Page 13 of Blood Bond

ChapterEight

It doesn't take Killian long to return with the body. He carries the lifeless male over his shoulder like a discarded ragdoll as he pushes the door open and steps back in. The couple must have perished in the midst of passion and feeding. The man is dressed in nothing but cuffs around his wrists and a collar at his neck, pretending to be a blood slave. Little did they know the harsh reality of it.

His back is smeared with blood and a dark, glistening bruise. He's been stabbed, perhaps with stakes, but he isn't a vampire. He's human—a man who worked for Seth—and a vampire who paid for his services.

"Payton, please go and stand next to Naneve," Seth instructs.

I comply, keeping my gaze locked on Layla the entire time. She scratches frantically inside the glass box, trying to reach me. Her claws scrape against the glass, her mouth opening and closing as if trying to speak. A pang of guilt wells up inside me.

I'm sorry, Layla.

I never meant for any of this to happen. I was so naive and fell for Donovan’s tricks, plunging us all into this situation. If I could just go back and change it … I hope one day I can tell her and explain what happened. I hope one day I can ask her to forgive me. Maybe I can ask them all.

I draw in a shuddering breath. Layla’s cognition has deteriorated so much, she doesn’t seem to understand Seth is using me to distract her while he opens the door. I do, though, and it creates a tightness in my chest, and an urge to watch him, to warn him because I can feel her hunger. It pools inside me.

She’s so focused, she doesn't even react when he taps the panel to release the lock. He steps inside. That does get her attention, though her reaction is limited to a low, resentful snarl over her shoulder. Seth nods to Killian through the glass for him to bring in the male.

Without turning his back on Layla, Seth accepts the body, cradling it in his arms. The man’s head lolls back, his arm dangling limply at his side. His eyes remain open, his mouth agape. I wonder if it’s a look of shock frozen on his face or the ecstasy from having fed a vampire. Feeding a vampire creates pleasure, orgasms, and sensations that we’ve never experienced before. It’s why some humans become addicted to them. There’s also the adrenaline-fuelled euphoria they can invoke. Humans are slaves in every sense to their whims, and Seth is the strangest master I’ve ever served. He has many, yet takes very little.

"Layla," Seth coaxes. "Little darling, come here."

Her snarling intensifies, and she scrunches her nose, resisting the urge to obey. "Layla ..." His voice takes on a mesmerising quality that all vampires possess. It's not just the words they say, but the vibrations in the air, the way they manipulate our brains. It’s like a song they sing, a lullaby. Seth is the pied piper, and Layla is the mouse. But she’s putting up a fight, desperately scraping at the glass and focusing on me.

Seth places the body in the centre of the room, rolling it onto its front. He doesn’t move away but remains crouched, his eyes locked on her. I’ve been around vampires long enough to recognise when they’re controlling humans or other vampires. Vampires can't fully control each other, except for masters and their creations. But Seth is a King, and maybe that affords him more power over others than any typical vampire.

Layla ceases her desperate attempts to break through the glass and lowers herself to the floor.

She lunges at the corpse in a frenzy of predatory hunger, her features distorting into a ravenous visage. She doesn’t waste a moment before sinking her teeth into it. Her eyes become feral orbs, blazing with insatiable hunger. A river of red runs down her chin as she feasts, staining her pallid skin.

Seth takes a step back, still within the confines of the box, but he watches her as she bares elongated, sharpened fangs that tear into the lifeless flesh with savage determination.

I avert my gaze. It feels cowardly, as if I'm avoiding confronting something I should face, but I can't help it. If I could, I'd cover my ears, escape to another room, and not bear witness to this macabre feeding. I know the man is already dead, and it shouldn't matter, but it does. He had a life, a family, and so much more.

I try to look as Seth calls Layla's name again, his voice gentle yet controlling. Layla has calmed now, her face smeared in blood, her lips glisten with it. Seth's soothing voice seems to be having an effect.

"Layla, come to me," he says once more.

With only a slight hesitation, she goes to his arms, fully under his control.

Her transformation from frenzied monster to a subdued figure in Seth's arms is striking. Her eyes, once wild with hunger, now seem distant and unfocused. I guess that’s good.

She's like a baby after a hearty feeding, her gaze almost rolling back into her head. My mind inexplicably recalls what my mother used to call a "milk coma." It’s a strange association, but it somehow fits this surreal moment.

In Seth’s hold, Layla resembles a life-sized doll, a floppy, compliant creation. He gently wipes the blood from her face and brushes back her dishevelled hair. His whispered words to her are too soft and quiet for me to discern.

Moving with the grace of a practised caregiver, Seth transports Layla to a nearby bed inside the box. He positions her between his legs, her back nestled against his chest. One of his arms encircles her protectively, holding her close. Her head rests against his shoulder, her eyes and mouth partially open.

With deliberate care, Seth extends his wrist and sinks his teeth into his own skin. Blood begins to ooze out, forming ruby red droplets. He positions his wrist over her mouth, waiting patiently. She stirs, clearly fatigued from her feeding, but gradually, she raises her hands and gently holds his wrist in place.

This time, her actions are tender and delicate. She’s learned to savour the substance provided. Maybe that means there is hope, that he can bring her back. She suckles at his wrist with a gentleness that contrasts starkly with her earlier feeding.

The room is silent, save for her suckling sounds, as we all watch with a mix of concern and anticipation. Naneve is ready with her blade.

Killian moves around the room, and I’m not entirely sure what he's doing. But none of us pay him much attention, not even Tasha. We're all engrossed in watching, which is why when he speaks, it makes me jump.

He has the curtains to the balcony open, and one of the doors, too. He's peering outside. “Sire,” he says, addressing Seth with his usual formality.

Seth’s own fangs are fully extended now, piercing his lower lip, and his eyes seem to glow, but he meets Killian's gaze. “What is it?”

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