Masks Read Free

languages, and he speaks five that we know of.”
    “As do I. And I was born in an Athenian slum.”
    “Yes, but you learned it after, like me. But look at him. He can’t be more than a few years out of the dirt. And no newborn has the presence of mind for something like that! So he learned it before. And his clothes were good quality, if worn. I’m thinking some noble sprout down on his luck.”
    “Perhaps,” the woman said, noncommittal.
    The vampire consulted his notes again. “So you said educated, noble or close enough to fake it, and pretty.” The man glanced up and looked Mircea over. He frowned briefly, probably wishing his boys had been less “enthusiastic,” but he decided to make the best of it. “He’ll clean up,” he told her jovially.
    “He isn’t the usual type for Venice,” the woman said mildly.
    “Type, type!” the man scoffed. “What type? He’s young, he’s well-built—and well endowed,” he added, nodding at one of the soldiers. “Your clients’ll like that.”
    The woman didn’t respond. But she also didn’t stop the soldiers, who moved toward Mircea with obvious intent. He’d already been on a low boil, hearing himself being discussed like a horse to be traded. But at that, something in him snapped.
    He broke the first arm that reached for him, and then lashed out, kicking the nearest guard in the stomach with enough force to send him staggering back. And into another, who was just standing there, looking bemused. It seemed that prisoners weren’t supposed to try to escape.
    Fuck that,
Mircea thought viciously, and lunged for the still-open door.
    He never knew how close he came, just that the next time he blinked he was on the floor. And the second after that, he was being hauled up and slammed back into the wall, hard enough to have broken a human’s bones. It didn’t feel like it had done his any good, either, but worse was the sensation of shackles being clicked shut around his wrists and ankles.
    Mircea thrashed against the bonds, which the triple damned guards jerked vengefully tight. But they weren’t normal metal. He could bend solid steel, one of the few perks of his new condition, but these didn’t budge. But he kept struggling anyway, jerking on the chains and cursing and panting in hopeless fury.
    Which did nothing to keep his last remaining garment from being stripped down his thighs.
    He was left naked and wild-eyed, and splayed against the wall like an animal up for inspection. Or gutting, for all he knew. It was not a nice thought to have as the woman stepped forward and put a hand on his chest.
    The leather of her glove was strangely textured, almost reptilian. And cold, as if it still carried the chill of the streets outside. Mircea shivered as she began to trace the muscles in his torso, the vulnerable skin of his stomach, the deep V of muscle below his navel.
    And then followed it down the crease of his leg, to the inevitable conclusion.
    He was soft, of course, never having felt less aroused in his life. But the woman was a vampire, too, and she didn’t need his cooperation. A single finger ran down his length, calling his blood as easily as he could summon it from a human’s veins. He watched helplessly as his flesh swelled and lifted, rising eagerly up to meet her touch.
    But she didn’t appear impressed. She glanced at the condottiere. “Too big.”
    “First time I ever heard a woman say that!” he laughed.
    “Then you must not have bedded many women in Venice.”
    “I’ve bedded plenty!”
    “Then you should know: women or men, they all want the same thing here. Slender boys with pink cheeks, a languid manner, and faces as pretty as a girl’s. Not muscles and body hair and a stallion’s girth.”
    She looked amused as she explored the extent of the latter, pulling more blood into his already engorged heat, testing Mircea to his limit and then pushing beyond. Until he jutted out thick and aching, larger than he’d ever been, his skin