, release her.”
The command came from the second vampire—the one named Leonardo. He prowled toward her. She stared helplessly at his tousled dark curls, almond shaped eyes of deep black, and cupid’s bow lips. He possessed the beautiful, symmetrical features of an Old Master’s portrait, but she knew he was a ruthless predator. A cape shrouded him; the black collar points grazed the deep hollows beneath high cheekbones.
A hazy memory returned. She remembered looking into that face in the brothel—he had stepped out of a doorway and grabbed her as she’d reached the hallway that took her to the basement staircase. His triumphant laugh echoed in her memories. There’d been a sharp pain in her neck, then blackness—had one of them bitten her to make her faint?
Such beautiful legs, Roman murmured. I would love to have your ankles wrapped around my neck.
“Don’t touch me!”
But Roman ignored both her and Leonardo with a mocking laugh. Her heart pounded so loud it was like a drumbeat by her ear, but at the sound of his enthralling voice, her quim throbbed like a pulse.
I know what you are, Serena Lark, Roman said in her thoughts.
How could he know her name?
Because we have watched you for a long time now, Serena. Waited for you to be alone, away from the slayers.
Somehow she had pushed her thoughts into his mind. It froze her as much as his words in response. But she must continue to speak with him this way, despite the danger—if she allowed him into her thoughts, he could gain control of her mind. W-why? What do you want?
“Come on, gentlemen,” Roman urged aloud, and he squeezed her calf possessively before moving his hand away. “Introduce yourselves.”
Leonardo flashed a glare at Roman, his narrow eyes glittering in the candlelight. But he sketched a bow over her shackled hand and murmured his name.
The other men stood and took bows in turn.
“Liam,” announced the lilting Irish voice.
“Brittan.”
“Aristide.”
“Guillaime.” The French voice she had heard before.
Roman flashed a cocky grin at Leonardo, even as he spoke in her head. They are dutiful servants, here to fetch you for Lukos. They are slaves—slaves when they were mortal, slaves now. Disdain dripped from Roman’s voice in her thoughts. His eyes grew brighter, as though a flame burned behind them. They have no idea what you are. How valuable you are.
Roman intended to betray his master. She could not believe it—a disciple always obeyed his master. Could she use this to escape?
Roman flicked out his tongue, his long, pointy tongue. Bending, he licked the inside of her leg. She pulled away hard. The chains rattled, but she could only move an inch. And with a low chuckle, he followed and licked again. Slowly, sensuously, he laved his way up to her garter. I know how very special you are, Miss Lark. The child of a vampire. And if you wish to survive, you will do as I say. Can you still smell the solange, Serena? Obey me or I will drain your sweet blood and rip out your throat.
Her head roared as Roman’s lips neared her bare skin—
He was jerked away, and he sailed backward. He slammed into the wall, cracking the plaster. Serena held her breath as he lurched forward. Snarling, he flashed his fangs at Leonardo, who shrugged and adjusted his cuffs with the grace of a London dandy. “If you disobey Lukos, you will be destroyed.”
With infinite grace, Leonardo paced to her side. His look of reverent obedience turned her stomach. “You will delight in your submission to the master, Miss Lark. He only wishes you to know pleasure, to know the joy of serving at his side.”
“Unlock me.” she cried. “I cannot know pleasure like this. How could you fear me? All of you against a m-mortal woman?”
“It is the master’s command that you be bound,” the French vampire, Guilliame, called from his chair.
“You have no minds of your own?” she goaded.
Roman swaggered back to the end of the table. “My dear, I could make you beg me to do anything I wish
