Shadowflame (3 page)

Harlan appeared at the Prime’s elbow. “Sire, the Queen is asking for you.”

David nodded to Faith, who followed him to the car, where Miranda was sitting with the door open, looking disheveled and seriously pissed off.

The Queen’s Signet was glowing brightly and there was dried blood all over her coat and jeans and some in her hair. Her heart-shaped face held a look even scarier than David’s had.

She looked up at her mate and spoke very deliberately. “Blood. Shower. Chocolate.
Now.
”

David actually smiled, bowed, and said, “As you will it, my Lady. Harlan, start the car. Faith, finish up here and have a report on my server ASAP. I’d like you to drive the Queen’s car back to the Haven yourself when you’re done. I want a full patrol sweep of the city with a description of the suspect—have the description sent to APD as well, just for laughs. Also, inform the owner of this establishment that he will need to double security for all of her shows; money is no object. I want a short list of bodyguard candidates by morning.”

“Yes, Sire.”

He met her eyes. “This doesn’t happen again, Second.”

Faith bowed. “You have my assurance, Sire.”

He gave her a nod, then got into the car with his Queen, and a moment later they were on their way back to the Haven.

Miranda wanted to punch someone, but she settled for sinking her teeth into someone’s throat.

Blood, hot and salty-sweet, flowed into her mouth, filling the sandpaper emptiness in her belly and veins, soothing the need to claw and kill. She drank deeply, her hand wrapped around the woman’s neck to hold her still, her power wrapped around the woman’s mind to keep her calm.

The girl was a jogger, very healthy, her heart rate up so her blood was fully oxygenated. She tasted faintly of coconut, meaning she’d probably had Thai at her most recent meal, and her skin had the warm scent of youth and raspberry body wash.

Miranda released her, holding her steady for a moment while her awareness returned but impressing strongly on her mind that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She’d been out for a jog and tripped.

“Are you all right?” Miranda asked her, giving her voice silvery tones of concern.

The girl blinked. “Um . . . yeah. I guess I tripped.”

“You should get home. It’s late.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

The girl pushed her earbuds back in place and started her iPod again; Miranda heard the Black Eyed Peas as she ran away. The wound in her neck would close by morning, leaving what looked like twin mosquito bites, and those would be gone a few hours later. The stronger the vampire, the faster the bite healed; it was usually the young and weak who were discovered because they were unable—or too stupid—to cover their tracks.

Relief moved through Miranda’s body and she sighed, rolling her head to the left and right before turning back to the car where her Prime was waiting for her.

She knew that look. He always got it when he watched her hunt.

Deliberately, Miranda licked her lips and smiled.

Prime and Queen stared at each other for a long moment before she walked back to the car, stepping into his arms and kissing him hard.

He made that purring noise she loved and pulled her against him, letting her suck on his tongue and dig her nails into his shoulders, the contact banishing the last of the lingering anger from the attack and replacing it with an entirely different kind of intensity.

Still, the events of the night had drained her, and she eventually drew back and laid her head on his chest, eyes closing.

“That was stupid,” she muttered.

He didn’t say anything, but of course she knew what he was thinking; he had protested her desire to go anyplace alone for months now, insisting that something like this would happen the second she let down her guard. She felt guilty—it wasn’t just her life she was gambling with by traipsing around the city by herself. If that stake had hit true, if her reflexes had been slower, they would both be dead now. And whoever it was, having failed, might very well try again.

“Let’s go home,” he said softly.

She nodded and sank back into the car, leaning on him after the door was shut and they were on their way again. “All right,” she said. “You win. Bodyguards it is. But they can ride in their own damn car.”

He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Deal.”

“Is this kind of thing going to happen a lot?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied, not reassuring her in the slightest. “My first year I had at least a dozen assassination attempts. Most of them were lone nutjobs or Auren’s old cronies. They waited until the transition was secure, a few months, before trying anything, thinking they’d lured me into complacency.”

“But you don’t travel with bodyguards now.”

“No . . . but I did for a long time. It takes a while to establish a reputation, Miranda. Right now you’re being tested in the eyes of our kind. They want to see how you handle yourself, how tough you are. The longer we stay in power, the fewer fools will try to take us down.”

