Bitter Blood (15 page)

“Nothing.”

“You’ve gained her trust?”

“Yes.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“I’m here,” I said, and looked around at this, Amelie’s most sheltered secret. “And now, you’re here. So yes. She trusts me.”

“I knew that bewitching you was an investment that would soon pay off,” Naomi said, and gave me a sweet, charming smile that made the storm inside me thunder and fury. I hated her. If I’d had the ability to fight, I’d have ripped her to pieces for what she’d done to me, and was doing through me, to Amelie. “She hasn’t detected your influence on her decisions?”

“Not as yet.”

“Well, she will likely start to question it soon, if she hasn’t already; my sister has a nasty streak of altruism that surfaces from time to time. Once the humans begin to complain of their treatment, she may think about placating them once again.” She ran her fingers over my cheek, then parted my lips with cool fingers. “Let’s see your fangs, my monster.”

I had no choice. None. But I tried, dear God, I tried; I struggled against the darkness inside me, I fought, and I won a hesitation, just for a moment, in obeying Naomi’s iron will.

And still, my fangs descended, sharp and white as a snake’s. There was a single tiny tug of pain, always, as if some part of me even now refused to believe my damned state of being, but I had centuries ago grown well used to that.

The pain she was wringing from within me was much, much worse.

She let me go and stepped back, eyes narrowing. “Your reluctance doesn’t please me,” she said. “And I can’t risk your tearing free even a bit from my side, now, can I? Hold still, Oliver.”

And I did, to my shame; I held very still, eyes fixed on the calm flowing water of the fountain as it spilled tears to the stone. She raised my arm to her lips, bit, and drank. She was a true snake, this one, and poison ran from her bite into me; it corrupted, and it destroyed the tiny pulse of will I’d managed to raise. She licked the remains of my blood from her lips and smiled at me.

Defeated.

And then she put her lips close to my ear and said, “I owe you something for that bit of will, don’t I? Very well. I want you to feel pain. I want you to
burn.
”

It started slowly, a sensation of heat sweeping up from my hands, but it quickly turned into the familiar bite of sunlight beating down on me…but where age had given me armor against such pain, I had no defenses from Naomi’s witchery. It was like being a newborn vampire again, tied down for the noontime glare, with my blood boiling and burning its way through my flesh, exploding in thin pale flames, flaking my skin to ash and roasting nerves….

I clenched my teeth against the pain, then whimpered softly at the extreme of the agony.
Let me die,
something in me begged.
Just let me die!

But that, of course, was not her plan. She had done me no physical harm, none at all. It was only the memory of fire, the sense of it; my blood was cool and intact, and my skin unmarked.

I only felt as if I were a torch set afire.

When she finally released me, I fell to my hands and knees on
the soft grass, sucking down cold night air in panicked breaths as if I were no more than a human. I didn’t need the air, but I craved the coolness; the dew of the grass felt like a balm on my still-sizzling nerves, and it was all I could do to stop myself from pitching facedown to its embrace.

But I would not give her that. Not until she demanded it.

She did not. I calmed myself and climbed to my feet, and wished to heaven I could rip her apart, but I knew better than to even attempt it. And I was rewarded with a slow, calm smile. Above it, Naomi’s eyes continued to watch closely for any hint of rebellion.

“Now,” she said. “I have a job for you. I wish you to find the vampire Myrnin, and kill him.”

Not that I hadn’t often wished to do just that, but I hated the thought now, knowing that it was her driving me to it, and not my own will. “Yes, my lady,” I said. The response was automatic, but it was also wise.

“That’s my lovely knight,” she said, and her eyes flashed red. “And inevitably, you will have to do the same to my sister, for my own safety. When we’re done, we’ll rule Morganville together. You can take your sport where you wish; I care not. That’s what you’ve always wanted.”

“Yes,” I whispered.
No.
Not at this cost. And not with her.

I had never expected, after all we had endured, to be undone at the lily-white hands of a maiden. Myrnin might possibly have been able to find a way to stop it, and her. That was why Naomi wished him gone, of course.

And why I’d have no choice, none, but to do her bidding, until she finally had no more use for me at all. All vampires had some measure of control of others; it was an instinct that made us effective hunters, but in some—like Amelie—that trait was very
strong, a hammer blow that could be wielded against other vampires. Naomi’s ability was a whisper, not a shout, but it was just as powerful. I had never suspected she possessed such skills. She had always seemed so…innocent. And kind. I ought to have known better; vampires are never kind, not unless that kindness buys us something.

“Tell me,” I said. “Tell me why you’re doing this. Why now?”

“I did not come after
you
,” Naomi pointed out, and raised an eyebrow. “I am not my father, Bishop; I had no need to rule until it became plain that Amelie was…incapable. I would have been happy to see her healed and whole again, even then. But
you
had to come after me, Oliver. So it’s entirely your fault that I am driven to this extreme.”

Naomi’s chin suddenly rose, and her eyes dimmed to a pale blue. “It seems I must leave you now, Oliver. She’s awake,” she said. “You know what to do. And remember, if you fight me, I’ll make the punishments I’ve given you already seem like a caress.”

She vanished like smoke. Surviving my attempt to destroy her, in the chaos of the final battle with the draug, had made this one stronger, faster, more coldhearted than ever.

I waited until I sensed Amelie’s approach, and then I turned with a false but convincing smile; it ripped at me like razors to betray her so, because even after all our years of rivalry, I had finally come to realize her worth, and now…now the smile was no longer mine. It was a lure, a lie, and it sickened me to see her return it.

She walked on bare feet down the path, hands stroking the petals of flowers as she came; her thin white gown blew like mist in the moonlight. She was beautiful, and desirable, and I despaired inside as her hands touched the bare skin of my chest, because I was going to be the death of her.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it. Nothing at all. I
wanted to warn her, to tell her how dangerous I was to her now. How destructive.

