of this?” I asked. “Why isn’t the collar enough protection? Can’t you just use your vampire telepathy to put out the word—”
“Vampire… telepathy?” Lord Delancaster said, puzzled.
“You can’t fool me,” I said. “She summoned you without ever leaving her chair.”
“I called him from the bedroom,” Doug said. “He has a cell phone.”
“To answer your question, my Lady Frost,” Lord Delancaster said, “While many of us in the vampire community desire to be a part of the normal human world, others do not. When you asked for our protection, you called on much older rituals. In the olden days, if you had asked for our protection, I would have drunk your blood, tasted your flesh and bathed in your aura, and then, if you were attacked, even if the body were well hidden, I and the other close members of my court could sense your blood in his veins and scent out whether he’d despoiled you.”
“So drink my blood and you’re a walking vampire crime lab,” I said. “Neat. Let’s call CBS and see if they’re interested in doing CSI: Vampire Atlanta.”
“I like that,” Lord Delancaster said. “That’s more appropriate than you know. With the finger stick, I no longer need to drink your blood, and with modern rape kits, we were already considering phasing out the tasting part of the ritual. But there was another purpose to the tasting; the fluids your body produces are charged with your life force and transmit the essence of your aura. A drop of blood from a wound won’t do it. If I cannot bite you or taste you, I will still need to feel your aura.”
“What’s that going to involve?” I asked, trying to keep contact with his tiger eyes and glancing away, nervous. Savannah came out from behind the wetbar with a small medical kit. She sat herself down on a barstool and patted for me to join her. As I did so, Lord Delancaster came to stand behind me, placing his hands gently on my shoulders. I looked sideways at them, swallowing: his fingernails were long and sharp, like claws.
Savannah pulled out a small orange piece of plastic and grabbed my hand. Actually she didn’t grab it, she just took it gently. But her grip was like steel, completely unyielding, and I bucked uselessly. “Hey, wait—”
“I don’t want to lick a slide,” Delancaster said.
“Doug, fetch us a spoon,” Savannah said, matter-of-fact, holding the orange thing over my finger and preparing to jab. I tried to twist away, but her grip tightened. “Hold still.”
“You’re hurting me,” I said. “And not the right, it’s my tattooing hand.”
“My Lady Savannah,” Lord Delancaster breathed, voice so close to my ear that I felt my heart flutter. “Be nice.”
Savannah glared at me, then her eyes flicked aside to Lord Delancaster. Finally she let go my hand. “I’m sorry. But if you want our protection we do need to do this.”
Lord Delancaster’s breath was warm and alive in my ear, and I could feel his power prickling over my skin. “O-okay,” I said, holding out my left hand.
Savannah took it, pricked my forefinger quickly, and squeezed slightly. A dark, red drop of blood welled up, and her lips parted with a small sigh like a little orgasm. Mesmerized, she took the spoon from Doug like a sleepwalker, squeezing my finger gently to release the flow of blood. She looked up at me, squirming on the seat, eyes filled with as much lust for my blood as she had ever had for my naked body—and then Lord Delancaster’s lips brushed my throat.
“I will not break the skin,” he said, breath spreading across my neck, deep voice thrilling through me down to my very toes. “I promise.”
“O-okay,” I repeated dreamily, leaning back against his hard body, slipping my thumb into the buckle of my belt, letting my fingers play over the buttons of my pants as Savannah drained more blood into the spoon. Now I wished I had taken her up on her offer to strip; this was so intimate, so erotic that all my clothing, my armor seemed… inappropriate.
His lips parted, and I felt the side of his fangs pressed against my jugular, just above the collar. My blood pounded in my ears, thrummed though my neck, and I felt a warm, distant drumbeat echoing across the magical ink woven through my tattoos—Lord Delancaster’s heart. The drumbeat grew louder and louder, and I squirmed on the seat, sinking back against him, curling my toes. A new drumbeat joined