by Tinnean
She held her breath.
“You will go with Antonia.” And he swirled his cape over his arm and disappeared.
“Someone thinks he’s God’s gift.” Rhiannon scowled after him.
“You’re very young.” Antonia sighed and rose to her feet.
“Sit down. I’m not done with your hair.” Rhiannon stared at her thoughtfully. “Why don’t you just leave?”
“Do you think we wouldn’t if we could? But where would we go? Who would protect us from the master? From those bodyguards of his, Miguel and his shadow, Benito? They’ll follow his orders, no matter what they might be.”
“He sounds like he’s nuts.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Uh… crazy? Insane?”
“Ah. Loco. However that is, just remember, he is our master and has the ability—the right—to destroy our talismans with no compunction and no repercussions.”
Rhiannon finished braiding Antonia’s hair. Jesus, how fucking unlucky could she get? “All right, all done.”
“Ah. Very nice.” Antonia brought the braid around so she could see it. Yeah, she couldn’t check it out in a mirror. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Antonia tossed the braid over her shoulder and stood once more, all business. “Now come. I cannot show you what you must do, but I can tell you.”
ANTONIA HAD turned out to be not only an excellent teacher but a good friend, even though in her previous life Rhiannon had had little use for female friends.
But now de Vivar was becoming even more unhinged, and it could cost Rhiannon her talisman.
Well, piss on him.
THE SOUND of the front door closing brought her back to the present.
The sabor, the vampyr, and the normal came out onto the porch, and that little bitch began growling again. They looked around, but they couldn’t see her.
Could they?
Fuck this.
“Just take me home, okay?” The normal sounded awful.
She smiled grimly. At least she wasn’t the only one who’d had a lousy night. She watched as the garage door opened. In a minute or so the car rolled out, the door came down, and they were on their way to wherever. She followed until the car turned onto the thruway and headed south.
Now she needed to cover her tracks. If not enough time had passed, de Vivar would assume she was lying—which she would be, like a rug!—and if too much time had passed, he’d think she dallied too long with the sabor. Either way, he’d take her talisman and leave her outside to wait for the sun to come up.
If she wanted him to believe she’d done what he ordered, she’d have to do some fast calculations.
In spite of what de Vivar thought of her, she had every confidence in her abilities. It would have taken maybe about ten minutes to get the sabor to let her feed from him. Actually probably less, but it wasn’t a good idea for Juan to know just what she was capable of.
Her mouth watered at the thought of the missed opportunity of having a sabor.
She shook her head. No time to regret lost chances. Although, seriously? Being that close to a sabor and not even getting a sip? That just left her teed off.
Okay, back to her calculations. It would have taken another ten minutes or so to persuade the sabor to let in the next vampyr.
She looked up at the sky. Dawn was a few hours away, so time wasn’t too much of a worry.
Okay… high and mighty de Vivar thought he was so great? Let him handle this shit.
She intended to be long gone.
IV
DE VIVAR drummed his fingertips on the arm of the sofa. He was alone, save for the normal. In spite of his order, the normal had been almost depleted. He’d had to cuff Miguel to get him to stop, and then he’d sent him away. Miguel had gone sullenly, but what did that matter to him? He had turned Miguel, and if the vampyr was unhappy about it, he could just as easily destroy him.
But now he was in a quandary. He wanted to keep the normal, but he didn’t want to turn him….
A rattling sound disturbed the silence of the mausoleum, and he turned his head toward it, frowning as he realized the normal was dead. Well, that settled that problem.
He was about to summon Miguel to clean up his mess when another sound drew his gaze to the double doors that kept the outside world where it belonged. The door opened slowly.
He didn’t need to rise and prepare to slaughter whoever was there: he knew it was Rhiannon. His heart, if it still beat, would have begun pounding in anticipation. The sabor was about to become his!
“All done, master.” Rhiannon shut the door and came toward him.
“Splendid, splen—” His nose twitched. “Why isn’t his scent on you?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I came as fast as I could to bring you the glad tidings. Just like the Three Wise Men.” Was her tone snide? Did she dare? “And the wind blew it off me.”
Insolent little slut! De Vivar stalked around her, eyeing her up and down. “In that case, why aren’t you disheveled?”
“You’re my master. Doesn’t it make sense I’d take the time to tidy myself up?”
“That’s true. Very well, tell me how it went.”
“Like a lead-pipe cinch.”
He hated when she used the vernacular, and he frowned at her, letting her see his displeasure.
“Exactly as you expected it to go, master. He opened the door and asked me to come in.”
The sabor would let in a vampyr who was not even half a century old, but refused him, who had hundreds and hundreds of years to his credit? De Vivar ground his teeth. “And then?”
“And then I took a few sips, like you said I could, planted the notion he was to welcome you—that is, the next vampyr who came to call on him—and he was to be slavishly devoted to y-whoever. To the point where he wouldn’t welcome any other vampyr into his home.”
“Ah. Very nice touch.”
“I thought so. What’s with the body in the corner?”
