It was only a tiny thing, just a split-second, but that was enough. The vampire running the show, Lizbeth, seems to have seen the same thing I did. It pleases her, and she claps her hands.
“Oh what fun! It has been so long. Too long”—that part is directed at Bastian with a subtly petulant expression—“since we’ve seen a tribute bonded to one who terrifies him so. It adds spice to the atmosphere, don’t you think? Puts everything in the right order. Seasons the blood, you know.”
Guilt and terror for Nathan crush into my gut. I fight the urge to be sick all over the floor, then wonder if maybe that would make them less likely to bond me to someone. By her logic, the perfect vampire for me would be James. That thought sends an extra wave of terror through me, but it pales in comparison to what I’m feeling for Nathan.
I try to catch Bastian’s eye, but he won’t look at me. His attention is on Nathan, his expression even more blank and impassive than it usually is during all the dinners he’s presided over since I came here. He might as well be carved from fucking ice right now.
“Althea,” Lizbeth says. “The tribute is yours.”
I assume the blonde one is Maureen, since she’s the one who snarls in response to Lizbeth’s words. The curvy brunette is preening like a peacock, blithely ignoring Maureen’s wordless threats.
“Enough, Maureen,” Lizbeth snaps. “Take your leave.”
“He’s mine!” Maureen hisses through her teeth.
“If you’d taken care of him,” the old man says blandly, “perhaps he would not have run. It would do you well to remember not to break your toys in the future.”
Maureen hisses again, wordlessly like a cat, then stalks out of the room. I’m shaking. Nathan isn’t—he isn’t moving at all anymore. He’s standing perfectly still, rigid, his eyes laser-focused on the crystal tray. Lizbeth rises from her seat and stands in front of the long table, and the servant follows her.
“Althea.” She glances at the brunette and makes a sharp summoning gesture.
The brunette vampire moves to her side, and for the first time, I see Althea as she really is. Not a petty, soft sex kitten, but a vicious, brutal predator. It’s in the way she moves, the anticipation in her eyes, the way she dismisses the whole room to focus solely on her prey. Nathan.
“Bring the tribute forward,” Lizbeth orders.
“No!” I shout. I don’t expect the vampires to care, but I need Nathan to. I need him to move. To fight.
My voice breaks whatever spell he’s been under, and he starts to resist, struggling against the vampires, flinging his head back and trying to break his captor’s nose. I fight too, more to pull manpower—vampire power—from his struggle than out of any real effort to escape. I know they won’t let me go, but if Nathan’s too much trouble, maybe they’ll focus on me.
I’m pinned in moments. Someone punches my head hard enough to screw up my equilibrium, and for a few seconds, there seem to be twice as many vampires in the room.
“Make her watch,” Lizbeth’s voice cuts through the fog in my head, her icy tone freezing me from the inside out.
Two vamps drag me back to my feet, and I see with a pang of disappointment that it was all for nothing. They have Nathan on his knees in front of the big table, his arms held uselessly behind him, his head tilted back. Althea stands before him, her expression solemn and pleased, though her eyes blaze with hunger. Lizbeth stands behind and between them, holding the chalice.
Nathan is struggling for his life, making his captors curse and growl with the effort to keep him still. Lizbeth raises the chalice, then frowns and lowers it again. She casts an apologetic smile around, then focuses her attention on me.
“There’s a verse that usually accompanies this,” she says as if she’s gossiping to a girlfriend. “But it isn’t necessary. Hold him still.”
That last part is an order to the vampire guards, who have been trying to do just that. Two more join their efforts, and between the four of them, they get Nathan into place. He clenches his jaw, sealing his lips closed, glaring defiantly up at Lizbeth. I’ve never been prouder of him.
But his defiance isn’t enough to stop what’s coming. In a move almost too quick for me to see, she seizes his face in her hands and forces his mouth open.
“Tribute—by the magic of the Cruor Chalice and the traditions of the Vampire Court, I hereby bind you to Althea Antoinette Andreanakis, your mistress and one love from this moment until your last mortal breath.”
As she speaks, Lizbeth pours the liquid into his mouth. He’s fighting, not swallowing, but nothing splashes out of his mouth. She empties the chalice into him, every last drop. I can see it moving down his throat even though he’s doing nothing to help it along.
When the chalice is empty, Lizbeth steps back. Althea takes her place and kneels in front of Nathan, a posture that would almost seem lovingly submissive if it weren’t for the killer gleam in her eye. She bares her teeth, tilting her head dramatically back, then sinks her fangs into him.
She isn’t gentle. Not even close. She gnaws on him, letting blood spill messily down his neck to his shoulder, making disgusting animal grunts the whole time.
I can’t breathe. My chest has locked up so tight that my lungs will no longer accept air. I don’t even know if my heart is beating.
Nathan isn’t fighting anymore. There’s a blissful haze over his features, and all the fight is gone from his eyes.
She has him.
She’s won.
Now there’s no one to stop her from killing him or torturing
