“Would you like me to have someone deliver this to your room?” she asked.
“No,” I said, taking the tray from her. “I can get it. Thank you.” I gave Murphy a tight smile. “And thanks for the sparring session. Sorry about the chin.”
He grunted and wrapped an arm around Yoshiko’s shoulder, pulling her in close to his chest. She let him, timidly slipping her arms around his waist. The PDA seemed to make her uncomfortable, but now I knew it probably wasn’t because she was worried about being caught breaking the rules.
“I’ll catch you later,” I said before leaving them alone and heading for the stairwell that led down to the south wing of the manor.
Dante’s most recent series of sunset photos lined the hallway, printed on canvases and mounted inside decorative frames. They’d all been taken in different places, none of which were familiar to me. But the duke had been gone quite a bit over the past couple of months.
He and Murphy were both being suspiciously closed-lipped about their recent outings, and I was becoming more blatant with my nosy nagging. Boredom would do that to a person. I was curious as hell what the duke had been up to.
I balanced the wooden tray on one arm so I could push my bedroom door open with the other and clicked on the light. My bed had been made while I was out, but my drawing desk was undisturbed. Not that I’d done much drawing since filling up the first sketchpad Dante had given me. What inspiration was there to be had, cooped up in the same house for eight months?
My empty blood pot from earlier in the evening had been removed from the bedside table, leaving a clean spot for me to set down the new tray. Yoshiko’s management of the blood harem included distributing household chores to the donors, as well. It eliminated the need for additional staff, and it made tax time less dicey. It reminded me a lot of the BATC’s setup, which I guessed made sense. Dante’s familial responsibility to House Lilith was overseeing Blood Vice.
I poured myself a cup of blood and took it out onto the terrace that stretched across the backside of the south wing. Ursula’s bedroom was next to mine. Pale light glowed through the curtains covering her sliding-glass door. I walked softly to avoid being detected—I was already at max capacity for her theatrics.
Movement caught my eye, and I glanced out across the shadowy lawn. One of Dante’s werewolf guards trotted along the line of evergreens that bordered the property, pausing every so often to sniff the ground. The crescent moon hung low over the treetops, casting just enough light for me to make out the shape of the wolf and the ballistics vest it wore. The beast’s heavy breath rose up from the grass like smoke, fogging the crisp October air. I marveled at the sharpness of my eyesight despite not using my blood vision.
Ursula had informed me during one of our many strange sessions that my senses would improve over time. Which made me wonder about Murphy’s hearing loss. He’d confessed that his right ear was almost useless due to too many flashbangs in the military as a human. I guessed it was kind of like losing a limb. Some things just didn’t heal, especially if the damage had been done before becoming immortal.
I slipped back inside my room and poured a second cup of blood, taking it with me into the attached bathroom. I was badly in need of a shower. The increased sense of smell had to be my least favorite of the lot, but I counted myself lucky that I didn’t have Mandy’s supercharged, wolfy olfactory abilities. When she was home—which wasn’t often lately—she announced whenever one of the harem donors were…relieving themselves. Including their identity and which toilet they were using.
Yeah, I could do without that little parlor trick.
I gulped down the blood and set the cup on the edge of the sink before stripping and climbing into the shower. Murphy’s mention of the DVR earlier reminded me that I had set mine to record the season ten premiere of Henry’s Courtroom. If I were lucky, I’d have enough time to watch it before Ursula dragged me off to the library for another of her so-called lessons.
Chapter Three
Anastasia van de Velde sat on the edge of Judge Henry’s desk in his stuffy office, getting ready to drink what appeared to be scotch—a libation that was more than likely tea. After she’d handed a second glass to the judge, she tilted back her head, flipping her fiery curls over her shoulder.
“I deserve that new stenograph machine,” she said with far more conviction than any office gadget deserved.
The actor playing the title role set down the glass he was holding so he could slap the end of his gavel against his palm. “What are you willing to do for it, Ms. van de Velde?”
