Page 11

Chapter Eleven

The innkeeper’s soul left her last night. He took her body above without a word. When he returned, he dragged me behind a wall to take my blood. He violated me in the way he violates all of us, but afterward he leaves me conscious, my cheek to the cold, wet stones, and lies on his back, satisfied.

“This sacking is not over,” he says. “The commander of the fledglings walks the streets in his white cape. The edge is dipped in blood and he does nothing to stop his men.”

“Bourbon,” I whisper. “Shot.”

“So?” The thing laughs. “What’s a bullet inside a form like mine?” He realizes where I have not made a connection. “He is not like me, but he is born from the same mother.”

That can’t be. This monster must be dreaming. I saw Charles shot off the wall, but now he is walking the streets with that same white cloak?

“How long?”

He ignores me. “We can use this to our advantage. Except for the white-cloaked one, they are many generations from the First Five. They live like animals. They are stupid and controlled by their bloodlust.”

“We.” My voice should have the affect of a question, because there is no we , but my will is drained of curiosity.

He stands and pulls me up to my feet. “We. I will sire you soon so that you have time to adjust to the hunger. The thrall will be broken, but we won’t need it. You will be by my side. We will take Rome for ourselves.” He pauses as he watches my reaction. “You will speak honestly.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I would rather you killed me.”

“You will have your wish.”

“I don’t want to be what you are.”

“You think you have a choice?” He laughs, then drops a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“There are Five, and we Five sired dozens, and the dozens can sire hundreds. But the power dilutes with every generation. The dozens are always more powerful than the hundreds, but never as powerful as the Five. You will be a first generation from the First. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Very few will have the strength you have, but I will always be your Master.” The thing strokes the open wound on my throat with his thumb. It closes and some of my life returns. “Say it.”

The command to speak honestly is closed, and my body obeys. “You are my master.”

“That is what you shall call me. Stand straight, and live to do as I say.”