“No definite ideas.”

  “Well, how about giving me an indefinite one if you think you know something?”

  Anyone unfamiliar with their past would find Sextus impertinent, but their relationship extended far beyond that of master and servant. It had endured long past any mortal’s comprehension. Cyprian’s mouth twitched downward. He had suspicions about this beaten woman in slave garb who had the delicate beauty and well-fed look of a lady of leisure. Of course, he knew from experience how many beautiful slaves filled the wealthy households of Rome, but it was simply a feeling that told him to use caution. Such feelings had kept him alive for centuries, while others of his kind succumbed to death by mortal hands.

  “Do you intend to leave her?” Sextus asked. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Cyprian had committed a cold act, yet when he did he invariably had a good reason.

  Then use your reason, he told himself. Stop looking at her pretty face and those luscious, magnificent, potentially deadly curves.

  “If we leave her here she’ll most likely die,” Sextus said. “Either from those wounds or from exposure or from someone running over her in the middle of the road. So if you intend to leave her to such a fate, at least let me have a taste—”

  “Stop.” Cyprian raised his eyes to the heavens, and then he shook his head. “Pitiful excuse for a blood-drinker that you are. Can’t you tell her injuries aren’t remotely life threatening? It’s warm enough out here for her to survive, and who else but you or me would be traveling this road at this time of night?”

  “Apparently someone was. How else did she get here?”

  With a low growl, Cyprian tugged the woman into his arms and stood. He carried her to Sextus’s horse and placed her over the saddle.

  “Why does she get my horse?”

  Curling his lip, Cyprian glanced at Sextus over his shoulder. “The question should be, why do I keep you around? Guide the horse. When we arrive home, bring warm water and bandages to my cubiculum.”

  “Ah.” Sextus smiled, revealing the tips of his tiny fangs. “That’s more like the Cyprian I know. Bring her right to bed.”

  “It’s usually a good place to begin getting the truth out of a woman.”

  “I know several husbands and lovers who might not agree with you.”

  “That’s because they’re stupid.”

  Cyprian mounted his horse and kicked it toward his villa. Yes, women spoke lies in the bedroom, but their bodies and expressions were quite another matter. Gaze into a female’s eyes just before her moment of crisis and a man could see through to her very soul.

  Of course, Cyprian was more gifted than most when it came to sensing lies in both men and women. As a rule, blood-drinkers possessed keen mind control, but even among his own kind Cyprian was known as a master of thoughts. He sifted through thoughts like grains of sand on a beach, easily pulling out perfectly shaped shells and either handling them with the utmost delicacy or crushing them to powder. Mortals and immortals, women in particular, found him almost impossible to resist. Even in his mortal life, his mind powers had cried out to the blood-drinker who had changed him, allowing him the means to grow beyond his unfortunate beginnings.

  Approaching his spacious villa, he couldn’t help smiling when he thought what an unbelievable existence he now had. It was quite a change from when he’d been nothing more than the bastard son of an Etruscan soldier and a Roman farm girl. Over the centuries, many had tried to take this powerful life from him. Jealous blood-drinkers. Mortal hunters. Many of the latter he’d easily lured into his world. Some still remained loyally in his service. They had learned that he wasn’t the monster they thought him to be. The ones who refused to cooperate, however, had met the beast they feared. He’d crushed them without a blink and would continue to do so for eternity if necessary.

  At the villa, a boy slave took their horses. While Sextus went to carry out his master’s orders, Cyprian carried the still unconscious woman to his cubiculum and placed her on the bed.

  He could have taken her elsewhere and summoned a female slave to look after her, but his curiosity got the better of him, as did that uneasy feeling he could not ignore. He peeled off her soaked garment, careful not to touch her intimately, no matter how strong his desire.

  Regardless of who she was or what her motives, she was still unconscious. Rape in any form had never appealed to Cyprian. Though his carnal tastes ran toward the rough, he liked his partners wet, willing, and begging for his cock and fangs.

