Blood Born (7 page)

First he had to make it out of here alive, and that meant making the traitor think he was safe, at least for the time being. The only thing Luca had going for him was that no one other than himself—and Hector—knew how he could read the remnants of energy, of both life and death. That was his ace in the hole, the thread he could pick up that would, with luck, eventually lead him back to the traitor.

He hadn’t been able to pick up a betraying flicker of expression from any of them that would tell him who was behind Hector’s murder. He’d hoped he could, but that had been an outside chance. Not one of them was unduly upset by Hector’s death, and in the rarified air of the ruling Council, a vampire killing another vampire wasn’t something they worried about. What concerned the Council—most of the Council members, anyway—was preserving the wall of secrecy that protected them all. A simple murder … bah! Unless it was done in a public manner, who cared?

He
cared. Hector had been his friend.

Deliberately he dragged back the chair Hector had always occupied, the seat of the Head of the Council, and sat down. He didn’t pull the chair up to the table; instead he kept it back and slightly at an angle, his long legs sprawled out and crossed at the ankles. He was just far enough from the long conference table that he didn’t give the impression of taking Hector’s place, but at the same time the fact that he’d taken the chair at all offended their egos. He liked to keep them a little off balance. He figured it was good for them—and in this instance might startle one particular member into making a tiny mistake.

Every one of them was highly conscious of their privileged status, and they didn’t like the casual way he’d just put himself on their level. Even Marie looked taken aback, though for what felt like centuries—hell, maybe because it had been—every time there had been an
opening on the Council she had lobbied him to accept the position.

He lifted his arms and laced his fingers behind his neck, the very picture of indolence. “No question one or more of you is working with the rebels,” he said lazily. “The bigger question is what the Council wants me to do about it.”

The eight of them looked at one another, weighing, considering. He could almost hear their thoughts: Which of them was the most likely to go behind the backs of the others? Who thought it was time to come out of the shadows? Who most resented the humans? Unfortunately, the answers to those three questions weren’t necessarily the same.

Alma was the one who had always harped that they should resume their natural positions of superiority, but Theodore was the one most likely to go behind their backs. As to who most resented the humans … who knew? Possibly they all did, which meant that the answer became one of degree. None of this told him who
they
thought the traitor could be, just that any of them were possible.

“You’re assuming Hector was correct about the rebel faction,” Benedict finally said. He was Roman, a patrician, and had never liked associating with those he considered lower than himself, which was almost everyone, vampire and human alike. It amused Luca that, as blood borns, both he and Marie presented a dilemma to Benedict; they were members of the Rolls-Royce class of vampires, but their respective parents, in their human lives, had obviously not been as highly born as Benedict, so in his eyes they were tainted by low birth … but they themselves had never been human, which threw Benedict’s value system out of balance.

“There was no point in killing him, otherwise,” Luca pointed out.

“True,” Eleanor agreed. She was tiny, as people often had been hundreds of years ago. Being made vampire didn’t make the person suddenly grow taller; rather, they were preserved as they had been when they were turned, which was why the myth that vampires were all beautiful and physically perfect was only that: a myth. If people had been ugly as humans, they were just as ugly as vampires—much stronger, much faster, immune to aging and all diseases, but still ugly.

Eleanor was neither pretty nor ugly. What she was, was alert, wily, and a ruthless enemy. Hector had seemed fond of her, and often relied on her common sense to sway other Council members to his way of thinking. She drummed her nails on the conference table in a quick tattoo. “If these rebels are so organized that they’ve recruited one of us, I’m amazed that no intelligence regarding this has come our way. We all have kindred children, alliances, our own sources of information—” By that she meant “spies,” but that didn’t have to be spelled out. “We should have received warning. I don’t like this at all.”

“Hector wasn’t infallible,” Pablo pointed out. He crossed his arms over his burly chest. “Perhaps he was mistaken.”

“Then why is he dead?” Marie snapped.

Nadia snorted. “We don’t know that he is. All we know is that he isn’t in his quarters, and Luca has assumed that he’s dead because Hector called him in a panic about some rebels that none of us have heard about until now.”