“Whatever it takes.” She leaned across the desk, giving the judge a better view of her cleavage. “I’ll transcribe all your depositions.”
A knock sounded at the office door, and on screen, my sister gasped a split second too soon. I paused the show and backed it up just to be sure, pressing my chin and mouth into my pillow to muffle my giggling.
Henry’s Courtroom had to be the cheesiest soap on daytime television. I would know—I’d seen every episode. But cheesy or not, I was proud of my twin sister. She was a small-screen diva, an integral cast member of a long-running drama plugged as Judge Judy meets Days of Our Lives.
As soon as I hit play, my bedroom door swung open, and I gasped at the same time Laura did.
Mandy stood out in the hall, wearing holey jeans and a hoodie. She had a backpack slung over one shoulder and grasped a luggage handle with her opposite hand. Her light brown hair was braided in pigtails, and her face was clean of makeup, making her look every bit as young as she was.
“You’re watching it without me!” Her mouth fell open, and she huffed a dejected sigh. “Uh, you know you’re starting that over, right?”
“I didn’t know you were returning tonight,” I said, pressing the rewind button on the remote. “Is Cable with you?”
Mandy shook her head and stepped inside my room, closing the door behind her. She left her bags on the floor and flopped down onto the bed beside me. “He took off as soon as the raid on Starlight Harem was over. His wife is keeping a tighter leash on him since the bleach ordeal.”
A couple of months ago, Mandy had been recruited to help with a case that involved one of the Scarlett Inn’s previous suppliers—a strip club called the Honey Hole. One of the girls Mandy had been enslaved with had mentioned the place, and how they sold girls off to yet another illegal brothel.
After the assignment, Allen Cable, the captain of the St. Louis wolf division of Blood Vice, had taken a bleach bath in Mandy’s bathroom to wash off the smell of the strip club before going home. But, when your wife is also a wolf, the smell of bleach is just as damning as the scent of stripper.
“Did she get the stenograph machine?” Mandy asked, nodding at the television. “Wait! Don’t tell me.”
We’d been debating the outcome of the season nine cliffhanger for months now. I hit play, eager to learn the answer myself.
As the familiar scene replayed, I stole a sideways glance at Mandy. Her summer tan was beginning to fade, but I could still smell the sunlight and forest on her. With the fully-stocked harem, I didn’t drink her blood as often as I used to, but I missed her when she was gone with the Cadaver Dogs. And I couldn’t help but be a tiny bit jealous.
I looked back at the television in time to watch Anastasia van de Velde answer Henry’s office door for a delivery man with a large package.
“Awww, yeah! You know what that is.” Mandy jumped up from the bed as the first commercial break cut in. “I think I’ve got some chips in my room. BRB!”
“Take your bags with you,” I called after her. She skipped back a step as she reached the door and grabbed her luggage. “Thank you,” I said in a motherly sing-song.
It had taken some effort, but the duke’s manor was finally starting to feel like home. A home where I was essentially under house arrest, but a home, nevertheless. Even though someone helped with the dusting and vacuuming and bed-making, I tried to do my part by not being a complete slob and leavi
ng stuff lying around. And I expected the same of Mandy.
She returned with an open bag of barbeque chips and a bottle of soda, but instead of fast-forwarding through the rest of the commercials, I rolled onto my side and propped my head in one hand.
“Murphy says we’re going to the All Hallows’ Eve ball,” I told her.
“Really? Maybe we’ll see some of the wolves from the Denver unit I went camping with during training,” she said around a mouthful of chips.
The familiar jingle that preluded the return of Henry’s Courtroom sounded, and we turned to the screen to watch Laura fawn over the judge. Classic Anastasia van de Velde, seducing Henry into giving her everything a court reporter could ever want. She straddled his lap and put her tongue in his ear, cuing me to look away and cover my eyes. Laura was still my sister, and the sexy scenes were a bit…gratuitous.
“Ewww,” Mandy commented, her gaze still glued to the screen.
