My breath came out in a rush as I snatched my hand away. For the majority of the trip Drake’s conversation with me had been filled with well-placed double entendres, which had annoyed my consort to no end.
“Apparently,” I said. “Michael will kill you, you know, if you don’t stop flirting with me so brazenly.”
“He can try,” Drake said with a wicked smile, running his tongue over the tooth that had nicked me.
“Nous sommes ici. Finalement!” Justine announced a little too loudly.
I tore my gaze from Drake’s laughing face, realizing that while we’d been talking I hadn’t noticed that the cadence of the road had changed. The clacking of the wheels on cobblestones meant that we were entering the city. Justine put her knitting in the side compartment all the while muttering in an unintelligible torrent of French as she scowled disapprovingly at Drake. Her voice was too low and fast for me to catch anything more than a word here or there, but I got the distinct impression that he was being scolded.
“Here,” she said, as she pulled out a bottle of whiskey and delicately wrinkled her nose in distaste. Justine did not care for whiskey. “You may as well pass it around. We are all going to need it tonight, n’est-ce pas?”
I took it and drank a long swallow straight from the bottle before handing it to Drake, who followed suit. What did it say when the judges had to fortify themselves with liquid courage before questioning a suspect? Nothing good, I’m sure.
Chapter 4
I could hear Michael and Devlin jump down onto the sidewalk as I swung the coach door open from the inside. Michael had not come to help me out. Of course, I didn’t need help, but he was always such a gentleman. The fact that he was standing next to the coach with his back to me, his coat tucked back on one side and his hand lightly resting on the basket-hilted claymore at his hip, gave me pause. I glanced past him and Devlin to the very nice three-story townhouse in front of us—and the two very unusual vampires who stood flanking its door.
They were tall and broad and looked like something out of 1,001 Arabian Nights. What made them even more spectacular was that they were twins. The gaslights from the street seemed to shine off their bald heads and cast their dark eyes in shadows under their thick black brows. The man to my left had a gold hoop earring in his right ear, and his brother had a matching one in his left. The white linen pants and tunics they wore set off their dark skin to perfection. A crimson sash was tied around each of their waists, the fringed ends hanging nearly to their knees and the tops of their shiny black boots. They looked like a pair of exotic bookends. I suppressed the urge to jump down out of the coach, run up those stairs, and take a better look at them, mostly because the men were all posturing now and it would have ruined their moment. Drake made no move to exit the coach, so I shifted on the seat and settled back into the shadows. Who knew how long this would take?
I had watched this dance, for that is what it reminded me of, on countless occasions over the years. There were times when making nice was easier than others, but the formalities had to be observed, regardless. It was only polite when entering a new territory to make ourselves known to the ruling vampires, though as The Righteous we were not answerable to anyone but the High King himself. Each town, or county in many cases, had a lord or lady who held dominion over the vampires who resided in their territory. These minor lords were ruled by a regent in the closest large city or capital. The regents were governed by their respective king and/or queen, and those monarchs were subject only to the High King of Tara.
The Dark Council was a governing body made up of the regents, the kings and queens, and the High King himself. They met every three hundred years to renegotiate laws and policies, but an emergency session could be called at any time by the High King or by the monarch of the Eastern or Western Lands.
In accordance with the edicts of the Dark Council that sat in the year 1360, Europe was split into two kingdoms. The King of the Western Lands ruled over Britain, the Scandinavian countries, western Europe, and most of what was once the Holy Roman Empire. The Queen of the Eastern Lands ruled all the lands from Poland, Turkey, and the Russias eastward to India. It might seem like a disproportionate split in terms of size, but the world’s vampire population was heavily centered in northern, western, and central Europe. In terms of the number of their subjects, the two kingdoms were fairly evenly divided.
Outside Europe the vampire population was sparse, and its fealty to the Dark Council varied. China was not a member of the Council. It was known that there were vampires living there, but there was no way to tell how many. The vampire emperor kept his people strictly confined to his own lands. I’d never known anyone who had seen one of his vampires, or who had traveled into the emperor’s territory and returned to tell of it. Our High King was of the opinion that as long as the Asian emperor kept to himself, we would do the same. The Americas were becoming more populated, and it was rumored that the High King would annex the continent under his rule and establish a similar division of powers there when the Council sat again in the next century. Africa belonged to the Western Lands but for obvious sun-related reasons very few vampires lived south of the Mediterranean, or the Caspian Sea. Hell, the only Arab vampires I’d ever seen were now walking down the stairs of the gray stone townhouse in front of us.
“Devlin,” the man on the left said, inclining his head.
“Khalid,” Devlin replied in an equally respectful, but cautious tone. Both men’s faces were carefully blank, though Khalid’s brother stood behind him with his massive arms crossed over his chest and a fierce scowl on his face. That was never a good sign.
“We have business with MacLeod,” Devlin stated.
“The court has dispersed or retired to Castle Darkness, and my king and queen are indisposed.” Khalid’s tone was dismissive, as if he expected that we would simply say thank you, drive off, and that would be the end of it. I was fairly certain that he knew why we were here, and I was willing to bet that he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could get rid of us.
