Thicker Than Blood (Blood Vice Book 5)

by Angela Roquet

  Ursula was less obvious in a lacey, gray sheath dress, though the blood-red cloak transformed every ensemble, making the wearer appear as if they might be on a quest to Mount Doom. It wasn’t really a garment that could be dressed up or down.

  I was more surprised to find Belinda without a cloak. She lingered in the doorway in a flared skirt and cardigan and waved to Murphy and me.

  “Check in once you’re settled,” she said before offering Dante and Ursula a farewell bow. “Be safe, Your Graces.” Then she disappeared inside the manor, closing the door behind her.

  The duke turned to take in my uniform with an appreciative once-over. “It suits you.”

  My cheeks warmed, but I bit my tongue, refraining from threatening him the way I had Murphy. Compared to what I was used to wearing on the human police force—and even with Blood Vice—the royal guard uniform felt entirely undignified and ridiculous.

  “Shouldn’t we be on our way?” Ursula asked, shooting Dante a dirty look. “I’m ready to get this over with. Coffin-lock or royal tongue-lashing, either one is better than staying holed up here forever.”

  “Such a gracious guest you are, cousin.” Dante sighed and held his hand out to her, but she shooed it away and whisked past him toward one of the sedans. Murphy trotted to catch up, passing her in time to open the back door.

  This was going to be loads of fun. I could already tell.

  * * * * *

  Mandy called dibs on the front passenger seat of the sedan. Murphy was driving, so that left me sandwiched in the back seat between the duke and duchess. It was roomy, but not nearly spacious enough for all the family drama that filled the air with awkward tension.

  “How far away is the venue?” I asked.

  “Twenty minutes.” Dante gazed out his window at the city lights that glowed against the sky in the distance. We were heading east, toward downtown St. Louis. I caught a glimpse of the Gateway Arch through the buildings as we neared it.

  “Tell me something I don’t know about this trial,” I begged Dante, desperate for a break in the silence.

  Ursula scoffed. “It’s a steaming shit pile of lies designed to dismantle the royal family.”

  “The lords and ladies who rule over the elite vampire families in this country each hold a single seat on the Vampiric High Council,” Dante said, ignoring Ursula’s vulgar outburst. “But only seven are called upon to determine the outcome of any given trial. There is a regional drawing process so that the selection is diverse and balanced.”

  “Because at least half of them are malicious, power-hungry vultures,” Ursula injected.

  “The seven councilors are not announced beforehand in an effort to prevent blackmail threats and bribes,” Dante went on. “Only the committee who issues the summons is aware of who they are before the trial begins.”

  The duke’s willingness to share information was refreshing. It had been such an effort with Roman, as if he had struggled to attain the knowledge himself and thought I should have to endure the same. I imagined it was harder for him as a human—and with someone like Vanessa for a potential sire, who’d had patience hammered into her as a core virtue by the likes of Faye Sorano.

  I wasn’t asking for damning secrets—I just wanted enough detail to gain a bearing on the situation. Half the time, Dante offered that without even having to be asked. He went over all the trial specifics he was aware of on the drive across the city, occasionally pausing to answer my sidebar questions while Ursula rolled her eyes.

  The hearing was being held at the Nightfall Opera House, owned by none other than Radu Vlad, the owner of Bleeders. The in-house suites that usually accommodated the ballet troupes and actors who traveled far and wide to perform at the theater had been offered to the royal family and the council members who were chosen to pass judgement on Ursula.

  The duke’s mellow voice calmed my nerves. His tenor encompassed Bob Ross and Morgan Freeman with a touch of Enrique Iglesias. I imagined that voice reading the erotic poems I’d found in the manor library and had to remind myself that I hated this guy and his murderous, bloodsucking family that had stolen my mortality.

  When our small procession slowed near a quieter slice of downtown and entered a parking garage, an electric hum took up residence in my veins once again.

