They Come by Night (12 page)

“Uh… sure.” Matthew scooped up his change in one hand, took his drink in the other, and followed him to a booth toward the back. It was getting late, and there weren’t many people in that area of the bar now, so they had their choice. He slid into the seat facing the back, while the man sat opposite him. “This is much better. Larry was starting to be a wet blanket.”

“Larry?”

“The bartender.”

“Ah. May I speak frankly?”

“Sure.”

“There is still much to do.”

“I was just thinking that!”

“Indeed. Perhaps you would care to join me, Matthew.”

“You know my name?”

“That surprises you? It should not. Your family is well known in my community.”

“Your community? What community is that? Who’re you?”

“How remiss of me. I am Juan de Vivar.”

“I don’t recognize that name.”

“There is no reason why you should. We are a very private people.”

“I’m….” Matthew frowned. “I’m the only one left.”

“Surely not. I believe you have brothers and sisters.”

“Sisters, yes, but only one brother,” he snapped. No way in hell would he acknowledge his mother’s twin brats or the monster that had ruined everything.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! They’re my family!” Only he’d disowned them this afternoon. “They
were
my family,” he corrected.

“Ah. I was positive I had heard somewhere you had a younger brother. Tyrell, I believe his name is.”

“That freak! He’s no brother of mine!”

“That is rather harsh, do you not think?”

Matthew hunched a shoulder. He was drunk, but not so drunk he would reveal family secrets to this man. It was one thing to discuss this with Grandfather, but with strangers….

“It’s because of him my parents broke up.”

“What a pity.”

“It’s more than a pity! He needs to be—” Matthew bit back the words. If he said that filthy thing needed to be killed, that could get him in trouble—thrown in jail or even worse, put in the loony bin, and if he was behind bars, he’d never be able to continue Grandfather’s work. He cleared his throat. “He needs to be found and held responsible for… for what he’s responsible for.” He stared at the drink in front of him. He was positive he held his liquor better than this.

“But he was a mere infant.”

“Are you sticking up for him? What do you know about it?” he asked truculently. “Doesn’t matter.” He pushed aside his concern about the amount of alcohol he’d had to drink and continued, each word laced with belligerence. “Everything was fine before he showed up. Everything was shot to shit after.”

“I understand. In that case, he does need to pay.” De Vivar raised the glass to his lips, then paused again and set it down. “Suppose I were to tell you I know where he is?”

“Do you?” Matthew felt excitement rise in him. This would be an ideal way to honor his grandfather, to venerate his passing!

The man smiled, and the light above the booth glinted off his prominent canine teeth. “Perhaps.”

“Don’t toy with me, dammit! I’ve been searching for that monster for the past two years!”

“Only two years? Now, why was that? If I understand correctly, he is eighteen. He should have reached puberty two years ago.”

Something about those words bothered Matthew, but he knew he could get a little foggy when the Jack had him too deep in its hold. He’d just have to wait until the morning and give it some thought then. “Yes, but before that my uncles were the ones looking for him.”

“And they do this no more?”

He stared down into the amber liquid in his glass. “Uncle Caleb—he died two years ago. He was the last one.”

“Ah. I see.” The man smiled. “And now it has fallen to you.”

Matthew blinked blearily. Had de Vivar’s teeth lengthened?

He shook his head. No, it was probably the Jack Daniel’s getting to him, just as he’d thought. He shouldn’t have come here tonight. Whiskey on top of grief was never a good pairing.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Of course.”

Matthew shifted out of the booth and tried to stand, but found himself swaying. “Whoa!” he giggled. “Shun’t’ve had that last one!”

“Here, let me help you.”

Matthew drew himself up. “’m fine. I can handle myself.”

“Of course you can. I beg your pardon.”

“Yeah.” He hiccuped. “Uh…. G’night.”

He was halfway to the door when Larry called out, “Where are you going, Matt?”

“Home.”

“Oh, no you don’t! You’re not driving anywhere. Sit down. I’m calling you a cab.”