  Moments later Sextus arrived with warm water, cloths, herbal ointment, and bandages. Cyprian dipped a cloth into the water and began cleaning blood from her face.

  She jerked awake, her heartbeat quickening, and stared at him with large blue eyes.

  “Who are you? Where am I?” she demanded.

  “We’re asking the questions here,” Sextus said. “Since it was my master’s land you chose to collapse upon.”

  “I didn’t choose anything,” the woman snapped, glancing from Sextus to Cyprian. Suddenly aware of her nudity, she reached for the blankets, though she didn’t appear nearly as embarrassed as he would have expected. That told him quite a lot. “My former master is a cruel man. He no longer wanted me, so he had me beaten and tossed into the road. I walked for as long as I could. Then I must have lost consciousness.”

  Cyprian said nothing, merely continued staring at her, sensing the lies that fell so easily from her pretty lips.

  “Most likely a runaway,” Sextus said. “We should throw her back on the street where we found her. Or try to find her master.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Silence, woman. Isn’t it enough that my master soils his hands tending a slave like yourself without insulting him further with your sharp tongue?”

  Cyprian raised his hand to silence his servant, but he kept his gaze fixed on the woman and said, “Leave us, Sextus. Tell Flavia to bring food and wine. And a spare tunic.”

  He could just about feel Sextus bristling with annoyance before he left them alone.

  “Now,” Cyprian continued, again moistening the cloth in water, “you will tell me more about your unfortunate circumstances.”

  Leotine’s heart pounded as she stared at Cyprian Augustus, so enraptured by his catlike green eyes and voice as deep and rich as the finest wine that she nearly forgot she’d been sent to kill him.

  It had been her idea to come to him under this guise. As with all her assignments, she had carefully studied her victim. Though Cyprian had at first seemed to harbor no weaknesses, Leotine had eventually found one. Women. Plump, innocent-looking women in particular. Fortunately Leotine possessed both attributes.

  Not to say that Cyprian was a fool for such women. The man hadn’t a foolish bone in his body. He simply lusted after them. Lust could lead to love. Love to trust and trust to death. Convince him of her love and loyalty and he would be hers.

  The first step was to seem as vulnerable as possible. What better way than to appear as a beaten woman on the side of the road? Julius had agreed to her plan and assisted her in the preparations—far too willingly for Leotine’s taste. The filthy swine had actually seemed to enjoy beating her. He had taken her by surprise with his ferocity. Furious, she’d struck back only to be knocked unconscious by one of his slaves.

  For the first time, she began to wonder whether her duty was worth the sacrifices she made.

  Cyprian placed a hand to her cheek and washed blood from her face. She tried to turn away, but he held her gently yet firmly as he blotted her lips.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked softly. “I told you I’m a slave.”

  “At the moment you’re my guest,” he said in those low yet incredibly masculine tones that sent an unfamiliar feeling of warmth through her entire body.

  She had looked at paintings of him made by members of her faction who had seen him. Once or twice she had even seen him from a distance when he traveled to the city. She had been careful not to move close enough for him to bother focusing on her by sight or scent. It had been important for them to meet according to her plan. Though she had heard rumors about his stunning good looks, she hadn’t expected him to be like this.

  His face, with its chiseled bone structure and green eyes that seemed to remain in an alluring half-closed position, like a man thoroughly engaged in making love, nearly stole her breath. He was taller than most men too, with a lean yet muscular build apparent even beneath his tunic.

  In all her years of tracking and killing blood-drinkers, she had never been attracted to one. Until now.

  “Who was your master?” he asked.

  “Julius Titus,” she replied.

  “And your name?”

  “Leotine.”

  Cyprian nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. She studied him carefully as he continued cleaning her face. Then he moved to her arm. He washed and bandaged it. His warm, tender touch lulled her and she found herself wondering how a man like this had earned such a horrible reputation.

  She mentally scolded herself. This false charm was how he had managed to survive, luring men and women into his deadly embrace.