“You strayed,” she said, and kissed me very lightly.

“Yes,” I said, and felt myself smile that warm, challenging smile that had charmed her into trust. “But I’ll never go far.”

Until I kill you. God forgive me.

C
laire really wanted to confront Eve about what Miranda had overheard—she and Michael
couldn’t
really be considering moving out, could they?—but in the morning, Eve was gone early, and Michael was sleeping late; she wasn’t quite gutsy enough to go knock on his door and demand to know the truth. Michael was grouchy in the mornings.

Miranda, of course, had kept Claire up talking into the wee hours; she’d been getting more and more chatty since taking up residence, which was great in a way, because the kid had been so repressed and isolated before, but bad for Claire’s sleep cycle. It also cut into the time she could spend with Shane; he tended to steer clear when Miranda was around, and although he wasn’t above just moving the girl firmly out of the room when he felt it was necessary, he hadn’t done it last night.

So Claire woke up short of sleep, yawning, and a little cranky. Not her best morning ever, but in a matter of minutes it got drastically better; she was still stretching and trying to wearily decide what to wear, when there was a thumping knock on her door, one very different from Miranda’s tentative taps.

She grabbed her robe and threw it on as she answered. She didn’t open up all the way, just peeked through. There was Shane, balancing one coffee cup precariously on top of another. He’d given her the giant Snoopy cup this morning, which was nice. “What’s the password?” she asked him.

“Um, you look hot with your hair standing up?”

“Good enough.” She stepped back and relieved Shane of the Snoopy cup as he came inside; then she set it hastily down when he stepped in to slide his free hand around her waist and kiss her. She had morning breath, but it didn’t seem to matter to him; he tasted of mint toothpaste and coffee, but she forgot all that in seconds and then it was just all incredibly delicious. Her whole body tingled with warmth.

“Morning,” he murmured, his lips close to hers. They were so tasty, she licked them, which made him smile and kiss her again. “Too bad you’re dressed.”

“I’m not dressed. I just have on a robe.”

“Oh?”

“Hey,” she said, and put a hand flat on his chest. “None of that, mister. A girl’s got to have boundaries.”

“You’ll let me know when I get there,” he said, and untied her robe. “You lied. You’ve got on jammies.”

“Well, yeah, those, too.” She was short of breath, and when his hands found their way under the flannel of her pajama top, the air in her lungs rushed away. “You really shouldn’t…”

“Do this? Yeah, I know.” He undid the first button on her pajama
top and put a kiss in its place. “But I’ve been thinking about doing it all night.”

So had she, actually, and all the logical objections to why this wasn’t a good idea kind of vanished under the heat of his touch…until Claire realized he’d left her bedroom door wide-open, and someone was standing in the doorway.

“Your coffee’s getting cold,” Eve said. She was clearly on her way to the bathroom, arms full of black clothes, hair untied and in a multicolored mess around her pale face. She blew the two of them a kiss.

Claire yelped and jumped away, rebuttoning her top and retying her robe at light speed. Shane hardly seemed bothered at all, but she could feel the hot blush staining her cheeks. “Um, hi, Eve,” she said. “Sorry.”

“
I’m
not sorry,” Shane said, and gave Eve a mean glare. Eve gave Shane a wicked grin. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Than mess up your morning sexytime? Nope, never. Dibs on the shower! And you might want to remember this thing actually swings shut. Pro tip.” Eve slammed the door between them.

Shane picked up a handy book and started to throw it, but Claire grabbed it out of his hands. “Not the advanced calc book!” She searched around and found a history text instead. He shook his head sadly.

“Moment’s over,” he said, and he wasn’t just talking about the opportunity to throw something. He retrieved his coffee and sipped it, and she tried to get her racing heartbeat under control as she tasted hers. It was good and strong, and although it wasn’t as good as what
might
have been her morning wake-up, it wasn’t shabby. “What was Miranda in here gabbing about last night?”

“Things.” Claire shrugged. “You know. She’s lonely.”

“I know the feeling, believe me.” He gave her a puppy-dog look, and she aimed a kick in his direction, which he dodged.

“But she did say something weird.”

“Miranda? Go figure!”

“She said—” Should she even repeat this? Somehow, saying it aloud, to Shane, made it more…real. But he needed to know. “She said Michael and Eve were talking about moving.”

“Moving,” he repeated, as if he didn’t know the word. “Moving what?”

“I guess out. To another house.”

“Why would we move?”

“Not we, Shane.
Them
. Michael and Eve. As a couple. Moving.”

“Oh,” he said, as if he still didn’t get it, and then he did.
“Oh.”
He looked as if someone had shot his dog, and he sat down on the unmade bed and stared down into his coffee cup. It was one of Eve’s, black with purple bats all over it. “You mean, leave us behind.”

He’d just distilled it down to the sharp, hurting point:
leave us.
Because that was what it was, really: not that they needed space, but that Michael and Eve were leaving Claire and Shane behind, in their past.

“They need space, is what Miranda said. Y’know, together-type space.”

“They’re not the only ones,” Shane said. He didn’t look up. “Hell. Michael didn’t say anything.”

“Neither did Eve. So maybe it’s just, you know…”

“Talk? Maybe. But if they’re talking about it, it’s real enough to matter.” He pulled in a breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve been thinking about it myself.”

“Michael and Eve moving out?” Was she the only one who hadn’t seen this coming?

“No. Moving out myself.”

Claire couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d announced he’d decided to turn vampire. She sat down too fast and just managed not to slop coffee all over herself; even that barely registered as a blip, because her attention was suddenly and completely on her boyfriend, and there was a sick, hurting knot in her stomach.
“What?”