“Miguel got carried away.”
“Too bad. Looks like he’d have been a real cutie.”
“You always think with your concha.” De Vivar shook his head. “You may dispose of him.”
“Me?” The word came out as a squeak.
“You.” He enjoyed her dismay. “I’m going to freshen up and pay Tyrell Small a visit.” He smoothed a hand over his hair—was it starting to thin? No, of course not. It had always been thick and lush, and becoming a vampyr saw it would stay that way throughout eternity. Uneasily, he thought of the wrinkles and spots on his hands. Having the sabor would remove all signs of aging.
Not that he was.
He growled and left Rhiannon alone with the body of the normal.
V
SHE WAITED until the doors closed behind him before she snarled, “Asshole.” She was getting fucking sick and tired of his high-and-mightiness.
“Please….”
She jumped and simultaneously let out a shriek. “What?”
“Please, help me.” It was the normal.
“I thought you were dead.”
“I’m not.” He struggled to push himself up onto an elbow, but collapsed back onto the tiled floor. “Will you help me?”
“How did you get de Vivar to believe you were dead?”
“Pretty… pretty good acting if I do say so myself.” He was so pale, so good-looking. And so fucking stupid.
She went to him and felt for the pulse in his throat. “Miguel’s a bastard.”
“Yeah, but… but why would you think so?”
“Look what he’s done to your throat.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Shit. He’s coming back.” She’d learned early on to pay attention to that little niggling in her brain that warned her of his approach.
“De Vivar?” The normal looked scared, and she finally had some respect for him. At least he had a little sense.
“Not the master,” she sneered, “Miguel. Look, I’
m going to split.”
“Don’t leave me here! Please don’t—”
“Don’t beg. You’re a man, it’s not cool.”
“Miguel was fondling me and making the most obscene noises while he drank my blood. I thought I was going to throw up at any minute.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Miguel’s a pig.” He’d tried to corner Rhiannon once, and since he was an older vampyr, she wouldn’t have been able to fight him off. She’d been lucky de Vivar had called him for something or other. Since then she’d made a point of never being around him if she could help it.
“So he’s a bastard and a pig?”
“You know it. Okay, let me get an arm around you.”
“Can you bear my weight?”
“Listen, buster. I’m a vampyr. I can carry you with both hands tied behind my back.” This just might be the ace in the hole she needed to keep the rege from destroying her talisman. “Let’s get this show on the road!”
VI
EXCEPT FOR a small light above the door on the porch, the house was in darkness.
Excellent. The sabor would be abed. And soon de Vivar would join him there. Although not in a sexual manner. He wasn’t a maricón.
The dog was silent, but that was how it should be. There would be no reason for the bitch to bark. After all, he was her master’s master.
De Vivar smiled. He’d find her and wring her neck, after he made the sabor his alone.
His mouth watered and his fangs extended, and he reached for the doorknob.
The moment his hand came into contact with the doorknob he knew Rhiannon had lied—the sabor hadn’t given him permission to enter, hadn’t accepted him as his master. He wanted to howl his frustration, but there wasn’t time.
The area around the doorframe glowed red. De Vivar could feel the power of the rege emanating through the metal of the doorknob, and then he was flung off the porch, across the yard, across the road, and against an oak tree. He groaned as the breath he didn’t really need was knocked out of him and a branch pierced his torso, missing his heart by centimeters.
¡Miguel! Come to me! De Vivar summoned the one vampyr he knew would never fail or betray him.
There was a susurration as wind blew through the branches of the trees, and then, “¡Maestro! Hold! I will help you!”
De Vivar groaned again as Miguel lifted him off the branch.
“What should I do?”
“Back… back to the mausoleum. And then—”
“¿Sí?”
“You will return here and destroy this place.” Without the sanctuary of his home, the sabor would be helpless.
“¡Maestro! This is the home of a sabor!”
“Do you refuse to obey my orders?” The pain was rolling over him in waves, the least of it from the branch that had impaled him. Even after he fed, it would take him at least a month to recover from the rege’s protective charm on the sabor’s house.
“No, maestro, of course I do not.”
“Bueno. Take as many of our people as you can find. Oh, and I want that slut Rhiannon found and brought to me.”
“You’re going to need blood.”
“Send José out for a normal.” He felt the blood pulsing from his chest. “Possibly two.” Or three. Or four.
“Maestro, you’re too badly injured. There won’t be time!”
“Then I’ll drink from you.”
“Sí, but if you take as much as you need, I won’t be able to carry out your instructions.” Miguel opened his collar and turned his head away, offering his throat to his master.
De Vivar sank his fangs into the dirty neck and took a few sips. And then a few sips more. He didn’t remember Miguel’s blood being this tasty when he’d turned him.
But Miguel was right: if he wanted his instructions carried out, he had to stop drinking from him now.
“Find Antonia.” De Vivar grimaced. He was not about to permit Miguel to hook him up to one of those benighted bags of blood. “She’ll tide me over until the normals are brought.”
