It's on the midnight train to Prague that Lydia Devinau meets Dr. Szandor Arnyak and is swept up into the vampire's shadowy world of dark love and macabre horror. Szandor is infected with the vampire's curse and can only forestall his conversion into one of the living dead by indulging himself in the very depths of sexual vice, and Lydia is the perfect partner for his experiments in carnal depravity. She becomes his companion in his forays into the dark underbelly of the City of a Thousand Spires, but the link between Szandor and Lydia is deeper than either of them suspect and leads them through a tangled web of political intrigue and emotional discovery that culminates in a night of surreal horror as they confront a mystery concerning the origins of the very vampire race that is now out to destroy them.
Naked from the waist up, she was aware only of his eyes now, and of something he saw inside her, of a part of her she'd always been dimly aware of but that now lit up so that it obscured something else. It was a secret of herssomething her grandmother had told her, and she felt it now under the vampire's eyes with starling clarity, a memory from twenty years ago. She smelled the old woman's powder, saw the fussy wallpaper in the room, and felt once again a child's frightened and impatient emotions as her grandmother pressed something into her hands, and told her to keep it, keep it and learn it. Remember it, for it was hers, only hers. And she had, and now Szandor was here for it. It had been real and her grandmother had been right. Szandor was here for it and she had it for him, waiting, waiting all these years
And then it was gone and Szandor Arnyak had her in his arms, his hands at the belt of her skirt.
"Oh God, Szandor wait! I can't just do it like this! Like an animal, like a common whore. There has to be some respect, some tenderness"
But he wasn't listening. He had her skirt open, the belt, the zipper in the back, the top pushed down, For his size and his power he worked with incredible grace and finesse, his fingers barely touching her, and with a deft sweep of his hand, her skirt and slip were gone and she was lying there on the sunken bed in stockings, panties and garters, still arguing with him though the conversation had long since been decided.
"No," he said finally, silencing her. He stared directly into her eyes, and his eyes were glowing. "For this you are my whore, Lydia. You are precisely a whore for me!"
He stood up and slid off his shorts and she sat up to try and see him, see his size, what was about to happen to her, but he was already between her legs, his knees between hers, his hands on her shoulders, his hips drawing back
"Oh! Oh god!" she wailed as he entered her. Her hands caught in his thick black hair and her back arched. Her head fell back and her hips rolled lewdly up almost against her own will with shocking greediness to take him inside. She wanted him.
Hard, thick, adamant, he took her wrists in his big hands and pressed them down against the mattress, making her his prisoner and her legs fell apart, resistance useless.
He was the night. He was the darkness. He was everything she'd ever been afraid of made beautiful, come to make love to her, come to take life from her, and her body roared with pleasure like a cave in the sea