“Tell me when it’s over,” I begged.
“Did you find out where the duke’s been running off to while I was gone?” she asked before crunching down on another handful of chips, mercifully drowning out the sucking, smacking noises coming from the television.
“No, and now he’s going on about how I need a hobby, like knitting or learning to play the cello,” I said.
“Cello?” Mandy frowned. “You mean the oversized crotch fiddle?”
I snorted. “Well, now I definitely won’t be playing it.”
“Okay. It’s safe to look.”
“Thank goodness,” I said, turning toward the screen again.
“Think Henry’s figured out that Anastasia’s bumpin’ uglies with the bailiff yet?” Mandy whispered.
“Shhh.” I pressed a finger over my lips as Laura tore open the delivery box and pulled out a pair of furry handcuffs and a police hat. Her nostrils flared as she glared into the camera, while Henry simpered victoriously in the background, stroking his gavel.
“I’m gonna go with yes.” Mandy cackled and stuffed another handful of chips into her mouth.
The show’s theme music faded in as the scene went black and the credits began to roll. In a small box above the text, a few choice snippets from the next episode played in quick succession, including one of Judge Henry angrily firing someone, whose identity we were supposed to tune in tomorrow to discover.
“Bet it’s the bailiff!” Mandy squealed.
“Laura didn’t happen to call while you were away, did she?” I asked, rolling onto my side.
I still didn’t have a cell phone of my own—which seemed ridiculous. Of course, since everyone I knew outside of the vamp community was supposed to think I was dead, who could I tell Dante I needed to call? I guessed I could say it was to contact Mandy while she was on assignment with the Cadaver Dogs, but he’d probably just suggest the house line that forwarded to Belinda, his assistant.
“Nope,” Mandy said. “But I read in one of the tabloids that the show was renewed for an eleventh and final season. Ratings went up since Anastasia’s return, but, according to the Hollywood gossips, it was too little, too late.”
I sighed. “I should check in with her soon. It’s been too long.”
“That reminds me. I need to charge my phone.” Mandy hopped off the bed and took half a step before backtracking to gather up her chips and soda. Before she turned around to leave, a toothpaste commercial ended, and the preview for tomorrow’s episode played again—the extended version.
“It’s got to be the bailiff!” Mandy howled.
“I’m going with Anastasia, but only because I think she’ll seduce him into changing his mind,” I said. I hit the rewind button and paused on the shot of the judge’s twisted face, looking for any additional clues. When I didn’t spot any, I skipped ahead to the next frame. It featured Laura with her hands on her cheeks, her glossy lips making a surprised O.
“What are you children carrying on about in here?” Ursula demanded from the doorway. She wore a slouchy, gray sweater dress over black tights, a look that she didn’t stray far from while in the manor. Her bright blue eyes scanned the room as if searching for a third party. Then she did a double-take at the television.
“Ah, the sister in Hollywood, I presume?”
I nodded.
Ursula folded her arms. “Well? Go on. Let’s see if she’s any good.”
I reluctantly pressed play. It was one thing when Mandy or I ragged on my sister, but if anyone else did…ooh, boy. Look out.
Laura delivered a short monologue without any snide commentary from the princess. Once the next commercial began to play, I turned to Ursula, steeling myself for her worst.
“Your sister has better hair than you do,” she said, coiling a finger around one of her own red curls.
I huffed. “Well, duh. She has an overpriced stylist at her beck and call.”
Mandy wiped a chip crumb from her hoodie. “I guess it’s lesson time?”
“You guess correctly, pup.” Ursula gave her a sharp smile that Mandy didn’t return. I was just glad that the princess had stopped referring to her as my mutt. Though, Mandy seemed to like pup even less.
“I’m on guard duty soon anyway,” Mandy said as if she were granting the princess permission to take me. It was a careful game they played, trading these mild jabs. I just hated being in the middle when they took things too far, and the princess began slinging threats that I still wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t follow through with.
