Blood Wyne (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #9)

Blood Wyne (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #9) Page 7

I nodded. “Yes, but I don’t think she’s ful y realized how extensive a selection we have thanks to you.”

“Okay. For dessert, I prepared a few bottles that taste like cinnamon applesauce.”

“Thank you. You’re al right, you know that?” I grinned at my brother-in-law and then headed out to the porch, where Tavah was sitting on the swing. I slipped outside and closed the door behind me. As much as I liked her, I would never invite her in. Too much danger.

Myth and legend were right—to a point. Vampires needed an invitation to enter a private dwel ing. Unless the building was like the frat house our enemy Harold Young had owned, which had technical y been an arm of the university. Or a home-based business. Or a store or bar or other public venue. I wasn’t quite clear on how it al worked yet and somehow doubted I’d ever be ful y savvy.

The temperature had settled somewhere in the low thirties and promised to plummet even colder. The sky glimmered with that silvery sheen, and it was snowing again. The hours I’d spent in sleep had provided for a soft coating lining the tree branches and a scattering barely covering the grass. Now, by the looks of things, by morning we’d have a blanket of white stretching across the lawn.

“I need you to promise me confidentiality on this. It concerns another vampire. No gossiping, no tel ing tales to friends, no talking about this outside my earshot.”

Tavah was official y employed by Queen Asteria now, too. She’d been paid as an Earthside vamp by the OIA, but after we got our butts kicked out last month, she’d offered to move over to the Elfin Queen’s camp with us. So we took her up on it. She nodded her head.

“Of course. What’s going on?”

I outlined the basic problem. “I need you to act as Erin’s new foster mother when I’m not around, at least for now, til I can get matters settled. I’l take over her training, but I want to make sure she has someone to run to if she gets afraid or if something happens.”

Tavah let out a little hmm and cocked her head to the side. She was tal and lean like Delilah, with shoulder-length blond hair that tumbled down her back in a ponytail. She wore scant makeup and kept to herself a good deal. She was a bookworm, albeit dressed in jeans and cashmere. I’d learned enough about her to trust her, but I had the feeling she’d never let anybody in enough to be a good friend.

“I can do that,” she said after a moment. “It’s a lot of responsibility, but . . . yes, I’l be happy to help. You said you wanted me to take her shopping?”

I nodded. “She hates the things Sassy forces her to wear. Get her a few comfortable, neat outfits and for the sake of the gods, let her choose them. Then take her back to the bar and show her what needs to be done in terms of cleaning up. Also, pick up a twenty-five-inch TV, or something close, for one of the rooms upstairs, and an inexpensive laptop. Use the store credit card. Erin might as wel start working tonight—show her where to find the cleaning supplies and what to do. I’m going to be late. If there are any problems, cal my cel phone.”

Standing, I summoned my daughter. Al I had to do was reach out with my mind and cal her, she was stil so freshly turned—and she came running.

“Tavah’s taking you shopping, then back to the bar. She’s an older vampire, so she’l be able to help you if something happens.” Tavah was at least one hundred years old, that much I knew. “I’l see you there when I’m finished with my business.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Erin automatical y bent to kiss my hand, and I reluctantly al owed it. I’d never aspired to sire another vampire; I’d never aspired to control others, only to have power over my own life. Now, it seemed the responsibilities were growing and there was no turning my back on them.

As Tavah led her down the path toward the driveway, I watched them go. My daughter. How odd it felt on my tongue, especial y when my daughter had been in her late forties at her death. But I was her sire, and she was my responsibility, and we would be forever linked, no matter what happened in the future.

Roman lived in a fabulous house behind a gated drive, and his staff was scared shitless of him.

The one time I’d been here before, the maid had warned me that few who entered the building ever left. I had thought then I’d never come back, but here I was, staring up at the four-story white elephant, the gleaming white columns that marched along the front porch shimmering like marble pil ars of light. What would it be like to live in a house like this? Ful of artifacts and antiques, luxuriant to the point of excess, with a stable of bloodwhores on the premises? The house reeked of decadence, and yet it was not overripe.

