"True, but it is more than that with you, if only you would believe me." He leaned forward, drawing his knees to his naked chest, rounding his shoulders to hug himself. White scars dribbled down his back from his shoulders to vanish into the water, not a lot of them, but enough.
"What made the scars on your back? Unless it was a holy item, you should have been able to heal them."
He laid his cheek on his knees so he could look at me. He looked younger, more human, vulnerable suddenly. "Not if the injury occurred before I died."
"Who whipped you?"
"I was the whipping boy for an aristocrat's son."
I stared at him. "You're telling me the truth, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Is that why Janos chose whips tonight, to remind you where you came from?"
"Yes."
"You weren't born into the aristocracy?"
"I was born in a house with a dirt floor, ma petite."
I looked at him. "Yeah, right."
He raised his head. "If I was going to make something up, ma petite, it would be more romantic, more entertaining than being a French peasant."
"So you were a servant in the castle?"
"I was their only son's constant companion. When he had clothes made, so did I. His tutor was my tutor. His riding instructor, mine. I learned swordplay and dancing and the proper way to eat at table. And when he was bad I was punished, because he was their only child, their only heir to an old family name. People speak of child abuse now." He leaned back in the tub, cuddling down into the warm water. "They complain of spanking. They have no idea what true abuse is. When I was a boy, parents thought nothing of taking a horse whip to a misbehaving child, or beating them bloody. Even the aristocrats beat their children. It was normal.
"But he was the only heir, the only child. So they paid money to my parents and took me. The lady of the manor chose me because I was fair of face. When the vampire who made me sought me out, she said my beauty called to her."
"Wait a minute."
He turned his head to give me the full weight of those dark blue eyes. I worked hard at not looking away.
"This gorgeous body and face is all vampire illusion, right? I mean, no one's this beautiful."
"I told you once that it was not my power that made you see me as you do, not most of the time at any rate."
"Serephina said you were a catamite for any vampire that would have you. What did she mean?"
"Vampires kill for food, but they bring others over for many reasons. Some for money, wealth, even title, love, but I was brought over for lust. When I was young and weak, they passed me around among them. One would grow tired of me, but there was always another."
I stared at him, horrified. "You're right. If you were going to make up a story, this wouldn't be it."
"The truth is so often disappointing, or ugly; don't you find that, ma petite?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Serephina was old. I thought vampires weren't supposed to age."
"Whatever age we die at is the age we remain."
"Did you know Serephina when you were young?"
"Yes."
"Did you sleep with her?"
"Yes."
"How could you let her touch you?"
"I was given to her as a gift by a master that makes even her new and improved powers seem weak. I had very little choice." He stared at me. "She knows what you want. Your greatest need, your most treasured wish, and she'll make it come true, or seem to. What did she offer you, ma petite? What could she offer you that nearly won you tonight?"
I looked away then; I didn't want to meet his eyes. "What did she offer you all those years ago?"
"Power."
I looked up at that. "Power?"
He nodded. "Power to escape them all."
"But you had to have the ability to be a master vampire inside you from the beginning. No one can give that to you," I said.
He smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. "I know that now, but then I thought only she could save me from an eternity of..." His words trailed off and he submerged, leaving only a few black locks floating on the top of the water. He sat up with a loud breath of air, blinking the water from his eyes. The water had clumped his thick, dark eyelashes. He ran his hands through his wet hair, and it trailed over his shoulders.
"Your hair wasn't this long when we first met."
"You seem to prefer longer hair on your men."
"If you're dead, how can your hair grow?"
"That is a question for you to answer," he said. He ran his hands through his hair again, squeezing the ends out. He reached out a hand for a towel.
I scrambled to my feet. "I'll leave you to get dressed."