by Skye Knizley
She bit into her wrist and held it out for her sister who drank gratefully. Raven grit her teeth against the nausea that rose in the back of her throat and waited for her sister to drink enough to get her back on her feet.
When Pandora could stand, Raven looked at Levac. “Can you take her back to your place?”
“Of course, but where are you going?” Levac asked.
“Home,” Raven replied.
“We should go with you,” Pandora said.
Raven shook her head. “You already got your ass kicked, Dora. You’re in no shape to fight and Rupe is the only person I trust to keep you safe. Just tell me what you know and get out of here. Rupe can come to me when you’re safe.”
“An elder vampire arrived last night and demanded an audience with Mother,” Pandora said. “Mother granted them time before court tonight. The newcomer and her entourage arrived at the house tonight and immediately demanded Mother step down as Mistress of the Night. I thought I was a match for her and took Mother’s place.”
“What happened after you lost?” Raven asked.
“She demanded Mother fight for her throne. Mom declined and sent me to find you.”
“Swell. She always calls me to clean up the mess.”
TEMPESTE MANOR, CHICAGO
PRESENT DAY
TEMPESTE MANOR SAT AT THE edge of the city on a plot of land Lord Valdamire Strohm had purchased in the late 1800s, just before the great fire. The house had been brought from Europe, one boatload of stone and timber at a time. According to records and antique paintings, it hadn’t changed much. The house was still huge, gothic and covered in vines. Raven had always thought it looked like the kind of bad horror set that should have Lugosi wandering around behind his cape.
She arrived at the mansion at half-past one in the morning and stopped at the end of the drive. More than a dozen high-end vehicles were parked in the circle below, including several European models she hadn’t seen before. She assumed they belonged to members of the court, but it had been a while since she’d visited home in her official capacity. For all she knew the butler had picked up a new Ferrari.
At the door was a slim vampire, another thing she didn’t recognize. He was carrying a shotgun like he knew how to use it and watching her from behind sunglasses he no doubt thought made him look like the Terminator.
Raven climbed out of her Shelby and crossed the parking lot. The vampire walked down the steps and met her at the bottom, his shotgun aimed at her belly.
“Turn around and leave,” he said. “This house is off limits.”
“Says who?” Raven asked.
“Countess Bathory, Mistress of the City,” the vampire replied.
Raven arched an eyebrow at the skinny vampire. “Like hell, Valentina Tempeste-Strohm is the Mistress of the City and this is her home.”
“A formality. She will fight or concede her position under the law. Either way it is no business of yours, half breed. Leave, now!”
Raven moved in a blur, one hand grabbing the shotgun and slamming it into his face, the other drawing a knife from her boot. The vampire staggered backwards in surprise and Raven’s blade sliced through his neck, almost severing his spine. Her second attack pierced his heart and he exploded into a cloud of ash and flame.
Embraced never learn their limitations, Raven thought.
She pushed through the door and into the foyer. Everything looked as it had the last time she’d been home. Marble floors, recently waxed, antiques from 15th century Germany, her father’s grandfather clock now restored and a myriad of other furnishings that mixed antique with modern.
The two vampires making out in her father’s favorite chair were new, however.
“Get out of that chair,” Raven growled. “This is the House Tempeste not a bordello. Show a little respect.”
“This house is forfeit,” the first vampire said.
“Countess Bathory is now Mistress,” said the other.
“Not yet she isn’t,” Raven said. “Get out of my father’s chair.”
“Ah, the half-blood Fürstin has returned home,” another voice said in honeyed tones.
Raven turned and saw a third vampire, a dark-haired woman dressed in a black leather and lace dress, leaning against the stairs, a goblet in her hand.
“And you are?” Raven asked.
“Ivy, Countess Bathory’s maiden,” the vampire replied.
“Fantastic. Tell the Bobbsey Twins to get out of my father’s chair,” Raven said.
“Or?” the vampire asked.
“Or you’ll need baggies to take them home,” Raven said.