I slid out of my car and slowly approached the front door.

A maid answered—not the same one as I’d met before, but a vampire nonetheless. I didn’t ask about the other woman. I didn’t want to know.

“Menol y D’Artigo, here to meet Roman. I have an appointment at eight thirty.” As she stepped back, motioning me in, I was unaccountably glad I’d worn jeans and a turtleneck and my bad-ass black leather jacket. My stiletto boots tapped on the tile floor, which gleamed—polished to such a sheen that I could see my reflection in it.

She silently led me into the parlor—the one room into which I’d ventured before. An oppressive sense of time rested in knickknacks, in opulent upholstered furniture, in hangings woven by hand from centuries past.

Roman was a very wealthy vampire, and though he had exquisite taste, I felt claustrophobic around him. There was just too much . . . too many vases, and too many roses scenting the air, too many paintings covering the wal s, too many throws covering the chairs and love seat and sofa.

“The Master wil be with you in time,” the doe-eyed young woman whispered. She was a young vampire, of that I was certain, but old enough to pause, give me a long look, and then smile suggestively before she slipped out of the room.

I knew the dril . Roman would let me wait a little past my comfort zone, then suddenly appear at my side. He was so old that he made no noise, moving faster than any vampire I’d ever met. He was older than Dracula, and older than Dredge had been.

“Thinking of anything in particular?” A soft voice echoed from the corner of the room, and I whirled to find myself staring at two gleaming eyes in the darkness. As he emerged from the shadows, I froze, once again feeling like a deer in the headlights.

Roman was as he’d been in my dream. I hadn’t forgotten his looks, apparently. He was around five eleven, trim but muscled, and he wore a black smoking jacket and what looked like designer trousers. His hair was slicked back in a ponytail, a rich chocolate brown, and his eyes were almost white—the longer a vampire lived, the more pale his or her eyes became. Mine were already turning gray. His were nearly opaque, but a sparkle delineated the iris, and a faint slit of black reminded me of a cat’s pupil.

Roman held out his hand. Sapphire cufflinks set in gold adorned the cuffs of his velvet jacket. A matching pendant hung from a ribbon of gold chain encircling his neck.

“Menol y, so good of you to come.” He motioned for me to sit and I did, choosing a chair where he could not sit directly beside me. I didn’t trust him. Any vampire that old had to have lost a good share of his humanity.

“You wanted my help, and yet I summon you here to assign you a task.” His voice was low, smooth, silken cream, and he smiled. “You wil assist me.”

His manner had roped me in, but it was common sense that made me nod. When a vampire this old invited you to his home and asked for a favor, you said yes. At least until you could get away and decide how to back out of the obligation.

“What do you want?”

Roman leaned back, pul ed out a miniature cigar, and lit it, not inhaling but gathering the smoke in his mouth and forming delicate, perfect rings with it, the tips of his fangs peeking out at me. I stared at his mouth, at the perfect O, and found myself licking my lips. Oh, he was honey and I felt like Winnie the Pooh. After a moment, he set his cigaril o in an ashtray.

“What do I want? I want you to stop a murder.”

“Who’s in danger?” I yanked my attention out of the gutter and tried to focus on what he was saying, praying it wasn’t my sisters or me at risk.

“Wade Stevens. Your friend.”

Wade! Wade, the vampire who had been instrumental in introducing me to the vampire scene in Seattle, then turned his back on me? My temper flared.

“Wade and I aren’t on speaking terms.” And then, because I couldn’t help it, I asked, “Who wants to murder him, anyway? Terrance?”

“No,” Roman said softly. “But if he doesn’t withdraw from the election, I wil stake him myself. Or send someone to do the job for me.”

What the fuck? I stared at him a minute, waiting for a crack of laughter or anything to indicate he was joking, but none came.

“You can’t kil Wade. He’s one of the good guys,” came racing out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

“I can, and I shal , if he doesn’t listen to reason and withdraw from the election. Make him see reason. That’s why I cal ed you over here, or at least, one of the reasons.” He leaned forward and gazed into my eyes, and I felt myself fal ing forward, fal ing into those ancient orbs of frost.