I noticed Michael’s thumb caressing the hilt of his sword as Devlin’s low, gravelly voice replied, “The night is waning, old friend, and we are going to need to see him before the dawn. Your door has always been open to me before.” He glanced up at the sightless windows of the townhouse. “Or do you have something in there to hide?”
Khalid’s face remained impassive as he and Devlin stood mere feet from each other, their eyes locked, waiting to see who would back down first. Khalid’s brother was not so patient, and the low growl that came from his throat showed just how much offense he took at Devlin’s remark. The man stepped forward, and I saw Michael’s hand move to wrap around the grip of his sword. Things were going to get messy for the twins if that blade cleared its scabbard.
Justine pulled one of her daggers from her boot and put a hand on my shoulder, pushing me back into the seat as she moved forward. Drake grasped her wrist, shaking his head, then stepped from the coach in that frighteningly graceful way vampires have, as if pulled by strings no one can see.
“Khalid,” Drake said in a tone as carefree as if he’d asked the man if he wanted milk or sugar with his tea.
One word. That’s all it took from Drake and the whole tableau shifted. Khalid and his brother bowed low to Drake, and Michael took his hand off his sword.
“Your Highness,” Khalid said, his head still bowed.
“Highness no longer, my friend,” Drake replied, clasping Khalid’s shoulder, “but I would have three rooms for the duration of our visit, and the coach and horses seen to.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Khalid turned to his brother. “Hashim, make it so.”
Drake strode up the stairs to the front door of the townhouse as if he owned the place. He called back over his shoulder, “Oh, and Khalid, show the ladies to their rooms to freshen up and tell the king that we wish an audience in one hour.”
Khalid bowed again, and I realized that at some point in the past Drake had proba
bly been his king. “It will be done,” he replied. The words were pleasant enough, but the expression on his face was not. He looked as if he wanted to either kill someone or throw up. I couldn’t do anything about the latter, but I could do something about the former.
One thing that Devlin had taught me over the years was to put your enemy off balance every chance you get. I did not want Khalid to decide that violence might circumvent whatever he thought was about to happen to his queen. I let Michael hand me down out of the coach, gave him a warm smile, and then walked to stand in front of Khalid. I was very glad now that I’d worn the dark amber satin carriage dress instead of my usual custom-made breeches. I sank into a low curtsy. When I straightened, I took Khalid’s arm and smiled up at him. He looked down at me as if he had no clue what to do.
“Shall we?” I asked, gesturing to the door.
He nodded and escorted me up the steps while Devlin, Michael, and Justine followed behind us. The poor man was clearly miserable and confused, but at least he didn’t look like he wanted to rip anyone’s head off anymore.
I tried very hard not to laugh. I often envied Justine her height and her incredible long legs, but sometimes, just sometimes, it was helpful to be small and delicate. “Small and delicate” always put a large man off balance, especially if you could manage to throw in “helpless” as well. When Khalid opened the door, I turned my whiskey-colored eyes to him and smiled shyly as I passed through. He didn’t exactly smile back, but his face did soften a bit.
Being little and sweet wouldn’t be helpful once we were face-to-face with the king—in there I would have to be strong and scary—but for now it had gotten us into the house without anyone starting a fight. Already that was better than a lot of assignments we’d had over the years. There was something in the air, though, that told me that getting into this house was going to be a whole lot easier than getting out.
Chapter 5
Hashim delivered our trunks to our room on the third floor, depositing them unceremoniously with a thump and a scowl before exiting the room in a similar manner. Shaking my head, I opened my trunk and surveyed the contents. Tonight’s wardrobe would have to be chosen with care. If this were a normal audience with a territorial ruler then I would have worn one of my splendid gowns, but tonight we had to show that we were strong, that we were The Righteous. Nothing ordinary would do.
I pulled out my black leather breeches, made to fit snugly against my curves, and the thigh-high black boots that went with them. I’d come to prefer the thigh-high boots because I’d found it convenient to have my daggers strapped to each thigh instead of having to waste time reaching down to pull them from inside a knee-high boot. Besides, I thought the taller boots made my legs look longer, which isn’t an easy accomplishment when you’re five foot five. I pulled out a crimson shirt with tight-fitting sleeves that ended in points at my wrists, and a black custom-made frock coat heavily encrusted with crimson silk embroidery. Laying these across the end of the four-poster bed, I turned to watch Michael dress.
He noted my choice and pulled out garments to match. I climbed up the little set of steps next to the bed and lay down on my side, my head propped up in one hand, the other hand resting on the curve of my hip, and watched him tuck the black shirt into his black breeches and button them.
“Seems such a shame to cover all that beautiful skin,” I mused.
He smiled wickedly, his blue eyes sparkling. “Give me but a few hours and you can take it all off again.”
“Promises, promises.”
He buttoned the shirt, leaving it open at the neck. Michael only wore a cravat if I absolutely made him. The black-and-crimson-embroidered vest came next, and he lay his black coat out beside mine.
“Your turn,” he said, grabbing my ankle and pulling me to the edge of the bed.
I stood and offered my back to him. “You’ll have to undo me.”
