Bleeding Hearts: Book One of the Demimonde

by Ash Krafton

  "Don't be so hard on yourself." Jared called after me. "You're only human."

  "Yeah," I scoffed. "At least I have that much going for me."

  At least until the next bad guy came along and tried to bite me, anyways.

  The sun fell, the moon rose, and when the night unfolded, it found us in the lower levels of Folletti's. To be exact, we were in one of the basement storage rooms, standing between long rows of wooden shelves bearing industrial-size cans of tomato paste and stacks of pressed table linens. The far wall was lined with a series of metal doors; the heavy latches and lit control panels next to each one implied they were freezer units.

  We were centered around one freezer in particular. Although the door remained shut the entire time, I knew what they had on ice in there. Or, more specifically, who.

  Gross. I mean, I ate at this joint. How sanitary was it to have a dead werewolf hanging up next to the steaks and the chops? I considered asking Marek if they kept a special meat locker just for bodies, but I didn't. I was reluctant to find out how often they had dead assassins in storage.

  It was chilly down there, so I lingered at the back of the assembly, closer to the doorway leading back upstairs. Even though I wore Marek's jacket, I longed for the heat of the main floors. Plus, I didn't need a front row seat to tonight's show.

  Caen was going to punish one of his guys for the Were's suicide.

  This little soiree was a DV-style apology for my nearly getting raped-Wered-killed-whatever the night before. Rodrian didn't want me to lose faith in him or his security. Tonight they'd excise the weak link and he wanted me to witness it.

  It all sounded ominous. It felt even worse when I'd skimmed Rodrian's power and realized how deep and dangerous he anticipated things would go. I tried to beg out of it but Marek insisted. This was an apology that the DV needed to provide.

  I did the only thing I could. I wore Marek's jacket, wrapped myself in his scent, and all but hid behind him.

  Caen's inner beast, usually kept in check around his employer, had been unleashed. He wasn't over-acting for my benefit. He'd been given free rein tonight, and Caen never missed an opportunity to display his power. He furiously paced a tight circle around another DV in front of the freezer door.

  Chal stood his ground, looking worried but not scared. Maybe Caen was a better boss to Chal than underling to anyone else. Could be. I didn't care. I didn't like Chal from the start. If he ended up in the meat locker next to Tanner, I wouldn't send flowers.

  First off, he mistakenly thought he was hot shit. I'd become accustomed to seeing plenty of wolf whistle-worthy male specimens since becoming a charter member of DV Land. But Chal didn't fit the bill. I guessed he was the token loser.

  He stood maybe an inch taller than me and was out of shape. I mean, total beer gut, flat butt, and man-boobs. Short brown hair in a fifteen-dollar buzz-cut. Muddy brown eyes and a near-sighted ass-kissing lapdog look.

  And the name. Chal. Like he thought he was champagne when he was barely Mad Dog minus the paper bag.

  When Caen wasn't around to keep him in line, he acted like everyone else's boss. He'd swagger around Folletti's with his arms folded, bullshitting with guests and watching everyone else when he should have been working the door.

  I'd first met him on my way up to Rode's office one afternoon, outside the private elevator. "You can't use that one, sweetheart," he called out. "Try the common lift in the lobby."

  "Oh, hi," I said in my nice-little-Sophie voice. "Actually, Rodrian is expecting me in his office. You could call upstairs if you need to clear it."

  He sauntered over, arms crossed and chin up so he could look down at me. No easy feat, since I wore my tallest pair of Sex and the City heels, which put me two inches taller. He accomplished it by not making eye contact. I had to put my hand over the opening of my blouse so he couldn't look into it.

  "You are...?" My patience thinned. He repulsed me, both visually and, as he edged into my personal space, aromatically. Was it Miller Time already?

  "Chal. Unlike you, I belong here." He tossed an authoritative compulsion at me.

  I ignored the flimsy mental push and laughed in his face.

  "Chal? Is that short for something?" I added an insult by pointedly looking him up and down and emphasizing the word short.

  "No," he sneered. "It's just Chal."

  "Oh. Well, then, just Chal, if you have a problem with me, take it up with Rodrian. Better yet, go right over his head to Marek. He's expecting me, too."

