June fumbled the alcohol swab, which fell from her unsteady fingers to the tiled floor at her feet. She stared at it, the rise and fall of her chest echoing the pulse at her neck. "I don't think I can do this," she said. Her voice was no more than a tremulous whisper, barely audible against the hum of the refrigerator in the background. Still, I had heard the fear in it well enough. "I don't think I can do this," she said again, and yet she reached mechanically for another packet from the drawer of blood-letting supplies.

"Then allow me," Thomas said.

Wrapping his large hands around the old woman's, he brought them to his lips and deposited a soft kiss against the slightly mottled flesh. He removed the small foil packet from her unresisting fingers and ripped it open, the sharp scent of alcohol immediately permeating the air. With a delicate touch, he swabbed the inside of the young man's arm. I briefly wondered who he was. What sort of life had he lived before he'd been plucked from anonymity to serve this one purpose?

Taking a deep breath and seeming slightly more composed, June inserted the beveled point of the needle into the man's vein. He didn't so much as flinch at the stick, but immediately his blood welled and began to flow within the coiled plastic tubing, dark red and hypnotic. My nostrils flared at the scent of coffee and leather, and my gums ached with the desire to sink my teeth into the vulnerable skin of his neck or wrist, to feel the surge of hot blood against my tongue. I licked my lips, suddenly self-conscious and somewhat ashamed of my craving.

"It gets easier," Thomas said with a sympathetic glance at me, as though reading my mind. "Being around fresh blood like this." I let out the breath I'd been holding and nodded, giving him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Pass me a cup," June instructed. Thomas obligingly handed over one of his mother's crystal goblets.

We watched in silence as the blood trickled to the halfway mark, and then she placed her thumb over the end of the tube to stop the flow momentarily as Thomas switched goblets. Finally, June's eyes met mine and her brows rose in inquiry. It was my turn, she said, without having to say anything at all. Picking up the knife from the table, I hesitated only briefly before pulling the sharpened edge hard against the inside of my hand. I gritted my teeth against the sudden sting. Deliberately hurting oneself wasn't as effortless or painless as television made it out to be.

The wound welled and I held my open hand over the cup, massaging the base of my palm to encourage the flow of blood. One, two, three, four, five drops fell into the first goblet, and the same amount in the other. I lifted the goblet and gave the contents a swirl, but all I could smell was the delectable scent of the Donor's blood. I held the goblet out to Thomas, who bent to sniff, but he only shook his head. The real test, then, would come when Margaret tasted it. Still, Andrew Larsen had said Margaret and Mr. Abernathy needed to drink only a small amount of my blood to be susceptible to my compulsion. I hoped it would be enough.

June placed each of the goblets on a tray but made no immediate move to leave the kitchen. Standing in front of her, Thomas placed his hands on either side of her face. "You can do this," he said. "It will all be over soon enough." Then, leaning forward, he pressed his lips gently against hers.

"I'll keep her safe," I whispered, careful not to speak too loudly in case of sensitive ears.

June nodded, stealing herself against whatever was to come, then pushed through the swinging door. I followed her from the kitchen and across the empty foyer to the library beyond where Margaret was waiting for her nightly blood. We had unanimously agreed to incapacitate her first so she could not use her compulsion against us. Margaret had a reputation of striking hard and fast, and sometimes not without fatal consequences.

June raised her hand and knocked tentatively against the closed door, while I stood well out of the way of Margaret's sight. I had been at the house frequently enough over the past weeks that the pervasive presence of my scent wasn't likely to raise suspicion.

"Enter," Margaret said.

From my hiding place, I watched June proceed into the library. "I've brought your evening refreshment," she said.

"It's about time," Margaret answered uncharitably. "What took you so long?"

"I had a difficult time locating a viable vein," June lied.

I risked a peek around the door frame in time to see Margaret lift the goblet from the tray. "Well, that's a bother. I suppose I'll have to find another Donor," she said. "And I quite liked that one." She held the goblet out to June. "Care for a taste?"

"No, thank you," June replied, her voice strained.

"I'm afraid it is a delicacy wasted on humans anyway," Margaret said. "Now go. You may leave me to my own enjoyment."

