Fury's Kiss

by Karen Chance

  What took me a few minutes to notice was that the fey without instruments were playing, too.

  The breeze rustled through the treetops like a brush on cymbals. Water dripped out of a bamboo fountain with the regularity of a metronome. Wind chimes tinkled on the edge of the house with a suspiciously convenient rhythm. The flapping of a neighbor’s flag, the rumble of distant thunder, and the crickets sounding off in the hedge all got in on the act. Even the annoying bird from this morning, which should have been long asleep, was busy warbling out a tune.

  It wasn’t obvious, not at first. But after standing there a few minutes, it was hard not to notice. The whole yard had become an instrument.

  “How are they doing that?” I asked Claire, who had come up beside me, the tired lines in her face smoothing out as she watched the dancers.

  She shook her head helplessly. “Magic?”

  And yeah, it was. Not the kind I was used to, the kind bought from shady dealers in back alleys, the kind used to hurt. But magic nonetheless. Happy and joyful and humming over my skin. It cut through the fatigue, making me want to dance like some of the girls were already doing, their bodies blocking out the firelight in intervals, flickering like images on a silent-film reel.

  Only they weren’t faded pictures in black and white, but glorious, living color. Bright scarves fluttered, long hair flowed, eyes sparkled, and jewelry caught the light in dazzling flashes that also, somehow, seemed to be in time to the music. Or the magic, because the whole yard breathed with it, in and out, in and out, like the heartbeat of a giant creature laughing and spinning and whirling in the night—

  And then so was I. Someone slid an arm around my waist and I looked up to see Louis-Cesare’s eyes gleaming down at me, bright as sapphires—for a second. And then we were off.

  And it was magic, or something very like it. My feet seemed to know the steps, complicated as they were, and the rhythm that was pounding up through the ground instead of the other way around, like the earth itself was directing the dance. And the earth seemed to be in a good mood, because soon almost everyone was caught up in it, even Claire, who was laughing and shaking her head and pulling back from the fey trying to coax her into the dance.

  Which only ensured that she fell into the arms of the one behind her.

  He swept her into the widening circle before she could tell him no, not that she looked like she wanted to. Her bright red hair bounced around her shoulders as she laughed and spun and leapt in steps I don’t think she knew, either, but that were suddenly instinctive. It was like breathing or—no, I realized.

  It was like we were part of the music.

  The magic that had the garden in thrall had pulled us in, too, adding us to the beat without missing a note. Our pounding feet, our laughter, even our thudding pulses—everything fed into the melody, as if it had been intended all along. As if that was how it had been written.

  And then it changed, slowing from vibrant energy to a thrumming, heavy rhythm that shivered up through my feet, raising goose bumps over my entire body. The other would have been hard to transcribe, to take all the myriad sensations and put them on a page. This would have been impossible.

  No notes could capture the feel of Louis-Cesare tensing and relaxing against me, the slow grind of skin on cloth and skin on skin that I swear I could feel everywhere, even the places where we didn’t touch. Or the hand on my hip, guiding us both, or the chest warm and hard against mine, or the open-mouthed kiss that stole my breath before giving it back, all in time to the beat of the music.

  I’d like to blame it on the magic, but it wasn’t a spell that had my arms looping around his neck, drawing him into another slow kiss, or my body arching against him, with every shift of our muscles sending sparks up my spine. It wasn’t magic, although it felt a bit like it. But this was better, pushing back to see eyes dilated dark and hungry with real emotion.

  My arms had been around his neck, but now they dropped so my hands could stroke through his hair, my nails skim down his cheek, before pulling away, fingers twined in his. I drew him out of the flickering circle of light, and into the darkness under a small group of trees. I didn’t have to pull very hard.

  The trees were ornamental and not very big, but one was a willow and gave good shade. And I decided that was good enough. I pulled Louis-Cesare into its shadow, and the next thing I knew, I was pressed against the trunk, a hungry vampire licking a stripe up the side of my throat, sucking a kiss below my ear, catching the lobe between his teeth.

