“On your feet, bitch,” snarled the rough voiced man, grabbing her upper arm and nearly dislocating the arm socket.<br/><br/>“Notice the amulet,” remarked the more cautious of the two. “ She is a witch. As you know, Milas has a certain fondness for the blood of the blessed. You must not taint it with pain. He only wants to taste the richness of power with overtones of fear. He calls it a most potent bouquet.”<br/><br/>“I have told you for the last time,” the rough man’s voice was cut off by a hand that extended through his back and out his chest.  His bulging eyes beheld his beating heart before slumping into death.<br/><br/>“Take her now to my chamber.” The cold patrician voice commanded. “I will deal with you soon.”<br/><br/>Lydia realized that Milas had come personally to collect her. He shook her until her black hair tumbled wildly around her face.<br/><br/>“Open your eyes, witch, so that you might behold your Master. Open your eyes so that you might understand the privilege of serving Milas Von Ragonald.”<br/><br/>Lydia did as she was compelled even though she had thought to resist. One look in his bottomless black eyes sucked her down to a mindless pit. She blinked and all thought went from her head. All sense of who she was or the purpose she had fled in terror.<br/><br/>“Master. You have finally come for me.” She whispered.<br/><br/>His fangs flashed and descended on her neck. Her eyes fluttered back and sensations as powerful as the act of love coursed through her veins. A moan of protest escaped her lips when he drew back.<br/><br/>“Exquisite,” he declared.  “Bring her to my chambers, now, I say!"<br/>