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“More?” I ask her, gesturing to the mountains of food on the table.

“No,” she shakes her head. “I’m ready now. Let’s get you fed.”

I laugh at that and stand, holding out my hand. She takes it trustingly, and I lead her out of the dining room and through the meandering hallways until we get to my study. I take her inside and gesture to the chaise lounge in one corner.

“Get comfortable, ma souris,” I tell her, my mouth watering, “and we will begin.”

Andi does as I instruct, lying back on the chaise, her white sundress in stunning contrast to the blood red velvet of the chaise. When she looks comfortable, she holds out her wrist, a look of anticipation on her features. At least I am not alone in my excitement.

Gently, I take her wrist, looking at the tan skin in startling contrast to my paleness, and move forward to bite.

“If anything happens that you don’t like,” I hear myself saying, “tap my leg, and I will stop.”

When did I get so solicitous? Is it just because I want her in my bed? But Andi seems to appreciate the words because she just nods and says, “Alright, Julian. I trust you.”

That’s a foolish thing to say, yet I find myself pleased. My face is next to the skin of her wrist, and I sniff lightly to sample the heady bouquet of her. Lush and living and sweet. I will enjoy what happens next.

With that thought, I open my mouth and bite down.

Chapter 14

Julian

Her taste hits my mouth, dark and sweet like honey. I hum in pleasure, the curse in her blood no longer tainting the flavor. Have I ever had blood this decadent? It soars and sings in my system like one of her songs, soothing a craving I didn’t even know that I had. I gulp in earnest, pulling in more than is wise for such a small woman. She sighs in ecstasy, her head tilting back as the glow of my bite’s pleasure fills her. My eyes close, and I drink again. And again, and again, unable to get enough. In the back of my mind, a warning bell goes off, telling me that I am feasting too heavily, that I will kill the songbird before me, but I can’t stop. Why can’t I stop?

That thought bothers me more than the other, and I try to slow my drinking, only to find that I literally cannot. My jaw seems locked on her wrist, my body craving her blood like a drug. Pleasure blooms in me, like I am the one being fed from, not the other way around. It seizes my wits, and I take another long pull. I’m going to kill Andi. My eyes open and flick to the human in front of me, but rather than looking pale and sickly, she seems to have bloomed, her cheeks flushed, an unguarded smile on her features. She practically glows as she sighs again, and I feel the reverberation of the sound pound through me with the force of a cathedral bell. Feelings I cannot explain race through me. Devotion, reverence, obsession, even. My entire being is now centered on the woman from whom I feed. She moans, the sound effortlessly musical, and something shifts in my chest. I want to give her the world. I want to burn her enemies to the ground. I want to worship at her feet. The feelings are foreign, not my own, and my logic rebels at the notion, even as my emotions settle into orbit around Andi.

Distantly, like a memory from another life, I remember a warning from my maker. Of beautiful women with beautiful voices and endless blood that enslaves a vampire to her will, the only one with magic that works on the children of the night.

Siren.

With herculean willpower, I wrench away from the wrist that I seem bound to. I gulp the last remnants of her blood in my mouth, unable to spit it out and waste even a precious drop. I stare in horror at Andi, even as she lounges on the chaise, looking peaceful and pleased as she rests in the afterglow of my bite, completely unaware of my existence at the moment. Her frame is relaxed, as if she has just received a deep-tissue massage, not dying from blood loss as she should be.

It can’t be, I think, looking at the woman I call mouse. She is no femme fatale, no irresistible female luring me to my doom. Or is she? A small voice whispers in my mind, reminding me that even when I thought her plain and disappointing, she had drawn me to her. Intrigued me. Seduced me. She had changed my mind and made me amenable to her plight with just her story. With her voice, I realize.

Dread, unlike anything I have ever known, fills me, but it is already too late. I have already fed on her blood. I am enthralled. I was too arrogant in my old age, too sure that nothing could touch me, only to let a snake into my midst, dressed in pretty, innocent-looking wrappings.

I have to move quickly, lest she comes down from the high of feeding and takes control of me like she now can.

“Gaspard!” I bark out, my voice still thick with her blood. “Gaspard!”

The door to my office swings open, my right hand entering with his gun already drawn. He hesitates as he takes in the tableau, my panic, and the woman lounging on the chaise, only barely lifting her head in confusion at the sudden yelling.

“What is it, my Commandant?” he asks, tone steady, but sounding a bit unsure.

I round on him, anger replacing my fear. “This is your doing!” I hiss at him. “You brought her here!” I want to kill my loyal friend for what he has done.

“Julian?” slurs Andi, as she pushes herself up onto her elbows. “What’s wrong?”

Terribly, just the sound of her lilting voice soothes my anger, reaching into my skull and quieting my rage with just her cadence. I am well and truly under her power now. I’ve got to get away from her.

“Take Miss Smith to the holding cell,” I order coldly, even as my instincts rouse in protest. Every fiber of my being now screams to protect the siren, not harm her, to stay in her presence, not be separated from her, but I ruthlessly squash down these rebellious instincts. They are not me. They are her blood.

“What?” she asks, sounding panicked. I try to ignore how much her fear bothers me. It is another effect of her blood, I am sure. “Holding cell? What have I done?”

I do not answer her, and neither does Gaspard. He merely obeys, stalking into the room and taking her left arm in his grip to pull her upright. I snarl possessively. I hate seeing his hands on her. The room freezes at the sound, Gaspard looking at me warily. I know I am mercurial on the best of days, but this behavior is strange, even for me. It is the instincts her blood has awoken. I have to ignore them. With all the strength I possess, I step backward and look away, forcing myself to fight the feelings within me.

“Take her way,” I growl again.