Blood Ties Bundle: Blood Ties Book One: The Turning / Blood Ties Book Two: Possession / Blood Ties Book Three: Ashes to Ashes / Blood Ties Book Four: All Souls' Night. Jennifer Armintrout
who’ll want to kill me if I stay here with you.”
“The Movement?” His rich laughter filled the dining room. “They’d like to cage us all and let us die.”
“You don’t think much of them,” I said.
“No. I don’t. I’ve longed for a companion for years, but because of the restrictions in place by the damned Movement, I have been unable to retain any of the fledglings I’ve sired.”
So he didn’t know about his pet and her penchant for offing the competition. I couldn’t believe he would be so dense, but if he was really lonely, perhaps he purposely overlooked her transgressions. Maybe a murderous companion was better than none at all.
Cyrus stood and moved behind me, placing his long fingers on my shoulders. “Fate has put us in a unique situation. Why not come to an arrangement that will be beneficial for both of us? You become the companion I’ve been seeking, and I’ll teach you to use the full extent of your power, power the Movement would deny you.”
“What kind of power?”
He smiled like a used-car salesman. “The power to rule, of course. The power over life and death and the strength to wield it to your advantage.”
A pang of longing washed over me. I’d loved the seemingly God-like powers I’d believed I’d held as a doctor. But that illusion had been ripped apart the night Cyrus had destroyed my perceptions of death and accidentally set me apart from both.
“I thought I had that before. I ended up bleeding to death in the morgue,” I said, shaking my head. “Why should I believe you? I don’t know you that well. You might just kill me again.”
“I might,” he said finally. “I’m not generally regarded as someone to be trusted.”
I looked over the rapidly purpling body on the table. “No kidding?”
He knelt at my side. “Search your heart, Carrie. I have faith you’ll make the right choice.”
Some choice. I could live only if I pledged my allegiance to the Movement, or I could live to be Cyrus’s little wifey. Either way, I was a slave. A prisoner. A prostitute.
“I’ve made my decision. Us meeting, that was an accident. I’m not fated to be your companion, or whatever the heck you’re looking for.”
“Tell me, Doctor, do you follow many of your patients to the morgue?” he asked with a knowing smile. “You followed me. You wanted me.”
“You were dead. That’s not my bag. Sorry.”
He reached out his hands again, but I dodged them.
“If that’s what you believe, I can’t change your mind,” he said, gesturing to the door.
I stood and headed for it, but Cyrus called after me.
“Dahlia is useful. She’s only alive because she amuses me. Not because I love her. And she doesn’t love me.” His voice was quiet and sad.
“I’m sorry if you’re unhappy.” And I was. I could feel his desperation, his hurt, his anger. But I could also feel the cool edge of manipulation. He was confident I would cave in.
He continued, and his sorrow sounded genuine. “I only want to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection, Cyrus. I need time to think.” I walked away. “If I go through that door, will the guards stop me?”
Cyrus shook his head. “Will you return?”
I thought of Nathan and his undying loyalty to the Movement. Would I ever become so indoctrinated to their rhetoric? Was I even susceptible to such brainwashing? “I don’t know. Maybe.”
His sorrow instantly changed to anger. “I’m your sire, Carrie. You belong to me.”
So this was the true nature of his game. He would coerce me into staying.
“I don’t belong to anyone.” The words gave me courage as I spoke them. “I don’t belong to my job, I don’t belong to a man, I don’t belong to the Movement, and I sure as hell don’t belong to you. I have five days left to make a decision. If I choose to return to you, I will. But I’m not stupid, Cyrus. You didn’t make me on purpose. You didn’t make me out of love. You meant to kill me in the morgue. I was an accident. And I don’t owe you anything.”
I walked out the door and didn’t look back.
Seven
June 23, 1924
Cyrus’s word was good. No guards accosted me as I left the house.
My head swam with a tremendous mix of emotions. The rage came from Cyrus. I could still hear his screams of fury and the crash of things breaking inside the house as I crossed the lawn.
My sadness weighed heavy on me as my feet hit the sidewalk. I didn’t know what I’d expected to find in Cyrus. A mentor? A friend? An ally against the shadowy threat of the Movement, which demanded I live for them or not live at all?
What I’d found was another dead end. Cyrus would rule me as surely as the Movement would, and that wasn’t something I could accept. My whole life, I’d been ruled by one thing or another. First, my father, who’d been so busy planning my future career, I’d wondered how he’d found time for his own.
“You’re my job, Carrie. It’s my duty to see you do well in life.”
How disappointed he’d be in me now. But then, I’d been just as bad as him, pushing aside adolescent dreams of romance for study and determination, until medicine consumed my life and any relationship that wasn’t a calculated career move seemed like a waste of time. I’d let so many trivial things get in the way of my own happiness that I couldn’t remember what the things that might have made me happy were anymore.
My body grew numb as I walked back to Nathan’s apartment. I hadn’t left a note, but I’m sure the hastily riffled-through faxes would give him a hint as to where I’d been. Tension coiled like electricity in the air as I crossed the street. The windows of the apartment were dark, but the shop’s easel sign was on the sidewalk. I steeled myself against the unavoidable stench of incense and headed down the stairs to the bookshop.
There was no need for the precaution. The air was clear and no peaceful music soothed me as I entered the room and leaned against the counter. I heard muffled cursing, followed by the distinctive thud of books hitting the floor.
“Need some help?” I called.
Swearing followed a startling bang. Nathan emerged from the shelves, one hand pressed against the top of his head.
“You’re back,” he said flatly, wincing as he ran his fingers through his hair.
“Sorry. I had some stuff I needed to do.” I couldn’t tell him, I decided. If he asked, I wouldn’t lie, but it would be suicide to volunteer the information.
He didn’t say anything. He went behind the shelves again and continued doing whatever I had interrupted.
I followed him. He slammed the books into their places on the shelf and walked past me to the other end of the shop, where he fussed with a display of tarot cards that didn’t look as though it needed rearranging.
“So, are you going to talk to me or what?” I asked quietly as he fanned out an open deck as if they were a row of magazines on a coffee table.
“I’m sorry. I’m being rude. How was your evening? Did you have a nice time with your sire while I rummaged through your burning apartment?” The sarcasm in his voice was like a slap in the face.
My temper rose. “You went to that apartment all by yourself. I didn’t ask you to go. All you wanted was your precious book!”
“This isn’t about the fucking book!” He slammed his fists on the table. A sealed deck of cards bounced