Rafe had crossed the room and wrapped his fingers around Pritkin's wrist before I could blink. Power surged out from the mage in a panicked wash, and I felt my bracelet shiver against my wrist. «I'm not going to hurt you,» Rafe told him, contemptuously. «I won't do anything other than what was done to Cassie. Are you less brave than she?»
Pritkin wasn't hearing him. His expression would have sent me scurrying for cover, but Rafe held his ground. He couldn't do otherwise, having been given a direct order by his master's master. «Let go, vampire, or by the Circle you will regret it!»
Abruptly, Pritkin's elements were all around me. He warded with both earth and water, and they flowed out from him at the same time so that I felt like I was simultaneously being buried and drowned. My bracelet leapt like I'd captured a small wild animal that desperately wanted to get away. I fought to draw a breath and couldn't. I tore at the neck of the robe, but it was no help; it wasn't the material that was threatening to choke me. I gasped for air, but it was like my lungs were solid, heavy lumps in my chest that had forgotten how to breathe. I slowly slid down in the chair, my vision going dark. My only thought was that, in a room full of vampires, it would be my luck to get killed by the only other human.
-
Chapter 10
A warm hand slipped under my collar to rest lightly on the skin of my collarbone, and a brief tingle ran up my arm. All of a sudden the suffocating sensation let up a little. The air was heavy and hard to breathe, but I could manage it.
«Release him, Raphael,» Mircea barked, and I looked up to see that it was his touch that had broken through the mage's power. Rafe immediately complied, wiping his hand on his thigh as if he hadn't enjoyed touching Pritkin any more than vice versa. The mage shook with the effort of reining in his power. It continued to surge, but it was less violent, like waves lapping at the edge of a lake instead of crashing onto the shore.
Mircea nodded at Rafe, who went to the door and gave one of the servants an order. A few seconds later, another of the satyr-weres was brought in. He was a young blond male who, like the others, had reverted to his more nonthreatening form. His fur was a tawny gold color that complemented his hair and the faded denim of his eyes. He was easily six feet tall and as well built as most young satyrs are. If they aren't born that way, they work at it—nothing is worse in their view than being considered unattractive, unless it's impotence. Not that he had any problems either way. The uncertainty of the holding cell had wilted him, but he perked back up immediately at the sight of me. I forgave him; they literally couldn't help themselves.
«Watch and learn, mage.» Raphael took out a knife and, with no warning, drew a shallow cut across the satyr's chest. The creature didn't moan, and I wasn't surprised. They weren't usually brave, but they'd never willingly show fear in front of a half-dressed female.
Rafe held his hand about a foot away from the satyr's torso, and slowly, as if pulled by invisible strings, drops of blood began to leap across the air between them to splash against his palm. As soon as they landed, they were absorbed.
«We can do it without the cut, without any wound at all,» Mircea said softly. «Anytime, to anyone, anywhere. A brush against you in the subway, a handshake"—his gaze slid down to me—"or more pleasurable things; all will suffice.»
I held Mircea's dark eyes and for a second I couldn't breathe again, although this time it was my own body I was fighting rather than someone else's power. No one's eyes should be able to look like that, as if they held the secret to every dream you've ever had, every wish come spectacularly true. The hand he kept on my naked flesh was suddenly stimulating rather than comforting. His expression changed, and I couldn't even begin to name it, but my body interpreted it as erotic. I had to actually clutch at the chair arms to keep from throwing myself into his arms. Damn, this was unexpected.
Mircea stepped away after a moment, and some of the river of heat flowing through me dissipated, but the longing remained. The problem, other than the fact that he might have to kill me on the Consul's orders, was that I couldn't be sure how much of what I was feeling was real, and how much was simply what Mircea wanted me to feel. I thought about that first night with Tomas, and his attempted seduction. I found it hard to believe that he'd been so overcome by lust at the sight of me in my big, cartoon-covered towel that he couldn't help himself. Had Tomas acted on the Senate's orders? Was Mircea doing the same thing now?
I knew Tomas hadn't needed to touch me to feed. Mircea hadn't told Pritkin, but a master doesn't need tactile contact. Any of them could have drained me from across the room, pulling my life from me in invisible, microscopic particles that wouldn't be seen or noticed by anyone else. And if they were as good as Mircea, there wouldn't even be a bruise or other telltale mark to show that blood had been stolen. I didn't think Pritkin would react too well to that tidbit of information, especially not with the hunted, half-panicked expression he still wore. He looked like a man who'd awakened from a dream to find himself surrounded by monsters.