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Then she spotted Apokryphos’s black hulk in the distance, and the compulsion crumbled. Her eyes and mouth rounded as one.
For the second time that night, Kambyses restrained himself from willing her to come to him. The power he wielded to bring her here was far beyond the silent speed she had already witnessed. He had compelled a stranger to bring her here without comment, dulled her memory of the supernatural, and left her with an inexplicable desire to find a dark yacht. Now that she realized this, would she still want to be in his presence? If not… If she ran…
The girl swayed, undecided, but then seemed to brace herself and marched forward until she came to a stop on the dock before him. “How?” she exclaimed. “How did you do that?”
Kambyses almost smiled. “Stupid question,” he murmured, gesturing at the platform. “Welcome.”
Still, he was careful not to will her actions. Still, she moved forward. The moment her sandals touched the teak deck of her own free will, he all but came undone with need. She was now truly in his domain, her fate sealed.
“Wow,” she said as she climbed up the narrow stairway to the main level. Her gaze traveled over the expansive deck space, stowed tenders, and sleek obsidian fuselage. “I’m not going to ask another stupid question, Kam. This has you written all over it.”
“Apokryphos is my home.”
Monica grinned. “Even the name is perfect.”
He ushered her toward midship and into the foyer with its rich wood-paneled walls and fine Grecian busts. From there, he led her through the crystal-studded, never-used formal dining room into the staid silence of the main salon. If fire were one of his gifts, the intensity with which he watched her would have set her ablaze. For the first time since their meeting, her attention was not riveted on him. He felt invisible again, this time through no action of his own. Incredibly, he was being upstaged by a ship.
Monica prowled around the salon, admiring the fine furnishings, gilded fixtures, and alabaster statues. Her fingertips trailed over the polished woods and plush upholstery. “She’s beautiful, Kambyses,” she said, and his heart swelled. “Oh, the things I could do with this.”
“What things?” he wondered, not moving from his spot near the door. One step, and he wouldn’t be able to stop. He wasn’t ready to lose her yet. Or rather, not ready to end this sweet, tortured longing.
“I’m training to be an event planner. This place would be perfect for all kinds of intimate parties.” When she glanced at him, she seemed to recall where she was, and with whom and what she had said. Her lips thinned as she sucked at them, shy once more. Sexual arousal soaked the air. Intimate parties, indeed.
A crewman brushed past Kambyses, dressed in the standard uniform and carrying a tray with a single glass of burgundy wine. Like all the crew, this one was utterly compelled, his expression empty as he went about obeying Kambyses’s silent command to offer the refreshment to his guest.
“Oh. Thank you,” she said, accepting the glass.
The servant did not respond. He and the tray left as they arrived, with quiet efficiency.
What the girl thought of the servant’s vacant manner was impossible to tell, but a small line creased her brow as she watched him go. The man would have already forgotten the striking redhead, and he would have never even noticed Kambyses. The crew’s sole purpose was to serve Apokryphos. Beyond this, they had no ambitions, no memories, and no thoughts. They were trained tools and convenient blood supplies, nothing more.
Monica took a full-mouthed swallow of wine as though fortifying herself with the alcohol. The sweetly acidic scent mingled with her musky perfume, making his mouth water. “You’re not having any? Or are you really limited to only drinking blood?”
“I enjoy it as a seasoning only.” And the vintage in her glass was his current favorite.
“A seasoning…oh. I see.”
He inclined his head in silent confirmation of her new understanding.
An uneasy smile flickered on her wine-shiny lips as she looked away. Her eyes fastened on the first available distraction. “Oh, what happened there?”
The window that had caught the bullet was patched with a tarp and tape. Finding and compelling the right craftsmen to replace it and repair the rest of the damage without asking questions was a project for another time in yet another port. As it was, he had lingered here too long already.
Monica stared at the splintered walls near the broken window. “Are those…bullet holes?” She turned back. “Kam? Why are there bullet holes in your ship?”
He allowed himself a tiny smile. “You are alone with a powerful vampire, but you are concerned by bullet holes?”
“Well…I’m…” Her hands clasped the glass more tightly, her cheeks blooming.
“They are from my most recent youngling’s parting…gesture,” he said before he knew he intended to. Not that it mattered. She wouldn’t get to share his words with anyone else. Not anymore.
The girl blinked at him, owlish with unspoken questions.
Perhaps she was right. Maybe it was easier to talk to her because she was so temporary. Unlike Nico, who should have been anything but.
“So you’re not totally alone,” she ventured.
“I am now.” And until he found another, he would remain so. For all his age and power—or perhaps because of them—the one thing he could no longer do was make a youngling on his own.
