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Ah. I was on much firmer footing with this question because I felt certain the status of their relationship was discussed widely amongst the vampire community. “A simple feeding won’t give you more access. However, I’m certain you know the circumstances around one of the battles they fought together required Augustus to bind Blade to him as if she was his…”
Damn. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so simple, after all. I’d been taught by my parents that the people vampires bound to them were Renfields, which implied they no longer had any willpower whatsoever, much as Etta had done with her new eagle slave. I’d learned that isn’t the case with a binding, but it’s still the term we use for the vampire’s servants. In reality, it’s a way for a vampire to share their magic with a human or shapeshifter, to give them long life. It’s a way to create a centuries-long companion, usually because of romantic love, but sometimes, apparently, out of a strong friendship. No one wants to turn the person they love into a puppet. Well, not unless they’re fucked in the head.
“It’s enough to say he bound her,” Etta said. “We only do so with those we truly love, usually — someone we want in our lives for centuries, or longer. I’m aware the balance of power between them isn’t as one would expect. There are those who wonder if she can control him with it, based on their energy signature.”
I shrugged. “I don’t think either of them can actually control the other, but they can get in each other’s heads. At first, it was a problem, because they couldn’t exactly control it, but that’s been resolved.” And this brought me to another point. “There are concerns about Marco binding Cora to him when she’s already bound to Kirsten, who’s in a relationship with the Amakhosi and a god-of-old who should really be living on Olympus and staying out of the affairs of men.”
Her smile told me she’d talked the possibilities over with Marco, and she was pleased with the possibilities, rather than worried about them.
“We can pass by either a Waffle House or an IHOP, depending on our route to TBC,” she told me, clearly changing the subject.
“There’s a City Café not far from TBC, and it’s open all night.” I shook my head. “I’d like to note that I sense you need to top up, which tells me our little exercise used up more of your power than you’d like for me to know. I assume you can feed from your eagle?”
“If necessary, I can, but open-all-night restaurants have at least a few people riding a fear of something. I’ll be fine.”
Forty minutes later, once we were seated and I’d placed my order, I sensed Etta draining energy from two humans in a nearby booth, and I had to restrain my urge to strike out and stop her.
“They haven’t consented to that.”
“Open your senses a little more, Slayer, and you’ll see I’m helping them.”
I looked towards the humans, and I saw the truth of it. They were afraid, but they’d been terrified, and Etta had reduced their fear. I sensed she was upping it and draining it once she got it to a certain point, and I understood that, as well. My guess was that these two were on the run from someone, and a certain level of fear would keep them safe, while too much wasn’t productive.
“They’re on the run,” she told me, “from Michigan to Florida. One of them left her husband after he tried to kill her, and her best friend came with her because she’d angered him by stepping in and stopping him. I’ve put a memory into one of their heads, a way to stay off the radar that hadn’t occurred to either of them. It should keep them safer until they reach Miami, where the friend’s brother is a police officer.”
She spoke so low, no humans would hear. I nodded, giving away the fact I could hear the frequency she used, but it seemed a small thing.
“I’m sorry I didn’t look deeper before saying something.”
“I’ve done bad things. Most weren’t my choice, but some were. I’m trying to do better now that most of my choices are my own.”
* * * *
Etta
Ryan kicked my ass during our first chess game, and this shocked me all the way to my core. Even amongst the oldest vampires in the Concilio, I could hold my own.
I knew a little more about his personal strategy during our second game, and I at least pushed Ryan into a stalemate, if I couldn’t beat him.
I was just about to say we only had forty minutes until dawn and our third game would have to wait, when I found myself pulled from my chair, thrown over his shoulder, and walked across my personal suite to the bed, the heat and strength of his hands holding me in place. His stride was confident, secure, and determined. Once Ryan decided on a course of action, he was all in, and I was learning this applied to everything he did — even sex.
We both knew I didn’t need to be treated gently, and yet, he settled me onto the mattress as if I were fragile as a human — but then he was on me, his hands under my dress, his fingers inside me, and his lips on mine. The kiss was both violent and sensual, a tempest of emotions, thunder and lightning, an electrical storm that threatened to take me under in a sea of pleasure and sensations, if I’d only relax and let it.
So I did.
If it were anyone else, I’d have fought them, but I didn’t want to fight Ryan. I’d won the arm-wrestling marathon; he’d beat me at chess. It was enough to soothe my inner monster, but it was more than that.
I wanted to absorb him into me so he’d be forever mine, but not in the way I usually drink people down. I wanted him to remain this strong, sensual, strong-willed being, but when I made someone mine, they lost their willpower, so he had to become mine of his own accord, without me forcing it. He kissed me again, more feral, wilder, as if he knew I was overthinking again, and I got lost in the kiss. He tasted of salt and heat and slayer, and I had to override the part of me that wanted to make my fangs drop.
I soaked in his aura, and it’s possible the tiny bit of talent I got from Marco took over and allowed me to let him take me under, fucking me senseless. This wasn’t the man you barely noticed, nor was it the slayer who might one day decide I must die. This was Ryan in all his glory, towering over me, pounding into me, and my soul was at peace while my body soared.
Chapter 21
Ryan
I’d been in TBC’s underground offices — both invited and not — when The Abbott was Master here. I’d stood in the shadows and watched Abbott belt and whip Spencer before fucking him blind, and I’d seen the affection between the two. Those two represented, at the time, the most powerful and one of the least powerful in the territory, which means I’d assumed Abbott was taking advantage of the wolf who’d been a slave most of his life, when the opposite was true.
And now I was here by invitation, and Etta had let the dawn take her with me in the room.
