Our stare-off could have lasted seconds or days. I felt spellbound by his eyes, which, from where I stood, resembled dark pools of sin. Part of me wanted to stay and bask in his gaze forever, but the other part—the part in charge of my survival—screamed at me to run.
He broke the connection first, turning to the congregation. A small smile hovered on his lush lips, as if he sensed my discomfort. My breath puffed out, as if the loss of his attention left me deflated.
“Children of Lilith, welcome,” Clovis said. His dark voice washed over the room, but I barely registered the audience. I was too busy trying to regain my composure. My body felt all tingly and my panties were wet. Oh yeah, this guy was definitely going to be trouble.
I shook off the lingering haze, and, embarrassed, went to sit in the back pew. The church was filled near capacity. I was shocked to see mortals mixed in with a smattering of vamps, mancies, and a few faeries. The mortals didn’t seem the least bit nervous, which meant they either didn’t know they shared the room with beings that could suck their life from them as easily as we breathed—or they didn’t care.
The altar behind Clovis was made of black marble and gold. The two-story wall behind the altar was a combination of Byzantine design and Romanesque columns. There was nothing especially menacing about the décor, unless one had an aversion to gaudiness. I supposed if any unsuspecting mortals stumbled in the place they’d assume an eccentric mortal designed it. In fact, I’d seen Christian churches and Jewish temples that made this one look minimalist by comparison. The only thing different here was the lack of Judeo-Christian symbolism. Instead of crucifixes or Stars of David, golden eight-pointed lotuses appeared on both the altar and on the red velvet drapes, which hung on either side of the dais.
Clovis clapped his hands, the sound reverberated through the silent chapel, breaking me from my trancelike state.
“It is time.” He signaled to the brothers of the Order of the Moon, who stood at the side of the altar. Two of the group disappeared behind a curtain.
A chant rose as the audience closed their eyes in spiritual bliss. I wondered what Clovis had promised to bring them here. There didn’t seem to be one specific type. They wore everything from business suits to standard-issue BDSM latex. Of the mortals present, ages ranged from angry teen to midlife-crisis adult. I felt a little lost as the chants grew more intense and the tension in the room rose.
The two males, their hoods covering their faces, led a woman onto the altar. A mortal. Her long blonde hair fell in ropes around pert br**sts, covered by a gossamer white robe. One delicate hand clutched the fabric together, an unusual show of modesty given the way she undulated her hips as she approached Clovis. It was as if her pelvis was trying to get to him first. I would have laughed if I wasn’t so hypnotized by the pageantry of it all.
The chanting stopped abruptly, leaving the sanctuary in silence. Yet the scent of lust—both the sexual and the blood varieties—seemed palpable. Clovis approached the woman and stroked her cheek with his palm. With a flick of his wrist, he untied the thin rope that held her robe together. Her chin came up as her nude body was exposed. No one blinked. It was as if they saw naked chicks on altars every day. The scene made my fangs feel too large for my mouth.
The crowd held its collective breath as Clovis stroked the woman’s long ivory neck. His tongue replaced his finger, causing her to moan in the silent sanctuary. She shivered—in anticipation or fear I didn’t know.
Clovis brought his head up a fraction, just enough to see a flash of fangs. He bit savagely into the tender skin, causing the girl to gasp softly. Her eyes widened and then closed in bliss.
Conflicting feelings warred within me. I felt like both a voyeur and a participant. Even though feeding from humans was as natural to me as breathing, what was happening on the altar felt like a desecration. Perhaps it was the fact Clovis was taking something mortals feared and selling it as religion.
I felt an odd sensation that I couldn’t quite define rising behind my eyes like a tickle. My rarely used conscience springing to life.
It was over quickly. The woman slumped in his arms, out cold. Clovis licked the wound closed with gentle care. The image of his tongue sliding over her skin was erotic as hell. Shaking off the feeling, I stood to leave. I needed a few minutes to compose myself before our meeting. If I saw him in my current aroused state, I was likely to f**k him first and introduce myself later.
While the brothers carried the woman off the altar, I made my way to the aisle. Clovis caught my eye. When he smiled, his fangs were tinged with blood and there was a thin streak of it next to his lush lips. Lifting a hand, he blew me a blood-soaked kiss.
At that moment I knew without a doubt it was a mistake to be there. He was going to consume me just like he had that girl—only he didn’t want my blood. He wanted my soul.
Clovis walked into his office half an hour later with Frank hard on his heels. I stood facing the door with the floor-to-ceiling bookcases at my back, not wanting to be caught off guard.
“Sabina Kane.” His voice drifted over me like a hot wind.
I nodded and took the hand he offered. His palm singed mine with a surge of power. Careful to keep my face expressionless, I absorbed the throb. Any show of weakness at this point would put him at an advantage. Of course, he had the advantage already, considering I was in his office with Frank guarding the door and a legion of goons no doubt standing sentry in the hall.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he continued, finally releasing my hand. “Your reputation precedes you.” He motioned to the chair on the other side of his massive ebony desk.
“Depending on your source it’s either all true or not true at all.”
“I assure you the reports have been positive.”
“Then it’s all true.” I sat in the chair he’d offered with practiced ease.
The corner of his mouth quirked, but the half-smile didn’t reach his eyes. Speaking of his eyes, they were even more intense up close. It was as if he had no irises to speak of, only large black pupils—like twin black holes. I worried if I stared into them too long, I’d be sucked in. I lowered my eyes and crossed my legs.
“I understand you’ve … had a bit of a falling out with the Dominae,” he said, leaning back into his black leather chair.
“Let’s just say we’ve had a difference of opinion.”
An eyebrow quirked. “Oh?”
“They expect me to follow their rules, and I try to break them whenever I can.”