Matthew would have snarled at him that he was perfectly fine to drive, but when he turned to glare at Larry, there were two of him behind the bar. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea for him to get behind the wheel. “Um… okay.”

IV

J
UAN DE Vivar frowned as he watched Matthew Crist stagger toward the door and then change direction and collapse against the bar. He should have acquiesced when de Vivar had offered his assistance.

Why hadn’t he?

Ah, of course. De Vivar had other things, more important things, on his mind and hadn’t given him his complete attention.

He would have the Crist whelp bend to him yet.

Foolish saborese, thinking he could disown his heritage so easily.

It had taken de Vivar more than two hundred years to track down this line. He’d had the opportunity to feed from a Dragomir—the rege’s own line of sabors—centuries ago in the old country, and to learn there was now one whose blood was combined with the Lupsecu was most fortuitous.

The two most powerful saborese families…. He would be delicious.

And he should have been de Vivar’s.

The family went by the name of Small now. Why these Americans persisted in changing their names baffled him. Had they no pride in their blood?

His frown deepened into a scowl as he recalled the scene earlier when he’d gone to claim the sabor.

Adam Dasani had gotten there ahead of him, and de Vivar’s fangs had elongated with the desire to sink them into the younger vampyr’s throat and tear it open.

They hadn’t realized he’d been watching their tender little moment from the shadows. The sabor wore a red shirt and black trousers.

Red and black, the colors of passion and power. An arousing combination. And what made him all the more desirable was the fact he was virgin in every way he could be. Not only had he never been debauched, but no other vampyr had drunk from him before. De Vivar ran his tongue over his fangs, making tiny slices, and the taste of his own blood filled his mouth.

It was all politics. If Dasani hadn’t been the rege’s catamite, the sabor would have been given to de Vivar without a moment’s hesitation.

Oh yes, they all claimed Dasani was the rege’s nephew, but de Vivar knew the truth of the matter. They were probably drinking from each other.

That was the only reason why a younger vampyr had been given the sabor
.

De Vivar licked his lips, recalling the last Lupsecu/Small he’d feasted upon. That one had thought to conceal from him the fact he was no longer virgin. His defiance had quickly changed to fear, and then despair. De Vivar had buggered him, which made it all the better, since he was virgin there, and then he drank from him. And when he did, he didn’t bother licking the one-time sabor’s throat to blunt the pain of entry.

Pain was all that Lupescu/Small deserved, and that was what de Vivar gave him. In addition, de Vivar had plunged into his mind, tearing asunder the paltry shield he’d tried to erect to protect the whore vampyr who’d ruined him. She was another one related to the rege, and even he hadn’t dared to touch her.

But he’d let the sabor think she had been turned out without her talisman and so was destroyed. And of course he was believed.

Of course he’d had to vanish afterward, which infuriated him. Not only was he a centuries-old vampyr, he’d been born
Grande de España
; he was
el
Duque de Málaga.
As such, he should be able to do as he chose.

It wasn’t as if
he’d
been the one to ruin the sabor. That had happened before he arrived, desperate for a taste of sabor blood after so many years.

He ground his teeth. It would have been different if he were rege.

He’d thought that title and position would be within his grasp when he’d met Terese Mondragon at the court of
Carlos I de España
. She was like no woman he’d ever known, and enthralled by her pale eyes, red lips, and soft, fair skin, he’d wooed her with gentle words and caresses more tender than he’d given to any woman before her. When he realized what she was and what she could offer him, he persuaded her to turn him.

De Vivar had roused the next evening to find a slim cylinder hanging from his neck. He’d seen Terese wearing something similar and knew it contained the soil of his home.
She must care a great deal for me to make the journey there
.

But hunger gnawed at his gut, and he had no time to delight in that realization. He went out to feed for the first time. Terese had requested he wait for her, but she was simply a woman, and now that he was a vampyr, he was her superior in every way. He came across a maidservant, and his nostrils flared. The odor of sex clung to her, but most intriguingly, he could scent the blood that flowed through her veins.