  The door dinged open and I stepped in, paying him no further notice. The little coward made no move to stop me, but stood with arms crossed, staring me down. Turning to push the button, I noticed he was staring at my ass. At least I hadn't given him the finger until the doors closed between us.

  So, yeah. I'd say Chal had made quite an impression.

  It was sort of nice watching him get dressed down now. Sorry, but even a Pollyanna like me felt petty and vindictive once in a while.

  Chal had been in charge of the Were's custody. As Caen's toady, he commanded the dozen who took Tanner to the wine cellar. Just one job to do—and he'd botched it.

  Now Caen's rep was on the line and he didn't like being made to look bad. Chal would suffer for Caen's injured pride as well as his mistake. Everyone here knew it, and from the scant tastes I took of the guards' power, they anticipated what would come next.

  However, Chal didn't look scared. Truthfully, I'd have been petrified. No one could ever accuse Chal of being too smart.

  "A silver bullet," Caen said. "What was your first clue this wolf wasn't here to dance?"

  "He concealed it," Chal insisted. "The door crew said they searched him. They never found it. Neither did we when we brought him down He was stripped, searched, and scanned."

  "Then where was it? In his ass? Because, if necessary, you'll start looking there, too."

  "No." Chal wrinkled his nose as if repulsed by the idea. Personally, I was surprised he'd take offense to the suggestion, ass-kisser that he was. "It was under a bandage."

  Caen ceased pacing and cocked his head as if he hadn't heard him clearly. "A bandage? Is that what you said?"

  "Yeah, boss. A Band-Aid or something."

  "A Band-Aid. Hmm." Caen seemed to think that over. "Of course, you wouldn't look under a Band-Aid."

  "No, of course not. I mean, who would, right?" Chal gave a shaky laugh.

  "No," said Caen. "You wouldn't. Because why would a shapeshifter be wearing a fucking Band-Aid in the first place!" Caen roared and splintered the air with a ferocious crack of angry power. He went from Zero to You're Dead! in three seconds flat. "You never detain a Were for questioning without stripping it down completely. Completely!"

  Caen lunged, stopping nose to nose with Chal, who appeared to have forgotten how to breathe. The sudden movement, too quick for a human, disoriented me and I sidled up to Marek, craving the security of his touch. Not human, I reminded myself. Caen's not human.

  "You told me you could handle this, Chal." Caen's lips were thinned and stretched back, baring his teeth and slicing his words. "You are the most incompetent DV I have ever met."

  Chal's jaw dropped. "Wait a minute, Caen, you—"

  His voice was cut off by a sharp gasp. Chal doubled over, holding his stomach and keening. The air thickened with tension, crackled with apprehension.

  Caen's right hand was fisted at his side and he wore a smile. A happy, contented smile. One that spoke volumes about his character, how deep and ragged his bloodlust ran. "I what?"

  Chal sucked in a breath and raised his face, straightening a bit. "You said—"

  Caen twisted his wrist as if he wrung out a dishrag.

  Chal's distress pressed down on me and I buried my face in Marek's arm, silently begging escape. Marek's power washed over me as he tried to shield me from the rush of painful emotion.

  The power made Chal recede but it couldn't block his voice. Protests bled into wails that raised the hairs on my neck. I hea
rd a thud and knew he was on the floor. I didn't watch.

  Those few short moments stretched to impossible lengths. Eventually the pain-filled sounds reduced themselves to ragged breaths and I dared to look. Chal was once again on his feet, his posture now far from cocky. Shoulders drooped with submission, he pressed both hands to his belly.

  "Get out." Caen's voice rolled out in a growl. "Get out, before I paint the walls with you."

  Sweat soaked dark spots on Chal's shirt and his breath was choppy. "But you said. . . "

  "I said, now." Caen's rage was unmistakable, his eyes gleaming sallow gold. His power felt more beast than man and I cringed. His eyes reminded me I was still just food. I didn't want to be here any longer.

  Apparently neither did Chal, who decided to leave while he could still walk. Without a glance at anyone else, he ducked his head and slunk to the door.

  Upon seeing me, though, he regained a healthy portion of his chump's constitution and wrinkled his nose like he smelled something rotten.