“Come along, scion,” Ursula said, turning around in the doorway.
Murphy suddenly appeared, cutting off Ursula’s exit. He was in a nicer suit than he usually wore around the house whenever he was on duty. It made me wonder if he and the duke had already returned from their appointment or if they had yet to leave.
“Your Highness.” He dipped his head in a formal bow to the princess. Then he glanced over her shoulder at me. “The boss would like to see you—Your Grace,” he tacked onto the end as Ursula’s fist landed on her hip.
“About what?” she demanded.
“I’m just the messenger, Your Highness,” Murphy said with another small bow.
Everyone was extra careful around Ursula. Everyone except me. I was too stir-crazy to bother with formalities or to walk on egg shells any longer. And I wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to postpone whatever nutty lecture Ursula had prepared for tonight.
“I’ll catch up with you in the library,” I said, squeezing past her.
Ursula’s nostrils flared with indignant outrage. “Don’t forget that you’re my scion, not his,” she shouted at my back. I waved my hand dismissively.
“Yeah, yeah. Lucky me,” I muttered under my breath.
Murphy’s lips pinched together, but he waited until we were a ways down the hall before cracking a grin.
“You’re welcome,” he said, bumping his shoulder against mine.
Chapter Four
I expected Murphy to take me to Dante’s office where the duke conducted most of his meetings. The room was situated off the foyer at the heart of the house where the hallways of both wings on the main level met. It was where he spent most of his time, as far as I could tell, and it was where I’d first met him.
Instead, Murphy led me down the hall that curled around the backside of the office where Dante’s bedroom and studio were located. If we were meeting in the duke’s private quarters, I had to assume it was over a serious matter.
“Did someone die?” I asked Murphy in a hushed voice as we stopped in front of the duke’s double doors.
He shrugged and gave me an uncertain frown. “Wish I knew,” he said, then knocked.
“Enter,” Dante’s muffled voice called from the other side.
Murphy pushed open one of the doors and ushered me inside. Then he closed the door behind me, remaining out in the hall.
“Ms. Skye, please, join me.” Dante stood near the fireplace at the far end of the room, pouring blood from a shiny teapot into an espresso cup. He wore a navy vest
over a pale dress shirt and black slacks, and his hair lay flat against his head, shiny with product. It made him look older and more intimidating. I suspected he’d left the beard stubble for the same reason.
I glanced down at my yoga pants. Murphy’s suit should have tipped me off that this would be a formal affair, but honestly, I’d been too excited to ditch Ursula to think beyond making my escape.
“Are you sure I’m not overdressed?” I pursed my lips, frowning at Dante. “I mean, look at you. It’s like you’re not even trying.”
His mouth fell open a moment before he caught the sarcasm, and then he chuckled softly. “Yes, well, I will polish my crown next time.”
“You have a crown? Why didn’t I get one?” I teased as I walked past the antique armoire and king-sized bed.
“I am sure Yoshiko will gladly make the voyage to Burger King in the morning.”
I stopped in front of him and folded my arms, resisting the urge to smile. Mandy’s return had lightened my mood, but I wasn’t about to get over the house arrest anytime soon. Still, it was difficult to stay mad at Dante. He was a master of charm and distraction.
“Would you care for some blood?” he asked, offering me the cup he’d just poured. I took it but narrowed my eyes at him as I did.
“What is this about?”
Dante sighed and opened his hand, gesturing toward the pair of armchairs in front of the fireplace. He waited for me to sit down first, then joined me and poured himself a cup of blood before placing the pot on the tray.
“Dante?” I said, prompting him again. The subtle smile he often gave me when I used his first name was absent. “Did your appointment not go well tonight?”
“It was canceled,” he confessed.
“Then what’s this about?”
“You want to leave.” The way he said it almost made me feel guilty.
“On occasion, yes.” I blinked at him. “I’m not a house cat.”
Blood, Sweat, and Tears (Blood Vice Book 6) Page 2