Chapter Two

Even in the dark, I could tell when the sun set. Instinct woke me from the day's pause, my eyes opening into darkness unchanged since consciousness left me.

Before moving, I blinked to make sure my eyes were truly open. The darkness was total. Fear tried to claim me but Ya khasara. Damn it. Anger chased the fear away. It had been days, maybe a week or more, since the man who claimed to be a priest locked me in a room barely bigger than the pallet I lay on. He'd only once had his lackeys offer me food, but the cost was more than I wanted to pay.

I'd never amounted to much in life, with little schooling, less money, and only a rare bit of luck, but I'd never have willingly agreed to my current state, either. He'd arranged for an older, stronger monster to share this gift—that they'd called it a gift would have made me laugh, before—and now I was doomed to live forever.

If I didn't walk out into the sun.

I sat up, stood up, reached my hands wide to press my palms against opposite walls. My eyesight was better than it had ever been when I was alive, yet I couldn't even make out the end of the pallet underfoot. He wouldn't leave me locked in this closet eternally. I knew that the same way I knew the sun had set. He needed me, needed what I could do.

But he wasn't going to get it for free.

Channeling my anger and defiance into kicks, lunges, and running in place, I did my best to ignore my mounting hunger. I wouldn't die of it, but if he left me here too long, I might drain the lunkhead unlucky enough to open the door.

When I bored with running, I hopped, then skipped, and I did it all without sweating or breathing hard. Then I sat, unsure whether to wish for a visitor or simply an end to it all. I hadn't decided when the click of a key turning the lock made all the hairs on my neck stand on end. The door opened inward, forcing me to scoot back, and I had to squint against the glare of a single candle.

"Fr. Dominic has requested your presence." The figure spoke in a monotone and held the candle steady.

Before answering, I inhaled. Instead of the sweet scent of blood, I smelled dirt and decay. This one was no more alive than I was, a shadow, a tool. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I could make out features. A slack jaw, skin the color of whey; I wouldn't derive sustenance from it, though tearing its head off might relieve some of my anger.

"Don't." This voice was stronger, deeper, and accompanied by a wave of salty blood scent.

A second figure stood behind the revenant. He wore black robes, his hair trimmed in a ridiculous tonsure. "You have tried the good father's patience beyond all bearing. Come with us now or be prepared to meet your fate."

"So sentimental. How could I possibly refuse?" I held myself rigid to keep from flying at him. The blood smell almost overcame what was left of my common sense.

"Come. Now." The figure turned in a whirl of black robes and faded into the shadows.

Sensing I had little choice, I rose to my feet. The revenant seemed to be waiting for me to make a move. I waved it on, as its candle would give me more than enough light to navigate by.

At the end of a short, narrow hallway, we came to a door. The revenant pushed it open but the monk waited. "Go on ahead," he said, "and I'll follow."

I wasn't sure, but I might have caught the glint of silver in his hand. A weapon? Touché. The revenant shuffled, I walked, and the monk followed us, making me wish for a breeze to blow his blood scent away from me.

We climbed a set of stairs and reached a wider hall, one with regularly placed sconces that gave off a flickering light and the scent of burning oil. Portraits hung between the sconces, sour-faced old men who watched me as I passed. If anyone in my family had had their portrait made, I'd never heard of it.

Father was from London, an Army man who'd stayed behind after the British chased out the French. He'd given me his name, Davies, and before he died, he'd made sure I could speak English as well as Arabic. Still, while Mother was a good woman, we were not the kind of people who sat for paintings.

We passed through a small courtyard and entered a parlor. There, in a corner chair that had a view of both doors, sat Fr. Dominic Mancini, dark, stern, and unsettling.

The monk took a chair at the priest's right. In the opposite corner, a living man held the arms of a young woman, both trapping her and keeping her upright. She stood wavering, with her gaze downcast, her dress ragged, her arms bare. Her blood scent hit me as hard as if her captor had planted his fist in my gut.

Maybe it was the combination of her blood with that of the ass who held her. Either way, the scent drowned me so that I did not hear the priest's opening remark.

"Well?" he prompted, his scowl gone fierce.

"Apologies, Father, I did not hear your question."

He shifted in his seat, his black cassock rustling. "That in itself answers me. I'd asked if you were hungry."

Yes . I didn't shy away from his gaze and didn't bother with a more elaborate answer.

"Someday you will regret your lack of cooperation." He spat the words, and again, I didn't bother with a response. Before Fr. Dominic could elaborate on all the ways he'd make me regret my defiance, a door opened. Not the door we'd come through, but one that apparently led to the street.

I knew the man—or creature—who came into the room. Knew the bastard and hated him.

"What in hell is going on, Dominic? Why are you starving my child?"

Gamal Hassan strode across the room, his widespread arms attempting to sweep away all he disapproved of. He wore a linen galabiya and trousers under an embroidered kaftan, with a matching keffiyeh covering his head. He didn't stop until he reached me and put a palm on my face, turning my head one side to the other, inspecting me for damage. "He's not a toy. Why are you treating him like one?"

"You promised me a servant who would do as I asked." Fr. Dominic rose from his chair and came toward us. "This one"—he waved a hand at me—"does only what he wants."

"Is that true?" Hassan asked me, though the glint of humor in his gaze hinted that we shared a secret the good father would never understand.

I shrugged. Allying myself with one such as Hassan might help me escape my present circumstance but came with its own problems. He'd made me in his own image, and I could no more look away from him than I could fly.