The very idea of Hector in a panic was enough to make several of them roll their eyes and snicker. Nadia set back in her chair, sulking.

Luca hid his annoyance at their behavior, though he’d seen it before. No matter how old or how powerful the vampires, put them in government and their
behavior began devolving toward juvenile. He didn’t bother telling them again what he knew to be true. Instead he looked around the table and said, “Well? What do you want me to do? Anything? Nothing?”

Someone sitting at that table would be very relieved that he was evidently willing to let the Council direct him in this, though that someone would be greatly mistaken, because no way in hell would he let this go. Still, let them think they had control of the situation.

No one said anything. After a moment, Marie pushed her chair back and stood. “Obviously no one is going to make any decisions right now, but the one thing we can do is look around Hector’s quarters.” She glanced at Luca, silently asking if that was where he thought Hector had been killed, and he gave a slight nod. “If we find his dust, then we’ll know Luca’s assumptions are on target—as usual,” she added, not above a jab at her fellow Council members.

“Are you in charge now?” Theodore growled, though everyone had risen to their feet, himself included.

“No, she isn’t,” Alma snapped.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Marie muttered. “I said ‘let’s go look,’ not ‘I’m taking over.’”

“That’s what you
said
,” Pablo observed. “I’m not too certain that’s what you meant.”

There had always been a degree of tension between Marie and the other Council members, perhaps because she was a blood born and they feared her enhanced powers—much as they feared Luca—though of course none of them would ever admit to that. Jealousy came into play, too; blood borns matured until they reached the apex, the optimum physical and mental peak; for Luca, perhaps because of his size and the extra growing time he’d needed, his prime had occurred in his early thirties. For Marie, it had been at roughly age sixteen. Her skin was flawless, her teeth perfect, her hair thick and lustrous,
her breasts nice and high. Even Alma, as beautiful as she was, looked like someone’s aunt compared to Marie’s youthfulness. Because of that, they were all alert to any sign of ambition in Marie.

God save him from politics, Luca thought wearily. It reduced ancient, powerful vampires to the emotional maturity of grade-schoolers.

Enoch nervously led the way to Hector’s quarters. When he reached out to open the door, however, Luca said, “Wait,” and he put enough power in his voice that all of them, even Marie, stopped in their tracks. Enoch visibly shivered, his eyes widening as he stared at Luca. Vocal compulsion wasn’t a rare power, but the level of strength needed for it to work on vampires as powerful as the Council members was something that made all of them take notice.

He moved ahead of all of them, and Enoch stepped back as he approached. Deliberately he opened Hector’s door and stepped inside. The first room, for the sake of camouflage should any intruder be able to enter the building, was a rather nondescript office. There was a desk and a long leather sofa, both well-used, with a thick rug covering the floor between them. One painting hung behind the desk; Botticelli, Luca noted, and likely not a copy. There were no plants, real or artificial, no knickknacks, just a jumble of papers and some files.

If any outsider were to stumble upon this particular room, it would give them no pause at all—unless they had an eye for art.

Hector’s suite of private rooms sprawled beyond this square, austere office, but as he had before, Luca immediately sensed the swirl of recent and deadly energy here, in this room.

“Is this necessary?” Nadia asked. “If he’s merely elsewhere, we’re invading his privacy—”

Ignoring her, Luca moved farther into the room. Hector had died here; he felt as if he were drowning in Hector’s life force, in his very essence. He allowed his mind to clear, to open, and then he thought of Hector. He captured and controlled the energy that danced here. There were many memories of the old vampire to call upon, and within those memories there was a particular energy that
was
Hector, his essence, his power.

There were energy pictures in this very room, as if Hector had taken a photo of his death and spat it upon the air. The murderer hadn’t been working alone; death lurked in the room—and in the hallway. The danger that Hector had sensed had carefully remained hidden. Luca knew who had taken Hector’s life, but still wasn’t able to discern the power in command.

