Vincent frowned. He didn’t want Salvio persuaded against his will. On the other hand, given his experience with Enrique, the vampire had no reason to trust anything Vincent said. He nodded for Jerry to go ahead.
“Salvio, you know me. Our situations were the same, and I’m telling you, you can trust Lord Vincent.”
Salvio looked up at last. He was smaller than Jerry, with dark hair and eyes, and the characteristic features of Mexican Indian descent.
“How do I do this?” he asked, and Vincent realized that although his appearance was Mexican, he’d spent enough time in or around the U.S. that he both understood and spoke American English.
“Your last name is Olivarez, is that right, Salvio?” Vincent asked as he stripped off his jacket once more and handed it to Lana. She took it, and then without a word, handed over the same small knife he’d used before. He grinned as she moved slightly away from him. Far enough that she would be out of his way if Salvio made a hostile move, but close enough that she could see what was happening. It might have been curiosity on her part, or a desire to be within reach if he needed her. But whichever it was, it gave him a strange, warm feeling that she didn’t shy away from what he was. Just as she hadn’t been horrified by what he’d done to Poncio, she wasn’t turned off by the bloody aspect of the ritual he was about to engage in with Salvio.
“Yes, Master,” Salvio answered. “My last name is Olivarez. My family is from Los Cabos.”
Vincent gave him a pitying look. “Not anymore, Salvio. Your family is with me and mine.”
Tears filled Salvio’s eyes, but he nodded. “I know.”
Vincent touched the young vampire’s bent head briefly. “It will get better, mijo.” He remembered what it was like to leave his family behind without so much as a letter to say good-bye. It was how it had to be, but that didn’t make it any easier.
With these thoughts running in his head, he sliced his arm open with Lana’s knife. It hurt like a motherfucker, but he kept his expression carefully blank. It wouldn’t do to let the newbies know that even a powerful vampire could feel pain.
He lowered his arm and blood surged from the wound, running down to pool in his cupped hand. He held his bloody hand out to the kneeling vampire and spoke the formal words.
“Do you come to me of your own free will and desire, Salvio?”
Salvio’s dark eyes were slightly puzzled as he looked up at Vincent, but then his nostrils flared as he caught the rich scent of Vincent’s blood, and the puzzlement turned to raw hunger.
“I do, Master,” he growled.
“And is this what you truly desire?” Vincent demanded.
“Yes, Master. Please.” They weren’t the formal words, but they would do.
Vincent offered his cupped hand and said, “Then drink, Salvio Olivarez, and be mine.”
LANA WATCHED THE ritual that apparently bound Salvio to Vincent in some vampish way. She didn’t pretend to understand the ties, but she couldn’t deny they were there. She’d seen the transition in Jerry. Not only in his newfound devotion to Vincent, but the lightening of his entire persona, as if he’d been carrying some huge weight for the two years he’d been enslaved to Camarillo and was now free of it. Even though he wasn’t actually free. Or was he? It was all very confusing and she made a note to herself to ask Vincent about it the next time they were alone.
And that thought made her shiver in anticipation. If she was smart, she’d make a point of never being alone with Vincent again. But (a) she wasn’t that smart, and (b) she didn’t want to be that smart. What she wanted was one night with Vincent’s naked body all to herself. She’d barely tasted what he could do when they’d woken together earlier, or rather, when she’d awoken in his arms. All they’d done was kiss, but she could still feel the heat of her desire for him like a banked fire in her belly that was biding its time. And when that time came, she knew it would burn white-hot. She saw it every time Vincent looked at her, saw the hunger in his gaze, the promise of what was to come.
A tiny breeze passed through the yard, bringing with it the copper smell of blood. Lana blinked away visions of a naked Vincent and focused on the bloody scene in front of her. This new vampire, Salvio, had clearly been through hell and survived. His arm looked like it was about to fall off, and his shirt was clinging to his chest and stiff with blood. He was probably lucky to be alive since Jerry had said he’d heard automatic weapons fire. Leighton had told Lana that anything that destroyed a vampire’s heart would kill him, she figured being ripped in half by bullets would do the trick.
Salvio shuddered as he drank Vincent’s blood, and Lana had a momentary flashback of how good it had felt when Vincent had taken blood from her. She wondered if tasting his blood was the same thrill, or if that was only for vampires.
After a few minutes, Vincent rested his free hand on Salvio’s head and pulled away from the young vampire’s questing mouth. Salvio gave a sigh of more than satisfaction—it was satiation, bliss. On the other hand, when Lana glanced at Vincent’s face, she caught a flash of exhaustion as he stared down at his ravaged arm.
“Let me,” she said instantly, drawing him away from the other two vampires. Jerry was a good guy, and she had no reason to think Salvio wasn’t the same, but they looked to Vincent for everything, and right now, he needed someone to take care of him, instead of the other way around.
“Come on,” she said, pulling him across the yard to a primitive wooden bench that sat next to an old-fashioned hitching post that had probably never seen a horse. “Sit,” she said.
Vincent smiled as she ordered him about, but he did what she asked without comment, which told her how tired he was. When was the last time he’d had blood? He’d fed Jerry and now Salvio, but he’d been drained by that bitch Fidelia Reyes only two days ago and he’d only fed from Lana that once.
“Are you okay?” she asked in a low murmur that was meant for his ears alone. Taking her knife from him, she wiped it on her pants leg, and slipped it back into her pocket. She’d clean it properly later.
“I will be,” Vincent assured her.
“Let me clean that. I have my big kit in the SUV, but . . .” She pulled out the small first-aid kit that she carried with her no matter where she went. Fortunately, she’d thought to restock it after using it on Vincent the other night.
She turned Vincent’s arm into the light of the nearly full moon so she could see the damage better. Her mouth tightened at what she found. It was the same arm that he’d fed Jerry from, the arm that had healed remarkably fast, but still bore the fading scars of Jerry’s feeding. Or rather, it had before Vincent had cut it open again to feed Salvio.
“This has to stop,” she muttered, and Vincent laughed.