June turned, relief visible on her face, and was nearly to the door when Margaret spoke again. "Wait one moment. Come back here."

The old woman and I locked eyes, but she willingly returned to stand in front of Margaret. "Yes?"

"Whose blood did you use?" Margaret inquired, raising the goblet to the light as though inspecting the contents.

"The Donor's," June replied.

"Yes, I know that," Margaret said testily, lowering the goblet to glare at June. "Which Donor is what I'm asking? The flavor is not quite right."

"Which Donor? The young man," June supplied. "Brandon, if I recall correctly."

"Brandon. Yes, that's the one," Margaret said absently. Furrowing her brows, she lifted the goblet to her lips and took another sip, rolling the liquid around the inside of her mouth before swallowing. "There is something off about this blood," she said quietly to herself. "Is it fresh?" she asked more loudly. "It hasn't been refrigerated has it?"

June shook her head. "I collected it just now."

"Odd," Margaret replied, examining the goblet once more. "I've had Brandon's blood on half a dozen occasions, but I would swear on my life that it's different somehow."

"Oh? Maybe the humans' cook changed the menu. Haven't you said before the food they eat affects the taste of their blood?"

Margaret looked sharply at her. "Or maybe you did something to taint it." It was an accusation, not a question.

"Not at all," she said emphatically. "I haven't done anything to it."

"For someone who hasn't done anything," Margaret said, "your heart is racing."

She was right. I could hear the rush of blood myself. Closing my eyes, I offered up a brief prayer for June's safety. For good measure, I crossed my fingers.

June placed a hand flat against her chest. "Is it racing? I hadn't noticed. I feel perfectly well."

"Don't be coy with me," Margaret snapped.

She stood abruptly, her expression changing at once from annoyance to outrage, her extended fangs the only warning before she lunged at June with outstretched arms. The old woman dropped the tray with a cry of surprise and stumbled back, the remaining goblet of blood splashing its contents all over the floor in gruesome display.

Not wasting any more time, I rushed into the room. "Do not bite her!" I yelled. Margaret stopped mid-lunge, her lips curled around the flesh at June's exposed throat. She raised her head, a look of pure agony on her face at being denied her prey. She emitted a strangled cry, more animal than girl.

"You compelled me," Margaret said, turning on me. She actually sounded surprised. "It was your blood in that cup."

"Only a few drops," I said. "Mixed with the Donor's."

"A few drops," she repeated. She tilted back her head and laughed, the points of her fangs gleaming in the light. "Tell me, how long do you think your compulsion will last on me, Blake Ehlert? You're weaker than I am by far, even with your training."

"I imagine it will last long enough for me to do what needs to be done," I said. Still, I didn't want to test the limits of my compulsion by sitting around chatting about it. I quickly pulled out the roll of duct tape I'd concealed in the pocket of my sweatshirt. "June," I said, "help me restrain her."

"Allow me the honor," another voice answered. "I've been waiting for this opportunity for my entire life."

Margaret's eyes widened as she glanced behind me. "Thomas! What are you doing?"

He snatched the tape from me. "What should have been done centuries ago."

Margaret, realizing what we were about to do, moved behind the superficial security of a chair. "You won't get away with this. Father will—"

"Be still!" I said. Grabbing her arms, I forced her hands behind her back, admittedly harder than necessary judging by the pops, and she screamed. I pulled her around to the front of the chair and forced her to sit.

"I am telling you, you won't get away with this!" Margaret seethed.

"Oh, shut the hell up!" I said. Thomas ripped a sizeable length of tape and slapped it against her mouth with no regard to her comfort. He quickly moved to bind her hands.

We heard the sound of a door opening across the foyer and quickly advancing footsteps. We were out of time. And blood.

"You have to get June out of here," I said, grabbing Thomas's arm.

"I won't leave you," he said.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be okay," I assured him, though I'd never been more scared in my life. Mr. Abernathy might physically look like an old man, but he was ultimately stronger and more powerful than I was. I knew I didn't stand much chance against him alone, but June stood none at all.

