by Lila Dubois
The prince shrugged. “What game are you thinking of, Deocha?” He looked bored.
“A show of strength and creativity. What better way for us to learn about the vampire, and for her to learn about us?”
“It sounds like a very fine game, but I quite like this dress and have no desire to ruin it.” Isabel sighed in mock sadness and several people laughed.
Niamh narrowed her eyes at Deocha, who nodded slightly before facing Isabel once more. “It’s not just physical strength that’s important in this game. You won’t ruin your dress.”
Isabel shrugged, seemingly immune to the pressure to play that Deocha and the princess were applying.
When Isabel remained silent, Deocha’s lips pinched together. “I’ll go first. I need a…partner.” Deocha scanned the walls where members of the lower houses were standing. “Evon, come here.”
A slim young man with silvery eyes stepped forward. Aed stiffened, forcing himself to hold still when every instinct told him to reach out and grab the boy.
“You’ll help me with the game, won’t you?” Deocha smiled sweetly. The boy nodded—like a damned fool.
Cairbe motioned and everyone rose. With a wave of his hand the couches scooted back, clearing a fifteen-square-foot area in front of the fire. The casual display of power was unlike the prince, and Aed suspected it was an attempt to impress Isabel, but she calmly resumed her seat once the furniture was moved.
“What next?” Isabel asked.
“Now I must decide how best to display my strengths.” Deocha shook her head, her long hair flowing down her back. “It’s no different than designing the perfect dress, one that both flatters me and expresses my unique skills.”
“An elegant analogy.” Isabel raised her glass in a toast.
Deocha smiled, baring all her teeth. Evon was watching the lovely female with wide eyes. The fool had to know what danger he was in, yet Aed had no doubt that he would permit Deocha to abuse him in hopes it would curry favor.
“Give me your hand, Evon.” Deocha took the young male’s right hand in her left, wrapping her fingers around his. With a jerk of her wrist, she tightened her grip, breaking every bone in Evon’s hand.
The crunch and crack of splitting bone was clearly audible in the quiet room. Evon dropped to his knees, pale skin now white, his mouth open as if he were screaming, though no sound emerged. Deocha did not release his hand—instead she twisted, forcing broken bones to cut through muscle and tendon as she manipulated the crushed appendage.
When Deocha finally released Evon’s hand, his index finger had been shifted sideways until it was between his ring and pinkie fingers. His middle finger was curled into his palm. Where there had once been a slim, elegant hand there was now a mangled claw.
Deocha stepped back, her face shining with savage satisfaction. The room was silent save for Evon’s ragged breathing. The people around the walls looked away. Aed willed them to leave before another victim was chosen, but no one moved.
“That’s it?” Isabel looked unimpressed. Attention shifted to her. Niamh and Fionn both looked angry, but while the princess’s anger was directed at Isabel, Fionn was staring at Deocha.
Isabel tipped her head to the side. “Are your bones particularly hard to break? Perhaps I’ve missed the point of your game. I thought you said it was about creativity?”
Deocha sucked in air so hard her nostrils flared, but when she replied she was smiling. “You’ve missed the subtly of what I did. Evon is one of our most skilled musicians.”
Isabel stiffened slightly. “And he does not heal?”
“Had I simply broken it, yes, but I did more than that.”
“You deprived yourself and the court—” Isabel waved her hand, indicating the rest of the room, “—of this boy’s music to prove that you have some brute strength?”
Deocha laughed lightly. “I proved that with one hand I am strong enough to change Evon’s life, and powerful enough that he will never complain about what I’ve done. Don’t you see the opportunity I’ve given him? Now that he cannot ever play music again, he will learn a second passion. That’s my gift to him. Isn’t it, Evon?” Deocha looked at the kneeling male.
“Ye-es, my lady.” Evon’s voice was thick with pain.
Isabel rose, sweeping her dark hair off her shoulder. “This is your game?”
Niamh leaned back in her seat. “If you don’t want to play, that’s fine. Deocha is known for her delicate touch.”
