Menessos waited before saying, “Perhaps. If I am…satisfied…when I leave.” The predator in him observed me for a long time; I could feel his gaze on me as surely as I felt the high temperature of the fire before me. “You know, if the whelp hadn’t confessed to betraying you, I would have killed you once the stake was destroyed.”

“Are you saying that now you won’t?” I twisted to look at him. I caught a glimpse of my bat and the 40 Winks bottle still in the corner.

He checked his fingers as if inspecting the state of his manicure. “Yes. You thought all was as it should be.”

Though he said words I wanted to hear, I couldn’t trust him and be relieved. I turned back to the hearth. Would the water make him sleep? He was very powerful; probably not. “What about Johnny? And Nana and Beverley?”

“Your spirited grandmother and the girl will be returned to you. They are as yet unharmed, though their individual fear limits may have been exposed.”

“What does that mean?”

“They are not physically harmed, Persephone, but I cannot account for their ability to mentally deal with being held hostage.”

I waited until it was clear that he did not intend to say more. “What about Johnny?” I pressed, letting him know with my tone that I was irritated that he kept avoiding this answer.

“As for the whelp—”

“Cool it with the dog references already. His name is Johnny.”

Menessos laughed out loud. I didn’t see anything funny about the comment. He sat forward, rubbing his slender fingers together. “Persephone, you’re an interesting woman, and because of that I will allow you a measure of patience. I believe laypeople would call it a ‘learning curve.’ But that measure will evaporate swiftly if you do not address me with more respect.”

He was a liar and a murderer. He’d probably kill every one of us. I had nothing to lose. “You’re not a guest here. You can deal with the sarcasm.”

“I don’t believe you fully comprehend the situation.”

That sounded like a threat, so I stood up and faced him. “Sure I do. My house, my rules.” My arms crossed, and I threw my hip out in a perfect attitude-alert pose. “Anybody who commits breaking and entering, puts a dead man’s head in my refrigerator, and kidnaps my family can kiss my ass if they don’t like the words I use.”

“I would be ever so delighted to do exactly that.”

My face flushed crimson, but I mimicked him as I said, “I don’t believe you fully comprehend the point of flirting, because this is no time for it.” I considered going for the bat and bottle and finding out whether they would work, but—

He stood in a lithe, liquid motion and sauntered forward. “I assure you, Persephone, I understand perfectly the art of seduction.” He spoke my name like it was a cherry atop a hot fudge sundae, a single bite with sweet and potent flavor. “You are eligible to receive the benefit of my experience, now that you have become my servant.”

“Eligible” made me uneasy in an awkward, high-school kind of way. But “servant” was one of those “stand-up-and-take-notice” words. Preceded by “my,” it demanded attention. I sidestepped out of reach. “What did you just say?”

He sighed. “Do you not know?”

“I am not your servant.”

“My mark is upon you…within you. Your words of denial can change nothing.” He eased a step closer.

“What am I, then? Just a servant to use? A one-mark beholder?” I put my hand up, palm out. “And don’t take that as a request for a second stain. I don’t want the ‘honor’ of being an offerling.”

“Interesting. You seem to know nothing about vampires, and then you show that you understand unexpected things. Beholders are not so lovely as you.” He eased another step closer.

I retreated a step. “Stay away from me!”

In a flash, his vise-like hands held me. “Yet offerlings are not so difficult!” I struggled, though I knew escape was hopeless. When I realized he was not squeezing tighter, not fighting back, not moving at all, simply restraining—no, he was just holding me—I stopped. In my ear he whispered, “Bliss does not have to be a difficult thing to find, Persephone.”

“I don’t want your damned stain upon me. I never wanted it.”

He thrust me back, incredulous. “You asked for it!”

“The hell I did!”

“You asked for a guarantee!”

My mind raced, trying to fathom what that meant. “What part of ‘I want a guarantee’ means ‘I want to bear your everlasting stain’?”

Matter-of-factly, he replied, “My mark is the only means by which I could guarantee the safety you requested.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “At the time, I did not know you were so ignorant of our ways.”

“Liar! You just said a minute ago that you were surprised at how much I know!”

“All your arguments are pointless. My blood now marks your home and you. It tells every vampire who might happen past that I have laid claim to this place and nothing can be done against you without my consent. To ignore this is to cross me, and all who cross me know great torment before they cease to exist.”

“I wanted protection from you!” I growled, irritated that my words still didn’t convey what I meant. “Protection from the threat that you personally are to me.” Miserably, I added, “Besides, I don’t think I need protection from any other vampires.”

“There are many eager for a place in the echelons of the vampire hierarchy. Many have been rejected. There are a few who appraise my every step in pursuit of some means to avenge their wounded pride. Had I come here and neither ruined your domicile nor laid claim to it, someone would have taken an interest in seeing what was here that had briefly held my interest, and then labored at discovering how it could be exploited. Would you care to know how many of my casual acquaintances have expired within a fortnight of a meeting with me?”

“No.” I sat before the fire, rubbing my arms. Turning my back to him may have been unwise, but I didn’t care—I wanted to feel warm. The quarter-logs were blazing earnestly, and the heat felt good, but it couldn’t reach the chill set into my bones. By association I knew wærewolves well enough to write a column about them. But vampires—the filthy, rotten things—the less I knew about them, the better. Yet it was my ignorance that had gotten me into this. I knew so very little. If I was supposed to walk between worlds, I needed to get a handbook or something.

“Are your thoughts always this troubled, Persephone?”

“You’re not giving me any cause to have happy thoughts.”

Softly he said, “You wouldn’t need them to fly in my Neverland.”

I hadn’t expected him to know literature. I mean, I know vampires are supposed to be knowledgeable. Their extended life spans give them every opportunity to become snotty, overeducated know-it-alls. I just hadn’t expected him to speak of it softly, to share those words as if sharing a secret.

I asked over my shoulder, “Can you read my mind?”

He smiled in a small and unassuming way. “No, Persephone. With the first mark, a master becomes empathetic to his servant. Exact subjects remain hidden, but with familiarity they may become more obvious. Admitting this to you is surely dangerous, but I want you to trust me. We could have a bountiful future. You could become everything your name implies—the Queen of the Underworld.”