She wriggled as close as she could, not caring that she was probably getting his clothes as filthy as hers. “Thank you for not saying ‘I told you so.’ ”

He shrugged. “I understand that you value your independence. I don’t want you to lose it. But now you see that we have to be careful. The more you’re in the public eye, the harder it will be to keep your two lives from colliding. I want you to live the life you want to live for as long as you can, but you have to be realistic. Plus . . .” His voice darkened, and despite the words the sound caused a low current of electricity through her body. “Lone nutjob or not, I intend to find whoever hurt you and tear the skin from her bones with my bare hands.”

She looked up at him and said wryly, “You’re such a ball of sunshine, baby.”

As she’d hoped, he laughed and kissed her.

Miranda settled back against him and closed her eyes, the vibration of the car beneath her and the heartbeat at her ear lulling her as much as the thought of what she had to look forward to: a steamy, hot shower; a Snickers bar; and most important, a long morning spent in the arms of her Prime.

Two

Midafternoon, while the human world bustled around in its frenetic race, was a time of peace at the Haven. The halls were dark and silent, except for the footsteps of the half-dozen diurnal guards. There were no training sessions in the Elite quarter, no patrols checking in and out, and the sensor network powered down partway to conserve energy. Throughout the complex of buildings and the mansion that made up the Haven, 126 vampires slept.

Today, it was 125.

David lay on his back with one arm up under his head and the other wrapped securely around his Queen, who slumbered with her head on his chest and her hair spilled out over his bare skin. His hand moved in absent circles on her back, and though she often tossed and turned throughout the afternoon, today she was tranquil. Indeed the radiating heat from the fireplace, the weight of the comforter, and the pull of Miranda’s exhaustion should have drawn him along into dreams himself, but his mind simply refused to be still.

He’d had many sleepless days during his tenure as Prime. There was always something to worry about, the night-to-night welfare of his territory an endless equation to solve . . . and the last three months had added a new variable.

She could have been killed.

The memory of seeing her blood running down from the stake wound made him clench his hand into a fist so hard it shook.

He had never feared for his own life, and he didn’t now, but having Miranda complicated matters—he could no longer discount the ever-present threat of assassination. As he had pointed out to her, more than one life was at stake. If he died, she died. That was reason enough to be more careful.

Eventually Miranda grunted and rolled away from him, and he gave up trying to sleep. He got out of bed, pulled on his robe, and sat down at the computer to run a few quick checks.

Situation normal. The city was quiet; it was rare to have any sort of vampire activity during daylight, and then it was confined to the indoors and there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it. He knew there were about two dozen vampires living belowground in the sewers and old tunnel systems, but unless they made a nuisance of themselves he saw no reason to bother with them. They were followed on the sensor network like everyone else; in Austin—and eventually every metropolitan area of the South—there was no such thing as privacy for vampires. If they didn’t like it, they could leave. The Shadow World’s denizens weren’t known for their good behavior toward humans, and it was his job both to keep their people safe and to keep his people safe from discovery.

So far it was working. The vampire population of the South had actually increased since the network had gone up, and vampire-on-human crime had dropped. Other Primes who opposed his ideas had prophesied a mass exodus of vampires unwilling to be followed around, but they’d been proven wrong . . . and nothing pleased David more than proving the Council wrong.

The Haven’s various computer systems were all running happily. There was nothing to worry over. Out of curiosity he did a diagnostic of the solar panels that supplied the entire complex with power; there had been a few glitches with the subsystem that charged the cars, but he’d debugged them and so far this week there’d been no additional problems.

Yawning, he checked his e-mail, then opened his schedule to have a look at the week’s events. There at least something interesting was happening.

When a new Prime claimed the Signet or took a Queen, his allies and those wanting to curry favor paid state visits as soon as they could. Pairs from all over the world as well as powerful vampires from his own territory came to offer their congratulations and get to know the new administration. Of the twenty-six other Primes, nineteen had made overtures toward visiting, and four had already come and gone. They arrived in style, stayed a few days, and went home to spread the latest gossip among their Court.

Faith had dubbed the whole tradition the Magnificent Bastard Parade.

