“You brought a weapon?”
“Of course. I’ve got my Sig with extra mags. And my knives.”
Vincent grinned over his shoulder. “Knives? Plural?”
She met his gaze evenly and shrugged.
“You have a plan for getting out of here?” he asked her.
“You’re the big bad vampire. I figured I’d leave that up to you.”
“Smart woman,” he said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll blow open that door—”
“It’s not locked,” Lana told him dryly.
“It’s never locked,” Moreno volunteered, speaking for the first time since Vincent had gone down memory lane with him. “When I wake, I go to the kitchen to be fed. And then I report to Señor Camarillo and do whatever he tells me.”
“Not tonight, kid,” Vincent growled. “Can I borrow a knife, Lana?”
She blinked in surprise, but offered it willingly enough, handing him the three-and-a-half inch automatic Spyderco with a push button release. It was small, but truly deadly in the right hands.
Vincent took the blade and, without even hesitating, made a vertical slit in his left forearm, starting at his wrist and cutting at least four inches. He then faced Jerry Moreno directly.
“On your knees, boy,” he said, putting enough power into his command that the kid immediately rolled up off the ground and crashed to his knees. Vincent held out his bleeding arm and said, “Now drink.”
Moreno tilted toward the bloody feast, his nostrils flaring, his fangs bared. But he didn’t drink right away. It was a testament to the strength of Enrique’s hold over him that instead, he raised his eyes to Vincent with a questioning look.
“Sir?” he managed to say.
“You’re a vampire, boy. It’s time you learned what that means. Drink and be mine, and we’ll get the fuck out of this place.”
The naked longing in the kid’s gaze was enough to break even a heart as jaded as Vincent’s.
“Drink, Jerry,” he said gently. “I promise I’ll take care of you.”
A single pink tear rolled down the young vamp’s cheek as he lowered his mouth to Vincent’s wrist and finally began to suck down the bounty of blood being offered. Vincent was a damn powerful vampire. His blood was richer than anything Moreno would have experienced since his first and last taste of Enrique’s blood when he’d been turned. His sucking was tentative at first, but the longer he worked at it, the harder he sucked, until by the end he was smacking his lips and practically moaning with pleasure against Vincent’s arm.
Vincent smiled at his obvious enjoyment, but they had other concerns tonight. It wouldn’t do Moreno any good to be freed of Enrique and Camarillo’s enslavement unless Vincent and Lana managed to get him out of the compound and keep him far enough away that they couldn’t get him back. Which meant Vincent needed to retain all the strength that Lana’s delectable blood had given him.
He touched Moreno’s cheek lightly and the vamp instantly lifted his head to gaze up at Vincent with utter devotion.
“Jerry Moreno,” Vincent said formally. “Do you come to me of your own free will and desire?”
“I do, sir,” Moreno whispered fervently.
“And is this what you truly desire?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
“Then be mine,” Vincent said, omitting the “drink and be mine” part, because the kid had already drunk his fill. Or at least as much of his fill as Vincent could spare under the circumstances. It would take several more feedings—from someone other than Vincent, maybe a pretty young human from the bar back home—before Moreno was at full strength.
The young vampire fell back to sit on his heels, looking as dazed by everything that had happened as by the unaccustomed richness of the blood he’d drunk. Meanwhile, Vincent gazed down at his ruined wrist in dismay. It would heal quickly enough, but he’d prefer to wrap it—
“Here,” Lana said from behind him. “Let me clean that off. I have some bandages. Not much. I couldn’t bring a whole first-aid kit along, but . . .” She produced a compact, red nylon bag which unzipped to reveal a few sealed packets of antiseptic wipes, a couple of gauze pads, and a flattened bandage wrap, along with several Band-Aids of various sizes.
“I don’t think the Band-Aids are going to do much good on that,” she murmured, opening one of the wipes and beginning to wash away the blood.
“I’ll be healed by tomorrow,” Vincent told her.