Blood Rights (6 page)

Mal eased the chair around halfway. ‘Take money out of the safe and buy the heaviest chains and padlocks you can find. I need you to restrain me before the sun goes down.’

‘I’ll assume that’s a yes on having my back.’ Doc crossed his arms. ‘Based on the S&M request, I’ll also assume you don’t think you can hang much longer without something a little more human in your system. I wasn’t going to say anything until I had some proof, but word on the street says Nyssa’s been spotted running deliveries.’

‘She better run one here.’ Mal turned to face Doc. ‘Find Jonas. Now.’ He growled softly in his throat. ‘No, wait. You better chain me up first, in case you can’t track him down.’
No!
‘There’s got to be a reason he hasn’t contacted me yet.’

‘Yeah, my gut tells me he’s laying low. Not sure why, other than the fact that you’re ready to eat his liver.’ He smoothed the sides of his goatee and grinned. ‘I’ll hit the hardware store and be back in a few.’

Doc returned around noon. ‘I’ve got good news and bad news.’

‘And … ’ Mal gestured for him to go on.

‘Shackles are ready to go in the hold. But there’s no four one one on Sweets, sorry. Nobody’s talking. He’s definitely keeping things on the DL.’ He planted one large hand on the desk. ‘You sure you don’t want to hit the streets yourself tonight?’

‘Not until I find a new blood source.’

‘There’s always Puncture. I could go with you this time. Keep a look out.’

Yes. Go.
‘Not again.’ He twirled a pen through his fingers. The chrome tip glinted dully in the solars.

Doc slouched into the chair across from Mal’s desk. ‘I could jack that blood bank on Nineteenth.’

Do it.
‘If anyone’s going to do that, it should be me. And trust me, I’ve thought about it. But that might arouse civilian suspicion.’

Doc sat forward. ‘Maybe I could find a willing subject. This city is lousy with people down on their luck. Offer them some coin. It’s not much different than letting the Red Cross have a pint.’

Mal glared at him. ‘You want to add to the voices in my head?’
Yes.
‘The names on my body?’
Yes.
‘Give Fi a playmate?’
Sure.
‘What’s one more soul to bear, is that it? No. Never. Don’t ever suggest it again. I haven’t drunk from the vein in almost fifty years. I’m not about to start now.’

‘I never said drain them dry. Just take a little.’

‘I don’t have it in me to just take a little. You know that.’
Take it all. That’s all you’ve ever done. All you know how to do.
He slammed his head down onto his fists, trying to shut the voices up.

‘You shouldn’t have let it go this long.’

‘Thanks for pointing out the obvious.’

They stared at each other for a moment, the other option hanging in the air between them unspoken. Mal knew Doc wouldn’t suggest Seven, and Doc undoubtedly knew Mal wouldn’t go there, even if he did. That club was out of the question for a multitude of reasons.

Doc cleared his throat. ‘Speaking of souls, where’s Fi? I haven’t seen my girl in a few hours.’

‘She can’t be far.’ Fiona was the first human Mal had drunk to death after being cursed and imprisoned some fifty years ago. She was also the last, since Mal had discovered every life he took after her would manifest in spirit form just as she had. Being haunted by one ghost was one too many. Fortunately, the rest of the lives he’d taken stayed in his head, their voices a constant torment, their names inked across his body. He wore Fi’s name across his left forearm, a few inches above his wrist. ‘I’m not her keeper.’

‘Well, you kind of are, aren’t you? Otherwise, she would have bugged out of here a long time ago.’

‘Just because she can’t leave me doesn’t make me her keeper.’

‘Did I hear you talking about me?’ Fi floated in wearing her spirit form. ‘Miss me, huh?’ She propped herself against a wall of conveniently located daggers, swords both long and short, crossbows and throwing stars, and gave Doc a wink. ‘Hiya.’

Mal eyed his ghostly companion, wishing for the millionth time he hadn’t sucked the life out of her. ‘Just wondered where you were is all.’

‘You get cranky when you haven’t fed. I was looking at the fall fashion mags Doc brought me.’ She spun to show off the clingy dress and high boots she wore.

‘This is New Florida.’ Doc laughed. ‘We don’t have fall.’

She frowned at him. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a ghost, pussycat. I don’t feel temperature. If I want to pretend to wear wool, I will. You should at least tell me I look pretty.’ She planted her hands on her hips. ‘Don’t you have mice to catch?’

Doc’s pupils narrowed into slits. ‘You’re the only mouse I want to eat.’

Fi giggled.

Mal groaned. ‘Get a room.’

Fi opened her mouth to retaliate when the door on the deck below them creaked open.

Mal shot Doc a look. ‘Forget to lock up again?’

‘Hey, I had my hands full.’ He jumped out of his chair. ‘Welcome wagon on the way.’

A minute later, he bounded back up the stairs. ‘There’s a fine female downstairs. Says Jonas sent her, but she’s definitely not Nyssa. Nothing remnant about this chick. She’s carrying a bag too. I think your
vino de vena
has finally arrived.’

‘Tip her, get the goods, and bring them up here, now.’ His stomach knotted with hunger, and his fangs dropped. A split second later his facial bones shifted. Just as well. Maintaining his human face was wearing him out. He needed that blood. Desperately.

Doc reappeared empty-handed. ‘I tried. Says she’ll only talk to you.’

‘Son of a priest. Jonas must want a report on how I can’t do without him.’

‘Probably going to jack up his price.’ Doc tipped his head toward the door. ‘You want me to bring her up?’

Mal spun toward the overflowing bookcase behind his desk, using the tall back of his leather chair to screen himself from the door. The voices clamored for blood. ‘Bring her up, but you two get lost. I don’t need an audience for this.’