“You are quite interesting, Ravenel,” Ivy said. “Children, please get out of the chair. It belongs to another, for now.”
The two nude vampires did as Ivy asked. Raven glared at them, her vampire blood raging.
“Good choice,” she said.
She brushed past Ivy and crossed the main hall to the ballroom, where her mother held court. She barely slowed at the doors. Her boot lashed out and the doors crashed open, slamming into the vampires standing guard on the other side. She stepped over them and strode into the room, the doorman’s shotgun in her hand.
It looked as if it had been a busy night. More than a dozen of Lady Valentina’s supporters knelt under heavy guard. Valentina sat in the comfortable chair she now used while tending to Vampire politics, a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. A tall woman with dark hair and pale eyes wearing a blood-red catsuit stood nearby, a broadsword in her hand. It looked as if Valentina and the newcomer had been arguing just moments before.
“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” Raven asked.
“Good evening, my daughter,” Valentina said. “You are just in time.”
Raven could hear the hint of relief in her mother’s voice. “Hello, Mother. I don’t believe I’ve met your friend.”
“She is hardly that, Ravenel,” Valentina said. “This is Countess Elizabeth Bathory.”
Raven pursed her lips and looked the vampire up and down. “Doesn’t look like that blood bath is working out for you. Maybe you should try a little more wood fiber?”
“Ravenel,” Bathory said with a nod. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you and your blood, I look forward to adding it to my tub.”
Raven spun the shotgun in her hand and shot a vampire that had been trying to sneak up on her. The twelve-gauge blast caught him in the face and he exploded, covering those nearby in ash.
“That was rude of me,” she said. “I wasn’t listening, but I thought you said you were sorry for being a bitch and would now surrender to my mother.”
Bathory snarled, showing fang. “Disarm her and bring her to me!”
Her guards pushed through the crowd, weapons at the ready. They were too close to innocents for Raven to risk the shotgun, even if she didn’t really care if members of the court got shot, Mother would get sarcastic. Raven threw the useless weapon at the face of the nearest vampire thug and drew her Automag. The pistol spat flame and silver-jacketed death that dusted three of the thugs in the blink of an eye. As their ashes rained down around her, she ran toward the remaining vampires. They raised their Mp5 submachine guns and fired, but Raven was no longer there. She dropped beneath their line of fire and slid on the polished marble, squeezing her pistol’s trigger as she moved. Three more of the vampires collapsed and Raven rose to her feet beside her mother, the Automag leveled at Bathory’s head, who had her sword placed against Valentina’s throat.
“Drop the sword,” Raven said.
“You dare defy me? I am Elizabeth Bathory, Countess of the Seven Hells—”
“You’re a psycho with a butter knife to my mother’s throat,” Raven interrupted. “Put it down or your maiden will be taking you out of here with a shop-vac.”
Bathory’s eyes darkened to red slits and she glared at Raven. “You wouldn’t, I have declared a blood feud and challenged the Mistress of this pathetic city. It is against the Totentanz to attack me wit
hout answering my challenge.”
“It’s against the Totentanz to threaten your challenger, as well,” Raven said. “A rule you chose to ignore. Move away from my mother or I decorate the wall with your ashes.”
“I suggest you do as my daughter says,” Valentina said calmly. “Her interpretation of the Totentanz is somewhat tainted by her father’s views. She will shoot you without hesitation and worry about the rules later.”
Bathory glared at Valentina then stepped away, her sword at the ready. “As you say. You must still answer my claim, Valentina. As the cousin of Lord Strohm I challenge you as Mistress of the City. I claim rightful rule by blood.”
“You’re Strohm’s cousin?” Raven asked. “That explains a lot. Especially the psycho bitch part. Proof that insanity is genetic.”
“My cousin was a great leader. An icon among vampirekind,” Bathory growled.
“Are we talking about the same crazed, bloodthirsty maniac that tried to turn Chicago into a hell on Earth and let human society know vampires exist?” Raven asked. “Cause from where I stand he was nutty as a fruitcake.”
Bathory raised her sword. “Do not disparage Lord Strohm! He was a great man, a leader among immortals!”
