Blood Legacy (4 page)

My mind reeled back to that day, and what he’d said about me missing my true calling. Surely he didn’t mean to make a Donor out of me. I tightened one hand into a fist. Fear and panic drowned out the opening strains of his conversation with the Burdraks.

Vampyrs regularly slummed it in Undertown for illic
it feedings, but I’d been smart. I knew how to fight of their advances in the dark allies and nooks of the Undertown labyrinth. I’d kept my body pure. I wouldn’t succumb to the Vampyrs’ venom now.

Finch’s voice echoed in my head.
Whatever you have to do to draw information out of him, I expect you to do it.
Probably he meant sex—it was always his favorite tool for manipulating people—but I feared he meant offering myself up as a Donor, as well.

But I couldn’t do that.
I didn’t care what the cost would be to Finch and the Resistance. I would not—
could
not—let Victor Bressov feed off of me directly, injecting the Vampyr toxin directly and irrevocably into my veins. Not even once.

Victor strode toward the couch, still carrying on with the Burdraks. He’d heard every one of my words
in the earlier presentation perfectly—he was reciting my analysis back to them without missing a beat. He settled onto the couch beside me, knees set in a wide stance, his thigh brushing against mine. I could feel the smooth nap of his bespoke suit even through my scratchy nylon hose. Once he’d finished his pitch, he turned to me with a smile. I offered him a hasty smile back before my fear rubbed it out.

The Burdraks ran through their own iteration of merger details—mostly just downplayed versions of the figures I’d already come up with—but I couldn’t listen too closely. I could feel Victor’s eyes roving over me with the barely-contained anticipation of a child watching his next meal being cooked. I didn’t like the feeling one bit. If he wanted my blood, he could pick it up from the Donation centers like every other law-abiding Vampyr. I’d come too far to cast my lot with the Donors.

His hand darted out, swift as a whip crack, and brushed a loose lock of my hair back from my shoulder, exposing my neck. With the faintest touch of his fingertip, he traced the long line of my carotid artery from my jawline down into my collarbone.

“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t.”

He chuckled softly. “How sad,” he mused, “that you know so little of the world. That you think
I’m
what you should fear.”

My pulse throbbed against his fingertip, his words hanging between us, for a moment before he lifted his hand away.

“ . . . Of course, Lord Bressov, we are taking a very big risk for one more reason, which you have not yet addressed,” one of the Burdrak lords continued.

Victor turned his head away from me. The skin along my throat ached where he’d touched it, as if he’d scalded me.
Before I could stop myself, I lifted my free hand to stroke the patch of skin, so smooth and warm, but it didn’t spark the same embers in my core as I’d felt when he’d touched it.

I have no idea what I am
, he’d told me that day. The thought sickened me.

There were whispers—there had always been whispers—that women like . . . like what
I suspected he was claiming I was . . . had been responsible for the Vampyrs’ rise in the first place. Something in their blood called for the pain and agony that only a skilled Vampyr could deliver. They sold their souls to become Donors to Vampyrs, and more besides, and like some ancient parable, the shift in power allowed the Vampyrs to take control.

I knew better, of course. I’d read the smuggled history books: the Vampyrs took control after we humans had managed to nearly kill ourselves off in a vicious nuclear war. Who better to lead us back to civilization than immortal creatures? Wherever they’d been hiding
, it wasn’t a few weak-willed
agonies
who allowed them to take control.

It was us—humanity—
and our own damned stupidity.

Besides, the Onyx Queen herself was rumored to be an
agonie
. Clearly, being submissive was not the same as being harmless.

“I assure you, my good lord, that as soon as I have made my decision regarding the open chair on the Coven, you shall be the first to know.” Victor tilted his head, candlelight dancing in his
cloudy eyes. “But I have not made my decision yet.”

I swallowed audibly. I couldn’t bear that sharp-eyed gaze, more incisive than a hawk’s.  I pushed against the sofa to stand up.

“You must understand, Victor, we are taking a huge risk,” Lady Burdrak said. “The success of this merger depends on how much time you will be able to devote to it, and if you join the Coven, I would expect—”

“You would expect me to neglect my duties as the executive officer of Bressov Industries? How little you must think of me, my lady.” Victor smiled playfully. “Unlike some of our brethren, I do not pair my immortality with a loss of all sense of urgency. I can assure you, should I accept the Coven seat, you will see no change in Bressov Industries.”

I smirked at his words. I couldn’t argue with what he said; Vampyr indolence and sloth was one of their few redeeming qualities, one of the few things that spared us humans their wrath from time to time. They were vicious captors, but their strange sense of time—or lack thereof—occasionally made them sluggish to crack down on us Undertowners.

“Does that mean you plan to accept the seat?” Lord Burdrak asked.

Victor’s hand shot out, catching me by the wrist. His thumb grazed along the pulsing softness at the underside of my wrist, then turned, nail biting into that tender flesh. I stifled a yelp by catching my lower lip in my teeth, but he held firm.

“Is that what the latest rumors say?” Victor asked, a blank gaze fixed directly on me. “I thought the newest iteration was that I would decline.”

I tried to yank my wrist free from his grip. His nail pricking at my flesh was like a hot ember, burning all the way up my arm, into my chest. I was sure he’d drawn blood at this point, but all I could hear was the rush of blood to my face, fuzzing my hearing, blurring my vision. I tried to mouth the word “Stop,” but I really couldn’t say whether I succeeded.

“. . . is
n’t just some game,” Lord Burdrak rumbled over the hidden speakers, though I scarcely heard him. “This is the fate of our Republic you’re toying with.”

Victor swung my arm around and pinned it against my back in one lithe motion. I did yelp this time, and shoved back against him, hard. I think my insubordination, however, stunned him more than the shove, because he dropped me immediately, causing me to fall back onto the couch.

