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Not yet. He might decide to play again.
But if he didn't remove himself from her current needy grasping, he might be tempted to drain Nurse K. Delaney past that delicate tipping point and right into death.
He dumped her off his lap without ceremony and rose to his feet.
"No," she complained, "don't go."
He was already crossing the room. The sumptuous folds of his silk robe skated around his calves as he strode out of the bedchamber and into his study across the hall. This room, his secret sanctuary, was filled with every luxury he desired: exquisite furnishings, priceless art and antiques, rugs that had been woven by Persian hands at the height of Earth's religious crusades. All mementoes of his own past, objects collected over countless ages for the pleasure they gave him, and recently brought here, to the New England base of his budding army.
There was another recent artistic acquisition, too.
This one - a series of contemporary photographs - did not please him at all. He stared at the black-and-white images of various Rogue lairs around the city and could not contain his snarl of fury.
"Hey... those aren't yours..."
He flicked an irritated glance to where the female now sat, having crawled after him from the other room. She slumped on the palace rug behind him, her face screwed into a little-girl pout. Head lolling on her shoulders and blinking dully as if scarcely able to hold her focus, she was staring at the collection of photographs.
"Oh?" he asked, not really interested in playing games, but curious enough to know what it was about the images that had managed to sink through her muddled head. "Whom do you think they belong to?"
"My friend... they're hers."
His eyebrows rose in response to the innocent revelation. "You know this artist, do you?"
The young woman nodded sluggishly. "My friend... Gabby."
"Gabrielle Maxwell," he said, turning around, his attention distracted truly now. "Tell me about your friend. What is her interest in these places she photographs?"
He had been rolling that question over in his mind since Gabrielle had first come to his attention as an inconvenient witness to a killing carelessly perpetrated by some of his new recruits. He'd been irritated, though not alarmed, to hear about the Maxwell woman from the Minion at the police station. Seeing her inquisitive face on the asylum's closed-circuit security feed hadn't exactly pleased him, either. But it was her apparent attention to documenting vampire locations that piqued a dark sort of interest in him.
He had, until now, been occupied with other, more crucial things that required his attention. He'd been focused elsewhere, and had been satisfied with merely keeping a close eye on Gabrielle Maxwell. Perhaps her interest and activities might bear closer scrutiny. She might, in fact, warrant hard interrogation. Torture, if it pleased him.
"Let's talk about your friend."
His tiresome playmate tossed her head, then flopped back on the rug, throwing out her arms like a petulant child being denied something she wanted. "No... don't talk about her," she murmured, as her hips arched up off the floor. "Come here... kiss me first... talk about me... about us..."
He took a step toward the female, but his intentions were hardly obliging. The slivering of his pupils might have fooled her into thinking he desired her, but it was anger pulsing through his body. There was contempt in his hard grasp as he stood over her and hauled her to her feet before him.
"Yes," she sighed, nearly his to command already.
With the flat of his palm, he guided her head back onto her shoulder, baring the pale column of skin that was still scored and bleeding from his last taste of her. He lapped roughly at the wound, his fangs surging with rage.
"You'll tell me everything I want to know," he whispered, lethal in his control as he stared into her bleary gaze. "From this moment forward, you, Nurse K. Delaney, will do whatever I tell you to do."
He bared his teeth, then struck as fiercely as a viper, draining every last bit of her conscience and her feeble human soul in one savage bite.
Gabrielle made a perimeter check of her apartment, taking care that all the locks on her doors and windows were secure. She had been back home since mid-afternoon, having left Megan's place in the morning after her friend went to work. Meg had offered for her to stay as long as she wanted, but Gabrielle couldn't hide forever, and she hated the idea that she might drag her friend any deeper into a situation that was becoming more terrifying and unexplainable by the hour.
At first, she'd avoided returning to her apartment and had walked around the city in a paranoid haze, all but giving in to the rising hysteria. Instinct warned her to prepare herself for a fight.
One that she knew would be coming sooner than later.
She worried that she'd find Lucan, one of his bloodsucking friends, or something even worse waiting for her when she arrived home. But it had been broad daylight, and she'd returned, at last, to find her apartment empty, not a thing out of place.
Now, as darkness settled outside, her anxieties returned tenfold.
Wrapping her arms around her cocoon of an oversized white sweater and jeans, she walked back into the kitchen where her answering machine was blinking with two new messages. They were both from Megan. She'd been phoning for the past hour, since her original message about the body recovered in the playground area where Gabrielle had been assaulted the night before.
Megan was frantic, telling Gabrielle about the police report she'd gotten from Ray, describing how her attacker had apparently been mauled by animals not long after he'd tried to hurt Gabrielle. And there was more. A police officer had been murdered in the station; it was his weapon recovered from the savaged body found on the grounds of the children's park.
