“Good.”
They sat in silence for a while, listening to a man below confess. He was guilty of so many sins. It seemed like it would be easier for the man to forsake his demanding God than live in tormented guilt.
Once the man finished, Liam sent him out to pray, and Amaia lost interest. “How did you handle it?”
“What?” Meg still watched the scene below.
“The images of your first kill. His eyes haunt me. I swear, sometimes I think I’ll go mad.”
“What do you mean, haunt you?” Meg focused her attention on Amaia.
“He flashes before me. I’ll see him randomly in my mind. Always his eyes. I try to ignore it, but it just gets worse.”
Meg shook her head. “I’ve never had that happen.”
“What?” A chill settled in Amaia as her heart slowed. “I thought you said it was normal to think about your first kill.”
“To think about it, yes, not to be haunted by the person. Have you told Lawrence about this?” Meg placed a hand on Amaia’s arm, radiating concern.
“No. He didn’t much like the man.”
Meg’s eyes widened. “You knew him?”
“Yes. He was my betrothed.” Amaia’s eyes wandered to where her thumb caressed the vacant spot on her finger. She had hoped the absence of the ring would lessen the visions.
“What?” This time Meg’s surprise wasn’t confined to her face. Her exclamation echoed in the church. Below, Liam coughed to hide it, shooting a glare in their direction.
Amaia’s head snapped up at the tone of Meg’s voice. “He was the first person I saw after Lawrence bit me.”
“Wow. That’s quite the turn.”
“How strong can love be if I killed the man I loved?”
“Love has nothing to do with it. Your transformation kill is pure instinct. You’d kill your own mother in that moment. You have to, otherwise you’ll die. You can’t be blamed for that.”
Amaia didn’t care about blame. She just wanted the haunting to stop. She wanted to understand why it happened. Everyone seemed to experience life differently than she did. “I know. But still, a vampire would never kill her mate.”
“No.” The answer came quick and strong, as if Meg couldn’t allow even a doubt.
A young woman entered the church, and Liam ushered her into the confessional. It appeared the girl was guilty of impure thoughts. She had let one of the local boys have his way with her. Poor girl. At this rate she would never experience truly good sex. Especially if she kept crying about it.
“Do you really enjoy sex with humans?” Meg too watched the confessional as she listened.
The question startled Amaia. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I? It feels incredible.”
“Hmm. How can you share something so tactile with someone who can’t feel the way we do?”
“I have nothing but my mortal experience to compare it to.”
“Maybe you should try it with a vampire sometime.”
Amaia snorted. “Yes, with all my spare time and the hordes of single vampires crawling around.”
“There’re plenty of nomads.”
“I don’t want to mate.”
Meg laughed. “I know, but I’m not talking about mating. You need to just try sex with a vampire first. It wouldn’t be fair to you to jump straight to mating. Too much of a shock to your system.” Meg went still. Amaia recognized the sign that she was speaking with her mate. “Liam wants to know if you want to take this one. Seems like you’re the proper holy mother for a promiscuous woman to pray to.”
Amaia smiled and jumped down, her knees softening her landing. There was no need to dwell on puzzles that wouldn’t be solved, especially not when there was fun to be had.
•••
“Zenas has an assignment for you.” Lawrence sat waiting in Amaia’s room when she returned from the church.
“Lovely.” Amaia rolled her eyes.
Lawrence glared at her. “This is important. Zenas is tired of this bloody war, and the Holy Roman Emperor is the key to peace. We need to make sure he heads in that direction.”
Amaia flounced into a chair. “I don’t understand why Zenas cares so much what the humans do, as long as they keep making more humans for us to feed on.”
“All the turmoil right now is over religion. Instability and faith do not mix. There are renewed witch hunts taking place at this moment in England. You’ve seen witch hunts before. They don’t bode well for us.”
Fire was a concern. Recalling the images from Frankfurt made her shudder. Some lone vampires had been killed by torch-bearing mobs with hearts full of God’s righteous fury. “So he thinks by bringing an end to this war, it will help calm the entire situation. What does he want me to do, bed Ferdinand himself and keep him on the edge until he agrees to do whatever’s necessary for peace?”
Lawrence gave a mirthless smirk. “Hardly. There’s a viscount he wants you to bed, an up-and-coming young man and a devout Catholic, maybe too devout. We don’t need any man coming to power who won’t settle for less than total Catholic control. With Ferdinand giving the German states sovereignty in foreign affairs, Zenas is concerned that it may prompt some of them to grab more power than they were given. Find out where Christof stands and if there is any talk of one of the German leaders making a play for power. Peace is still a long way off. We don’t need it delayed unnecessarily. I also want you to make note of the viscount’s energy, see if there’s anything different about it. We could use a good breeding in this area.”
Amaia sighed and stood. “Yes, I know, Lawrence. I still haven’t felt one that is all that different. We’ve been breeding strong auras to strong auras, and it still hasn’t produced anything other than strength. No humans are special.”
“You were. That’s why you’re here, and most of the girls you were working with are now dead.”