Aed willed Isabel to say no, to walk away from this macabre group and terrible “game.”
Isabel smiled. “Oh yes, I want to play. My turn?”
It had been decades since she’d been this angry. Isabel smiled, keeping her lips closed over her fangs. She wanted to jump across the room and rip through Deocha’s white throat. Pain and suffering were part of existence. As a vampire she’d caused pain to humans, pain to other vampires and felt pain herself, but there had always been a reason for it. She felt and caused pain in order to live.
She’d never seen something so pointless as what they’d just done to Evon. It wasn’t impressive enough to be considered a display of strength worthy of the boy’s sacrifice. If they meant to intimidate Isabel, they’d failed. Instead all she felt was rage at the pointlessness of it, contempt for Deocha and Princess Niamh and disgust at everyone else in the room.
Aed was standing to one side of the roaring fire. His face was impassive, the orange light of the flames painting the planes and hollows of his cheek and jaw. His gaze flicked to Evon, and for a moment his eyes tightened in a fleeting expression of sadness or pity.
“I’ll get you a partner.” Niamh stood.
“Thank you, Princess, but I will choose my own.”
Niamh sat, eyes narrowed. Isabel walked the perimeter of the room, examining the people who stood on the fringes, so desperate to be a part of the inner circle that they were willing to be used and broken. It was a mentality Isabel remembered well from the harem.
She already knew who she’d choose for this awful game, but needed time to calm herself.
Her circuit finished at Aed. He didn’t react when she stopped in front of him.
“You betrayed me,” Isabel breathed.
Aed dropped his gaze to hers. “Beware, Isabel. You have an enemy here. One who is stronger than I.”
Isabel searched his eyes for the truth in his words. Her anger at herself for having sex with him had clouded her analysis of Aed’s assassination attempt. The truth was that merely opening the door and window was no guarantee of her death. It was a clumsy method of execution. Aed was many things, but clumsy was not one of them.
After spending time with the other Tuatha de Danaan, Isabel was sure she’d been right about Aed the first time. That coupled with the warnings he’d imparted before dinner made her think there was more to the story. She had a split second to regret the time she’d wasted sequestered in her room, and to make a decision—trust Aed, who’d already betrayed her, but who in her heart she felt was a good man, or stand alone, trusting no one.
“My apologies for not giving you time to explain.” Isabel was aware of everyone staring at them. It was not exactly an ideal time to have this conversation, but she needed an ally.
“I failed you. I should not have been so easy to manipulate.”
Isabel heard what was not said—I was tricked into opening the door. I did not intend to harm you. Anyone strong enough to force me to act is powerful and dangerous.
Meeting his gaze, she nodded once, hoping to impart that she understood what he was saying.
Aed returned her nod.
Isabel was overcome with the need to see him smile. If she could take the image of his smile and hold it against her, she might keep herself from lashing out in what would come next.
“I expect that if you’re going to kill me, you would…” Isabel raised a b
row.
“If I decide to kill you, you will be dead in a second.”
She smiled. “That’s much better.”
Aed frowned.
“That clumsy attempt was rather insulting.”
Aed’s surprised laughter was a merry sound in the otherwise grim room. He was smiling, and it was glorious.
Isabel turned away.
“Wait, Isabel.” Aed’s words were just loud enough to be heard. He stepped up behind her and bent to whisper in her ear. “Don’t play their game. No good can come of it.”
“I will play. And if I get in trouble—” She looked over her shoulder at him, “—you will have to get me out of it.”
Aed shook his head and stepped back.
“Lady Isabel, is Aed your choice?” Cairbe was looking between them.
“I’d thought to choose him. After all, what could be more impressive than bringing a member of the famed Fianna to his knees?” Isabel circled the couches around the fire. “But then I reconsidered. After all, Aed is my guard, and it seems foolish to abuse someone tasked with protecting me.”
“Surely you don’t feel you need protection in Tara. You are our honored guest.” Cairbe frowned in exaggerated concern.