So far things had gone smoothly. The four Primes—and two Queens—had all been friends of his and had taken to Miranda immediately, though Tanaka of Japan had observed to David privately that the others might not be so . . . open-minded, as he put it. Tanaka, an expert diplomat who managed to keep up good relations with all but about three Signets, hardly ever gave bad advice, and though David’s first inclination was to insist that Miranda could handle herself . . . he did have a few misgivings.

The Signet system was thousands of years old. The youngest living Prime was over two hundred, and Miranda was one of a handful of Queens in history to take a Signet just after coming across. Primes weren’t known for their forward thinking or progressive politics. In other words, most of them were sexist pigs, and Miranda . . . well, she wasn’t the type of woman to keep her mouth shut when angry. She spoke her mind, was smart and observant, and David knew that the very qualities he loved about her were going to get them in trouble if she didn’t learn quickly that these old, hidebound men of privilege were not all going to like the fact that David treated her as an equal.

Primes and Queens were meant to function as two halves of a whole. History, however, had not been kind to women, and neither had vampire politics. Queens were powerful, yes, and certainly had a reputation of their own, but they usually took a backseat to their mates. For the most part the Queens were perfectly content with the way things were, as were their husbands, and because they were bound at the soul the Primes tended to give their Queens as much or as little responsibility as they wanted—but some were out-right subservient to their Primes; a mystical relationship didn’t always mean a healthy one.

David was already considered something of a maverick for his love of technology and got plenty of stern looks and raised eyebrows thanks to his history with Prime Deven. He was used to it, and he knew when to ignore it. Miranda had not yet learned to pick her battles.

In the coming week she would have to. They were due a visit from Prime James Hart of the Northeast; his territory included New England as well as the most densely vampire-populated metropolitan area, New York. He had ruled a hundred years with no Queen, and five minutes after meeting him it was obvious why—but his sexual appetite was well-known, and it was rumored he kept a harem of vampire women whom he terrorized into obedience.

He was not a friend to David. In fact David had no idea why Hart was so keenly interested in coming to Texas so soon; generally a Prime’s allies came first, and it took months for everyone to make the arrangements. Pairs were mostly anchored to their territories, and leaving even for a few days was a major undertaking. Allies made the effort as soon as possible as a show of support. Usually neutral parties or antagonistic ass-kissers waited until the rush was over. David hadn’t expected Hart to come at all, and that would have been just fine.

Obviously Hart wanted something. That alone was enough to make David uneasy about the visit. The thought of Hart and Miranda in the same room, while wickedly amusing to Faith, set his teeth on edge.

As he was closing his schedule—Hart was set to arrive on Tuesday—he looked over at his contact list and noticed that only one other person was online at this ungodly hour.

“What are you doing up?” he typed.

“Painting my nails & watching porn,”
Deven answered promptly.

David grinned and replied, “Right. What color/kind?”

A pause, then:
“Black/Midget.”

David snorted quietly. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No. You know how it goes.”

David glanced over at the bed, where Miranda was still blessedly asleep. Yes, he knew how it went. At least once a week, sometimes more, she fought her way out of night-mares, and once she’d been so inconsolable that the only thing he could do was mentally knock her unconscious.

It bothered her that she wasn’t “over it” already. Her life was so different now, last year seeming so far away that she expected herself to have healed and moved on, and she refused to be seen as weak or needy no matter how much it hurt.

He had tried again and again to tell her that it wasn’t that easy. Old scars persisted into immortality. She wasn’t the first person he’d had to watch cope with a traumatic past.

“When are you coming to Austin?” he asked.

“Still working on it. Maybe next month?”

“Just let me know so I can stock the house with good whiskey and dancing boys.”

David imagined Deven in his private study at the Haven in Sacramento, a cozy room with leather couches and a small part of the Prime’s impressive weapons collection on display. Even if he was in nothing but a bathrobe, Deven would have a knife on him somewhere and a sword within easy reach. He even kept a blade hanging on the back wall of his shower.

And all of that was after seven hundred years. David thought about telling Miranda that, but he had a feeling she’d find it more depressing than reassuring.

“Have to go,”
Deven said.
“Meeting.”

David wished he could communicate “quizzical” over the Internet. “At two in the afternoon?”

“Talk to you later. Kisses, sugarblood.”

