Mircea sighed and cupped my face again. He didn't prolong it this time. His fingers gently stroked down my chin to my neck, and I could feel his power calling to me. His caress was delicate, barely a touch at all, but I shivered as a warm surge of pleasure danced through my body, driving away some of the shock I felt at Tomas' actions. My skin tingled and a mist of sparkling, delicious energy rose between us. I suddenly knew whose wards Billy Joe had broken earlier, whose power we had borrowed to fight off the attack at Dante's. This was the same giddy, bubbling, champagne-on-ice sensation I'd felt at the casino, a heady mix of desire and laughter and warmth that was almost instantly addictive. I knew I should be aggravated about the wards he'd put on my power, but no one could have bathed in that feeling and stayed angry. It was simply impossible. It poured over me like sunlight given form, and I laughed in wonder.

Mircea started when our energies mingled, then went very still. I barely noticed. I was happily drowning in a glorious, golden glow. It felt as though he was touching something far more intimate than my neck and, for a second, I actually thought that my robe had disappeared and a warm hand was caressing all the way down my body. I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone dry and a pulse began to throb insistently in tender places. I flashed on a long-ago evening, Mircea and I curled up together on the divan in Tony's study, him stroking my hair as he told me a story. I'd spent more time with him on that visit than Tony had, half of it snuggled in his lap, but I'd never reacted this way. Of course, I'd been eleven. Sitting on his lap now took on a completely new connotation.

Mircea was wearing an odd expression, almost confused, as if he'd never seen me before. He searched my face for a moment, then took my hand and bowed over it. I felt a brief touch of lips, then he released me and stepped back. The whole thing had taken maybe ten seconds, but it left me breathless, flushed and momentarily heartbroken, like the most precious thing in my life had been snatched away. I almost reached for him but managed to stop before I humiliated myself. I sat there, trying to lower my pulse back to something approaching normal, and stared at him.

I'd forgotten how much more personal vamp feedings were than what Billy did. I hadn't thought about that aspect with Mircea, a fact that amazed me now. He had the charisma for which his family was famous, his power was great enough for him to win and hold a Senate seat and there was no denying his masculine beauty. I had, of course, never met Dracula, who died long before I was born, or the unfortunate Radu, but looking at Mircea, I could understand why the family had become legendary. If you met one of them, you weren't likely to forget it, no matter what tricks were used to fog the memory.

I looked up to see Tomas scowling, his eyes moving back and forth between Mircea and me. What was his problem now? It was over. Then I glanced at my reflection and saw that my eyes had lost focus, I was rosy and my lips were half parted. I looked like I'd just had really good sex, which was not far from the truth. I quickly rearranged my face to look less like afterglow.

Pritkin appeared let down, as if he'd have liked to see something that caused pain, not pleasure. "I don't believe you fed. You didn't take blood; you never even broke the skin."

"On the contrary," Mircea adjusted his collar in an almost nervous gesture. "That was a feeding, if a very mild one." He glanced at Tomas as if he was going to say something, then decided against it. He suddenly turned a wolfish smile on Pritkin. "Raphael will demonstrate it for you, if you like."

Rafe had crossed the room and wrapped his fingers around Pritkin's wrist before I could blink. Power surged out from the mage in a panicked wash, and I felt my bracelet shiver against my wrist. "I'm not going to hurt you," Rafe told him, contemptuously. "I won't do anything other than what was done to Cassie. Are you less brave than she?"

Pritkin wasn't hearing him. His expression would have sent me scurrying for cover, but Rafe held his ground. He couldn't do otherwise, having been given a direct order by his master's master. "Let go, vampire, or by the Circle you will regret it!"

Abruptly, Pritkin's elements were all around me. He warded with both earth and water, and they flowed out from him at the same time so that I felt like I was simultaneously being buried and drowned. My bracelet leapt like I'd captured a small wild animal that desperately wanted to get away. I fought to draw a breath and couldn't. I tore at the neck of the robe, but it was no help; it wasn't the material that was threatening to choke me. I gasped for air, but it was like my lungs were solid, heavy lumps in my chest that had forgotten how to breathe. I slowly slid down in the chair, my vision going dark. My only thought was that, in a room full of vampires, it would be my luck to get killed by the only other human.

Chapter 10

A warm hand slipped under my collar to rest lightly on the skin of my collarbone, and a brief tingle ran up my arm. All of a sudden the suffocating sensation let up a little. The air was heavy and hard to breathe, but I could manage it.

"Release him, Raphael," Mircea barked, and I looked up to see that it was his touch that had broken through the mage's power. Rafe immediately complied, wiping his hand on his thigh as if he hadn't enjoyed touching Pritkin any more than vice versa. The mage shook with the effort of reining in his power. It continued to surge, but it was less violent, like waves lapping at the edge of a lake instead of crashing onto the shore.

Mircea nodded at Rafe, who went to the door and gave one of the servants an order. A few seconds later, another of the satyr-weres was brought in. He was a young blond male who, like the others, had reverted to his more nonthreatening form. His fur was a tawny gold color that complemented his hair and the faded denim of his eyes. He was easily six feet tall and as well built as most young satyrs are. If they aren't born that way, they work at it—nothing is worse in their view than being considered unattractive, unless it's impotence. Not that he had any problems either way. The uncertainty of the holding cell had wilted him, but he perked back up immediately at the sight of me. I forgave him; they literally couldn't help themselves.

"Watch and learn, mage." Raphael took out a knife and, with no warning, drew a shallow cut across the satyr's chest. The creature didn't moan, and I wasn't surprised. They weren't usually brave, but they'd never willingly show fear in front of a half-dressed female.

Rafe held his hand about a foot away from the satyr's torso, and slowly, as if pulled by invisible strings, drops of blood began to leap across the air between them to splash against his palm. As soon as they landed, they were absorbed.

"We can do it without the cut, without any wound at all," Mircea said softly. "Anytime, to anyone, anywhere. A brush against you in the subway, a handshake" — his gaze slid down to me—"or more pleasurable things; all will suffice."

I held Mircea's dark eyes and for a second I couldn't breathe again, although this time it was my own body I was fighting rather than someone else's power. No one's eyes should be able to look like that, as if they held the secret to every dream you've ever had, every wish come spectacularly true. The hand he kept on my naked flesh was suddenly stimulating rather than comforting. His expression changed, and I couldn't even begin to name it, but my body interpreted it as erotic. I had to actually clutch at the chair arms to keep from throwing myself into his arms. Damn, this was unexpected.

Mircea stepped away after a moment, and some of the river of heat flowing through me dissipated, but the longing remained. The problem, other than the fact that he might have to kill me on the Consul's orders, was that I couldn't be sure how much of what I was feeling was real, and how much was simply what Mircea wanted me to feel. I thought about that first night with Tomas, and his attempted seduction. I found it hard to believe that he'd been so overcome by lust at the sight of me in my big, cartoon-covered towel that he couldn't help himself. Had Tomas acted on the Senate's orders? Was Mircea doing the same thing now?