“Oh please, medieval mental wards were more stable. Calling him a nutjob is being nice.”
“Raven, please do not provoke Countess Bathory further,” Valentina said. “We must answer her challenge, not insult her lineage.”
Raven’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious? Mother, she’s been holding you and the rest of the court hostage for at least two hours and you want to answer her challenge?”
Valentina looked at Raven. “Yes, my love. It is a…vampire thing.”
Raven rolled her eyes and glared at Bathory. “You’re as crazy as she is, but I’ll do it your way. What’s your poison, Countess?”
“I beg your pardon?” Bathory asked.
“I think my daughter is asking how you choose to die,” Valentina said.
Bathory looked astonished. “You expect your dhampyr to win in battle against me?”
“Indeed,” Valentina replied. “Don’t you? I assume anyone who challenges my family has a death wish. Perhaps you should concede now and save yourself the embarrassment of losing to a dhampyr?”
Bathory blinked at Valentina and her gaze narrowed. “I must be missing some kind of joke. Regardless, I am a mistress of steel, taught by Strohm himself. We will fight with knives.”
“It’s your funeral,” Raven said. “Tell the rest of your goons to stack their weapons on the far wall and let my mother’s people up.”
“And then what?” Bathory asked.
“Then I’m going to send you back to Hungary in an envelope.”
Bathory laughed, a melodious sound that had no business in the woman’s mouth.
“I do like you,” she said. “Your death will be a pity. Guards, do as Fürstin Ravenel asks.”
The guards reluctantly stacked their weapons on a table under Raven’s watchful gaze. When they were done, Raven handed her pistol to Valentina and drew her blades.
“Be cautious, my child,” Valentina whispered. “She isn’t a normal Embraced. She is more than five hundred years old and was one of your sire’s concubines.”
Raven nodded and turned away, but Valentina caught her arm.
“I’m sorry, Raven. I didn’t see this coming at all. I thought she was content in Hungary.”
Raven smiled. “You aren’t perfect, Mom. You did your job, let me do mine.”
Valentina smiled back and Raven walked into the circle formed in the middle of the room. Bathory stood opposite her with a long skinning knife in one hand and a cleaver in the other.
“Ready to die, Fürstin?” Bathory asked.
“I hope Ivy brought enough postage,” Raven replied. “I’d hate to see your ass canceled twice.”
Raven didn’t see Bathory move. Only her instincts let her react fast enough to throw up an arm to block the vampire’s attack and she hissed at the pain in her arm where Bathory’s blade had taken a slice out of her skin. Bathory held up the long piece of flesh and sucked it into her mouth with relish.
“You’re fast, dhampyr,” she said. “I will kill you piece by piece, if I must.”
Raven ignored the pain in her arm and the disgust in her belly. Weakness would get her killed.
“That’s disgusting, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?” she said. “Talk or fight. You’re dead either way.”
Bathory’s smile froze and her eyes darkened. She attacked again, and again Raven was barely able to block, this time receiving a deep gash across her stomach that left her gasping in pain.
“You are fast, but not fast enough, dhampyr,” Bathory laughed. “No one is. Surrender and you will die quickly.”
Raven blinked. When she opened her eyes she could feel her vampire blood raging in her veins. The sensation was delicious. It was also one she did her best to keep at bay. Her sire’s blood was seductive and she had no desire to become dependent on it, or worse, unable to be human.
This time she saw Bathory’s approach. The vampire’s blades whistled through the air at what looked like normal speed. Raven dodged aside and kicked out with her left foot, catching Bathory in the stomach. She then spun and slammed an elbow into the vampire’s neck, sending her staggering to the edge of the circle where she was caught by two of her minions. She straightened and pushed them away, her red eyes glowing with ferocious anger.
“Was that fast enough, Countess?” Raven asked.
“Almost, dhampyr,” Bathory replied. “Impressive. Most impressive.”