  Murphy followed the lead car up to the second level and backed us into a parking slot angled against an internal wall, while the harem SUV pulled in sideways and blocked off the four adjacent spaces. As we exited the vehicles and regrouped, six newcomers in white robes approached us. They bowed to the duke but made a point to ignore the duchess.

  “We’re under council orders to escort the duchess to the defendant chamber until the hearing begins,” one of them announced.

  Ursula bristled, but Dante touched her shoulder before she could protest. “Of course. But given the recent attack, you will understand if I send two of my personal guards to ensure her safety.”

  The mouthpiece for the white cloaks didn’t look pleased about having their competence challenged, but he bowed stiffly at the duke. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Dante nodded to Murphy and Donnie, and the two vampires fell into place at Ursula’s sides, creating a buffer that dissuaded the council wardens from touching the duchess. It was enough to compel her cooperation, though she shot Dante a pleading scowl as they led her away.

  “We shall see you soon, cousin,” he called after her.

  Lane, the remaining vampiric guard, took up a post on the opposite side of the duke from me, while Mandy took her place with the werewolves flanking the blood donors. Only vampires were allowed to attend the actual trial, so I assumed the remaining guard who had come with us was half-sired. He stayed close to the harem.

  Together, our merry lot marched down the descending drive and exited onto the sidewalk. More vehicles approached and entered the garage farther down. I watched them carefully, taking note of the out-of-state plates as we crossed the street.

  The Nightfall Opera House’s mottled gray brickwork and arched windows wouldn’t have seemed out of place tucked among the cathedrals and museums of Vatican City. Torches lit with actual fire lined the stairs leading up to three sets of double doors. It was the perfect place for a medieval dinner theater—or for a vampiric inquisition.

  More white cloaks met us in the lobby, but they were friendlier than Ursula’s greeting party had been. And human, Mandy informed me in a rushed whisper as the harem party diverged and was led away to a reserved suite upstairs. They would be served a meal and offered entertainment until the trial recessed for daybreak.

  Inside the theater hall, the stage had been set for the hearing. Seven high-backed chairs with leather upholstery were grouped together to the right, three staggered in front of the other four. To the left, another leather seat had been enclosed by a short, paneled wall similar to a witness stand in a courtroom. And in the very center of the stage sat an unembellished wooden chair. It was so glaringly obvious that I was almost surprised a dunce cap hadn’t been hooked over one of the back posts.

  Beyond the curtains that framed the stage, golden walls curved up and out. A pale-yellow ivy pattern created subtle texture and was repeated in the intricate trim outlining a dozen balconies that spanned the theater walls.

  Another white cloak directed the duke through an arched opening. Lane and I followed, climbing a winding staircase that opened to the curtained alcoves backing the balconies. Our usher left us at the mouth of one before disappearing down the stairs as more guests arrived.

  I parted the curtains and examined the balcony, taking in the velvet chairs and the gold railing. For good measure, I ran my hand under the seats, checking for any mysterious devices—like bugs or bombs.

  “Keep watch for my sister and the prince,” Dante said to Lane. “Inform me as soon as they arrive.” It took me a moment to realize he was talking about Kassandra. His sister. That was a scary thought.

  Lane nodded and gave us his back, training his gaze on the stairwell. T
he traffic inside the theater was picking up. I held the alcove curtain open for the duke as he stepped out onto the balcony with me and settled into one of the velvet chairs. There were four in all, and I imagined they more often entertained fancy couples who appreciated operas and ballets—and not fanged snobs who enjoyed a good witch hunt.

  “Sit,” Dante said, patting the seat beside him. “Let us pretend that you are my scion. Allow me to offer a rudimentary lesson that will impress your pending sire.”

  The baited suggestion irked me, but I remembered his warning about public acts of disrespect and sat down. I could still see most of the gallery below where guests were arriving and finding their seats, and several decorated vampires soon dotted the balconies across the way from us.

