saber de clanes 344257123-V20-Lore-of-the-Bloodlines-11056187-pdf | Page 20

“I’ll never make it, it will never happen,
because they’re never going to hear me ‘cause they’re screaming all the time.”
–Elvis Presley
Songbird
The blood bag dropped to the floor of
the cell with a dull squelch. Despite
the unappetizing sound,
Eloise snatched it and drained it. Thr
ough the gold bars of the cage, Byr
on watched her, looking
pleased with himself as usual. He ste
pped back and let himself fall heavily
onto one of the elegant
couches that decorated the underg
round room. He had assembled all man
ner of objet d’art here.
But over the ages it had become clut
tered with artistry. What had been des
igned as a gallery now
looked more like a storeroom. Owners
hip, rather than appreciation, had con
sumed him decades ago.
Eloise threw the empty blood bag out
between the bars and wiped her mou
th with the back of her
hand. It was a gesture that might hav
e looked incongruous if her elegant
dress was anything more
than rags. She glared at Byron, but
h er loathing only made him smile.
“Sing for me, my little songbird,” he
commanded.
“When are you letting me out?” replied
Eloise.
“We’ll see.”
“I’m sick of this game. You’ve kept me
here for over a year.”
“And have I not looked after you? See
n to your needs? I bring you blood
and would happily give
you the finest clothes to wear, if I did
n’t think you’d bite my hand off when
I passed them to you.”
“You can’t…”
“I am the Primogen of the Toreador.
I can do anything I like. Now sing.”
Eloise closed her eyes and gave
in to his request. Her voice slid
out of her mouth and
wrapped lovingly around Byron. He clos
ed his eyes too as the melodies and
harmonies glided around
the room, glancing like light across the
paintings and sculptures. Byron was
quickly lost to the music.
He began to sway to and fro as the
voice swept him away. When the song
came to an end, Byron and
Eloise opened their eyes at the sam
e time.
LORE OF THE BLOODLINES
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