"But—"

I could see the hesitation in Thomas's eyes, torn between wanting to protect June and staying to help me fight. My compulsion would not work on Thomas, but it would work on June. "Leave!" I commanded her. "Find John and Josiah and the others."

June immediately turned and began making her way to the door by which Mr. Abernathy would soon be entering. "Not that way!" Thomas hissed, grabbing her arm. He pulled her in the opposite direction to the door leading out to the terrace. He flung it open, emitting a rush of cold December air. It had begun to snow again.

"I'll be okay," I said when Thomas looked back at me. He nodded once, and then they were gone, disappearing into the darkness.

Less than a heartbeat later the door to the library opened to reveal Mr. Abernathy, fangs extended. He looked first at Margaret sitting bound and gagged in the chair, before meeting my eyes directly. "Miss Ehlert," he said, cool and collected.

I pulled myself as tall as I could, facing him head-on. "Mr. Abernathy," I said, my own fangs descending.

He shook his head in a patronizing way. "I have to say, I am sorely disappointed in your behavior."

**********

"This isn't the first time I've disappointed someone," I replied. "The only difference is now I don't care."

Mr. Abernathy, who had been advancing by small degrees, stopped. His ice-blue eyes narrowed. "I think I may have misjudged you."

"I'm used to that, too."

Mr. Abernathy's brows rose. "Oh?"

"If you're compliant, others think you're weak. If you're strong and have any sort of mind of your own, they call you . . ." I laughed under my breath. "Well, they call you names I don't particularly like or agree with."

His eyes flicked to Margaret, silent and immobile in the chair behind me. "Come," he said. "Let us continue this conversation in my office." He stretched out his arm to me. When I didn't immediately move, he beckoned me forward with his fingers. "It's all right, Miss Ehlert. I will not harm you."

I laughed. "Famous last words, right?"

He let his arm fall to his side and smiled, making a point of retracting his fangs. "No, Miss Ehlert. You are not correct. Despite this minor setback, you are still very much in my favor."

I retracted my own fangs, not totally believing him, but knowing I had no other choice. "Fine."

I followed Mr. Abernathy to his office where he shut the door behind us. I stood awkwardly until he pulled out one of the chairs for me, inviting me to sit. He then walked around the desk and sat down.

"Miss Ehlert," he began, leaning forward as though about to impart a secret. "I've known for some time that you are a most special girl. When Mr. Larsen informed me of your potential all those many years ago, I couldn't resist. I knew I must have you as part of the family, working for me."

I cringed inwardly but managed to keep my face expressionless. "Thank you for the honor."

He acknowledged my sarcasm with a half-smile and tilt of the head, but nothing more. "Forgive the metaphor," he continued, "but anyone who keeps a wild animal on a leash knows the inherent risk of that animal turning on him. For the majority of your life, you did not know us or our true identities. For lack of a better phrase, your leash was quite long."

"And then you shortened it."

"Quite abruptly so, I'm afraid. I do apologize for that. Mr. McAvoy was a complication I did not anticipate."

"And yet you anticipated that I might turn on you, that I wouldn't be loyal."

"You are loyal," he replied. And then he amended: "To those you love. To what you believe in. Still, I am disappointed that you are not yet loyal to me."

I fidgeted in my seat but kept quiet. What could I say? Mr. Abernathy had spoken the truth. I wasn't loyal to him or his cause. To insist otherwise would make us both look stupid.

He looked down at his desk and tapped his finger meditatively against the blotter. "Am I right to assume that my son—and June—is in alliance with you?" I didn't answer right away, and he looked up expectantly.

"Yes."

His breath came out as a heavy sigh. "That is . . . most unfortunate." He seemed deeply hurt knowing his son had betrayed him, and for just a moment I felt sorry for him. "Where did he go?" he asked.

"I don't know."

He sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, clasping his hands around his knee. "You do not know, or you refuse to tell me?"

I shrugged, letting my silence answer the question.

His jaw flexed and unflexed, and I could tell his patience was waning. "I am now faced with a conundrum," he said.

"Which is?"

"How to punish you."

"You said you weren't going to hurt me."