She went willingly when he caught her arm and drew her into an empty chamber. That changed when his fangs extended, and her fear was more pleasurable than the blood he sipped from her.

Feeling all-powerful, he’d gone to Terese to learn when he would become rege.

“You’ve fed,” she said before he could speak. “You should have waited for me.” She frowned. “Where did you leave her?”

“How do you know it was a woman?”

“I can smell her on you.”

“She was just a serving wench. You have no need to be jealous,
cara
.”

“Take me to her.”

He shrugged. Perhaps Terese wanted to enjoy the girl as well. There were a number of women at court who had no objection to toying with those beneath them, and if they should chance to be female… well, that was immaterial. He led Terese to the chamber.

“You’re fortunate, de Vivar,” Terese murmured. “No one has found her. And by God’s good grace, she’s still alive.” She knelt, raised the wench in her arms, and ran her tongue over the jagged wounds he’d left behind.

His eyes widened as the wounds closed.

The wench’s eyelids fluttered open, and when she saw de Vivar, she uttered a small cry. He licked his lips, almost tasting her fear, and he took a step toward her.

“
¡Basta!
” Terese hissed, her eyes flashing red.

How dare she be impatient with him? But she brought her attention back to the wench. Terese turned her face so that their eyes met, and then whispered something to her.

Like his king, de Vivar spoke Spanish to God, Italian to women, French to men, and German to his horse, but this was a language he didn’t understand.

“All right. She’ll have no memory of what you did to her.”

“She’s unimportant.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you faced the stake because of your actions.”

“No one would dare!”

She said something in that language, and he was tempted to strike her across that mouth of hers. But he still needed to learn what was necessary in order for him to become rege.

“
Cara
, I have no wish to quarrel with you.”

“Then heed my words! It’s fortunate you neither turned her nor drained her to the point you killed her.”

He frowned, but decided it would be politic to humor her. “Of course,
principessa
. However, she’s nothing more than a housemaid.”

“Weren’t you paying attention last evening at dinner? She’s a favorite of the count
,
our host.”

She was? He couldn’t say much for the count’s taste in women. He could understand the countess having a face like the back end of a mule—arranged marriages were the order of things, and wasn’t his own duchess much the same?—but his slut?

He realized Terese was waiting a response from him. “Forgive me,
carina
.” The words were like sour wine on his tongue. He waited until she sent the wench from the chamber before getting down to what was most important. “Tell me,
bella
, how soon before I become rege?”

“Surely you were aware only vampyrs who are born are permitted to rule.”

Well, no, he wasn’t. No one had seen fit to inform him of this. “But of course an exception will be made for me!”

“My lord duke,
no
exceptions are made.” Her soft palm cradled his cheek. There was real regret in her words; he could hear it. “Now, I must feed. Accompany me, and I will show you how it’s done.”

There was nothing he could do at that point, and so he went with her.

H
E WASN
’
T the only one dissatisfied with how the vampyr community was ruled, and he snapped his fingers—ha!—at such archaic notions that only a vampyr who had been born could reign. He had every intention of seizing the monarchy from Alexandru Mondragon, but not just yet. He had his own coterie of vampyrs he’d turned, but they weren’t enough at this point for him to overturn the order of things.

And having this sabor, who was a combination of the two strongest sabor lines, as his own to feed from at his leisure—at his desire—would be all he needed to secure his plans.

Normals had no idea they weren’t alone, and once he became rege, he would see they were shown there was another race on this planet stronger than they.

And as for sabors, originally they had been for the sole use of the ruling vampyrs. That had changed after the Great Plague, or so he’d been told, when for the survival of them all it had become necessary for sabors to be shared.

All that would change, as well as the nonsense of waiting until a sabor reached his or her majority. The youngest ones had the sweetest blood, and if they survived their first feeding, should prove to be the easiest trained.