“Of course not, Your Highness, but I haven’t stayed alive this long by being less than cautious. Instead, I think I’ll follow Deocha’s example.”
Evon still knelt in front of the fire, cradling his destroyed hand on his lap. Isabel picked up her wine glass and drained it, then laid her free hand on Evon’s shoulder.
Deocha smiled. “He’s already broken and not exactly a challenge.”
“He is the perfect candidate for what I have in mind. Prince Cairbe, do you have a cloth I might borrow? White, preferably.”
Cairbe closed his eyes, then reached out and plucked a cloth napkin from the air. Isabel took it, tucking it into her sleeve, smiling wide enough for her fangs to show.
“You’re going to drink from him?” Niamh asked casually.
Tension filled the air, though no one moved. It was the kind of studied casualness that indicated everyone was waiting for something.
Isabel tsked. “Princess, I’m surprised you are not more familiar with the treaty between our people. The Wraith Accords forbid a vampire from drinking the blood of one of the Tuatha de Danaan.”
Like air being let out of a balloon, the tension in the room released. Did they really think they would catch her making such a stupid mistake? Niamh was young, if not in years then in experience, and her clumsy conversation and attempts at manipulation were like fireworks and bombs compared to Caibre’s much subtler and dangerous machinations.
“I knew that.” Niamh crossed her arms.
“Well then, I’m sure that you and Deocha will appreciate the subtlety of the distinction I’m about to make. I cannot drink from Evon, but the Accords do not stop me from biting him.”
At her feet the man whimpered softly. Everyone else leaned forward, their eagerness to see a vampire at work comically obvious. Isabel grabbed the neck of Evon’s tunic and jerked him to his feet. He was slightly taller than her, his neck level with her mouth and chin.
She pulled back her lips, showing him her fangs. His ashen face couldn’t get any paler, but his eyes went glossy with fear.
“Evon, look at me.”
His silver eyes flickered side to side, then settled on her face.
“My name is Isabel. Say it.”
“My lady, please…”
“No, Evon. Say my name.”
“Isabel.”
“What color are my eyes, Evon?” Isabel reached up and laced her fingers through his hair.
“They’re brown and gold.”
“And my lips? What color are they?”
Evon’s gaze dipped to her lips. “They’re red.”
Isabel drew Evon’s head down until their mouths were millimeters apart. She couldn’t stop herself from looking over the injured man’s shoulder at Aed. His hand dropped to his sword, and there was fire in his eyes as he watched her with Evon.
Good.
Isabel ran her tongue over her lips, then dragged her mouth along Evon’s jaw to his ear. She could hear his rapid heartbeat, smell his blood pumping under his skin. Isabel licked his neck just under his ear, where the skin was thin.
She did not desire Evon—he was food. Food that needed to be wooed. Vampires excreted chemicals in their saliva that numbed human skin, gave them pleasure and helped the skin heal. The Sage in New York had even done scientific analysis and knew exactly how and why vampire saliva had those effects on humans. Isabel didn’t care how it worked, only that it did.
The danger was that Evon wasn’t human. He was something else and might be immune. If that was the case, her plan would fail.
Isabel inhaled the scent of his blood, and fresh saliva pooled in her mouth. She licked him again and again. Evon shuddered and started to relax.
“Evon, I want you to kneel down.”
Without hesitation he dropped to the floor. Isabel hid her satisfaction. He wasn’t immune, though if he’d been human he would have been in a trance by now.
Isabel tugged her skirt up a bit and then knelt behind the young man. She pulled him back until his head rested on her shoulder, his neck just below her mouth. Isabel fisted her hand in his hair, jerking his head to the side. Evon moaned, but it wasn’t in pain. Isabel licked his neck again, accepting the weight of his torso as he relaxed against her.
“Evon, do you want to please me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m thirsty. Do you want me to be thirsty?”
“No, Isabel.” His answer was almost singsong.
“I want to drink your blood. Would you like that?”