Had that much time really passed? Looking back, she supposed it must have. If they weren’t dead, they were certainly too old to be working in the same profession. Odd. “Zenas isn’t going to let you get away with turning another one.”
“No, not right now he won’t. But it doesn’t matter. There isn’t anyone who’s ready for the transformation. I’m willing to be patient. I’m hoping to create another you. Of course, it took me over two hundred years to find you, and you literally just showed up on my doorstep. It doesn’t help that you were an orphan. I’d give anything to know who your parents were.”
“You and me both. Except I would want to kill them.” Amaia had spent her early years living on the streets until she had knocked on Lawrence’s door looking for work as a scullery maid. She had known who he was and had seen the women he employed. Her plan had always been to become a courtesan.
“Well, time has done your work for you.”
“I suppose it has.” Even if it hadn’t, it soon would. It was an interesting thought to ponder when she had some more time. Amaia smiled. “If only the great master could see you now: his favorite making him proud.”
“Don’t think about him. We just do what he wants so he’ll leave us in peace. Now go get ready. You’ll bed the young man tonight.” Lawrence left her alone.
Amaia made her way to her dressing table, wondering what this one would be like. She didn’t know who he was, and she didn’t have enough time to ask around. Certain things were the same about every man. The basics. A whore played off of those things. An artist like herself knew there was more to a man than the basics. Each one had a particular taste, a fancy, that if played to would have him surrendering his power. A whore had no power. A courtesan had it all.
“Are you working tonight?” Meg stood in the doorway. Amaia’s profession always fascinated her. She and Liam blended in with the lower classes. They didn’t like drawing attention, so she rarely got to dress up, and she enjoyed helping Amaia get ready.
“Yes. Care to help?”
“Of course.” Meg came all the way into the room and went immediately to Amaia’s wardrobe. “What look ar
e you going for tonight?”
“I’m not sure. All I know about the viscount is that he may be a Catholic zealot.” Amaia kept her eyes on the mirror as she applied color to her cheeks.
“I think this will be perfect.”
Amaia went to the bed where Meg had spread out a blood red dress trimmed in gold and black. Resting on top of it was a large, gold crucifix with rubies at the points and in the center. Amaia smiled and then giggled. Meg joined her. “I agree. How much do you want to wager that he’ll have no problem doing it with that cross around my neck? It’s funny how faith takes a different form in the men who can pay my fee.”
“If only the poor girl from earlier knew that all it takes is a little money to sanction her liaisons before the Lord.”
There was no use worrying over Michael, visions of gray eyes, or Zenas’s presence in her life. She had a best friend she adored, a sire who cared for her, and a profession she was not only good at, but enjoyed. Amaia was happy, and that was all she had ever wanted.
Chapter Eight
Vienna, May 1646
She had Christof right where she wanted him. Pinned under her, his eyes gave away just how lost he was to his passion. He would tell her anything she wanted to know. He would give her anything she desired as long as she didn’t stop the ecstasy. It always amazed her how easily a man could be coaxed to give up his allegiances. These men, who went to such lengths to protect their standing, killing and lying to secure ever-exceeding levels of influence, gave it all away for just one night of pleasure and were none the wiser after the night was over.
The viscount wasn’t particularly powerful himself, but he was a friend of the powerful players and eager to share his knowledge as a show of the faith that was ill-placed in him. The perfect target: high enough to be useful, but not so high as to be smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Amaia knew her work well. She would keep him on the edge of his pleasure, never giving him enough, until she knew all she needed. Men would give her anything with the end in mind, but after they were spent, they quickly forgot the intrigue of her charms and, more often than not, promptly fell asleep to awaken to a cold bed come morning.
There was nothing more the man could tell her. She brought him to climax and then acted as a pillow so he could sleep.
“I’m done.”
“Did he know anything?”
“The Catholics are eager to rid the world of Protestants, but none have the power or will to pursue that goal. He and his friends won’t hamper the peace process.”
“I’ll let Zenas know.”
Amaia looked at the face resting on her breast. Her eyes naturally travelled down his neck to where she could make out his pulse. “May I kill him?”
“No. We might use him again.”
It was worth a try. While it was rare for Amaia to kill a client, it wasn’t unheard of for Zenas to want her to kill a man he had sent her on assignment to bed. Amaia slid from underneath the viscount and leaned down, deftly pricking his neck with her fangs and having a drink. Catholic, Protestant, they tasted the same to her: sweet, tangy, warm, and filling. She took a little more than she would from a waking man. The viscount wouldn’t miss it in his sleep. As always, she stopped before she was satisfied, knowing that satisfaction could only come from his dying breath.
She hurried into her clothes, noting with a smirk that the crucifix had remained around her neck the entire night, and went home to change into something less flashy before meeting Meg and Liam.
•••
They met at a tavern on the outskirts of town where no one knew them. A light rain had driven more people indoors than usual. The scent of the hearty stew and ale that was being consumed hung thick in the air. Amaia found it more pleasant to focus on those scents than the stench of sweat and skin permeating the atmosphere. Lawrence had been right all those years ago: she had eventually learned to ignore the stink of human.