  “Shouldn’t a slave be doing this?” she asked, keeping her voice soft and innocent.

  He had moved to the end of the bed and raised the blanket. Taking her leg in one hand, he used his other to clean a cut on her thigh.

  Leotine drew a sharp breath, her pulse racing. His hands on her leg felt shockingly good and she found herself wondering how it would feel if he touched her not to heal, but to please.

  She imagined those large yet slender hands stroking her calves. Her breathing deepened when she thought about how his lips would feel kissing her inner thighs or his tongue tracing the shape of her knee.

  Beneath the blanket her nipples stiffened, provoking thoughts of Cyprian Augustus drawing one of the plump buds into his mouth and sucking. A quiver of passion rippled through her and the delicate flesh between her legs ached with need.

  Cyprian’s gaze met hers and his lips curved upward in the slightest smile. His finely shaped nostrils flared a bit, most likely detecting the aroma of her lust. No man or animal could differentiate between scents like a blood-drinker. A hint of fear combined with embarrassment took her by surprise.

  Not only was she accustomed to doing whatever necessary to fulfill her duty to We Who Serve Humanity, but she should be pleased that he sensed her passion. After all, seducing him was her first step toward destroying him.

  A female slave arrived with the food, wine, and clothing Cyprian had ordered. She placed the items on a stool and left.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  Leotine nodded. She was actually quite hungry. And thirsty. Her body ached from Julius’s beating. The strange feelings this man evoked confused her in a way she couldn’t think about. Not if she intended to kill him.

  A hunter’s first rule of survival was not to feel for the prey. Hesitate for a moment and the battle was lost.

  He finished tending her injuries, and then he offered her the tunic.

  “Clothe yourself,” he commanded. “Then eat, drink, and sleep. We’ll talk more after you’ve rested.”

  Leotine nodded. “Thank you. I—I don’t even know your name.”

  Another smile flirted with his sensual lips before he said, “Cyprian Augustus.”

  “Thank you, master.” She bowed her head. “You have been most kind. Most—”

  He turned and left while she was still talking.

  * * *

  Sextus awaited Cyprian outside the door. The servant began to speak, but Cyprian raised a hand to silence him.

  They walked to the atrium where Sextus said in just above a whisper, “I don’t like her and I don’t like how you’re acting. We have no idea who this woman is. It’s not time to indulge in one of your lewd affairs—”

  “She’s hunting me,” Cyprian said.

  Sextus paused, his eyes wide.

  “If she is, then why bother healing her? Kill her now and be done with it.”

  Sighing, Cyprian folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve never learned the art of subtlety.”

  “And you pride yourself in cheating death. Even our kind can die you know. Why must you always try to convert these stake-driving pigs? Is it arrogance? Pride? I know you too well to think it’s mercy.”

  He shrugged. “Call it a hobby.”

  “Then take up something less dangerous, like fighting lions in the coliseum.”

  Cyprian chuckled.

  “I’m serious, Cyprian. Why not confront this woman now?”

  “Because I want to see how far she’ll go with this act.”

  “She’ll go far enough to drive a stake through your heart, if you let her.”

  “You think so?” Cyprian walked to the pool just below the hole in the center of the atrium ceiling. He watched raindrops pelt the water while his thoughts drifted to Leotine. Not only was she beautiful, but in spite of her soft, feminine appearance he saw strength in her eyes. The woman was made of steel and he liked that. She was willing to suffer for her beliefs. Unfortunately she believed in the wrong things. Like most hunters, she thought all blood-drinkers should die for the crimes of a few. If he could make her understand her folly, help her see the truth, a woman like Leotine would make an incomparable ally, perhaps even a worthy companion.

  “Cyprian, please.” Sextus approached and grasped his arm tightly. Their gazes locked, genuine worry gleaming in his friend’s eyes. “Don’t do this. One of these days your luck will run out.”

  “It’s not luck that has saved me all these years. It’s skill. Now excuse me, Sextus. I have a seduction to plan.”

