Let me drink in the shape of my love,
tall in the shuddering night!
—Great Heart’s Ease, Papyrus Chester Beaty I
The night of the ceremony had arrived, and Gillian was not too proud to admit she was terrified out of her wits.
She was about to have her blood sucked by a vampire in front of hundreds of witnesses. True, only she and Seth would be in the inner sanctum when it happened. But the sacred obsidian altar where it would take place lay directly in line with the portal to the Courtyard of the Sacred Pool, which in turn was wide-open to the huge hypostyle Festival Hall, and both courtyards would be filled to capacity with every one of the immortals of Khepesh.
This was it.
No way out.
She groaned. Talk about insane! A few short days ago she would never have believed that any of this existed, let alone that she would be up to her eyeballs in otherworldly political intrigue!
Nephtys glanced at her, frowned, then poured a goblet of wine and handed it to her. “Drink this. It will calm your nerves.”
“Can’t you put some kind of spell on me?” Gillian pleaded. “Make me unconscious so I can wake up afterward and not remember a thing?”
The priestess’s brow rose. “Oh, you’ll want to remember. Being bitten by a vampire is an amazing experience. Better than any sex you’ve ever had.”
A dull pain pressed against Gillian’s chest. “Not if I don’t love him.”
“Trust me—” Nephtys turned abruptly to peer at herself in the mirror, adjusting the high silver collar clasped around her neck. “Love has nothing to do with it.”
Gillian tipped her goblet and drank down the wine. Every last drop. Her head spun a little as the alcohol hit her bloodstream. She held out the silver cup for more. Maybe vampire fangs were like certain other male appendages, and if she drank enough wine her blood-alcohol would get Seth too drunk to perform.
She giggled at the thought. Gemma would have a field day with that one.
Thinking about Gemma, Gillian wondered wistfully how her sisters were doing. They must have received her note by now, if Sheikh Shahin had delivered it as Seth had ordered. Had they been surprised to hear from her? Were they worried about her?
How would they react if they knew the truth about where she was and what she was about to go through? What if they had been here now?
Despite herself, she smiled. Gemma would no doubt be taking notes like mad, fascinated by everything and everyone. Josslyn would probably be raising holy hell, giving Seth what for about abusing innocent women, storming into the sanctuary in the nick of time to save Gillian from being drained. Probably ending up as the sacrifice herself because it would be the only way Seth could get Joss to shut up.
Gillian laughed softly. God, she missed them so much!
She realized Nephtys was staring at her with puzzled amusement.
“My sisters,” Gillian explained wryly. “I was just thinking about them.”
“Ah. I understand,” the other woman said, gesturing for her to come over to the mirror so she could check her outfit one final time. “I’m that way with Seth. Our youthful antics can pop into my head at the most inappropriate times.”
Antics? Seth?
“It’ll be nice to have a sister,” Nephtys went on, gazing kindly at her reflection. “To make new memories with.”
Gillian realized with a start that the priestess meant her. “Um, yeah,” she quickly agreed. Then turned away to put down her goblet. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine them in a powwow on the floor, painting their toenails and laughing together over a bad date.
Nephtys smoothed her fingers along the elaborately embroidered stole Gillian wore over her tight, black strapless gown, touching the pattern of tiny stars that spangled the shoulders of the wrap. “I know this is difficult for you,” she said. “But you are a lucky woman. The envy of every other female in Khepesh. Open yourself to the pleasures of your sacrifice, Gillian. You might find you enjoy it more than you think.”
“I’ll try,” Gillian said, though she knew she wouldn’t. She had no defense against the power and magic the vampire demigod had over her body, but she would not betray Rhys in her mind.
She gazed at her own reflection in the mirror, and was glad she barely recognized herself. Her eyes were heavily made-up, dark and sultry with kohl and black liner in the style of the ancients. Her lips were painted blood red, her complexion pale as snow against them. Her hair had been piled in a froth of curls on her head...presumably to keep it off her neck.
Oh, God.
She reached for the goblet again, then pulled back her hand. Lord. One more sip of wine and she’d probably keel over.
Not necessarily a bad thing.
But just delaying the inevitable.
Because no matter how much she rebelled against the idea, this was really happening.
To her.
Tonight.
Oh, God.
Where was Rhys when she needed him?