  I drew in a sharp breath, but it wasn’t a vampire bite. It was the nip of a human lover who had lost a bit of control, and that was okay. I was feeling a little reckless myself. Or maybe more than a little.

  My hands ran up his chest, ghosting over ribs and pecs and skin too fine for a soldier. He pulled back, just long enough to strip the sweater off, before attacking my neck again. And whether by luck or design, he’d found exactly the approach I liked best.

  It was part of why I’d been attracted to vampires in the past; the edge of danger, the knowledge of what they could do adding thrill to thrill. Louis-Cesare wouldn’t hurt me; I knew that. But he could. A senior master that close? Inside my defenses? I groaned and hooked a leg around him, drawing him closer.

  His body was heavy, and huge and warm. None of which was news. The guy was well over six feet tall, and solid as a rock. But it felt like news, felt new, with all that strength pressing against me, all that power thrumming from his skin into mine.

  And that was before the images hit.

  His mouth crushing against hers, parting her lips in a bruising kiss that she returns with equal intensity. His hands on her waist, unzipping those so-tight jeans, the ones he swore she wore just to drive him mad. Fingers gentle on her thighs as he strips the material down, the heat of her mouth fading as he follows it, dropping to his knees, nimble fingers sliding beneath her underwear and pausing to caress her tautness. Before stripping them away, too. And then the sweet wetness between her legs, chased by his tongue, feeling her back arch off the tree, hearing her come with his name on her lips…

  I blinked and snapped out of it, panting and breathless. And unsure what had just happened, since my jeans were still on. “I…what was that?”

  Mischievous dark blue eyes met mine as my shirt fluttered to the ground. “I am the waiter tonight, am I not?”

  It took me a second, but I got it. “And that was the menu?”

  “For the first course. Unless mademoiselle has another preference…”

  “No, I think…I think that will do fine,” I said, my voice a little high. Maybe because my bra had just been unhooked and warm lips had begun licking a trail down to my breast. Where a wicked tongue circled a taut nipple with agonizing slowness. I started to ask if this was the appetizer, but it was lost in the groan when he finally took the aching nub into his mouth. And then flicked his tongue back and forth until I was panting in approval.

  I am…definitely going to have to compliment the chef, I thought wildly, and pushed into the sensation.

  He laughed. “And to think I almost did not come back.”

  “Come back?” I repeated blankly, before I remembered. I’d been on the phone with him when Scarface showed up. He’d been at the house.

  “I thought you would be asleep,” he murmured, scraping the barest edge of fangs along delicate skin.

  “W-where did you go?”

  “I am currently able to tell you everywhere to purchase condoms within a five-mile radius,” he said wryly.

  “You went looking for me?”

  “After our conversation terminated so abruptly? Of course.” He slid across to the nub’s neglected twin. “But unlike you seem to believe, I cannot read your mind at will, particularly at a distance. And Claire had no idea where you had gone.”

  “We always go to Singh’s.”

  “Yes. But it is linked to this house by a portal and you had taken your car. I therefore assumed—”

  “I don’t like
portals.”

  “As I discovered…eventually. I called Claire when I could not locate you, and was informed that you had just arrived back here. She also told me something of what had happened, but she did not know details.”

  “But…that must be two hours ago. Where did you go in the meantime?”

  “To obtain the details,” he said, coming up for a kiss.

  I splayed a hand on his chest. “What?”

  “I merely went to his house—”

  I blinked. “Whose house?”

  “Zheng-zi’s.”

  “You went to Scarface’s house?”

  “Scarface,” he mused. “It is a good name for him. At least, for now.”

  “What did you do?” I asked—fearfully—because the last thing Louis-Cesare needed was to get into another unauthorized fight. Especially with someone heavily favored to become a senator. Who would then be in a position to cause him a world of hurt.

  “Tell me you didn’t attack him.”