VII
MIGUEL STARED at the little bungalow and swore. One of the two vampyrs within was a born vampyr.
¡Maldita sea! How did el maestro think he could deal with this situation? He should have brought more than two men—vampyrs—with him, but with having to send the others searching for normals and Rhiannon, they were the only ones remaining. In addition, he was feeling light-headed from the amount of blood the master had taken. He hadn’t thought it was that much, but—
“Miguel.”
“¿Sí, Benito?”
“One comes out.”
Miguel studied him, and then nodded in satisfaction. It was not the born vampyr. The three of them would deal with this one easily.
“Wait until he is well away from the house.”
“And then we attack?”
“Sí. And then we attack.”
IT HAD been going so perfectly. How could it have all fallen to shit? The young vampyr had proved stronger than Miguel had anticipated. He’d beaten back Esteban and would have done the same with Benito if Benito hadn’t torn the talisman from his neck, leaving a gouge in the flesh.
The sight and scent of the blood, richer than he’d expected, had driven Miguel into a feeding frenzy, but before he could fasten his lips to the luscious throat, the young vampyr had managed to retreat to the house.
And then the born vampyr had burst forth.
Benito and Esteban, cowards that they were, had abandoned him to face the enraged vampyr alone, and Miguel had tried, but a born vampyr was more powerful than one who’d been turned, even if he’d been turned centuries before. An arm dangling uselessly, a side staved in, flesh missing from where neck and shoulder joined… Miguel had barely been able to escape.
He still might not.
There was el maestro yet to be faced with the dismal knowledge Miguel had failed.
VIII
BENITO SANK into the shadows as the born vampyr erupted from the home of the sabor and attacked Miguel. He watched in stunned surprise as the younger vampyr did an enormous amount of damage to the master’s bodyguard.
How could this be? Miguel had always been so strong, even before he’d been turned.
Benito had been a mere lad when his papa had brought the family to the estate of el Duque de Málaga, searching for work. He was an excellent horseman, and el duque was pleased to take him on.
But his papa was nothing like Miguel. Benito would skulk around, observing as Miguel trained the men and dallied with the women. This! This was what he aspired to be.
He was older when strange things began to happen on the estate. El Duque was no longer seen during the day, and finally he left, leaving his milksop of a brother to take over. Conde Augustino would have kept Miguel as his own bodyguard, but Miguel had curled his lip and stalked off, declaring he would work for el duque or no one.
“Por favor, señor.” Benito had run after him and begged, “Let me go with you?”
Miguel grunted and pointed to a horse. “Take that one.”
And then they were on the road to Rome.
Not long afterward, he’d learned why they rode only at night, but he had no regrets. He’d had more women, both to feed from and for sex, than if he’d remained on the estate, even if he’d become the stable master. And he’d spent these long years with the man he worshipped.
But now…. Benito shivered. This was not well done! Miguel had been forced to retreat. And oh God, so had he! Miguel would never forgive him for that!
There was blood all over his hands from the vampyr he’d attacked, and now he idly licked the blood from his palm, and then froze. He felt as strong as a bull! The young vampyr must have fed from the sabor. Benito had never tasted anything so wonderful!
And a thought came to him. He would linger here. A good deal of damage had been done to the sabor’s property, and he’d want to examine the extent of it. When he came out, Benito would seize him and bring him to Miguel, earning his forgivene
ss and admiration.
Of course el duque would also be pleased. Perhaps this would elevate Benito’s position among the guards.
He licked the remaining blood from his palm and settled in to wait.
IX
RHIANNON WASN’T sure how she’d found the lair of the king vampyr, the… the rege, but she had, and they’d no sooner seen the normal she was lugging in than they’d whisked him away.
Well, that was rude. They could have at least thanked her for saving him at the really possible risk to herself.
Instead, she’d been left to herself.
Although one of the women had approached her and asked if she needed to feed.
Hell, yes, she did! She’d had nothing but a few sips since the night before. She looked around eagerly for a normal, but didn’t see any.
And then the woman returned with a goblet of red liquid. “Here you are, my dear.”
Rhiannon grabbed it, gulped it down, and gagged. “It’s bagged blood!”
“But of course! Is the temperature not to your liking?”
Rhiannon gave a weak smile and brought the goblet back to her mouth to hide her grimace. She had a feeling it wouldn’t be a good idea to admit she preferred blood fresh from the source.
The back of her neck began tingling, the way it did when someone was watching her. She tried to be unobtrusive in her examination of the other vampyrs in the room, but before she could pinpoint whoever had his eye on her—oh, yeah, she was enough of a woman to know when a male, vampyr or normal, was giving her the once-over—a tall, dark vampyr strode into the room.
Even though she’d never seen him before, she knew this must be the rege. His eyes were flashing red, his shirt hung open, and a thin trickle of blood oozed from the slash in his chest.
She couldn’t take her eyes away from that sight, wanting a taste of that blood, but there was no way she’d do anything that drew his attention to her.