He didn't read it immediately, like I thought he would. "Fine. Anything else?"

I watched him slip the note into his pocket, and I closed my eyes. My throat suddenly went dry. "No."

"He likes you. This is really going to tear him up." The softly spoken declaration should have surprised me. But since I'd found Nathan's drawing, I'd come to that conclusion on my own. "I know."

"But you're still going?" There was cold judgment in his tone. "Look, it's not like he's going to be heartbroken or anything. But for what it's worth, the whole time I've lived with him, he's never shown this much interest in anyone."

"That's very sweet." I wished I knew how to make him understand. I'd never idealized romantic love as an adolescent, but maybe Ziggy had. From his standpoint, just the possibility of a relationship should have been enough to make me stay.

"Nathan has been a big help, but I don't think of him that way. I've given this a lot of thought. It's the right choice."

"He worked for fifteen years getting this place going. He knows you for a week and he's right back to the beginning. And you run straight to the bad guy. It's not fair."

"It was a trade, Ziggy. To get the antidote, to save Nathan, I had to make a trade."

The implication of my words sunk in and Ziggy looked like I'd slapped him. "Why would you do something like that?"

I shrugged. "I'm a doctor. I'm supposed to save lives and help people. And Cyrus needs me." I wished I could take the words back. Not because Ziggy had heard them, but because by saying them, I'd acknowledged the truth. "Nathan can't know about this."

"Are you nuts?" His young face lit up with relief. "All you gotta do is tell him what's going on. He'll take care of everything."

"No!" I said a little too loudly, and I heard Nathan roll restlessly on the couch. I explained more quietly, "If Cyrus kills him, what good was the deal I made? I'll still be stuck with him, and Nathan will be dead. It will all have been for nothing."

"Then why are you telling me?"

I chewed my lip. "I guess because...I don't want you both to hate me."

"If you're going to be with him-" he stopped and shook his head in disbelief "-if you're going to be like him, Nate is going to hate you. But I won't let him bad-mouth you too much."

"That's all I can ask," I said with a smile. The expression on Ziggy's face was nothing if not heartbreaking. I felt my heart fly apart like a body hitting the sidewalk from forty stories above.

"I won't give him the letter until sunup. That way, even if he wanted to do something rash, he'll have some time to cool off."

"Good thinking." I reached for Ziggy's hand and he didn't pull away. "Thank you."

He seemed embarrassed by my gesture and quickly withdrew his hand. "Yeah, well, if we ever meet up in a dark alley, do me a favor and don't eat me, okay?"

"Deal."

I lay down then and finally slept. When I woke, the apartment was dark and empty. It was time to go.

I picked up my shopping bag full of clothes, cushioning my diploma and the photo of my parents between sweaters, and made sure I had my letter to Dr. Fuller. Then I started down the stairs to the street.

On the sidewalk, I stopped at the railing of the basement stairs as I heard Nathan groan in disgust. "How many candles would you estimate have melted into this rose-scented mess?" "Twenty?" Ziggy answered him.

There was a long pause before Nathan replied. "Yeah, that sounds right."

I took a deep breath to ease the ache in my chest as I walked away. They would be fine without me. I'd only just come into their lives. There'd hardly been enough time to form an attachment. But I'd never had such a longing for family, warmth, comfort. Being raised by emotionally distant parents had almost entirely eradicated any notions of familial love I might have had. But with Nathan and Ziggy, just for a moment, I'd felt like I belonged.

It hurt more to give it up than I would have expected.

After delivering my letter at the hospital, I soon found myself standing before the gate of Cyrus's mansion. In a few hours, my former boss would think I'd headed back to the East Coast. At least I wouldn't end up on any missing-persons lists.

Two armed guards approached me, muttering into their headsets. When they reached the gate, I took a step back.

"Dr. Carrie Ames?" one of them asked.

I nodded. They didn't offer to take my bag. The one that had spoken hitched his thumb toward the house. "Cyrus is waiting."

The other guard stepped forward and pulled the gate open. I noticed that his hands trembled.

When I reached the front door, it opened. But instead of Cyrus, a leather-clad couple emerged. They pushed past me as they descended the steps, and I caught the sound of loud music coming from somewhere in the house.

More tough-looking vampires loitered in the foyer. Some lounged on a sofa in the center of the room, their vampire faces on full display. A few played with dice in a corner. All of them were dressed to ride in a motorcycle gang, and all appeared to be very intoxicated.

A bodyguard stood in front of the doorway to Cyrus's study. Compared to the bikers, the black-clad guard looked like a Boy Scout, so I made a beeline for him.