Victor stared down at me, his shadow blocking out the dim candlelight. “I never play games,” he said, tone frigid.

My heartbeat sounded like a drumbeat in my chest. Screw Finch, scre
w the Resistance. No way was I letting this sleazy Vampyr playboy paw at me and draw blood from me like I was some unregistered Undertown harlot. I didn’t care if it blew the Resistance’s best chance at getting access to all the secrets of the Coven and the Bressovs. This operation was over.

And never mind the sick, sick tug I felt deep in my core that craved for Victor Bressov to scold me again.

“Very well, Victor. We will consult with our analysts and have a response for your proposal by the end of the week. I expect,” Lord Burdrak said sharply, “that if you come to any decision regarding the Coven before that time, we shall be the first to hear of it.”

“All my business partners will be second to know, right after the Coven itself,” Victor said. His gaze never left mine. I felt rather like a butterfly skewered in place, like I’d seen in the old Downtown museums.

“May your cups bleed true,” Lady Burdrak said, and then the comm chimed with the sound of a closed connection.

The silence between us thickened and congealed with each passing second. It must have only been a few
moments, but it felt like eons. I wanted desperately to push myself off that couch, straighten my dress, and storm from the office and Bressov Industries forever, but it was like my muscles weren’t answering my brain’s call.

“You are familiar with Vampyr lore,” Victor said finally.
In this cathedral-like office, it sounded like a heavy pronouncement.

“As much as we humans are expected to be.” I watched him, unmoving, one arm braced on the back of the couch and the other on its arm as he loomed over me. “Of course, when I was in Secondary school, they were still working hard to chisel away all memories of the Onyx Queen’s existence, so I’m sure there’s a lot I missed.”

“But you know of the
agonies
. Souls who crave pain and torment—not just the kind found in bloodletting. All kinds. It gives them sustenance. Power.” He reached down toward me and brushed a loose strand of dark hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear with a gentleness I couldn’t have imagined from him.

All I could manage was a weak nod in return.

“An
agonie
’s blood is a gift,” he continued. “Not meant for just any Vampyr to drink. His or her suffering, too, can empower the tormentor.” His finger trailed from my ear toward my collarbone, but this time, I didn’t sense the same eagerness in him to feel my pulse pounding away under his touch. His desire felt much more primitive than all that.

I felt that same desire building in me like an echo. For all his cruelty, his infamous viciousness,
this sudden tender touch pricked me just like his ring had when he struck me all those years ago. A phantom metallic taste danced on my tongue. “And I suppose someone poised to gain a seat on the Coven needs all the power he can get,” I said.

“Among other things.”

His fingers slipped under the neckline of my sheath dress to tenderly cup one breast. A soft gasp escaped my lips; a tingle ran from my breast on down. His bow-shaped lips twisted into a smirk as he swirled one fingertip slowly around the nipple, then struck with a fierce, harsh pinch.

I flinched, but couldn’t stop myself from moaning. There was something delicious in the way the pain unfurled. How quickly pleasure could be sheared into torment, back and forth like a pendulum. But I couldn’t bring myself to believe in this
agonie
nonsense. Surely everyone enjoyed the punishment that came with sexual frustration and anticipation—I could hardly be alone in that.

Could I?

“You Vampyrs sure are a superstitious bunch, for people who invest so heavily in technology.”

He snaked his hand back out of my dress and cupped the back of my neck, forcing my gaze back up toward his. “We’re
undead, immortal monsters of unspeakable power,” he said. “What’s not to be superstitious about?”

I laughed in spite of myself. My hand reached up to trace the lovely line of his nose, seemingly with a mind of its own; I was happy to let it. “Fine. Assume I am an
agonie
. I can’t imagine your kind wants a weak little mortal like me gaining
more
power.” Lord, but his skin felt exquisite—far from some rotted-out corpse, it was soft and silken, just begging me to caress it. I brought my other hand to graze his stomach, trailing along his fine tweed vest down to the inverted V where the two halves of the vest separated.

“Yes,” Victor murmured, dipping his head down so his lips gusted hot breath against my ear, “there are some amongst my kind who might take issue with that.”

“But not you.” My nails circled the buckle of his belt—something sleek, metallic, and expensive. Far too expensive for me to have the first clue how to unfasten it, but trying to figure it out provided a nice distraction from the voice in the back of my mind that demanded to know why I was trying to unfasten it in the first place.

Victor’s tongue darted out to tap against my earlobe, sending a fresh wave of hunger rippling through me. “I’m known for taking risks.”

He closed one hand over mine at his belt. Then, in a lightning-fast, whip-crack motion, yanked the belt free and snagged both my wrists in it. The scotch must have slowed my reaction time. Before I knew it, he was pulling me toward his desk, where he fastened the other end of the belt around the heavy bronze statuette so that I was bent, face-down, over the desk’s edge.

My head swam, alcohol and conflicting emotions pulling me every which way. Logically, I knew what an incredibly awful idea this was, for countless reasons—he was my boss, he was a Vampyr—an exceptionally dangerous one, at that—and not even considering the idiocy of sleeping with a guy I’d just met and would have to be working with and actively deceiving, the whole Vampyr thing
was all the reason I needed not to get involved.

But the intense heat I felt rising on my skin at the very smell of him, at his very proximity—to say nothing of the wetness building between my thighs—begged me to continue. The exquisite promise of more pain to come only heightened the anticipation.

Once more, he seized the hem of my cheap dress and pushed it up and over my hips, exposing my rump to the frigid air. The gooseflesh that rose on my bare cheeks brought its own delicious sense of pain. His slender fingers traced the strip of lace thong that separated the cheeks; he plucked at it with a coy laugh, causing me to suck in my breath.