“Yes. Yes.” He turned to kiss her, but Isabel jerked his head to the side.
“No, Evon. You don’t touch me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I want you to do something for me, Evon.”
“Yes, Isabel?”
“Give me your right hand.”
Evon whimpered and tensed. Isabel licked his neck again. It would be faster if she kissed him, but she wouldn’t do that. She suspected that kissing someone like Evon, who clearly had very little rank, would make her look weak. He relaxed against her once more, raising his right arm.
“Evon, offer me your blood.” Isabel released his head, cradling his upper body in her left arm and grabbing his right forearm with her free hand. Her hair flowed over his shoulders and chest.
Evon tipped his head farther to the side and strained upwards, the lovely, smooth column of his throat hers for the taking.
Old as she was, she didn’t need the blood, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t hungry. Her breathing quickened to pants as she stared at the throbbing vein in his neck.
Isabel lowered her head. She savored the moment before penetration, anticipation sweet and dark on her tongue. With exquisite control, Isabel pierced his neck with her fangs, sinking them in deep enough to penetrate skin, dermis and the small vein that paralleled his jugular. Willing her fangs to retract, Isabel licked the wounds, forcing saliva into his bloodstream. Within seconds his beating heart had drawn in her saliva and pumped it out to the rest of his body. His breathing came hard and fast, his body arching up in what could have been either ecstasy or agony. Only Isabel knew that it was pleasure that caused him to thrash against her. She’d implied that her bite would hurt and cause him to suffer, and so that is what they would see—suffering.
With her mouth still on his neck, Isabel grabbed his right hand. Working by feel she forced his fingers back into place. Her own stomach rolled as she felt the shards of bone moving inside his palm, which was hot and swollen.
Evon screamed. No one but Isabel knew that though her manipulation of his damaged hand was surely agony, he felt ecstasy—the
chemicals in her saliva tricking his brain so that he couldn’t tell pain from pleasure anymore. It was the blessing of the Vampire.
Isabel looked up, sweeping her gaze over the onlookers. Cairbe’s eyes were bright with interest. Niamh and Deocha looked alarmed. Fionn was braced, as if he were considering jumping up to stop her.
Holding Princess Niamh’s gaze, Isabel sank the tips of her fangs in once more, opening the punctures that had started to close. Evon reacted, his back arching, his good hand clawing at Isabel’s head.
With a flourish she released his right hand, which dropped to his lap. Isabel drew her mouth from his neck, sealing the punctures with one final swipe of her tongue. Raising her empty wine glass, she spat out the blood in her mouth, then took the white cloth and wiped her teeth and tongue, making sure that she didn’t swallow.
She rose, letting Evon drop to the floor. He was twitching in residual pleasure, but Isabel was sure no one but her could tell it wasn’t pain that wracked him.
Isabel held up the glass and cloth. “Prince Cairbe, are you satisfied that I did not drink from him?”
The prince nodded. “I am. I watched. You did not swallow.”
Isabel inclined her head, then turned and threw both the cloth and the glass into the fire. There was too much of her on the items.
Fionn laughed. Isabel wasn’t sure what he found funny.
The warrior prince snapped his fingers and a glass of wine appeared in his hand. “A fresh glass, Lady Isabel.”
Stepping over Evon, Isabel accepted the wine. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Deocha was staring at Evon. “You repaired his hand.”
Isabel shrugged. “Perhaps. You wanted a contradiction. What better juxtaposition than agony as the price to regain what was lost?”
Before Isabel could take a seat, Princess Niamh jumped to her feet.
“My turn.” She pointed at Aed. “I’ll abuse him.”
Isabel felt Niamh’s gaze on her. It was clear the princess was waiting for a reaction. Isabel had lingered too long speaking with him earlier, and Niamh had realized there was something between her and Aed.
Isabel took a sip of wine, forcing herself not to react. She took a seat and smiled. “If it takes a princess of the Tuatha de Danaan to bring a warrior of the Fianna to his knees, then I’m glad I did not attempt it myself.”