  "Geez, who let the human in here?" His voice was a mumble but he made sure I'd heard. "Aren't you supposed to be on a leash?"

  If he could forget he'd been writhing on the floor in agony only a moment ago, so could I. I stepped away from Marek and squared off to face the pig. Caen blamed him for the Were attack. I should, too.

  "Hey, Chal," I used my Shirley Temple voice and fluttered my lashes. "Was Tanner wearing a Snoopy Band-Aid?"

  He narrowed his eyes, as if he could possibly even consider retaliating with Marek right behind me. "Drop dead, bitch."

  "Go to hell, Count Chuckula."

  "Sophie, darling?" Marek sounded somewhat amused as he interrupted our pleasantries and I couldn't resist a smirk. Chal shot me one last deadly look before hurrying upstairs and I wiggled my fingers goodbye. "Do you have to do that?"

  "Do what?" I turned to him, hoping my face was resplendent with wide-eyed innocence.

  "Bait him."

  "Eh, he's a dope. Is he fired?"

  "Worse," said Caen, his voice portentous. He stomped out of the room.

  We waited on the side until everyone else filed out before heading upstairs to the staff elevator. The ride up to Rodrian's office was a silent one. Rodrian's power felt hesitant and unsure and I knew whatever weighed on his mind, it wouldn't make Marek happy.

  "No."

  Marek's voice held no room for argument. It was the sound of a massive unmovable weight slamming into place. Absolute and final.

  Rodrian apparently heard otherwise. "You are being unreasonable, brother. It's completely legitimate and absolutely guaranteed."

  Marek turned and stared at him in disbelief. "Why not lay out the welcome mat for more problems? We've enough trouble dealing with the Underground the way it is. Do we need to ease the way for more vampire? More Masters? Another territorial battle?"

  "We've kept vamps under control since the Civil War, Marek. Hells, even the seventies couldn't give them the advantage they needed to overrun us. They can't do it now."

  "No, Rodrian."

  Rodrian didn't seem to hear him. "Worries about a Master conflict are baseless. I don't like him any more than you but don't you say 'keep your enemies closer?' Better to keep a familiar Master in control than a new undiscovered danger."

  "I do not even want to know what you're hinting at."

  "It's obvious, Marek. We help to keep the Master in place. We hammer out an agreement. We lend to his security for the ultimate augmentation of our own."

  "Are you blind?" Marek whirled on him in sudden fury, eyes blazing and teeth bared. "Are you stupid? Or have you absolutely no regard for what I've done, or what we have gone through, to keep the vampire as far as possible from our families? What have we lost to them, Rodrian? Whom have we lost to them?"

  Marek's ferocity lashed out like a hurricane as he paced around the office. He'd never attack Rodrian but he made no effort to conceal his anger. "You don't see any of this, do you? You can't see past the business, the cash, the power. It makes you an aggressive businessman but it keeps you from seeing the spider web of effects your actions will have. The ramifications will spread out in every direction and I will have to rectify each and every one."

  Rodrian boldly met him eye for eye. At length, his defiance deflated. Shaking his head, he sank down into the couch, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. Seeing this, Marek assumed a much less aggressive stance near the windows, his power drifting back down to its usual feel. I knew better than to think he would be any less immovable.

  "You are right, Marek." Rodrian pushed his bangs back from his forehead but they only stayed a moment before slipping back down. With his hair loose, he appeared younger, less arrogant. "I don't see the things of which you constantly warn. I see profit. I see the increase in blood traffic from human business. Gods, the blood alone. Humans out to drink and seek pleasure—ideal prey..."

  I suspected he hadn't fed yet, wanting to remain lean and hungry and dangerous for Chal's chastising. Now the thoughts of preying distracted him. He drew his brows as if trying to concentrate on his argument. "A casino would solve all of our problems. If it attracts undesirable behavior, those who seek such activity are prey as well. We augment the local police with our own forces, we give the Master a tribute to keep himself busy, and we all benefit."

  "See past it," Marek said. "This is our city. Our home. Think about the residents and the effects casino trade will have on them. Look at what happened in New Jersey. Who lives there anymore?"