“Menol y, persuade Wade to withdraw without tel ing him why, or I wil kil him. It’s that simple.”

And then, before I could respond, he reached out and took my hand and a shiver raced up my back—and I, who could not feel cold, felt chil ed to the bone. Something inside—the part of me that remembered Dredge—screamed, No, don’t touch me, but another part begged to be set free.

I forced down my panic. “What happens if I can’t? What happens if he won’t listen to me?”

“That . . . is not my problem,” Roman said, his voice so low I could barely hear him. He drew me close, pul ed me out of my chair, and before I realized what was happening, I was sitting in his lap, staring into his eyes. He reached up and caressed my face gently, without any sense of force.

“I have my reasons, Menol y. I could have just ignored everything and ordered him kil ed. But I knew—even though you two are on the outs—that he was your friend, and so I give you this chance to save him. Wil you take it?”

“But why—what could be so wrong about him running in the election? Surely Terrance can’t be a better choice. He’l destroy al we’ve worked to build up, al of the treaties with the breathers and the Fae.”

Up close, I could see his face so much more clearly, and I realized Roman was a beautiful man.

His hair shimmered under the dim lights from the chandeliers. And his eyes . . . his eyes reminded me of il uminated, mist-shrouded globes of light. I wondered how many moths had been drawn in by the gentle lure. Thoughts of his stable sprang to mind. Were they al human? Were they al women? Did he just feed on them, or were they also his concubines?

Roman’s face was mere inches from mine. “Terrance wil never hold the position of Regent, rest assured.”

“You can’t mean for me to talk to Terrance, too. He’s out for my blood. And I’m out for his.” I shook my head. The owner of the Fangtabula was as good as dead in my opinion—or he would be if I ever managed to catch him alone. He was the worst kind of vampire—total y given over to his predator side. Terrance was a sadist, a Dredge in the making.

“I’m not asking you to talk to him. I can handle Terrance. But young Wade, he has a good idea with his Vampires Anonymous group. I wil spare him if you persuade him to withdraw. But this must be done with discretion and finesse—you cannot tel him outright why you’re asking him to walk away from the election. And rest assured, there wil be other duties for you, in the future.”

He seemed convinced I was going to agree. Of course, considering who he was, he had every reason to assume my cooperation.

“What are you planning to do about Terrance?”

“I’m planning on shutting down the Fangtabula and executing al of its primary players. They feed on the unwil ing; they threaten to unbalance our negotiations with the breathers.”

Roman gently slid me off his lap and stood up, a crackle of energy racing around him as he drew on his power. Instinctively, I pul ed back. If I’d had a pulse to pound, it would be racing with fear.

“Terrance dares to chal enge my authority. Menol y, do you know exactly who I am?” He gave me a cold, calculating smile.

I shook my head, slowly, listening to the ivory beads in my cornrows jingling. “Just that you’re Roman . . . and that you have considerably more power than I first thought.”

“Oh, Menol y,” he said softly. “My dear Menol y. I am Roman, Lord of the Vampire Nation, eldest son of Blood Wyne—she who is Queen Mother of the Crimson Veil. And I’m heir to the throne.”

And then he began to laugh.

CHAPTER 5

“Blood Wyne?” This time, a chil did race down my spine—the kind of chil that doesn’t need temperature to back it up. I’d heard rumors of Blood Wyne, the infamous, horrific vampire queen whose name stretched back into obscurity. Whether vampirism started with her, or she was just the one to bring it to notice, Blood Wyne was the first vampire whose name had instil ed terror throughout the living and undead alike.

Long before the Great Divide, she had been known across the lands, but after the worlds ripped apart and the Fae split into factions, as humans began to claim the world for their own, Blood Wyne slipped into the shadows.

She was known stil , but had retreated into the corner like a spider, watching to see how the next few centuries would fal out. I’d heard of her, but like most of the vampires I’d met, I assumed she’d taken her place in the underworld. But the world had changed. Her people were coming out of the coffin. And apparently, the Queen of the Crimson Veil walked the hal s of the living dead once more.