In a corner toward the back, Amaia spotted Meg—whose face broke into a smile at seeing Amaia—sitting next to Liam. It was nice to know her friend looked forward to their time together as much as she did. Amaia made her way over, seating herself on Meg’s other side so they could look out over the tavern patrons together.
“Ah, the glorious, the infamous, the dazzling Amaia has chosen to grace us with her presence after all.” Liam was in a mood. Amaia was later than she had anticipated, and Liam hated waiting on her. His only feeling of friendship for Amaia came from knowing how important she was to Meg. That was fine with Amaia. She shot him a piercing sideways glance and embraced Meg.
“How did it go? Was the viscount as dreadfully boring as he looked?” Meg had followed Amaia and seen the viscount at their meeting place. She was almost as bad as a human when it came to gossip. Meg seemed to think it was endlessly entertaining to hear how the aristocracy behaved behind closed doors. Amaia couldn’t care less, but she supposed that came partly from working with them so much.
“He was even more boring. The bumbling fool was only all too proud to share that he was privy to some of the discussions taking place amongst the emperor’s advisors.”
“Humans don’t understand loyalty. Not the way we do.” Meg locked eyes with Liam for a brief moment in a slight acknowledgement of the absolute loyalty they shared. Amaia wondered if that level of loyalty really did feel different from the loyalty she felt toward Lawrence.
“Of course not. They don’t mate like we do—my profession is proof of that—and when their actions lead to death, they believe they are going to something better. If one of us crosses the other, we know that our death is permanent.”
“Their religion seems to cause more strife than anything else.” Liam’s gruff voice conveyed just how stupid he thought the entire thing was.
“They have a need to feel as if there’s something bigger than them. It’s stupid, but can you blame them? Their lives are so small and insignificant. I think a part of them knows just how small they are. It doesn’t seem worth it unless there’s someone bigger out there caring.” Amaia knew there was no god, but she also couldn’t explain the eyes that continued to haunt her. She could empathize somewhat with those who sought to make sense of what they didn’t understand. It was one of the few areas where she was willing to admit to herself a likeness with humans.
“What happened with the viscount?” Meg was quick to steer the conversation back to gossip.
“He didn’t even realize what he was doing. Why anyone would confide in him is really beyond me. The whole job went without a hitch, and now I am positively starving for some fun tonight.”
“Well, we were just thinking about joining this next game of cards. Care to?” Meg and Amaia shared a love for cards, and Liam loved taking mortals for all they were worth. Nothing sobered a man as much as realizing that, in one hand, he had lost his entire life savings.
Amaia surveyed the men around one of the tables. They looked like they had enough money to be reckless, but not enough that a losing streak wouldn’t be devastating. Just the right amount of arrogance. “As long as we don’t play all night. I was hoping to find a transient to kill.” Lawrence didn’t like her to kill too often, but it had been a while, and a transient wouldn’t be missed.
“Very well then, we’ll play until that fellow there”—Liam pointed to a stout man, a merchant by his clothes, who loudly boasted that he would best any man there at a game—“signs over his entire fortune to me, and then we’ll each get a kill and watch the sun rise.” Liam rose from the table and went over to the gentlemen to arrange the details of himself and his dear wife and “sister” joining the game.
“What did Liam do to get you more doe-eyed than usual?” Amaia turned back to Meg.
Meg raised her eyebrows in the most pathetic expression of innocence.
“Don’t give me that look. I know you want to tell me about whatever romantic gesture he made. Just because I don’t have a mate doesn’t mean you shouldn’t talk about yours.”
Meg sighed, and her face relaxed
into the look she always had when she talked about Liam. “We went to see a new mural being painted in one of the churches. It was exquisite, or at least good enough that Liam decided to let the painter live. Then we ate, and Liam took me to this romantic little spot on a quaint bridge and recited some of his latest poetry to me.”
Meg often extolled the wonder of Liam’s skill as a poet, but he never shared it with anyone but her. What would it be like to have secrets like that? “I can’t imagine Liam being the way you describe. You two make me sick sometimes.”
“Well, if you stopped working long enough to find a mate, you would understand.” Meg looked at Liam as if an ocean separated them instead of a few yards of floor.
Amaia understood that a part of Meg would always want to be with Liam, no matter how much fun they had together. She simply couldn’t imagine ever feeling the same way. “If finding a mate makes me look as silly as you, then I hope I never find one. Come on, let’s go reunite you with your ‘one true love’ and get playing.” It was easier to casually brush off the bond between her two friends than face her own jealousy. The foreign feeling made her uncomfortable. If she felt so inclined, she could have any man she wanted. The thought placated her for a moment, but deep down she knew it wasn’t true. She couldn’t have any man the way Meg had Liam.
“Gentlemen, this is my wife Eleanor and her sister Juliana. They’ve recently taken a liking to cards and have saved up some of their allowance. Shall we begin?” Liam took his seat, and Amaia recognized the wicked pleasure in his eyes as he locked onto the pompous merchant and picked up his cards.
The game went well. Liam let the merchant win just enough to make him overconfident. Meg and Amaia held back, winning a little and losing a little. It was clear that this was Liam’s game, and they weren’t about to rain on his fun.
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