"Is Cyrus in there?" I asked, juggling my bag to the other shoulder.

"I'll take you to him."

At the sound of the voice behind me, I spun and came face-to-face with Dahlia. My features began to shift and loosen. I bared my fangs.

"You'd be dead before you laid a finger on me." She snapped her fingers, and the guard at the door retreated.

A low growl formed in my throat, the sound animalistic and satisfying. "I'm a lot faster than you think."

She smiled sweetly. "You weren't so fast when I was killing your boyfriend last night."

I lunged at her. She raised her hands to form a spell, and I slashed them with my suddenly clawed hands. Droplets of her blood sprayed the marble floor.

The biker vampires stopped their carousing. I assumed the blood had drawn their attention, but they weren't staring at us. They were staring beyond us.

Cyrus stood in the study doorway, clad in a lush floor-length fur dressing gown. His hair hung in two long platinum braids that fell behind his shoulders. He smiled at the bikers."Gentlemen," he called over the sound of Dahlia's swearing, "I trust you are enjoying yourselves?"

A few of the vampires raised their beers and gave a raucous cry.

When they turned back to their amusements, Cyrus gripped Dahlia by the hair and pulled her into the study. He motioned to the bodyguard, who grabbed my arm and pushed me in, as well.

When the door closed, Cyrus threw Dahlia to the ground. "What to do with a disobedient pet? Especially one that has had so many warnings."

Dahlia wiped her nose on her bloodied wrist. "Cyrus, it wasn't my fault, she-"

He slapped her across the face. The sound of the impact made me wince. Leaning down, he grasped her chin in his hand and twisted her neck at an uncomfortable angle so she was forced to look up at him. "What did you call me?"

Fresh tears rolled down her face, mixing with the smeared blood from her hands and the layers of makeup that coated her face.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again." She choked on her words. "Master."

He shoved her away and dusted his hands together as though he'd touched something dirty and unpleasant. He signaled to the guard. "Take her and get her bandaged up. Then lock her in her room."

He turned to me as the guard led Dahlia away. His beleaguered expression morphed to one of pure joy as he looked me over.

Fidgeting beneath his hot stare, I laughed nervously. "I hope you don't expect me to call you Master, because you'll be sorely disappointed."

Stepping behind me, he laid his hands on my shoulders. I could smell Dahlia's blood on them. "You might surprise yourself yet, Carrie. I can make you do things you've never imagined."

It's the blood tie, I reminded myself as a wave of pleasure buckled my knees. He doesn't have any real control over you. I clenched my fists so hard that my nails slashed my palms.

He pulled me back, slipping his hands beneath my shirt. His skin was warm, as though he'd just fed.

"Don't I?" The phantom desire that assaulted me was replaced by a hot, electric shiver as his fingers dipped into the cups of my bra. He snickered at my soft moan. "I'm not using the blood tie now, Carrie."

I writhed away, though my flesh cried out to be touched. "Let's get something straight. I came here to make good on a bargain.

This, you touching me, wasn't in the terms of our agreement."

"I bet I'll change your mind before long," he said with a smirk. "In the meantime, let me show you around."

I adjusted the bag on my shoulder.

"I can have your things taken to your room," he told me.

"I'd rather keep them with me, if it's all the same."

"As you wish." His tone was gentle, but he obviously didn't take well to not getting his way.

We attracted a few curious stares as we walked through the foyer. Cyrus didn't acknowledge the group of vampires as he leaned over to whisper in my ear. "The Fangs," he explained. "They're a motorcycle club from Nevada. They've had some trouble with the Movement there and sought safe haven with me. Hence the appalling sofa in the foyer and the intolerable stench of, what are the kids calling it these days? Reefer?"

"Yeah, about fifty years ago." I sniffed the air. "It reminds me of college. You ever try it?"

His deep, rich laugh echoed off the polished marble floors. "Carrie, do I look like someone who'd indulge in such a filthy habit? I prefer more elegant intoxicants."

We entered a corridor. Long windows cast silvery squares of moonlight on the floor. Through the darkness I saw a painting on the wall that depicted the grim shape of a giant clutching a headless corpse.

"Is that...Goya?" While his subjects were gory, an original work by Goya was priceless. With a house like this, his decadent clothing, and round-the-clock security, I supposed I could have wound up with a worse sire. Remembering that Nathan was probably at that moment rooting through the ashes of his ruined shop, I instantly regretted the thought.

"You know your art, Doctor. Very good." Cyrus let out a melancholy sigh. "It's only a copy. The real one hangs in the Prado, despite my numerous attempts to purchase it."