  * * *

  When Leotine awoke, she heard nothing except the wind rushing through the trees outside and the sound of her own breathing, but she sensed she was not alone. Her body tense and ready to fend off a potential attack, she strained to see in the darkness. Unarmed, she had little chance of surviving against Cyprian or one of his kind, yet she had been trained practically since birth to fight them to the death.

  “Good evening, Leotine.” Cyprian’s hushed voice, so deep and delicious, made her feel as if she were sinking into a warm pool of lust.

  She turned toward the sound of his voice only to be surprised when a dim light shone through the door across the room. She hadn’t heard him move. His tall silhouette passed into the hallway and he returned carrying a lantern. Light from the flames danced on his face. His old-fashioned toga left his chest half bare. Such a garment hadn’t been in fashion for years in Rome, yet in it Cyprian looked handsome beyond words. The way the material draped his broad shoulder and left his powerful arms exposed sent her pulse racing out of control. A mat of dark hair covered his wide chest. The urge to run her fingers over it almost overcame her.

  As if sensing her desire, he approached, placed the lantern on a stool, and sat on the edge of the bed. A pleasant, herbal scent clung to him. His catlike eyes fixed on hers, the lantern light flickering in their green depths.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “Yes. Thank you. I…what do you plan to do with me?”

  He looked thoughtful. Then he ever so gently brushed the back of her hand with his fingertips. Instinctively she drew away, though at the same time she longed for him to keep touching her. By the gods, she wanted more than his mere touch. She wanted him to take her. She wanted that sleek, masculine body on top of her and his cock to fill her while she clung to him in mindless ecstasy.

  What was wrong with her? She’d never felt this way about anyone. A harsh life of training to kill demons had taught her that lovemaking wasn’t something to be savored, but a weapon used to serve her faction. Those who carried the secrets of We Who Serve Humanity weren’t allowed a normal life of marriage, lovers, and children who could grow up untainted by the duty of their forefathers.

  It seemed Cyprian Augustus was more powerful than she’d realized. Somehow he had infiltrated her thoughts, though Leotine was one of the few mortals with a firm grasp of mind control.

  “Please,” she continued, thrusting aside her carnal fantasies and steeling herself to continue the charade until his beautiful, demonic eyes closed forever. “What will you do with me?”

  “That depends on you. You may go or you may stay.”

  “As a slave?”

  “As a very personal slave.”

  Leotine’s mouth went dry and her heart fluttered. Other than her annoying lust for him, this was going well. Too well. Was this some sort of trap? Though he seemed kind, historical records of his life said otherwise. He was cunning, this blood-drinker, so she must remain cautious.

  “Personal?” she asked, keeping her expression guileless. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I think you do.” He ran his hand up her arm, his fingertips stroking in a feather-light but oh-so-stimulating manner. His fingers curved around her elbow and his thumb traced tender circles over her inner arm, his touch soothing yet arousing. Little ripples of pleasure darted through her. “Still, let me explain. I have slaves who run my stables, Leotine. Slaves who cook and wash and tend the gardens. I have slaves who make wine and others who do the marketing. Then I have slaves who see to my more important needs.”

  “What could be more important than…” Her voice faded as he leaned closer until his lips almost touched hers. Those bewitching eyes blinked slowly, seductively. She felt the heat of his body. All she had to do was raise her hand the slightest bit to touch him.

  “There are. Believe me.”

  “I would think a man like you wouldn’t need slaves to fulfill such duties. You could have a wife, lovers.”

  “Hassles. You will find me to be a generous master, Leotine.”

  “If I refuse, what will you do? Beat me as my last master did? Perhaps return me to him so he can finish what he started?”

  “Courageous words from a woman in your position.”

  Leotine lowered her gaze, concentrating on keeping her breathing slow and steady. It had been stupid to bait him in any way. She was supposed to play the part of a meek, abused slave faced with scratching out a living on the streets of Rome.

 

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