"Hmm." Hassan inspected me more closely. "And what else has he done to you?"

Again I stayed silent, unwilling to let either of them know how much I hated that small, dark room. Above all, I feared Fr. Dominic would lock me in and never return.

How long would it take before the unrelenting dark drove me mad?

Hassan released me from his gaze with a grand gesture. "If you don't want him, I guess I'll take him off your hands."

"No. You owed me, and this clears your debt. Either make him obey me or leave us so I can continue my own form of discipline."

Hassan grinned at the priest. "You might find honey gets you further than the lash," he murmured.

"They haven't lashed me, at least so far." I spoke for the first time. "He ordered me to kill someone and I refused, so he locked me in a room."

My maker all but rolled his eyes. "You're such a delicate thing." The humor in his voice threatened to relax me, when I could not afford to be relaxed. "How did he manage the trick of locking you up? You're stronger and faster than any three men in this house."

"You told me to obey him, but I won't kill unless there's a damned good reason." I shrugged, a jerking motion. "Following his monk into the room seemed safe enough, so I did." And I'd die before admitting how badly I hated the dark.

Chuckling, Hassan turned toward Fr. Dominic. "He'll get over his squeamishness soon enough. Besides, you wanted a guard, not an assassin."

"He should be both." The priest spat the words. "We'll be on a steamship at least two weeks, maybe longer if the weather is foul. I must know he'll do as he's told, that he won't run amuck."

Facing the priest, I straightened to my full height. "Starving me is a rotten way of preventing that."

"He's right, you know." Hassan put a hand on my shoulder. "He was a reasonable man, and I expect he's still a good sort. If you treat him decently, he'll serve you well."

I would have argued that point, but Hassan squeezed my shoulder hard enough to make me wince.

"In the meantime, let him feed." Hassan added a layer of command to his voice, which made the priest scowl harder.

"Don't fool with me, Gamal. You owe your safety to me, but my patience has its limits."

"Excuse me." I shook free of Hassan's grasp. "Neither of you have given me any reason to do as you ask. Unless I misunderstood his promise, I have the strength and speed to be through the door before any of you could stop me."

"Unfortunately, habibi, I would be forced to capture you and bring you back. Your kisses aren't sweet enough for me to risk death." Hassan got an arm around my waist, pulling me against his body. He nuzzled my neck, which only made me stiffen further.

"Stop." Fr. Dominic rose from his seat. "You disgust me. Both of you. Cast your enchantment, Gamal Hassan, then leave us, and if you ever cross my path again, I'll see you dead."

Hassan held me tighter, his hand dangerously close to my prick. Chin resting on my shoulder, he addressed the priest. "Your soul is blacker than mine, hypocrite. I have commanded my child to follow you, and he will, but he is not one of your mindless phantoms. Do not give him foolish commands, and he'll do as you ask."

He rubbed my crotch, and such was his power that my prick hardened. Hatred filled me, and if it could have seeped through my skin, Gamal Hassan would have burned.

"He's actually quite docile, as you can see." He laughed, and I wrenched myself out of his grasp. Fr. Dominic and his monk were both shouting at Hassan, and I took the chance to run.

"Stop right there, Davies."

Hassan's command vibrated through my body, and I froze in place, not quite reaching the door. He came up behind me and nipped at my ear. "You were created to clear my debt, and if you do as the priest asks, I'll grant your freedom."

He spoke so low the religious men couldn't have heard him, but I did. "I never asked for any of this." I matched his quiet tone.

"Oh, but you did." He combed his fingers through my hair. "I asked if you wanted to live forever, and you told me you did."

"I told you I wanted to fuck you forever, you bastard." I felt rather than saw his lazy shrug.

"It's all the same to me." He nipped my neck, scratching me with his fang in a way that made me shiver. "Now do as you're told, and everything will be fine."

Fine? Things might never be fine again. "Go to hell."

"I'll see you there."

With those final words, he slipped through the door and into the night, leaving me with the priest, the monk, and the terrified young woman. The being who held her was no more alive than me, but a mindless, unnatural evil. I knew without asking that the priest had created it. Fr. Dominic, a man of faith, who made some deal with a devil like Hassan, and who expected me to serve his whims.

The priest and I eyed each other for a long moment, and for the first time, I felt he truly saw me.

"I cannot promise I won't ask you to kill for me." He'd lost some of his bluster, but still I held my tongue.

"While we're on the steamship, you'll be guarding a thing of extraordinary value. Hassan promised you'd be capable of that."

I nodded, willing to concede that much. Two weeks, and we'd be far from here. Far from Hassan.

Far from any friends and family who might question the change that had come over me.

"Take him to his room and bring the girl." Fr. Dominic spoke to the monk.

"Downstairs?" The monk spoke from the depths of his cowl.

"No, the guest room, the one with the heaviest curtains. Oh, and get him something decent to wear."

The monk's huff of disapproval made me grin. If we had enough time, I'd look for more ways to dismay the bastard. He gave the phantom a wordless signal, and all of us trooped through the inner door, leaving the priest alone.

I would feed from the young woman, without killing her, and I'd figure out a way to get her out of this place. And if I got a new galabiya out of the deal, so much the better. My own robes had seen better days. Unfortunately, Hassan's command still echoed in the back of my mind. I was stuck, and I knew it.

Still, it wasn't in my nature to give up. I hadn't asked to become a vampire, but since that fate had been laid upon me, I would turn it to my advantage.