Bathory approached, more slowly this time. Her blades flashed and thrust for Raven’s midsection, but her blood was up and she blocked every attack with ease, realization dawning. The Countess wasn’t really a fighter, let alone a mistress of steel. She relied on mind tricks and her uncanny speed to augment her lackluster skill with the blade.
Raven blocked another of Bathory’s attacks and saw an opening. She spun and lashed out with a kick that caught the vampire in the face. She felt Bathory’s jaw shatter under the impact, but Raven would show no mercy to one of Strohm’s lackeys. The blade in her left hand screamed through the air and tore Bathory’s catsuit open across the chest.
Bathory whimpered and tried to stagger away, but Raven was moving too fast. She caught the retreating vampire’s arm and jerked her off her feet while pirouetting on the other foot. Her knee connected with the small of Bathory’s back and she fell to the floor in a mass of hair and leather. Raven stood over her, blades at the ready.
“That is enough, Ravenel,” Valentina said.
Raven looked at her mother in surprise, but let her power fade. When it did, it was all she could do to pretend she wasn’t spent.
“Countess Bathory, do you yield?” she asked.
Bathory held her shattered jaw together and nodded.
“Lady Valentina, do you accept Countess Bathory’s life?” Raven continued.
“I do, Fürstin Ravenel. The Countess is mine. Countess Bathory, you face immortality in a coffin blessed with silver or you may merge your house with mine and swear fealty. Which do you choose?”
“Mother—”
“Be silent, Ravenel,” Valentina said. “I have made my offer. Countess?”
Raven glared at her mother, but fell silent. How could she offer Bathory her life and sanctuary within Chicago? Why not banish her back to whatever hellhole she had crawled out of?
With some effort, Bathory said, “I swear fealty and will merge my house with yours, Lady Valentina. I give my life to House Tempeste.”
The remaining members of her coven stared at her in shock for a moment then knelt and repeated their mistress. “I give my life to House Tempeste.”
Raven couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Sure, she’d beaten Bathory in a duel, but swearing fealty to another house while your Master or Mistress still lived was almost unheard of. What was going on here?
“I accept your life,” Valentina said. “And offer you my blood.”
She slit her wrist with one sharp nail. Warm, dark claret rose to the surface. Bathory stood and limped to Valentina’s side where she drank deeply. When she finished, she accepted the cloth offered by Dominique and cleaned her face, which was healing rapidly.
Raven felt a mixture of confusion and anger. She had a feeling this was her mother’s intention all along, to use Bathory for some unknown vampire purpose. But it was dangerous and stupid.
“Ravenel, you must drink,” Valentina said, offering her wrist. “Come, my child.”
Raven felt her stomach turn over at the same time the rest of her craved the blood being offered. She was tired and more, she’d used her abilities. Even her bones felt weak. But she’d be damned if she was going to kneel beside Bathory and lick her mother’s wrist.
“No thank you, Mother,” she said. “If that is all, I will take my leave.”
She sheathed her blades, bowed and made as graceful an exit as possible, knowing all eyes were on her. Outside the ballroom she leaned against the wall and fought the weakness that threatened to knock her off her feet. Dominique appeared a moment later, her bare feet almost soundless on the marble floor. She offered her arm without a word and Raven accepted the smaller woman’s help into the kitchen where a goblet of claret and a mug of hot chocolate were waiting. Raven plopped into the chair next to them and drained the goblet, for once not gagging on the cloying liquid. When it was empty, she sipped at the hot chocolate and stared at Dominique.
“What troubles you, Ravenel?” Domonique asked after a while.
“What troubles me? What doesn’t? You saw what just happened,” Raven said.
Dominique nodded. “Indeed I did, love. Your mother cemented a relationship with a very old and powerful house. It is an action that can only make ours stronger.”
“If Bathory doesn’t go batshit and kill everyone in the building,” Raven said. “Did you see how she moved? She may as well have been faster than a speeding bullet and last time I checked, Thad was fresh out of kryptonite.”
Dominique smiled. “I saw, Raven, and I agree it is a dangerous move, however the Countess is less dangerous alive than she is dead.”