Hector hadn’t gone easily; he’d fought for his life. The violence Luca sensed would have overturned furniture, broken lamps … but there was nothing out of place. He looked around, taking the time to notice every detail. The office had been straightened, the broken items removed and replaced. Lines in the thick pile of the rug revealed a recent vacuuming.

Vacuumed?
Of course—remove Hector’s dust, and there was no real proof that he was dead.

Luca crouched and touched one finger to the rug. The faint remnants of Hector seemed to shout at him, the impression was so strong. He looked over his shoulder, met the eyes of the one Council member he knew had a sense that was related to his, though not as strong. He was well aware that she could be the traitor, but so could any of the other seven. “Darnell,” he said quietly. “Tell me what you feel.”

She came to him, sank bonelessly to a crouch beside him. As he had done, she reached out one finger, dragged it through the pile of the rug. Lifting her finger,
she stared at the gray dust coating it. Her large dark eyes were somber.

For a long moment she was silent, then she said, “Hector.”

Behind them Theodore asked heavily, “You have no doubt?”

“No,” she said. “None. Hector is dead. Here, on this rug.”

“It’s been vacuumed,” Luca said, pointing to the track marks on the pile.

“So the rest of him is in a vacuum-cleaner bag somewhere?” Alma asked, not quite eliminating the snicker from her voice.

Luca slowly turned his head and pinned her with his pale gaze. The humor vanished from her face and she moved as if to step back before she remembered that she was a Council member and stopped herself. Anger and resentment flashed hot in her eyes.

Silence fell in the room. There was nothing else he could do here at the moment, and plans he needed to put into motion. Rising to his full height, Luca caught Theodore’s eye. “You know how to reach me,” he said. “Let me know what the Council decides.”

Theodore gave a small, brusque nod of his head.

Luca strode from the room, down the hall to the elevator. The doors opened as soon as he punched the button.

“Luca … wait!”

It was Marie, striding toward him with a confidence that her small stature could neither diminish nor disguise. Her expression was a mixture of determination and exasperation. “I’ll see you out,” she said, for the benefit of any listening ears, and stepped into the elevator with him. No sooner had the doors closed than she muttered, “Morons.”

“Anyone in particular?” he asked.

She looked up at him, her gaze narrowed and sharp. “Don’t pretend you don’t think the same thing.”

Though they were both blood born, had known each other for hundreds of years, Marie had never been a confidante and Luca couldn’t see making her one now. He shrugged and didn’t answer.

“What are you going to do?”

He lied without hesitation. “Depends on the Council.” He’d do what he wanted to do regardless of how the Council voted, if they ever got around to voting. He could almost see it now: First they’d have to elect a new member to replace Hector, then they’d have to elect a new Head of Council, then they’d have to discuss and debate the issue.

“The Council would be more decisive if you were on it.”

He shook his head. “You don’t give up, do you? Not just ‘no,’ but ‘no way in hell.’” Not that she didn’t have a point, considering what he’d just been thinking, but he didn’t want to be a part of their decision-making.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened to a soft
ping
. They left the car, and Marie put a hand on his arm as he started toward the front door. “Luca … think about it. Don’t automatically say no. I had to be persuaded to accept a Council position, too. Once you’re on it, it’s different from what you expected. And together, you and I could shape the Council the way we wanted. What you did with your Voice …”

“That was the upper limit of my power in Voice,” he said wryly, again lying without compunction. “And all the other Council members, including yourself, will immediately begin working to strengthen their resistance to Voice, so don’t bother stroking my ego.”

Her dark eyes flashed, and in that millisecond the Council member was replaced by the woman; her look said she wouldn’t mind stroking something else. For
the most part, sex to a vampire was a casual, voracious appetite, frequently fed but seldom significant. Young vampires were prone to forming relationships, but older vampires generally knew better.

Having sex with Marie wasn’t on his list of things he wanted to do, though. She was a Council member, and thus a suspect. He had fought wars and battles his entire life, and he looked at everything, even sex, from a strategic point of view. She was very old and very powerful, and the act of sex might provide a moment—such as during orgasm—that would leave him vulnerable. He didn’t believe in vulnerability, especially when it involved someone as arrogant and powerful as she was.