Hot Blooded

lethal drug their enemies had devised. Riordan struggled into a
sitting position until he lay, propped against the wall he was chained to,
examining the compounds racing through his system. They had used some sort of
electrical charge to stimulate the cell deterioration in his blood. He allowed
his breath to escape in a long, slow hiss of deadly promise. Of deadly despair.
    He would not die easily—his body would continually regenerate—but without the
necessary blood, without the healing earth, it would happen, slowly and
painfully. It was the last death he had ever envisioned for himself.
    The drug was crawling through his body, a chemical monster nearly as lethal
as the dark demon lurking deep within him. Before he died, he intended to
transmit as much information on the poisonous compound as he could to his
brothers. He would issue a warning, but he would not do so until his death was
imminent. He would not betray his kin. He would not be used as bait to draw in
the others. His prince needed to know that a master vampire was using the
humans, playing puppet master. Riordan had to find a way to escape, there was no
other option. He could not allow his life to end until he carried the vital
information of this treachery to his people. He could not let pain and despair,
his ever-present companions, weaken his resolve.
    Riordan closed his eyes and crawled deep into his mind. Almost at once he
heard the soft click of the lock at the heavy metal door. Fearing his immense
power, his captors never came to him at night. He did a cursory scanning to
touch the mind of the human entering the laboratory, his prison, but to his
shock, he could not read the thoughts. He had the impression of a human female.
    He sat very still, his mind working at a furious rate. Had his captors
managed to find a way to shield their thoughts? They were protected most of the
time by his own weakness. During the daylight hours he was helpless and
vulnerable, but at night they had been cunning enough to stay away. Although
they had drained his blood and his strength, he was mentally strong enough to
command one of them should they venture near at night. This was his chance to
escape or seek a way to end his life before they could use him against his own
species.
    He studied the mind of the single person entering his prison. She was a young
female. He kept his eyes closed, conserving his strength, waiting for that one
moment he knew would come. He would reach past the strange barriers in her mind,
rip past each strange compartment until he had total control. He would force the
human female to do his bidding. Escape or death, whichever it took to win this
battle. He could smell her now, a clean, fresh fragrance suggesting the
outdoors, the rain forest after a cleansing downpour. A hint of exotic flowers,
and something else—something wild. Something not quite human. Riordan felt his
muscles tense at the unfamiliar odor, a strange quickening, a heat spreading
throughout his body, but he held himself under control.
    Nothing could prevent his attack. It was the first mistake any of them had
made, and he would use it, capitalize on it. The demon in him was struggling to
break free, listening to the steady heartbeat, the ebb and flow of blood in her
veins. Hunger gnawed at him endlessly, mindlessly, brutally. He waited,
unmoving, listening to the soft padding of her steps. There was only a whisper
of sound, yet he smelled her excitement, the edge of fear and adrenaline. She
was moving closer.
    All at once the soft footfall ceased, her breath exploding out of her in a
soft hiss of shock. "Oh no!" There was a rush of movement toward him, the rustle
of clothes. Riordan clearly heard the shocked horror in her voice. She had not
been expecting him.
    Juliette couldn't believe the terrible sight, the man pale beyond imagining,
his blood draining away on the floor. The heavy chains wrapped around his chest
seemed burned into his very flesh. His hands were manacled, and blood seeped
from a multitude of wounds. She couldn't believe he could suffer so much and
still live. She knelt beside him and felt for his pulse.
    Riordan opened his eyes to stare into her face as she squatted beside him,
heedless of the blood smearing her clothing as she leaned in close. Her fingers
settled gently against his neck. Her large, strangely turquoise eyes filled with
compassion. "Who did this to you?" Even as she