"I will not harm you," he said. "Still, your actions cannot go unpunished. What kind of an authority figure would I be if I didn't enforce the rules?"

I met his stare directly, hoping that my face didn't show the extent of my anxiety. I was pretty sure he could hear the thumping of my heart. I could feel it accelerating in my chest and took a few deep breaths to calm myself. I couldn't answer him, if only because I had no answer to give. Regardless, it was clear he wasn't going to let me just walk out of there. If ever there was a time I hoped Josiah could sense my distress, it was now.

"I would like to know why," he said.

"Why?"

"Why you turned on me. Why you turned on this family."

I raised my chin. "You said yourself that I am loyal to what I believe in, and I don't believe that what you're doing is right. It's not right that you've allowed vampires to kill innocent humans—"

"Vagrants," he interrupted.

"Innocents," I insisted. "It's not right that you're trying to create some vampire paradise using the town's human residents as unwilling Donors."

"No harm will come to them," he said. "I have you and Margaret to compel the humans and vampires, to keep everyone in line."

"Humans should be free to live their lives, not be slaves to vampires' appetites. You say that no harm will come to humans—you might even believe it—but you can't have vampires drinking incompatible blood or there will be nothing but a bunch of drunks running around. So much for discretion, right? All the world will eventually learn about us." I shook my head. "Humans will not be safe, and neither will vampires."

"I admire your passion, Miss Ehlert, but I suppose we will have to agree to disagree until you come around and see things my way." His eyes flicked over my shoulder suddenly and I turned to see Margaret standing in the doorway. "Oh, good!" he said. "Miss Ehlert's compulsion has worn off."

I shot to my feet, even though I had nowhere to go. "Sit," Margaret said promptly and authoritatively. I sat.

"Now that my daughter is here," Mr. Abernathy said, "I must go."

"You're leaving me with her?"

"I am feeling a bit parched and there's an entire town at my disposal." To Margaret, he said, "I shall return in a little while. Please, do show some restraint with Miss Ehlert, would you? I don't want her spoiled."

"The effort will be exhausting," she said through her teeth. Mr. Abernathy left with a chuckle and then it was just the two of us. "I'll give you credit," Margaret said. "It was a valiant effort. I've obviously taught you well."

"Well . . ." I said with a shrug, unsure what else to say.

"Who else other than Thomas and June knows you're here?" she asked, getting to the point.

"No one," I replied.

"Tell me who knows you're here!"

"John," I responded at once. "John knows I'm here."

She smiled, showing her fangs. "Perfect."

I was afraid to ask, though I did anyway. "Why is that perfect?"

"I've never liked John, you half-wit. The first thing he will do is run here to save you."

"Because you compelled him to, isn't that right?"

She looked momentarily confused. "I beg your pardon?"

"You compelled John to have feelings for me and to make me fall in love with him. He was never more than a pawn to you, a way to get me."

"It wasn't difficult. John has always been infatuated with you, and you obviously felt something for him. The compulsion was hardly necessary. Everything he's done for you is because he has never learned to let go of those disgusting human feelings to which he clings so tightly. Such a terrible waste of a vampire who could have been a powerful Compeller."

"He's better than that," I said.

Margaret pursed her lips in obvious disagreement. "How are things between you and Josiah these days?"

There was a hunger in her eyes, a need to know and yet not know about Josiah's and my relationship. It was evident that, despite Margaret's condemnation of love and human feelings, she still had feelings for Josiah.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I said.

"I trusted you," she said, matter-of-fact.

"Your mistake. Even your father knew better than to completely trust me." There was a tightening around Margaret's eyes and I added, "Perhaps you're not as smart or cunning as you think you are."

"Shut up!" she said, with uncharacteristic vehemence. Normally it was her calm that was so terrifying.

A tense moment of silence stretched between us. "Can I go now?" I finally said.

She closed her eyes, massaging the space between her brows. "No. You may not go."

"Then would you mind getting on with whatever you're going to do? This waiting around is getting tedious."

She glared at me. "That's a lot of bravado for someone in your position, Blake Ehlert. Or have you forgotten who the more skilled Compeller is in this room?"