David chuckled. Dev signed off before he could reply, but that wasn’t unusual; the Prime of the West wasn’t much for online communication, preferring to size people up face-to-face.

David stretched, closed his computer, and stood up, going over to put another log on the fire before he tried sleeping again. Then he returned to the bed and drew the curtains so that only the foot was exposed, allowing and keeping more heat in.

He smiled at Miranda, who had in the space of thirty minutes managed to sprawl out so she was taking up the entire bed. One of the pillows seemed to have vanished completely and the comforter was tangled around her legs. But even with her limbs akimbo and in a rather inelegant position, with the firelight casting a golden glow over her skin and catching the jeweled highlights in her hair, she was a breathtaking creature to behold.

A moment later she made a noise that might have been a word, then blinked and opened her eyes, their green a bit dull with sleep. She didn’t ask why he was up; it was hardly the first time. She simply extended a hand to draw him back into bed.

He was quite happy to comply. He took the opportunity to unwind the covers and shuck his robe, then slid in next to her with a sigh.

She resumed her former position with her head on his chest, lifting a hand to touch first his Signet, then his lips. “Love you,” she murmured, eyes already closed.

He kissed her almond-scented curls. “Love you, too.”

This time he fell asleep.

The nine candidates for the Queen’s personal guard stood at attention, each impeccably uniformed and waiting expectantly for judgment. They ranged in appearance from a huge tattooed bald guy with enormous holes in his earlobes to a petite blond pixie who according to Faith was actually older than David.

Miranda walked along the line slowly, looking each one up and down; only one looked visibly cowed by her gaze, and she crossed him off the list in her head immediately. She didn’t need someone following her around who was terrified of her.

She had met a few of them before. One was a new recruit since the war and had moved up the ranks quickly. Two had experience as the Prime’s guards, and two others had stood guard at their suite door. All had been vetted by Faith for their ability as warriors, their stealth, and their dedication. David had done extensive background checks when they were new to the Elite, of course, but he’d rerun them all. All that remained was for Miranda to choose four; they would work in pairs.

“What do you think?” Faith asked.

Miranda went to stand beside her, crossing her arms. “I don’t know. I mean, we’re not going to hang out or anything—they’re going to follow me around and make sure I don’t get staked. You vouch for their fighting skills, so what else is there?”

Faith shrugged. “You have to pick them, my Lady. I’ve done my part.”

“All right . . . let’s see.” She took Faith’s clipboard and pen and crossed off the timid man. “Four is scared of me. Six is so tall and gangly he’d stand out in a crowd. Three looks bored. Two more? Hmm . . .”

She walked back over to the line and did another slow circuit of the guards, this time extending her empathic energy toward them, not intruding but just testing the waters for anomalies.

Two was too ambitious. He was more interested in impressing his superiors and moving up through the ranks than protecting her. That didn’t bode well; if the situation was dire he might make some stupid hero move to show off. She crossed him off.

She stepped back and addressed the guards. “Raise your hand if you like Nickelback.”

The guards exchanged glances, and reluctantly the blond pixie raised her hand.

Miranda crossed her off the list.

“Numbers two, four, six, three, and nine, you may go. One, five, seven, and eight, please remain for your briefing. Thank you all.”

The four who remained were consummate professionals and kept their happiness to a brightening of the eyes and a relieved sigh. The others departed with varying degrees of grumbling or head shaking. That was all right; if they really were worthy of the post, they’d have another chance. There was always a need for the true Elite and the truly loyal.

Miranda handed Faith back her clipboard and addressed the guards. “Welcome to my service,” she said. “As you know, I am in need of bodyguards to accompany me into the city for regular performances, meetings, and other appointments. If we’re all very lucky, your job will be extremely boring. I’d like you each to introduce yourselves briefly—Elite designation, name, and favorite musical genre or artist.”

As each one spoke she shook his or her hand, taking a moment to do an extra psychic sweep of each.

“Elite Seventy-two, Aaron Sawyer, jazz.”

“Elite Twenty-six, Jake Verona, Johnny Cash.”

“Elite Forty-four, Minh-Li Tsai, trip-hop.”

“Elite Sixteen, Lalita Madhavi, anything with a violin.”