  Actually, I knew plenty of people living in New Jersey but I had a feeling they weren't talking about average Joe Human. I crossed out a line I'd written and started over, keeping silent and busy.

  Marek crouched before Rodrian, putting one hand to his brother's shoulder and urging him to meet his eyes. "I do hear what you say in terms of the Master and a possible guarantee against a play for power. If he were human, I might consider it. If he were DV, it would be a sound plan because he'd hold up his end of the bargain with honor.

  "But he's not, Rodrian. He's vampire." Marek gritted his teeth and he emphasized each word with a slight shake of his hand. "I spent your entire lifetime fighting to keep you and our family and our race and our humans and our world safe from him and his kind."

  "So, what do we do, Marek? Just watch while dirty politics wreck our home? Humans will leave Balaton. The city isn't big enough to support a new tribute. We'd lose control of the financial sector."

  "No, we won't," said Marek, as he pushed back to his feet. "We'll fight. We will use our power to divert the legislation and redirect it toward another of our goals."

  Rodrian leaned forward as if to protest but Marek didn't give him the chance to get a word in. Crossing his arms, Marek stood once more at the window. "Concentrate on your businesses. Don't get involved with Underground politics. That's my problem."

  "I wish you'd keep an open mind about this, brother." Rodrian's voice was plaintive, the child trying to wear down the parent's resolve. "An opportunity like this is unprecedented. We can't afford to be obstinate."

  Marek pressed his lips together, making an exasperated sound, his frustration leaking through his control. "Rodrian, can't you see? I cannot afford not to be obstinate. It is the reason we have survived."

  "You have old-fashioned ideals. We have to keep current if we want to survive. You can't fight all the time, Marek. Sometimes you've got to bend. We don't rule the world; humanity does. If they want change, they'll get it."

  "You are right, Rodrian, we do not rule the world. Gods willing, we never will. But as long as I have my ideals, no matter how 'old-fashioned,' I will use them and live by them, so I can continue protecting us and improving what I am."

  "I do not possess your strength, Marek."

  "You don't need to. Go. See to your hunger."

  Rodrian stayed only a moment longer before getting up and walking out.

  As the door closed behind him, I cleared my throat. "Do you... ah... need to go with him?"


  Marek shook his head. "No. I took care of things earlier."

  I swallowed and didn't push it. Don't ask questions you don't want answered, right? Trouble was, sometimes I wanted to know who spent those intimate moments with him. I knew I'd be jealous. I knew I'd probably get pissy. But the whole blood thing—as much as I feared pain I wanted to know just a tiny bit more about who gave him what he needed. I stole a glance at him, wondering if now would be a good time to finally put those questions to rest.

  Maybe... not.

  Marek abandoned his authoritative stance and flopped into the desk chair, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. He didn't so much resemble a breathing stone of power now as he did my mom after she'd gotten the twins off to bed when they were toddlers.

  "You'd think he'd get the general idea by now." He sounded a trifle irritated. "He's what, one ten? One twenty?"

  "One twenty what?"

  Marek waved a hand. "Years old."

  I gulped, at a complete loss for a reply. Here all I was worried about was a probably heated discussion about his blood dates. But no.

  I had never directly asked Marek his age, let alone his brother's. He'd made enough leading comments to convince me he was older than anyone had a right to be and I religiously avoided the topic.

  Rodrian was a hundred years old? And still looked that tight? Oh, good Lord. What can a man learn in that time?

  Marek swung the chair back and forth, rocking. "I know he is the younger. I know my duty is to provide for him. I raised him when our father. . . died." He clasped his hands over his forehead, clearly vexed. "You'd think he'd be ready to assume more responsibility by now."

  "Well, you said you raised him, that all his life you've fought to protect him. Was the fighting obvious? I mean, did you let him tag along to your bloody conflicts?"

  Marek stopped rocking. "Of course not. I wanted him to grow up in a better world. I wanted to keep the ugliness away. Banish it if I could."

  "Then see, you've done your job too well. Your family prospered in a garden of tranquility, one you fought to give them. You're the stone wall surrounding that garden. They never see what the wall keeps out, or how battered the outside of the wall is, or how thick and strong it is. How can Rode be ready to fight something he doesn't know exists?"