Page 40 of Their Blood Rite

‘I’ll call you whatever I like.’

‘Then so shall I.’ I try to think of a witty remark. But all that comes out is, ‘You fucking… fuck face.’

‘Such a wickedly forked tongue, Pixie,’ he laughs. ‘Did it take you long to come up with such an eloquent insult?’

Admittedly, not my best.

I look around the room. It’s spacious, very luxurious and elegant but relatively empty. A chest of drawers is in the far corner. Beside it is a full-length mirror. The bathtub they put me in is under a high, floor-to-ceiling window. Black silk drapes hang on either side, letting in the daylight. The floors are dark wood. The walls are painted black. Above us is a grand chandelier decorated with lit candles. This ridiculous four-poster bed with curved wooden posts stretching up to the ceiling and the chair Shaw is sitting on are the only other pieces of furniture.

Behind him is a door.

It’s wide open.

He’s too busy looking at his fingernails, seemingly bored, to notice me staring at it.

‘Go on then,’ he says. ‘Ask your questions.’

‘Where am I?’ I ask, my eyes taking in every detail of my surroundings.

Open door. Closed window. Nothing I can use as a weapon. And between that door and me… a vampire warlord who made his fortune killing my kind.

‘Our home. The fourth floor, in case you were wondering. So I wouldn’t recommend leaping from the window if I were you. We patched up those cuts. We won’t be able to patch up your mangled and splattered body from a drop that high, though.’

I look under the sheet and see the cuts have all healed. All that remains are thin pink lines etched into my flesh.

‘That dust from your hand. What was that?’

‘What dust?’ he shrugs, smirking like an arsehole.

Guess that’s a question he’s not going to answer.

‘How long was I out?’

‘Two days.’

‘Not possible. How? These cuts should be fresh.’

‘We have our ways.’

He’s not going to answer. I tighten the sheet around my body.

‘I need clothes.’

‘We have some stuff for you in your drawers.’

‘Mydrawers?’

He nods to the chest and then gestures to the room. ‘This is your bedroom.’

‘Mybedroom?’ I repeat.

‘You a fucking parrot? Yes. This isyourbedroom.Yourspace.Yourbed.’

‘Did you fuck me when I was unconscious?’

‘No.’

‘Are you going to fuck me?’

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