The stranger’s eyes narrowed on Blake, then went green. So bright, like looking into the sun, but a different color. Staring into his eyes, Blake felt as if he were spinning, but that was impossible, since he was manacled to a wall. His heart began to pound, and a weird feeling of panic rose.
Elise moved to stand close to him, not touching, but her presence was soothing anyway.
“This is my sire, Mencheres,” she said softly. “He’s going to help you.”
No one can help me, Blake thought, then almost recoiled at the blast of invisible bands that gripped him. What the hell?
“Something’s… squeezing me,” he gasped out.
Mencheres kept staring at him with those hypnotic eyes. “I am.”
The pressure increased until lights danced in his vision, and he could barely breathe. This is it, Blake realized. I’m dying.
“Sire,” he heard Elise say, sounding agitated.
Don’t worry, Blake wanted to tell her, but didn’t have enough air for the words. I’m not afraid. Thank you for everything you’ve done. It’s not a bad way to go, actually, looking at your beautiful face…
“What is your name?” Mencheres asked. His voice sounded far off and echoing. Amidst the encroaching darkness, unable to breathe, Blake wondered how the guy expected him to answer.
“What is your name?” the question was repeated, with more emphasis. Mencheres’s face filled Blake’s vision, those ghastly glowing eyes boring into his. Get away, Blake thought. Let me see Elise again. She’s the only one in this room who gives a shit about me.
“What is your name?” With a harder squeeze. Everyone but Mencheres faded out of Blake’s sight. Blake’s lungs were burning, his chest jerking in a vain attempt to coax air into it.
“Xaphan,” someone hissed. Surprisingly, the voice was clear to Blake. Should he be able to hear things while he was dying?
“Xaphan,” Mencheres repeated. More power slammed into Blake, until there was nothing in his vision but black, and he couldn’t feel the pain in his lungs anymore. “Leave him.”
An ugly laugh echoed across Blake’s mind. “No, little Menkaure. And you’re not strong enough to force me.”
Another squeeze. It seemed like so long since he’d breathed, Blake didn’t know how he was still even alive to register the viselike grip.
“Leave him.”
That awful buzzing filled his head, indicating the demon was about to take over. Blake wanted to scream, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t talk. What if this was hell? Was he already dead and paying for all the things he’d done?
A string of words in a language Blake had never heard somehow penetrated his consciousness. The weirdest thing was, it was in a feminine voice, and it wasn’t Elise.
Mencheres growled. That’s how it sounded, anyway, and something so heavy and hard pressed against Blake that he prayed for mercy. Please, no. Too much. Stop. Stop!
“Come out of him!” It was a roar that Blake felt in his bones. Then he was falling, blinding lights streaking by. For a few incredible seconds, Blake felt free of everything. Even sound faded into silence, leaving blissful, peaceful, welcoming silence. At last…
Then feeling came back in a rush of pain as something pressed on his chest, and his lungs felt like he’d inhaled fire. This time, when he opened his eyes, he saw Elise’s face over his. Her mouth came down, not in a kiss, but to blow air into him.
Blake coughed, tilting his head because all of a sudden, he needed to gulp in breaths. Her hands—pale, cool, soft—touched his forehead.
“Are you all right?”
Blake couldn’t reply, too occupied with gulping oxygen to try to form words. A dark head leaned over him, black hair falling around his shoulders.
“I can’t save him,” Mencheres stated flatly. “The demon inside him is too strong.”
Chapter Seven
The sun had set an hour ago. Elise was tired, lack of sleep from this morning starting to catch up with her. Still, she didn’t take Mencheres up on his offer to have someone else guard Blake while she rested. It seemed too cruel to pass Blake off to a stranger just so she could sleep, especially since people were acting like Blake was already dead.
She took Blake to the kitchen, knowing there would be plenty for him to eat. The humans who lived with Mencheres as willing blood donors for him and his entourage meant that the kitchen was stocked. Blake was ravenous, wolfing down three plates of food before looking embarrassed at his excess. Elise’s stomach growled as well, but not for what Blake was eating. She pushed down her hunger with the same ruthlessness she’d used to forgo sleep. Blake didn’t have long to live. The least Elise could do was to make these last days as comfortable as possible.