"Well, it's a really good copy." I reached out to touch the surface of the painting, and he caught my wrist with an apologetic smile.

"Please, don't touch. A number of years ago, I had a pet of exceptional talent. He's also responsible for the bacchanalian orgy depicted on the walls of my bedroom." His thumb stroked the nearly translucent flesh beneath the cuff of my sleeve, sending a shiver up my arm. "Perhaps you'd like to see that next?"

I jerked my arm away. "Let's not press our luck, now."

He chuckled and slipped his arm through mine. "This way."

At the end of the hallway were large double doors. They opened to the ballroom I'd seen on my first visit, though we entered on a different side. The room had been converted into a makeshift garage, with rows of motorcycles parked on sheets of canvas laid out to protect the floor. Cyrus viewed the objects with some distaste. "I'll never understand the compulsion some people have to drive themselves anywhere."

"Had chauffeurs all your life, huh?" I asked, running my hand across the chrome tank of a motorcycle.

"Not quite. I was born six hundred years before the advent of the modern automobile."

"Six hundred-" I swallowed noisily. "So you were alive during the age of knights and armor and all that crap?"

"Yes, Carrie, all that crap." I thought I saw him roll his eyes, but he didn't make any further comment. Instead, he led me quickly through the room.

The dining room had been rearranged to accommodate a larger number of people and reminded me of a great hall from a medieval movie. I followed him to the kitchen where the huge, industrial stoves were cold. Pots and pans hung gleaming from the ceiling. The only person present in the room was the elderly black butler, who watched us intently as we entered.

"How can you afford all this?" I asked as we passed through the room.

"Good evening, Clarence," Cyrus tossed off casually, as though he didn't notice the man's apparent animosity. Cyrus turned to me and replied, "I've killed some very wealthy people in my time, and invested the profit wisely. Your room will be in the family quarters, of course," Cyrus explained as we climbed the back staircase, "but we'll go through the servants' area first so you'll know where everything is."

The servants' quarters were made up of two narrow hallways that were crammed with small rooms. A few of the Fangs roamed the hall. I heard the buzz of a tattoo needle from somewhere."They're leaving for Canada in a couple of weeks," Cyrus whispered, a tight smile pasted on for the benefit of his guests. He spoke through clenched teeth. "I can't say I'll be sorry to see them go."

"Why do you let them stay here, then?" I asked as we strode past a few of them.

He shrugged. "They're anti-Movement. I'm anti-Movement. We have to stick together. When the Movement falls, and it will, I'd like to be poised for a leadership position. It helps to grease the wheels now."

The second hallway was guarded by sentries armed with wooden stakes. I thought we'd breeze past them as we had all the household staff so far, but Cyrus stopped. "Gentlemen, this is Dr. Ames. I'm granting her full privilege to the cattle, any time she wishes. Please pass the word along."

"Yes, sir," the guards said in unison as they stepped aside to admit us.

"Cattle?" I didn't like the sound of that.

"Pets, if you prefer. They're humans that live here so I, and my guests, can feed."

Most of the rooms we walked by had their doors closed. The few rooms with opened doors were unoccupied, with two small beds in each with a nightstand between them. Dark squares stood out on the faded wallpaper, as though posters or other decorations had hung there and were only recently taken down.

A door opened, and a skinny, pale girl with dark rings beneath her eyes exited. She smiled nervously at Cyrus, and kept glancing at me as she spoke. "Hello, Master."

"Good evening. Amy, is it?" He reached for her, taking her chin in his hand to tilt her head to the side. Faded fang marks stood out against the thin skin.

"Cami." Her voice was barely audible as his fingers curled around the back of her thin neck.

"Oh, yes. Cami. I'm sorry. So many names to remember lately," he said, more to me than to her. "Cami, dear, how long has it been since I've sent for you?"

"A week." She looked down at her hands. "Was I...was I bad at it?"

I wanted to shrink into the wall, to become completely invisible and spare her the embarrassment of this conversation, but she didn't seem to care that I was there at all.

"No, no. I've just been terribly busy with...other things." As he spoke, Cyrus discreetly laced his fingers with mine, pulling me into his memory.

My vision clouded, and I stared down into Cami's terrified face from Cyrus's eyes. She struggled not to cry as he moved inside her. My stomach turned at the feeling of her young limbs and barely matured body beneath his. I pulled my hand away.

Suddenly out of Cyrus's thoughts, I returned to the present and saw Cami's face show the tentative beginning of a hopeful smile.