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Or at least slap that sneer off her face.
“Scrumptious,” Monica said, sounding a little breathless.
Cassidy shook herself out of her violent daydream and turned to her human hostess. “What is?”
“Him. Dominique. He’s so…dominating in spite of being so young. And so intense. What’s he like to have for a master?”
“Master? He’s not—” She stopped. The only control Dominique had over her—they had over each other—was love and respect. No compulsion, no enslavement. Something told her this wouldn’t be understood here. It might even be used against them. “He’s…he’s not bad. Not bad at all.”
The temple priestess smiled knowingly. Hooking her arm into Cassidy’s, she steered her toward a brightly lit hallway leading into the mansion’s interior. “Oh, do tell me more.”
“I’m actually more interested in your mistress. Bijou, is it? She seems a little, um, edgy.”
Monica laughed. “Bijou? Oh, no, she’s not my mistress. My lord and I are her guests.”
Cassidy’s steps would have faltered if not for Monica pulling her along. “Your lord?”
“But of course. I am Sol.” She enunciated her surname with care and a sweeping gesture of her hand. “S-O-L.”
Cassidy stared at her. Shit out of luck? That about summed this up alright. If Kambyses was this woman’s “master,” then surely he was plugged into her head and might as well be standing in front of Cassidy already.
With a pleased smile, Monica elaborated. “It stands for ‘Servant of the Lord.’ As in Lord Kambyses. I’m the most trusted of his mortal aides.” She leaned close, voice lowering. “I serve of my own free will. My mind is as clear as a summer sky.”
Cassidy’s lips twitched. “Really? Do tell me more.”
20
Ancient Blood
Bijou led him straight to the double-doors with the hammered ironwork at the top of the stairs. Opening them, she stood back without comment. The room beyond glowed with the mellow, peach light of dusk or maybe dawn, giving Dominique pause. But as he advanced across plush Persian rugs, all his senses keyed, the illuminated sky mural on the recessed ceiling became obvious.
The cedar smoke scent of old power choked the air, sharp as needles in his nose. Suppressing a tremor, he scanned the room. Shelves, heavy with books, lined the back wall. To one side hung tapestries depicting gruesome battles. To the other stood a life-size relief carving of a mounted medieval warrior. Another statue—a pair of classical Greek nudes in an erotic embrace—took center stage among a scattering of ponderous, dark leather furnishings. And in the far corner, against a wall of glass black with night, stood two tall wingback chairs.
One of these, he was sure, hid the room’s sole other occupant.
The door had closed behind him, leaving him alone—to talk—with the monster who had stolen his mortal life. His blood boiled. It took all his years of martial arts training to contain a tidal wave of emotion and narrow his awareness to this moment alone.
The moment was a long one. Nothing happened. Kambyses seemed in no rush to welcome him. Of course not. Why would he?
Bracing himself, Dominique moved deeper into the room, his creaking leathers the only sound. He rounded the chairs in a wide arc. They were empty. Yet, invisible cedars smoldered all around him.
He closed his eyes.
Nico.
More than a thought. Less than a sound. Familiar and unmistakable, his sire’s pet name for him. He turned to the being who had taught him to kill.
Kambyses stood with his back to him, staring out the windows, hands in the pockets of his tailored black trousers, casual as if he had stood there all along. He probably had. His hair hung thick and straight down his back in a shimmering ebony mass that was partially gathered in a golden, ruby-adorned clip. Then there was the burgundy silk shirt with the rolled-up sleeves. It all made for a rakish air Dominique had not seen before in this creature. Gone were the drab cloaks and moping demeanor of a silent film era monster. A cosmopolitan eccentric had taken its place.
Dominique froze when he realized that his reflection was being studied in the night-black glass.
“You have returned to me,” Kambyses said, his French as smooth as any of the countless other languages at his disposal. The resonant black velvet voice held a tender note that made Dominique bristle.
“No. I have not.” Best to get that cleared up right away. “I have come to ask a question.”
Cassidy’s excitement and anticipation flickered beyond the mental barriers he maintained. No trace of apprehension in her thoughts. Perhaps there was hope yet that they weren’t both doomed the moment they walked into this house.
Kambyses turned to look at him with the deep-set, unblinking gaze of a hawk. Appearing to be a man in his early forties, he wasn’t handsome so much as he was striking, with an aquiline nose, prominent brows, and the bold bones of the beast just beneath his flawless skin. His generous mouth approached something that might have been an indulgent smile. “Ask.”