  He smiled grimly. “The temptation was…severe. But judging by appearances, you had already taken care of that.”

  “So what? You just went by to say hello?”

  “I went to inform him that the next time he duels you, I shall stand as second.”

  “Then he won’t duel me!”

  “That was rather the idea,” he said, starting to frown. As it finally registered that something was wrong.

  And it was; I just didn’t know what.

  It wasn’t like I wanted Scarface out there, dogging my footsteps, waiting for another chance. And my win tonight had been about luck as much as skill, and luck was a fickle bitch who didn’t always like me much. I should be pleased that Louis-Cesare had handled this in a way that worked for everyone.

  It was a diplomatic feat worthy of Mircea. I got protection, Louis-Cesare avoided strike three with the Senate, and Scarface didn’t lose any more face than he already had. Because no one wanted to duel Louis-Cesare. That was a death sentence and everybody knew it. No one would blame Zheng for backing off.

  I should be happy. Hell, I should be thrilled.

  So why was I so angry that my hands were shaking?

  It felt almost like it did before I tipped over into Hulk mode. My breath had started coming faster, my heartbeat had become a visible pulse around my vision, and my fangs had dropped, piercing my lower lip. But it was different this time, too.

  A minute ago, the fey camp had been shrouded in shadows, the only people really visible those in the fire’s stuttering ring. But suddenly I could see everyone, even those who, like us, had already disappeared into the shadows or snuck away into the tents. The fey were blinding columns of white; the humans darker, redder, more varied. But all were perfectly visible, the heat rising from their bodies giving away their location as accurately as a searchlight.

  I didn’t have vision like that. I never had. But it was hard to concentrate on it with anger surging through my veins.

  “Your eyes,” Louis-Cesare said, his voice sounding far off even though he was right there.

  “My blood,” I snarled, my voice going guttural, my hands digging into his flesh. “My kill.”

  “Dorina—”

  “Dory, I’m going to bed,” Claire said, coming through the trees. “Can you check—”

  She stopped dead, to the point that it looked almost like she’d run into a wall. And I don’t know what she saw, but the next second she was running at me, even as I was trying to back away. I didn’t want anyone to touch me, not even her. I was afraid, because I didn’t know what was happening. And I was angry, so fucking angry I could barely see.

  And then the landscape flooded red, like a bucket of blood had been splashed over a camera lens. And oh God, that wasn’t good. Claire grabbed my arm, but I barely felt it, the usual calming current of her power all but lost in the gathering storm.

  “What did you do to her?” she demanded, whirling on Louis-Cesare.

  “I made a mistake,” he said, his voice hollow. Or maybe that was me. Sounds were distorting, too, magnifying. A girl’s laughter from near the fire, some wood popping, tiny shush-shushings of wind rustling the trees—all were equally clear, equally audible. The garden was suddenly deafening.

  “What kind of a mistake?” Claire said, her voice harsh. “What did you do?”

  “I…It is difficult to explain to a human—”

  “Try,” Claire gritted out, exerting real power now, trying to pull the rage off me. But this time, for the first time, it didn’t work. Or, rather it did, I could feel it leaving my body, like a hot wind pouring into the blessed coolness of her being, pouring in and being absorbed. But while that usually left me pale and weak and very, very calm, tonight it was barely noticeable. Just enough to keep me on this side of sanity, fighting and clawing and teetering on the very edge.

  Some of the fey appeared through the trees, and here and there the bright blade of a sword caught the bloody light from the lanterns, gleaming seductively. I had a sudden impulse, a mad desire to fly at them, to find out if they were as good with an edged weapon as I’d always heard, to see if they could blood me before I—

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  “What did you do?” Claire shouted.

  “I…wasn’t thinking,” Louis-Cesare said. “I was furious that he would dare…I wanted to protect her.”

  “Then why is she like this?”

  “I did not ask permission.”

  “What?”

