Page 56 of Nyte

Haven himself had been a product of that artificial method.

“How do you decide the purpose of the fetuses after they’re born? Surely if you use them all for veal, we’ll run short on our much-needed blood supply,” asked Mirae Varney from where she stood near the front of the pack.

Thorne chuckled. “An excellent question, Lady Varney. Yes, as you can imagine, some stock is more profitable than others. Selective breeding can provide us with prettier pets and more delicious cattle. Thicker skins to protect ourselves from the sunlight. Often, the fetuses will take the lot of life they have been given. But that is not always the case. Take my precious Haven here, for example.”

Haven cringed as all eyes turned to him, singling him out in the brightly lit space.

“Sweet Haven. Born as cattle, destined to become veal. But look at him now. It wasn’t the vampyres who hurt him. It was the humans who claimed to save him from captivity. They raped him and hurt him, so jealous of his beauty and his sweet-tasting blood. Isn’t that right, my love?”

Haven swallowed, nodding because it was what his master wanted of him.

“Humans are cruel,” Thorne persisted. “We must remember that. We do them a service by culling them, keeping them contained. The world before the Dominion was unkind. It warred unnecessarily, tortured the sick and innocent. We’ve created a world that is free of war and hate. Should the humans be released and allowed to walk freely again, the world would go back to the way it was before. We can’t have that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Haven saw Gaius bristle as Thorne moved close and slipped a hand around Haven’s waist. “The cull is the cure. For cruelty, for war, for injustice. And the cull keeps us fed and our pockets fat, doesn’t it?”

The crowd of vampyres tittered with nervous excitement as another wave of humans were led into the processing floor. One of them, a young man, twitched with anxiety, trembling from head to toe.

“No, please. No, please!” He struggled against the hands that shoved him forward. “Stop! Please! I’ll do anything! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!”

“Another dose of Ambrosia, perhaps?” Thorne growled testily at the vampyre who held the squirming human in his grasp.

“Yes, Lord Bathory.” He plunged a needle into the cattle’s neck, sweeping him into immediate submission. As the cattle went docile and his eyes glazed over, the vampyre urged him forward, and he went willingly toward his doom.

“We’re not so inhumane as that, are we?” Thorne addressed the vampyre, a stern crease set in his forehead. “Assure me this won’t happen again.”

“No, my Lord. It won’t.”

“Good then.” Thorne’s smile returned. “Let’s be on our way. I know the Dominion has much to discuss.”

The Dominion’s meeting chambers were inside a wide and decadent town hall building, all stone and ivy, with turrets that scraped the sky. The vampyres seated themselves around a sprawling, circular table, one meant to allow all in attendance equal footing and attention. If there was a head of the table, Thorne settled himself at it, patting the chair beside him for Haven to fall into place. Sirene stood behind him like a guard dog, slipping into the shadows but ever-present.

Gaius sat opposite Thorne and Haven, his eyes narrowed and severe. At his side sat Druitt De Rais and his sister Dahlia, returned from wherever she’d been.

As the members of the Dominion made themselves comfortable, Thorne smiled and turned to address them. “New Avalon is beyond pleased to host this meeting of the Dominion. I hope my fellows have enjoyed our accommodations.”

Haven blanched, remembering hands and claws and teeth. Pain and humiliation. Eyes drank him in. Tongues caressed lips in hunger as the vampyres turned their sights to him, clearly sharing his memories, but in a much different light.

Thorne continued. “We commence today’s proceedings with joyous and thankful hearts. I’ll cede the floor to our leader to address this audience’s questions and concerns.”

Thorne sat and a nervous titter ran through the crowd. After a moment, the lithe, dark-headed form of Reyber Tepes rose from his seat, drawing all eyes. His thick brow was set, his handsome face pinched. As the leader of the Dominion, Reyber was well-respected and revered, his line stretching back to one of the first vampyres in existence. When he spoke, the council listened. As he folded his arms in front of his massive chest, Haven felt a constriction in his own.

“We must discuss the Veritas,” Reyber said, his tone clipped. All around the room, bristling and muttered words of discontent rose up.

Thorne leaned in, a smile crooking his lips. “What about them?”

“They grow bold. Just last week, they invaded Transtonia and took several vampyre nobles captive.”

“How did that happen?” Thorne raised a brow, drawing a speculative hand to his cheek. “Surely your forces are strong enough to overcome a band of humans?”

“They were well-armed. And they possessed strength no humans should have been capable of. I’ve only seen it once before in my lifetime—General Karnstein has confirmed it. They’ve been drinking vampyre blood.” He nodded to Elexus Karnstein, who bobbed his head in affirmation, his thick red beard swaying with his movement.

“Turning the tables on us, are they?” Thorne chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You think this is a joke, Bathory?” Karnstein barked, sitting forward. “I’ve fought them myself. How many Veritas warriors have you gone up against?”

“Only the one Lady Varney gifted me with.” Thorne’s lips curled into a sneer as the rest of the Dominion stiffened in their seats. “I was told she procured him from you, in fact.”

Karnstein bristled. “You’re talking about the slayer?”

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