I rolled my eyes. "Are you going to compel me to do more than sit? If we're being honest, my—"

"Don't speak!" she commanded. She took a deep breath and crossed her arms over her chest, pacing circles around the room. Then she stopped abruptly and turned toward me. "Walk," she commanded, grabbing me under the arm and forcing me to my feet. Unable to speak, I could only silently wonder where we were going.

"As much as I love and admire my father," she said, towing me out of Mr. Abernathy's office and into the grand foyer, "he is far from perfect." We started toward the staircase and began climbing. Margaret's grip on my arm tightened, her fingernails digging into my skin even through my sweatshirt.

"He believes this is too big of a job for me to handle alone," she continued. "Even though I assured him I could do it. I don't need anyone else to help me compel when I've been doing it for centuries already."

We turned left at the top of the stairs, walked down a short hallway, and began climbing yet another staircase, not as grand as the first, and narrower. I recognized it for what it was—a servant's staircase. Many old homes had them, and a house this size would have at least a few. A house this size would also have more rooms than any one family could use, even a family with a staff. I counted twenty stairs before we reached a small landing, not quite big enough for the two of us to stand side-by-side, before making an L-turn and climbing yet another ten stairs to a closed door.

"Sometimes my father's biggest flaw is that he doesn't listen to me," Margaret said. "After all these years, you'd think he would listen." She turned the knob and pushed the door, which swung open with a yawn of protest. It was clear that it was rarely used.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the moon spilling through a small, octagonal window. My vampire eyes were adjusting quickly, though, or at least quickly enough to catch the maniacal look on Margaret's face. She dropped my arm then and began rummaging through the mess of clutter, which the room seemed to be filled with. I could make out the shadowy outlines of old tables and lamps and boxes of clutter.

Margaret let out a cry of triumph and placed an uncomfortable looking wooden chair in front of me. "Sit," she commanded. I sat at once. She then ventured into the depths of the room once more and didn't return for several minutes, which was more than enough time to agonize about what she was going to do to me, or more likely to anyone important to me. She soon returned brandishing an old silk scarf and length of twine.

"Open your mouth," she said. When I did, she wadded the scarf and began shoving it inside. I gagged involuntarily, my eyes watering with the reflexive need to spit it out.

"The only bad part about being able to compel others is that it takes some of the fun out of toying with them. Although I've compelled you to not speak and sit here, I'm going to do to you exactly what you did to me. Then we'll see just how much you like to be humiliated."

Margaret forced my hands behind the chair and bound them together with the twine, pulling so tight I thought my shoulders would pop out of joint. I closed my eyes, sending out a mental S.O.S. signal to Josiah, if Thomas and June hadn't found him and the others already. I realized I wasn't going to get out of this situation alone.

When Margaret was done, she came to stand in front of me. "I'm sure someone will find you . . . eventually. Until then, you'll have ample time to consider how what you did to me and my father was wrong. Now, since you deprived me of my evening meal, I'll be on my way. For your sake, I hope someone finds you before you get too hungry."

Without another word, Margaret turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her and leaving me in the dark and admittedly very creepy room. How long would I have to be gone before anyone missed me or considered I might be in danger? I was sure Josiah would come for me at some point. So would John, despite our issues. But when? For the time being, I was too ramped up on adrenaline to feel hungry, but I knew that would change after a few hours. In the short time it had taken me to rescue John from Mr. Abernathy this past summer, his condition had deteriorated rapidly. And I, being a new vampire, needed to feed more frequently.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply against the panic beginning to wash over me. Margaret had bound my wrists so that I couldn't move my hands even an inch. There was no way I was going to untie myself.

And then I heard something, a shuffling noise from behind, and my heart leaped into my throat. All I needed was a few curious rodents to start gnawing at my appendages.

Josiah, please . . .

The shuffling noises drew closer and I froze, the tips of my fingers tingling with the anticipation of sharp yellow teeth. And then they stopped. All I could hear was the sound of my own breathing, coming much too fast and panicky.

"Do not be afraid," a voice whispered into my ear.

*****

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please vote, comment, and recommend Blood Stain to others.