Page 42 of Wicked Ways

Take her.

But first, well, first he was going to have to piss her off, and probably scare her. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he began.

“Worry me?” Her voice rose several octaves as she paced around the room, pausing to toss her purse onto the king-size bed. Oh, but he had plans for that bed. And for her.

“Miranda…”

She shot him a fuming glare. “I’ve got some kind of psychotic vampire killer on my tail. Trust me, I’m already worried.”

Yes, but there was being worried, then there was knowing-that-a-vampire-could-peek-into-your-mind-at-any-time worried. “When a vampire drinks from a human, it gives him a certain amount of control.”

She stopped pacing and spun to face him. “What kind of control?” Almost instantly, her eyes widened. “You said that only the ancient vamps could use Thrall, and Paul isn’t ancient, is he?”

“He can’t use Thrall on you.” His voice was firm. No, the vamp couldn’t use that method with her. “But once he took your blood, he did form a connection of sorts with you.”

Her lashes lowered a moment. She seemed to mull over what he’d said. Slowly, her lashes lifted once again. “I don’t like where this is going, Cain.”

He wasn’t thrilled, either. “If the blood link is strong enough, he’ll be able to glimpse into your mind. See memories.” And if the vamp had enough power and he deepened the link, he might even be able to control her.

The hard sound of her painful swallow grated in his ears. “Are you telling me that bastard is in my head?”

“I’m saying he could be.”

Miranda sat down on the bed, hard. Her purse fell to the floor. “How do I get him out?”

He was working on that. They were working on that. But there was really only one way to sever a blood link. “We kill him.”

“Easier said than done,” she muttered.

His hands clenched. He’d been holding back the truth about the blood link because he’d thought Miranda had already been through enough. He truly hadn’t wanted to freak her out any more than absolutely necessary.

“And just who the hell was that Sullivan guy?”

Ah, Liam Sullivan. “He was an agent with the Irish government. Came here years ago on a case. Wound up staying as a liaison.”

“So how’d he end up fanged?”

“Wrong place. Wrong time.” Simple words to describe the carnage that had taken out Sullivan’s team and left him alive—sort of, anyway.

“I thought he was one of those ancients you’d talked about. Why did the other vampires listen to him if he’s still—I don’t know—young to them?”

Because most of the vamps in the bar were considered the fresh Taken. Taken—an apt term for the vamps who’d once been human but had lost their mortal lives with an exchange of blood. Yeah, those assholes in the bar hadn’t been blood vampires—the fierce creatures born onto the earth already having full immortal strength. Instead, the feeding room had been full of amateurs, vamps who’d been changed in the past few years.

Those vamps had kept silent because they were still new to the game, and because Sullivan had a reputation for being one tough bastard. “He’s made a bit of a name for himself in the vampire world.” Sullivan, and the female, Maya, a vampiress who lived on the West Coast. Both were former humans who’d once held jobs protecting humans.

Now they both walked in the darkness and killing—well, they’d become very, very good at meting out death sentences to their enemies.

It was always a shame to him when protectors became Taken. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that Sullivan is harmless, Miranda.”

She snorted. “Right, like that’s what I was thinking.”

“If you cross him, he’ll come after you with fangs and claws⁠—”

“Just like you would,” she finished softly.

Her words had him faltering. “I would never hurt you.”

Her stare was direct. “But what about those who cross you, Cain? Do you show mercy to them?”