His hands circled my waist and his lips trailed along my neck, stopping to suck gently over the faint pulse. “Anytime you want, my lady, anytime you want.”
I laughed softly, wickedly. “I meant the buttons, dear.”
“Oh.” His long, battle-scarred fingers slowly undid the line of buttons that marched down my back until the carriage dress slipped from my body to pool on the floor. My corset and shift quickly followed until I stood naked with my back to him, his hands moving over my skin. “God, lass, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Even after all these years?”
“Even after eternity,” he vowed.
His hands drifted over my hips and across my stomach, moving purposefully up to cover my breasts. He rolled my nipples between his fingers, gently at first and then harder. I moaned and arched my body against him, reaching back to plunge the fingers of both hands into his dark blond hair. I tipped my head back and pulled him down to me until his lips met mine. He kissed me gently, tenderly, and every time I tried to deepen the kiss he drew back, nipping at my lips or stroking his tongue lightly against them.
“You’re such a tease,” I murmured, frustrated.
“Am I? We’ll see about that.”
His booted foot reached out and kicked the bed steps closer. Picking me up by the waist, he set me down on the bottom step. I turned to question him but he snaked one arm around my waist, pulling me closer until I felt his hard erection pressed against my backside in throbbing need. He planted his other hand firmly in the middle of my back and pushed my upper body forward. I grabbed the smooth wooden post of the bed with both hands and leaned against it.
His hand ran down over the swell of my hip and then up the inside of my thigh. There was no teasing in his manner now. I spread my legs and his fingers claimed me, stroking me until I moaned his name, and then they slid inside. I pushed backward against him, moving in a frantic rhythm, feeling the long, hard length of him against my butt as his fingers stroked in and out of me. His free hand came up to cup my breast, and just when I thought I’d go mad at the feel if him inside me and against me, he leaned over and placed his mouth on the tender flesh just where my shoulder meets my neck … and bit me. His teeth sank into my flesh as two fingers slid hard inside me. My body started to shake and I cried out his name.
“That’s it, lass,” he whispered against my neck. “Ah. God, you’re so tight.”
His lips returned to the place where he’d bitten me and he sucked gently. I threw my head back in ecstasy as the tremors shook me. My knees buckled and I clutched the bedpost for support. Michael’s arm wrapped tightly around my waist, and he buried his face in my neck.
“Oh, Goddess, Michael, the things you do to me,” I breathed in a shaky whisper.
The knock at the door would have made me jump if I’d had one ounce of tension left in my body.
“I do not suppose I need ask what you two are doing in there,” Justine called out. “But you have fifteen minutes to finish it up.”
I giggled and Michael moaned against my neck.
“Do you think we could both get naked, finish this up properly, and get dressed again in fifteen minutes?” I asked.
He chuckled. “I’d rather you just owe me one, lass.”
I turned in his arms, pressing myself flagrantly against him. “That is a debt I’ll happily pay.”
There is a fine line between looking aggressive and looking like assassins. I thought we’d all done rather well, though our color palette did run mostly to black. Altogether we probably had enough weapons on us to have stormed the Bastille, but the only blade visible was Michael’s claymore. He’d left off the frock coat and instead had the long sword in its sheath at his back. He said it was to remind the king that they were countrymen. This wasn’t the basket-hilted broadsword he’d worn earlier, but the great two-handed Highland claidheamh mòr. Michael rarely used this sword because it was four and a half feet long and nearly impossible to conceal. It was, however, an impressive weapon and, according to Fiona, not nearly as heavy as it looked. I wouldn’t know. Having vampire s
trength, I found it easy enough to wield with one hand.
I dragged my eyes from Michael as Drake finally made his way down the stairs. The Sentinel made his way to me and ran an appreciative glance over my attire.
“My dear,” he said smoothly, “you look deliciously dangerous.”
“Why, thank you,” I replied.
It was clear that he would have liked to have continued the conversation, but I had noticed the scowl on Michael’s face as he overheard the compliment so I politely extricated myself from Drake’s company. It was the king’s prerogative to make us wait for an audience, but I doubted that we would be standing on the spacious second-floor landing much longer now that Drake was here. I didn’t imagine that he would be content to lounge on one of the velvet-upholstered chairs and await the king’s pleasure. Personally, I would have been more than happy to retire to my room and miss the whole thing. There was an oppressive feeling in the air that had nothing to do with the decorating scheme, which tended to run mostly to red velvet and heavy gilt. Just as I opened my mouth to ask if anyone else felt it, too, Khalid, dressed in heavily embroidered sage-green silk from his turbaned head to his black-booted feet, threw open the great double doors and ushered us inside.
The room we entered made me catch my breath at the sheer unexpectedness of it. While the rest of the house, from the first-floor receiving rooms to the third-floor bedrooms, looked as if its furnishings had been stolen from Versailles, this room was built like a medieval Presence Chamber. It was the sort of room a centuries-old king would be comfortable in. The tapestry-lined walls were made of the same gray stone as the floor and fitted at regular intervals with sconces holding flaming torches. A row of medieval backless chairs lined the left and right walls, but other than that, the room was devoid of furnishings. Except for the throne and the man who sat upon it.
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