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“Why won’t you listen?” Haven’s voice was a deep, throaty growl, his words slurred and breathless.
“You’re not yourself.”
“And how would you know that? You think you know me?”
“I’ve been around you long enough to know how you carry yourself.”
“You watch me.” A huffed, spiteful laugh.
“Of course I do.” No good denying it. They both knew the truth.
Haven attempted to straighten, to push forward off the door, before stumbling again. He nearly fell, but Cy’s arms grasped him, holding him steady. Together with Sirene, he was able to bring Haven back to his feet.
“What happened at the banquet? Are you…” He felt stupid asking. “Are you drunk?”
Again, that choked laugh. “Vampyres can’t get drunk.”
“Then what?”
Haven struggled in his arms, swaying. “Ambrosia.”
Cy blinked. Ambrosia was a pet’s drug. One meant to make humans docile and relaxed for feeding. Before the vampyre’s Dominion, it had been considered a pleasure drug. It heightened the senses while making the user lucid and pliable. He hadn’t known it could affect vampyres.
As if aware of his uncertainty, Haven muttered, “The cattle were drugged with it. The pets too. When vampyres drink from those who’ve ingested it, we feel the results. I played my part well.”
“What part?”
Haven was compliant, so Cy moved him to the bed, noting his winces and pained expressions when he moved. Sirene stood at his bedside, watching, brow clenched, fingers twitching.
“That’s none of your concern.”
“Do you need your coffin?”
Haven’s eyelids flickered. “Won’t that upset your delicate human sensibilities? To see a vampyre’s coffin?”
“I’m used to it by now.”
“You’ve never seen my coffin.”
“Is it decorated with pretty pink satin and lace?”
Haven smiled. Actually smiled, chuckling as he landed on the mattress. His hair curled around him like a golden halo. “You would like to think that, wouldn’t you? Perhaps when I sleep, I wear lace lingerie to match my box.”
Cy shook his head. Something was definitely wrong with him. “You need rest. Come—”
His words were cut off by a sharp knock at the door. His hands fumbled, and he backed away as the knocking continued, rapacious and determined.
“Haven, are you in there?” It was a voice Cy hadn’t heard before. Deep, drawling. Angry. “Haven!”
Haven struggled on the bed, attempting to sit up, only to fall back down with a hand over his face. “Come in,” he said, his words slurring and his eyes closed.
As the door opened, Cy knelt to his place on the floor, bowing his head. Sirene moved out of the way as well, settling beside the door like a stone sentry or gargoyle. A flash of black shot by as a vampyre entered the room and leaned over Haven’s bedside. Curiosity coiled in Cy’s belly. He lifted his eyes.
The vampyre was large, thick with muscle, with long, gleaming red hair that curled down his back. All swathed in black, the finery of his clothing was indicative of high status. But more than that, he radiated power. Cy’s skin bristled to be near him. All the while, the vampyre ignored him.
“Haven,” he crooned, running a hand over Haven’s pale cheek. But Haven barely responded, despondent and petulant in his drug-induced stupor. The effects of the drug were surely wearing off, making him tired and uncomfortable. “Darling, why do you let him do that to you?”
Cy’s ears strained to hear the vampyre’s soft voice as he settled on the mattress beside Haven.