  A tall woman with bronze skin and ice-blond hair entered stage left, passing the paneled booth and time-out chair, her red high heels clicking with purpose. The plunging neckline of her blazer exposed far more cleavage than seemed appropriate for a courtroom, and her matching black pencil skirt was tight enough that even the women in the room couldn’t help but gawk. She claimed the front center chair of the section I assumed was reserved for the council judges.

  Dante angled his head over my shoulder. “That is Lady Regina Beauclair of the Beauclair Corporation. Her house owns a few hundred hotels and resorts all over the world. Their customer base is mostly human, but not exclusively. They have two hotels in St. Louis, though using either for the trial would have been a conflict of interest. It appears she will be leading the hearing.”

  I dipped my chin in an appreciative nod as the theater filled with more faces I didn’t recognize. My attention snagged on a man with a sweep of auburn hair next as he made his way to the stage. His attire was less startling but still pristine and stylish. He unbuttoned his jacket as he took a seat in the armchair to the right of the tartlet in charge.

  “Lord Everett Carter. He oversees the vampiric banking systems,” Dante said. “And that one is Lady Louise Peyroux.” He pointed out an ebony-skinned woman with short, tight curls in a lace blouse and wide-legged dress pants. “She travelled here from Oregon, where her house operates a botanical garden and a large wolfsbane farm.”

  I recognized the white kung fu jacket of the next vampire to make his way to the dais. We’d met once before.

  “Lord Bo Starling,” Dante whispered.

  “Medical industry and health labs,” I injected.

  “You know Lord Starling?” His startled surprise made me blush.

  “Only of him. Through Sonja. We trained together for three months. And Lord Starling was at the All Hallows’ Eve ball. I offered him my condolences.”

  “Is that…the only time your paths crossed?”

  “Yes, of course. How else would I know him?”

  Dante exhaled slowly. “You are full of surprises, and I have come to dread discovering them.”

  Well, that wasn’t a very nice thing to say.

  “They haven’t all been bad surprises, have they? I did save the queen. And aren’t you glad to know who your true enemy is now?” I asked.

  “If only it was just the one,” Dante muttered under his breath. I could tell he struggled to keep a neutral expression, but the wrinkle forming between his eyebrows gave him away as he glanced over the room. “I meant no offense, my dear. I appreciate your insights and gifts. I only wish that my discovery of them did not always coincide with catastrophe.”

  Okay. That was a fair point.

  “What about Rico Suave there?” I asked, hooking my chin at a tall man with long, dark hair and a short beard. He paused to greet the red-heeled vixen and dropped a kiss on her knuckles before taking the seat angled behind her and Lady Peyroux.

  “Lord Nicoli Deangelo.” Dante’s voice flattened. “Italian architect. His house does a lot of projects for the Beauclair Corporation.”

  “Is that not a conflict of interest?” I asked.

  “Not conflicting enough.” Dante sighed. “Many of the elite houses have working relationships. Peyroux supplies Sorano with wolfsbane for their ammunition, and nearly a third of vampire society banks with Carter.”

  “Is my account with him?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course.” He cracked a small smile as another vampire claimed the chair between Lord Starling and Lord Deangelo. “And I would wager everyone here owns at least one armored vehicle manufactured by Lord Owen McCoy’s house. The royal family owns dozens of them, and I commissioned him to design the most recent fleet for Blood Vice.”

  “What’s with the red cloaks?” I asked, noting how everyone in the audience wore them, too.

  “They represent solidarity and acceptance of the council’s decision,” Dante said. “The white cloaks represent those sworn to carry out that decision.”

  One seat in the jury corner remained. As the final councilor took the stage, the duke sucked in a tight breath.

  The waifish woman wore a navy jumpsuit and matching stilettos that looked straight off a runway. A shock of lavender hair grazed her white fur vest, and she sported matching lipstick and fingernail polish. She shot Lord Starling a wary glance before taking her place at the opposite end of the back row.

  “And she would be?” I whispered.

  “Lady Wilhelmina Novak.” Dante rubbed a hand over his jaw and sighed. “I somehow doubt she has forgotten House Lilith’s false imprisonment of her house’s fledgling scion.”