‘Sure thing, boss.’ Doc curled his finger at Fi. ‘C’mon, baby.’ The door clicked shut. Several long minutes later, it opened again.

‘Hello?’

The dark, taunting perfume of blood and honey choked Mal
like a silk noose. His hands dug into the leather. His wound throbbed anew.
Get away, get away, get away …

He twisted his chair around, already knowing who stood at his door.

‘You,’ he snarled, reaching under the desk for his hidden blade. ‘Come back to finish what you started?’

M
ikkel squeezed Tatiana’s hand. She responded to the gesture with a stifling glance. Didn’t he understand this was neither the time nor the place to display such affections? Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought him at all. He’d been turned barely seventy-five years now. Hardly more than a vampling, he still acted like the traveling magician he’d once been. She bit back a smile, remembering the nights they’d spent in Rome. Of course, those youthful appetites were exactly what had drawn her to him in the first place. Now his lineage kept her interest. Mikkel was from the House of Bathory, known for its powerful skills in the black arts. Besides being a strong family, they were the only one that rivaled the bloodthirstiness of her own family, Tepes.

Tepes, as in directly descended from Lord Vlad Tepes. The very count made world-renowned by the kine Bram Stoker and his infamous novel. A purer bloodline one would be hard-pressed to find.

Lord Timotheius, Dominus of the House of Paole, rapped his signet ring on the burled wood table, shivering the flames on the
center candelabra. ‘I hereby call to order this meeting of the Families. May it be noted each house is in attendance.’

Tatiana closed her eyes for a brief moment. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t sense Timotheius the way she could the others. How the House of Paole had managed to cultivate their certain type of invisibility confounded her.

One by one, Timotheius nodded to the Dominus of each family. If the Elder could be equated with the prince of a Family, the Dominus was the king. The always
male
king. ‘Lord Ivan, Dominus of the House of Tepes, your graciousness in hosting this meeting is much appreciated.’

Ivan nodded and motioned for Timotheius to continue as though the five Families met in his mansion every day. Tatiana tried to catch his eye, but his gaze didn’t go beyond those gathered at the table. Still, she knew she had his support. After all, Ivan had been with her from the start. He was the one who had tipped her off about Algernon having the ring and advised her about the covenant. How long had he been planning this? Since he first offered her navitas in secret? The resiring had been a difficult, painful process – dying often was – but at least she had come through the ritual with none of the madness often touted as a side effect.

‘Lord Syler, Dominus of the House of Bathory.’

‘Lord Timotheius.’ Syler waved a hand in response. Curls of dark energy spun off his fingers. Such a deliberate display of power was obviously meant to remind the others of who he was and what he wielded, but to her it recalled a fat old peacock spreading his vulgar feathers. No one needed reminding. Bathory’s dark arts shielded the home city of each Family from kine senses, save those mortals who lived within the walls and worked as staff for the nobility.

‘Lord Grigor, Dominus of the House of Rasputin.’

His face propped against his ring-encrusted hand, Grigor said nothing, just stared with his intense, probing eyes. His house was the youngest, and perhaps the most despised. Of all the gifts of all the houses, those of the Rasputin family made the others most uneasy. No one cared to have their mind read. Tatiana tightened her mental defenses, as invariably all the others in the room did as well.

‘And Lord Zephrim, Dominus of the House of St. Germain.’

Zephrim bowed slightly, smoothing his robes. In her opinion, St. Germain held the least effectual power of all the houses. Alchemy was as useful as wings on a frog. She much preferred the Tepes gift of persuasion. How could she not? Bending others to her will filled her with a deliciously wicked warmth.

Each Family leader occupied his space like a king, face stoic and full of self-importance. Blighty old ratbags, the whole lot of them. Whether they were dancing with their paramours at a ball, chastising a servant or deciding policy, they were no better than she.

‘Tatiana of the House of Tepes, you may bring your petition before the council.’

She rose and bowed slightly. ‘Thank you, Lord Timotheius, esteemed members of the council.’ Besides the Dominus of her own house, she hoped she had the support of Bathory as well. ‘I come before you due to the most unfortunate circumstances, the death of my house’s Elder, Lord Algernon. It is with great sadness but a sense of duty that I petition the council to appoint me Elder in his stead. In doing so, it is my deepest desire that I may prevent any chaos that might erupt from these circumstances and destroy the great name of the House of Tepes.’

Timotheius spoke first. ‘You are the eldest female, but there is an elder male, Crotius, is there not?’

Zephrim laughed. ‘Crotius is a babbling idiot who never should have been turned. Still, he is the eldest—’

‘Tatiana is a wise choice,’ Ivan said.

‘Of course you would side with her,’ Timotheius argued. ‘You are her sire.’

Ivan turned, face indignant. ‘I have sired many of the House of Tepes. I am not recommending any of
them
.’

How many had he resired? Was that why Crotius was insane? ‘Sire or not, Lord Ivan has a right to his opinion,’ Syler added. There, that was a modicum of support. Not as much as she’d hoped, but something.

Zephrim pounded his fist on the table. ‘I call for Lord Ivan to recuse himself.’

‘And I you,’ Ivan shot back.

‘On what grounds?’

‘On the grounds that your precious potions and chemicals have turned you into an addle-brained idiot.’

Tatiana quelled the urge to nod.

Zephrim jumped up, drawing an amulet from his belt and shaking it at Ivan. ‘Someday, you will bow at the feet of my achievements. Alchemy is our only salvation.’

‘My lords, if I may.’ Tatiana lifted her palms up, a traditional sign of submission. It pained her deeply to posture this way in front of such ancient fools. ‘It is not my wish to create such discord.’