  “To champion her. I did not ask.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Because, in doing so, I treated her in a way I would not have my own kind,” he said bleakly. “To assume that she needed protection was to imply that she is inferior, that she cannot protect herself. It…” He licked his lips. “Another first-level master would have eviscerated me for that.”

  “But Dory isn’t a master—she isn’t a vampire at all!”

  “Part of her is. And that part recognized the insult.”

  More fey had gathered around as they spoke, and despite what some crazy part of my brain thought, I had seen them fight before, and I definitely wasn’t interested in seeing it again. But I was glad they were here; if I went off, if I lost the inner struggle, I wasn’t sure Louis-Cesare could hold alone. Not that he didn’t have the ability, but the monster that lived in my veins didn’t know pity, didn’t understand compassion. He did.

  It could prove a fatal weakness.

  And not just for him.

  “Get away from me,” I told Claire, my voice thickening.

  “I don’t understand,” she said frantically. “I should be able to absorb this, I should be able to help—”

  “Get away!” I grabbed her arms, shaking her hard enough to cause the ponytail to collapse and spill bright red curls around her face. Hard enough to make her listen. “Get in the house. Get to the kids.…Don’t let me in. Promise!”

  She nodded, her green eyes wild and frightened. Because I’d never before hurt her. Because she’d never before understood that I could.

  I shoved her away, abruptly enough that it sent her staggering. And as soon as I lost that touch, the clouds that had been building on the edge of my vision rushed in. I wasn’t going to win this. I’d been here too often not to know. I wasn’t going to—

  “My apologies.”

  The soft words cut through the storm about to overtake me, like someone had hit a pause button. The rage was still there, a seething, boiling mass, just at the edge of my vision. And that’s where it stayed, long enough, at least, for me to look down and see Louis-Cesare kneeling—kneeling?—on one knee on the ground in front of me.

  He looked like some kind of medieval warrior, waiting to be knighted. Or maybe a particularly brawny Renaissance angel. His head was bowed, the gleaming auburn hair falling on each side of the strong shoulders, the nape left vulnerable and unprotected. It was the archaic vampire sign of penitence, left over from some time when they’d liked to get dramatic about th
ings. It had never been altered, although it wasn’t seen much these days. When it was, it was done by a servant to a master, if the master was particularly old or particularly traditional.

  Or between equals, when the offense was particularly severe.

  It was, in essence, giving the other a distinct advantage if he or she wanted to hurt you, or even kill you. Because the neck was one of the few vulnerable spots that vampires and humans shared. But I didn’t want to hurt him, I thought, even as my eyes fixed on that defenseless flesh. I could practically feel the blood running through it, could all but taste it, warm and fresh and coppery sweet on my—

  God!

  I stumbled back a step, but Louis-Cesare didn’t move. He stayed in the same position, head down, eyes lowered. “Zheng-zi treated you with more respect tonight than I did,” he said quietly. “And he is supposed to be your enemy. You are right to be angry. It was your blood and I should not have interfered.” He finally looked up, blue eyes dark and somber and completely sincere. “I will not make such an error again.”

  And just like that, the world slammed back to normal, so fast it left me gasping.

  And I wasn’t the only one.

  “What the hell just happened?” Claire yelled. Right before she fell to the ground, clutching at the soil that swelled up under her fingertips. And then kept on swelling, a boiling mass of dirt and grass and leaves, and one lone plastic cup being fast churned to pieces.

  I didn’t understand what was going on until light started shining through the cracks in the earth, bright beams that stabbed the darkness and lit up the overhanging canopy of trees in spots, like tiny strobes. But it wasn’t electric, wasn’t anything I’d ever seen before. Except, I realized, in the ley lines.

  It was power, pure magical energy, and since nulls didn’t make any, there was no need to guess whose. Dhampirs don’t make magic, but we are magic, as much magical beings as the creatures that spawned us. Only I’d never have guessed that that much was inside me—or had been, before Claire decided to try to swallow an ocean.