  The audience grew louder, and then their voices cut off abruptly as the queen appeared in a balcony off the opposite wall from us. Dante stood, and I followed his lead without having to be told. He waited for Lili’s gaze to pause on him, and then we both bowed to her. The guests below us did the same.

  After the elaborate All Hallow’s Eve ball, the one and only time I’d met the queen, I mistakenly assumed that she always dressed as if she’d just stepped out of the middle ages. But tonight she wore a modern, black ball gown beneath a red cloak that looked no different than anyone else’s. She’d even left her crown at home, though her dark hair had been woven into braids that paid tribute to her regality.

  Two guards stood on the balcony with the queen, and as the curtains closed behind her, I noticed at least four more blocking off the alcove in the corridor beyond. Though she looked well, I could imagine her people were on high alert after the attack last fall.

  A moment later, in a balcony not far from the queen’s, Alexander and Kassandra arrived, the most fashionably late of all. The young duchess scanned the crowd, and then her eyes roamed upward until they found Dante and me. I felt the urge to pull up the hood of my cloak and hide from her view.

  “If you cannot manage a smile, then at least don’t make eye contact,” Dante said through clenched teeth. “We must exercise caution.”

  I dropped my gaze back to the council judges as they all stood, thankful for the diversion. Ursula was led out and to the chair in the center of the stage. The duchess sat down, but she held her chin high, refusing to crumble under the audience’s judging stare. Arrogance didn’t seem like a smart choice, but then again, shame and guilt wouldn’t have been much better. She was screwed either way.

  Lady Beauclair clapped her hands together and offered the room a wide, vicious smile.

  “Shall we begin?”

  Chapter Ten

  “Ursula, Duchess of House Lilith, stands accused of murdering her sire, Morgan, Princess of House Lilith,” Lady Beauclair announced. “She also stands accused of unleashing two corrupt, vampling scions on the world. The Vampiric High Council is called here tonight to determine her guilt or innocence, and to exact appropriate punishment for her crimes.”

  “By the blood!” the crowd cheered, a communal granting of permission to get things started.

  It sounded more like something to be yelled at a gladiator match where opponents fought to the death, and it seemed to energize Lady Beauclair. She paced the stage in her clicky red heels and stopped a few feet away from where Ursula sat in the chair of guilt and disgrace. The four white
cloaks who had delivered the duchess stood in a line against the backdrop curtains, and more formed a barrier before the front row of the audience. In the shadows at the edge of the stage, I spotted Murphy and Donnie, keeping watch over the duchess as the duke had instructed.

  “How do you plead?” Lady Beauclair asked Ursula.

  “I’m of House Lilith. I do not plead,” she said, hiking her chin farther into the air. “But I will tell you that I am not responsible for the princess’s death. I loved Morgan, and I would not have harmed her for anything in the world.”

  “Do you deny that you were jealous of her potential scion?”

  “Of course I was,” Ursula snapped. “Every first-born worries they will be replaced by their sire’s newest child.”

  Dante tensed beside me, and my eyes involuntarily darted across the theater to where Kassandra sat beside the prince. I wondered if he’d felt that way about her when she came along fifty years after him. Was he jealous of his sire’s affection for his sibling scion?

  “Did you murder your sire’s second chosen heir?” Beauclair asked.

  “No, I did not.” Ursula swallowed and focused her gaze on the councilors. “I was jealous, but I would not harm someone Morgan cared for. I could never cause her such pain.”

  “If you are not guilty, then why did you flee Morgan’s estate in California?” Beauclair demanded.

  Ursula readjusted herself on the chair and crossed her legs. The act was meant to project confidence, but the glassy sheen of her eyes broke the illusion. “My sire had just been murdered, our entire harem slaughtered. I was afraid for my life and didn’t know whom I could trust. My scions had already defected, but I was in no condition to nurture them back into the fold. So I took the required time to grieve, and then I began my search for them. Unfortunately, Blood Vice was always one step ahead, and I never did catch up with my children.”