Chapter 11
From Patricia — her language teacher, physician and round-the-clock observer — Mary learned that she was currently on a planet called Thorne, ruled by the Blood.
Her official designation was food and research sample, and her legal owner was a noble with a very long name and an extremely high position.
At this point Mary still innocently assumed that this legal owner referred to Michael, the black dragon general who had captured her.
She had no idea whatsoever that she had already been transferred once, publicly, in the academic hall — Prince Anthony having bitten her at a moment when she had unhelpfully already passed out.
So when she woke the second time and discovered she was lying in the arms of a completely unfamiliar man, she was thoroughly frightened.
In the dim light of a coffin with the lid half drawn, she could make out a profile as handsome and finely made as a doll's.
Thick long lashes far too beautiful to belong to a man. Thin lips pressed very slightly together, carrying a cold arrogance.
Several strands of the man's long silver hair had wound between her fingers, cool and smooth to the touch, like the finest silk, spread out across the luxurious interior of the coffin.
This guy is unreasonably good-looking.
But that cold beauty, set against the grim backdrop of a coffin and the dim ambiguous light, combined into something that could only be described as deeply, deeply creepy.
Who was this person?
And why was he lying here with her?
No wonder she'd gotten colder the longer she slept.
Being held by a corpse with no body heat, the surprise would have been getting warm.
Mary shrank back into the corner of the coffin and carefully pushed away the arm draped across her waist.
Then she stretched her neck, tested the gap under the half-open lid, established that she could fit through it, and began climbing out as quietly as she could manage.
And just as she was pulling her last foot free of the coffin, something cold closed around her ankle, as though she had been grabbed.
She fell hard onto the thick soft carpet.
The carpet absorbed most of the noise, but Mary crawled back to the coffin's edge with her heart going and peered in through the gap. The man inside had not woken. He hadn't so much as shifted his sleeping position.
Perhaps vampires are entirely without awareness while they sleep.
Mary thought so, let out a breath, didn't dare look any longer, and got up and fled.
She walked fast over the soft carpet on bare feet.
The white nightgown she was wearing, long enough to reach her ankles, floated at that speed, the fabric tickling against her calves.
Patricia, though considerably more focused on studying her than on caring for her, had at least provided the basic necessities.
Mary had been given a white nightgown of uncertain material, weightless and not remotely warm, which nevertheless beat having nothing to wear.
Having learned that she possessed no rights of any kind and was being kept as food and experimental subject, Mary wasn't especially surprised.
Since waking on this unfamiliar planet she had already been through worse.
On a planet full of vampires, being a delicious human and not locked in a laboratory having blood drawn daily struck Mary as fairly good fortune.
Being an ordinary person, she was not at this moment entertaining any grand ambition involving escaping evil rule, using her wits to overthrow the Blood, or conquering planets on her way to the stars.
She was busy considering whether she could apply to Patricia for a blanket to line the rock-hard coffin with, so that sleeping might be more comfortable.
The survival instinct of ordinary people is, on the whole, this specific and this practical.
Not thinking about any of the larger questions, Mary circled the excessively enormous room and grumbled to herself.
Why was this place so big? She'd been walking for ages and hadn't seen a single door.
And why, she wondered as she went, was it so completely silent, with nobody anywhere?
Last time she woke up there had at least been Patricia and that handsome middle-aged man Mark. This time it was hollow, as though every person in the building had fallen asleep.
Having wandered the room aimlessly for some time, Mary finally located an exit at the far end, and discovered a very practical problem.
That vast door, decorated with countless gemstones and elaborate relief work, would not move at all for anyone with her body weight.
She stood in front of it blankly for a while, gave up, and turned toward a locked window nearby.
This absurdly large room had wall after wall inset with ornate stained windows like something out of a Gothic cathedral, each patterned with what appeared to be a rose-like plant.
There were a great many of them and every one was sealed shut.
The light outside came through blue-violet glass, stripped of everything fierce, leaving only a dim and diffuse color that wrapped the whole room in an atmosphere both grim and strange.
Mary was a classic sunny American girl, raised in bright open houses, naturally drawn toward things that were healthy and outdoors.
So compared to a cold coffin, she obviously preferred to get closer to the sunlight outside the window.
She looked around, established that the handle wasn't especially large and probably wasn't too heavy, and concluded she could open it.
Up on her toes, arm fully extended, she strained for the window latch with its single set cat's-eye stone.
Shaking slightly all over with the effort, Mary complained internally.
Why was every single object in this place designed to be this tall and this large?
Never mind the male Blood, who all appeared to be over six foot five with arms thicker than her thighs — even a female of the Blood like Patricia stood a full head above her, with an entire frame one size up.
Proportionally, of course, Patricia still had the advantage. Narrow waist, long legs, a full chest.
Whereas Mary's proportions were simply ordinary, and would in all likelihood keep her clear of the word beautiful for the duration of her life.
There was a small click and the solid gold latch sprang open.
Then the entire enormous window retracted upward, smooth and silent, like an automatic shutter.
Light poured in from outside along with a wind that carried the smell of snow, and instantly diluted the room's quality of ancient tomb.
At that moment she felt, concretely, that she was on a wholly unfamiliar planet.
Mary leaned on the broad windowsill and looked out.
Two moons hung in the sky giving off a pale silver halo, and that star, which looked like a sun half obscured by cloud or by some kind of ring system, put down only a very soft light, close to dusk.
So it was daytime here.
No wonder there was nobody around. The Blood had presumably all entered their daytime dormancy.
The physical conditions of this system might have been built to order for a species that avoids light. Weak illumination. Very long nights.
The habits of an Earth mind made her wonder.
Were the vampires here afraid of silver, and crosses, and garlic, the way the novels said?
