Blood Ties Book Two: Possession. Jennifer Armintrout
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way.”
The tour continued through a maze of downward sloping halls. Each level had heightened security, like the Pentagon back home. Anne explained what some of the rooms contained, and I nodded politely, but my mind kept wandering to my worries over Nathan.
“And this,” she said, sliding her card through a reader and opening a heavy door, “is where our tour ends. General Breton’s office.”
“Well, thanks,” I offered lamely. “This has been…educational.”
“You mean boring.” Anne sighed dramatically. She might have been hundreds of years old, but she had the sarcastic American teenager act down pat. “Just imagine living here.”
“Wah, wah, wah,” Max teased cheerfully. “We’ll see you on the way out.”
Anne left us at the door with a little wave. Before Max could enter the office, I put my hand on his shoulder. “Okay, I get it. High security, superparanoia. Why are we here?”
“We’re here because we need to help Nathan.” Max put his foot in the door and let it close a bit. “Listen, it’s pretty clear that whatever happened to him was a spell someone cast. The Movement can help us find out who.”
“How? Do they keep a database of all witches, too? It would be impossible! Do you have any clue how many fifteen-year-old Sabrina wannabes there are out there?” I wanted to kick the wall, I was so frustrated. “Can you just please give me a straight answer? You always have before!”
“Fine!” He scanned the hallway before he spoke. “We’re here to see the Oracle.”
“The Oracle?” I repeated, a ridiculous image of the magic mirror from Snow White popping into my brain.
“She’s a vampire, a really old one. She knows things. She knows practically everything, and what she doesn’t, she can find out. But she’s dangerous.” Max blew out a breath, as if he knew the inevitable was about to come. “I was hoping I could convince Breton to let me in to see her.”
“Without me, right?” What was it with male vampires that they thought I needed their constant protection? “No way.”
“Carrie, you don’t understand. She’s completely unpredictable, and she’s got this telekinesis thing…She can kill you, Carrie. With her mind. Now, I’ve got no one depending on me. If I get poofed to dust, fine. But you need to be around for Nathan. I’m not gonna be responsible for getting you killed.” His mouth set in a grim line. “And my impassioned speech is not moving you at all.”
“Not an inch.” I eyed the door. “Do you think this general will go along with your plan?”
Max considered a moment. “I think we have a better chance with him than with some of the others. Just let me do the talking, okay?”
My jaw dropped. “You know I want to help Nathan! Do you think I’d do something to jeopardize our chances?”
“Not intentionally.” He opened the door and motioned me inside.
“What do you mean, not intentionally?” I demanded. But he wouldn’t say anything more. I sighed and walked in to our meeting with General Breton.
5
Resistance
“What were you like before you died?”
The question startled Cyrus. He’d thought the Mouse asleep. If anyone could sleep through the noise the Fangs made upstairs. It seemed almost as soon as the sun went down, the music started and the engines roared to life, and then there was the inevitable screaming. Usually, the Mouse endeavored to be asleep before then. Having days of experience with them, she knew the Fangs’ feeding schedule.
Cyrus would have been asleep himself, if he’d had the testicular fortitude to take the bed from her. He comforted himself by reasoning he liked the sounds of the screaming upstairs. He tugged his thin blanket in a futile attempt to cover his entire body. The hideous, polyester preacher clothes bunched with every movement, but he shuddered to imagine the rough upholstery against his naked skin, so he kept them on.
“What do you mean?” he asked now.
She rolled to face him. She’d stopped cringing from him, at least. Maybe the dark helped. “They brought you back from the dead. What were you like before you died? Were you…the way you are now?”
“Human?” Cyrus sniffed derisively. “No, I wasn’t human.”
“No.” Wrinkles of frustration creased her brow as she sighed. “Did you…hurt people?”
He flinched when her hand strayed to her bandaged throat. He hated himself for regretting he’d hurt her. It was growing tiresome, this feeling of shame at doing something he would have found perfectly natural in the past.
“Of course I did. And far worse than you got.” When she didn’t respond, a wicked impulse overtook him. The first time he’d killed, he’d been put off by it. But he’d turned it into a game then, to make it engaging. What he’d done to her before had been mindless. How foolish of him. It had always been the chase that satisfied him. “I used to love girls like you.”
She leaned up on her elbows, a hint of fear in her eyes. “What do you mean, like me?”
Shrugging, he folded the chair’s footrest and sat up. “I’m sure you know your type. Starving for affection the way a dog starves for table scraps. Just plain enough that they never get the attention they want, but pretty enough to get noticed by men who are truly desperate. I’ll bet you hiked that sundress up for your fair share of please-love-me fucks.”
She sat up, hugged her knees. “You’re wrong.”
“Of course I am.” He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking down at her. “You were one of the good girls.”
Uncertainty quivered in her watery eyes as she nodded.
“Good girls don’t exist.” He sat beside her on the bed and placed his hand on her blanket-covered knee. “No matter how they tease, no matter how they insist they want to stay pure, they’re burning to know what it’s like.”
“What…” She closed her eyes, shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “What what’s like?”
Cyrus peeled back the blanket slowly, and she hurried to arrange her skirt over her knees. He reached beneath her legs and cupped the warm, rounded muscle of her calf. “The feeling of completely surrendering yourself to another person.”
“I’ve never—” Her breath hitched, cutting her denial short.
“You have.” He moved his hand up, skimming the bend of her knee. She shivered, but didn’t draw away.
He stilled his hand. “You don’t have to deny it. I’ve had enough girls like you to know what’s happening in your head. You’re wondering what I did to them to make them give in. What pleasure I gave them to wear them down so they would surrender to me without hesitation. And you’re wondering if I’ll do the same to you.”
He slid over her in one smooth motion. She gave no resistance, parting her thighs so he could lie between them. It was fear more than desire that made her compliant, he could tell by the look in her eyes. It encouraged him to continue.
“I’d woo them with words they’d never heard from another man, but I never told them I loved them. That was key. They thought if they gave a little more, let me do what I wanted, eventually it would be enough. They thought it would make them special to me, and I would love them.” He slipped his hand between their bodies. She’d taken off her panties and washed them in the sink, and they hung over the towel rack to dry. There was nothing to buffer the boldness of his touch as he stroked her, just once, and she gasped and clutched his shoulders even as she tried to push him away.
“See? Even though you know it’s a game, and