Severin's quarters were downstairs, guarded by the best mage-crafted wards and backed up by state-of-the art human security. None but Edward were allowed downstairs; he fed and had sex upstairs.
He sat in the library, in a huge, comfortable chair in the warmth of a fireplace. He'd already fed, at the lovely throat of the lovelier Willa, and her body had been so warm and welcoming. Until he'd bought Sonny, she'd been his most recent purchase, and so worth the money, with rich red hair and a body Rubens would have worshipped in a painting, lush and rounded. He'd been born into a time where curves were the height of beauty and he had little taste for the stick-thin preferences of the modern age.
Severin could hear the familiar steps and heartbeat of Edward; after half a century he could pick them out in a crowd. Along with him was the new boy, lighter of step, his heart enticingly quick. Sonny. Such a dismal, ordinary name; what were his parents thinking? Names carried power.
Edward rapped once on the door, then entered. He was as broad-shouldered and straight-backed as he'd been at sixteen. Sonny stood partially behind him, and Severin beckoned.
"Come," he said, and Edward gave him a nod, then stepped back and left, closing the door behind him, leaving Sonny standing there in a dark brown robe, his hair still damp from the shower.
If nothing else, Sonny was obedient. When he drew near, Severin could smell shampoo and soap, toothpaste, and beneath it all, young man. None of the stink of the auction house.
"Your life here can be very good," Severin said, tilting his head to study Sonny. "Not at all like what you had before." He reached out and caught the tie of the robe, gave it a little tug. "Come sit astride my lap here."