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You must wake up, owlet. You have miles to go before you sleep . . .
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep . . ." A poem. You can't read, how did you know the words?
So many things pass through the slipstream. Did you truly believe I would not hear them as they cross my path? I am sorry, owlet, that you must journey to the bloody fanged ones . . . but truly, they are less dangerous than what waits in the woodland. Sometimes, the monsters are terribly beautiful, and the heroes loathsome. Go now, rest. Your friend will return for your next lesson in flight. Rest assured. He keeps watch over you.
And then, my eyes fluttered and I woke to full consciousness, freezing again as I realized it was time to get down, out of the tree.
Ulean rode my shoulder. The tree, he is old and wise, but not so old as me. But you can trust him. Trees are like that--once they choose a side, they seldom switch.
As I joined the others in making protection charms, I sorted through the herbs and crystals carefully, but my thoughts were a million miles away, soaring in the dark sky.
At seven on the dot, I was standing outside of Lannan's office in Vecktor Hall, at the New Forest Conservatory. Leo stood beside me, the limo we'd arrived in waiting in the street in front of the building. Nervous, wondering how this was going to work, I raised my hand and hesitantly knocked.
"Enter." The word echoed through the hall as the door slid silently open. I glanced inside to see Lannan sitting behind his desk.
Altos's office was as oddly contradictory as was he. The furniture was old, heavy, dark, and handcrafted, but electronics filled the shelves, and just like at Marta's, there was a minimalist feel to the decor once you moved beyond the basic furnishings. But the atmosphere reminded me of peaches left on the vine just a little too long.
The suite was done in burgundy and black, with a large divan against one wall. A tapestry hung on the wall and, as I looked closer, I realized it was a picture of a woman being fucked by a large wolf, while a man stood by, masturbating. I shuddered, averting my eyes. A second wall was covered with books, and a desk, ornate and hand-carved from ebony, sat near the books. A door led into another room.
I glanced around for anybody else, but we were alone. Leo stood outside. Lannan glanced at him briefly and waved him off.
"Come back in an hour. We should be done then."
Leo looked like he wanted to do anything but leave me there, but he walked away, his eyes flashing fury. I sucked in a deep breath, stepped over the threshold, and waited for Lannan to speak.
"I see you chose to dress for comfort." A statement. "Next time, wear something sexy." A demand.
Great. He wanted the full show. He was a master gamesman, that much I could already tell. But I'd play along. I knew how to pick and choose my battles.
"Yes, sir." My voice sounded like a mouse's squeak in a giant auditorium. I forced myself to stand still in front of his desk. Make him initiate the first move.
Lannan looked up at me, his dark eyes glittering. If there had been some spark of light in them, some semblance of humanity, I might have been able to keep it together. But those abysmal orbs sucked me in and I found myself starting to shake. He was a vampire, a Vein Lord, and he was going to be drinking from my body tonight.
He slid from behind the desk and silently crossed the room. "What brings you to this fear? The thought of offering me blood?" His voice was soft, so soft I could barely catch it, and he leaned in, nuzzling my neck. "You are a lovely thing, and your scent fills the room. You know vampires have a sense of smell, even though we don't need to breathe?"
As he lingered by my shoulder, my heart skidded to the side. I already had come to loathe the man, yet his very proximity was like an aphrodisiac and even though my mind and heart resisted, my body was responding to whatever pheromones he was putting out.
"Oh, Cicely, not all payment has to hurt. Mine usually does, but keep in mind that I can--and shall--make it a pleasure for you. Blood offerings aren't always torture." He lifted my chin with his hands. "Don't worry, in less than ninety minutes, you'll be safe at home, with your friends."
But the look on his face told me I'd never be the same.
Lannan let go and walked over to a small stereo system in an entertainment center and flipped on the music. Sinuous strains wove out, coiling around me, followed by a throbbing beat. He poured a glass of wine and handed it to me. I stared into the liquid, wondering if it was safe.
"I have no need to drug you. I could mesmerize you and take anything I wanted . . . if I chose to."
I froze, the drink halfway to my lips. Ice, I thought. The ice maiden. Stay still, remain in stasis, freeze-frame, do not respond. Let him do what he will and then walk away like it never happened.
"You understand that I drink from you as my right according to contract. You offer yourself to me." His voice was soft. Too soft.
I said nothing.
"Say it. Tell me that you have chosen this. I want to hear it from your lips, from your curving, sensuous, ever so life-quickening lips."
Again, silence. I stared at the stereo, willing myself to dissolve into the music. Become the chords, become the melody . . . float away on the breeze with the notes as they passed. Ephemeral.
"Cicely. I command you." And his voice was so strong I couldn't disobey.
I turned to stare at him. "I give my blood to you, I've chosen to do this. I signed the contract. Now do what you will."
