Thorne woke to the sound of stone on stone scraping. Torchlight flooded the room as Baron Karlov entered, dressed in ceremonial attire—a midnight blue coat with silver embroidery that glimmered in the faint light. Two subdued servants with ghostly white skin trailed behind, carrying a wooden table carved into intricate patterns and a single chair which they placed next to Thorne's restraints.
"Take us away," Karlov commanded, his tone soft but allowing no denial. The servants bowed and retired, the massive door creaking to a close behind them.
Thorne tested his bonds again, finding them as unyielding as before. His throat as dry as ashes, his body heavy with weakness.
"How long have I been here?" he snarled, his tone harsh.
"Three days," Karlov replied, settling into the chair. "I thought it best to let you experience hunger for real before our arrangement commences."
"There is no arrangement," growled Thorne. "You're a beast I've sworn to destroy."
Karlov's mouth twisted into a patient smile. "Your Order's propaganda has narrowed your imagination, hunter. Not all vampires are blood-hungry predators." He leaned forward, his amber eyes sparkling. "Some of us are much more. refined in our appetites."
"Spare me your rationalizations for murder."
"MURDER?" Karlov appeared to find it amusing. "My beloved Thorne, if I wanted you dead, your body would already be on the courtyard cobblestones beneath us." Liquid movement, he stepped closer, inches separating them now. "No, far too valuable to be spent thus."
Thorne's muscles hardened as Karlov's cold fingers caressed the curve of his jaw, then tracing downward to the throbbing point at the neck.
"Your heart—how it thunders with defiance. Beautiful." The vampire's eyes widened, black pools surrounded by amber flames. "You will nourish me, hunter. Regularly. Exclusively. And in return, you will live in comparative ease."
"I'd rather be dead," Thorne snarled.
Karlov's laughter was soft, almost tender. "That's not an option for you." He moved in closer still, his breath cold against Thorne's ear. "Furthermore, you might find our symbiosis has. unexpected advantages."
Before Thorne was able to reply, Karlov's fist balled in his hair, jerking his head sideways. Thorne struggled back at his wrists with maddened strength, metal grinding into them as he flailed with wild terror.
"Your fear makes it more intense," Karlov panted, breathing deep against Thorne's naked throat. "Anger and terror make the blood taste so wonderful."
"I'm not afraid of you," Thorne lied, gritting teeth.
"No?" The vampire's mouth was against his skin. "Then what's gotten your pulse pounding so? What's got you breathing so hard?"
Thorne closed his eyes, steeling himself for pain. "Just do it, demon."
"As you wish."
The initial slash of fangs was blinding and agonizing—a stab of raw hurt that wrenched a gasp from Thorne's chest. He bucked at his restraints, a gagged shriek ripped from his throat as Karlov's lips covered the wound.
Then, when the vampire had bitten and drawn blood, something altered.
The pain shifted, transformed into a feeling Thorne lacked context for. Heat was emanating from the bites, waves of it that coursed through his frame and connected somehow directly to his core. His struggle dissolved as strange, unwanted pleasure poured into his veins, ending the initial pain with something much more nuanced.
It was drowning in honey-warm, like swooning in wine-rich, like the most private thing he had ever known—and he hated it with every final thread of his being.
Karlov's hand wrapped around his waist, steadying him when his knees folded. The vampire drank with exacting care, each pull of his lips forcing new waves of confused sensation through Thorne's untrustworthy body.
"Stop," Thorne breathed, the word not quite audible even to him. Head dropped back against stone, vision swooning as opposing sensations clashed within his body. "Please."
Whether in answer to his request or merely having had his fill, Karlov retreated, lips smeared with crimson. The vampire's eyes glowed, haggard with sated pleasure.
"Beautiful," he said, gazing at Thorne's face with unengaged fascination. "You experienced it, didn't you? The connection. The pleasure."
Thorne winced his face away, shame burning in him more hotly than the lingering recollections of that unwelcome happiness. "You've poisoned me with something."
"Not poison, hunter." Karlov delicately wiped his mouth with a silk handkerchief. "Nature's design. The vampire's bite has chemicals that make the feeding easier—for both hunter and prey." He touched the new punctures on Thorne's neck, and a shiver ran through him involuntarily. "Some refer to it as the Kiss. The ancients called it *cruor vinculum*—the bond of blood."
"It's violation," Thorne struggled to say, although his body was still vibrating with aftershocks.
"It's survival," Karlov corrected, dropping back into his seat. "Throughout history, many vampire lords have kept willing donors—men and women who craved the feel so badly they begged."
Horror twisted in Thorne's belly. "I will never beg you for anything."
"We'll see." Karlov's smile was condescending, pitying. "The bond grows stronger with each feeding. Soon your body will crave it like it needs air."
"My hatred will break through any weakness of the body."
"Perhaps." Karlov appeared entirely unfazed by the threat. "That anger will perhaps keep you from being so submissive as my other servants. It might even keep your wits sharper longer than most." He rose, adjusting his cuffs with meticulous precision. "But it will make the final submission all the more sweet."
Thorne allowed his chains to sag as weakness swept over him, the blood loss at last something more than just fading euphoria. "The Order trains us against mental manipulation."
"Does it?" Karlov stepped forward once more, raising Thorne's chin so that he might gaze into his eyes. "But here you are, delivered into my hands like a present. Explain to me, did your masters tell you what becomes of hunters who fail?"
The query hit a nerve. Thorne had never known hunters who returned from failed hunts.
"The silence is deafening," Karlov replied. "Sleep now. Tomorrow we will see to better accommodations—if you are on your best behavior."
As the vampire walked away, Thorne ground out words that drained the last of his strength. "I'll escape. And I'll kill you."
Karlov stopped at the threshold, looking over his shoulder in a manner bordering on tenderness. "I look for the try, hunter. Centuries have gone by since I've had this good entertainment."
The door shut behind her, and Thorne was left alone in the dark room. He leaned back against his restraints, mind reeling from the beating he had taken. The twin lacerations on his neck stung—no longer actually hurting but sensitive enough to make his skin shiver.
Worse than the physical weakness was the knowledge that some dangerous part of himself had responded to the vampire's bite with pleasure. The memory of the momentary lapse sickened him more than the loss of blood.
Thorne clenched his teeth, forcing himself to consider hatred rather than confusion. Whatever black magic bound vampire to victim, he would master it. Whatever weakness the baron's bite had awakened in him, he would master it.
And when he did—when he finally staked Baron Viktor Karlov through the heart—the vampire's vision of death would be Thorne's face, unadorned by pleasure, triumphant in revenge.
Until then, he would live. He would observe. He would learn his enemy's weaknesses.
And he would never, ever beg.
END OF CHAPTER 2