A Vampire's Claim (27 page)

Plus, she’d been silent as a stump in his mind since she left the porch. He was learning her voice came from a certain direction in his mind, for lack of a better description, and right now there was a solid wall in that spot. He wasn’t even sure if he “thought” his intentions at her, she’d hear them.

So when at last he went looking for her, he found she hadn’t come back down yet. Probably still getting ready for her fencing match. How in the hell could she manage an idle sport after that? He shook his head, closed it off. Not his issue, really.

But as he reached the top of the stairs, prepared to move down the main second floor hallway, he stopped. Her scent, that light perfume she’d worn for dinner . . . it was here, as if she’d recently gone this way. Turning down a narrower, left-hand corridor, and obeying that instinctive sense of her, he put his hand on the doorknob of a room he hadn’t explored and turned it.

It was a smaller bedroom, though it had a washroom like the master rooms. He moved around the bed, studying the simple, elegant arrangement of a guest room, similar to where Danny had put him.

The mirror in the washroom confirmed this area was intended for human habitants. He almost turned away, since he didn’t see her in the reflection that showed the rest of the bathroom, then he stopped. While he’d already learned some lore about vampires wasn’t true, and some of it was unimaginable, it was possible that certain things, like the inability to cast a reflection, could be fact.

He leaned into the room.

Since he’d met her, she’d overwhelmed him sexually and emotionally. He’d seen her fight like a tiger for her life against superior numbers and firepower, overcome third-degree burns, and tonight, single-handedly murder the overlord of this territory. Still, she could surprise him. Like now.

She was squatting on her heels, wedged in the far corner, between the commode and the sink. Hunched over, she had her arms wrapped around herself, her back to the door.

He didn’t believe anyone could come upon her unawares, and he didn’t believe he did so now. Which might explain one of the reasons his heart lurched when he squatted behind her, and she merely lowered her head further. As he wrapped his arms over hers, blanketing her, tremors rippling across her back became hard convulsions, terrible, strangled things that made him realize she was crying. Crying the way a hysterical woman would cry, only in complete silence.

I hate this, Dev. Hate it so much.

Relieved to hear it, love.

She made a noise, something like a snort and a sob. When he tightened his arms around her, the twisted sense of wrongness in him loosened. He’d no doubt she was comfortable with her dominant sexuality, her predator’s bloodlust, but until Ian, he’d seen her as a beautiful wild animal, like a cougar. It all clicked together, even before she opened her mind to let him see it, because it hadn’t made sense until this minute. And a different twist wrenched his vitals.

“It wasn’t just what he did to your mother. Bloody hell.”

Her response came in a painful flood of thoughts and images, jumbled like her emotions.
I never cared much for him, but he
seemed to love her so much. When she was away . . . I was over a hundred, but he was older, and he took me by surprise.

Took by force what I wouldn’t give. Only the two of us here, and the staff, who couldn’t interfere. Only old Jim is left of
those to remember, thank God. But he was the only one who came up afterward to see if there was anything he could do.

He’s a good sort. But it’s something you don’t forget, having someone hurting you, with so many close by, but none able to
help
.

He remembered the way she’d let Ian touch her, tease the strawberry over her breast, how soft and willing her gaze had been.
Ah,
love . . .

But she wouldn’t take his comfort. Abruptly, she turned, putting her back to the wall. He kept his hands on her as she slid to a sitting position on the floor, planted her bare feet between his boots. She’d changed into jodhpurs and a snug shirt for her fencing.

“Like I said, Dev, I’m not her. You do get that, don’t you?”

“I do.” He reached out, cupped her face. “You’re nothing like Tina, love.”

She searched his countenance, nodded. “This is the way it is for vampires. What they can take from one another through violence and force, some of that’s allowed. Like me killing Ian tonight. That’s okay, as long as I pay my due to Ruskin. As long as we stay within the boundaries of the Council’s rules. We’re monsters, playing at being civilized, that’s all.”

He tipped her chin. “Sounds a lot like humans.”

She shifted her glance back to the tile, nodded. “I’m sorry, Dev. I used you for the distraction. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t glad to have you at my back. You came to tell me you’re going, didn’t you?”

“You’re a selfish bitch. That’s a fact.” Pushing a lock of her hair over her ear, he lingered there, passed his thumb over her cheek.

No tears. She’d allowed herself only the sobbing, and that had been stingy, hard-won. She tilted her head away, and he made himself lower his touch. He wondered at the dark swirl of his own feelings, which seemed to be intertwined with hers. “I knew that, the first time you took me to your bed. But there’s more to you than that. I don’t think we’re done with one another yet.”

Fanning out her fingers on her knees, she closed her eyes. “If it helps to know . . . I did what I had to do tonight, but I knew the highest price I might pay for my vengeance was losing you.”

“Tweaking my ego, love?” He couldn’t quite manage a smile.

“Well, you’re so full of yourself, always putting on airs and bragging. Thought I should play to that.”

“You don’t have to play me at all, love. You might figure that out one day.” He reached over her bent knee, squeezed her cold fingers. Feeling an unexpected brush of hair, he looked down to see she held a lock of it beneath that palm. She shook her head.

“I didn’t come in here to fall to pieces. When he did it, all those years ago, I cut off a piece of my hair, put it behind this loose tile.

So that when I took his worthless life, I could take this part of that younger, naive version of myself, and tell that woman it was done. I’m no victim, Dev.” The truth of it was in the sharp edge of her voice, the brief glimpse of banked anger in her gaze. “The day it happened, I’d have torn him to pieces once I got free, but I wanted my mother to know the truth, to send him away, because that would be a worse punishment. She didn’t. She believed him when he said I was angry because I’d tried to lure him to my bed and failed.” She gave a brittle laugh. “So bloody clichéd, but women in love with monsters fall for it, all the time. And I was no better, acting like one of those ridiculous heroines. Hurt, betrayed, I left, turned my back on her. Knowing the Ennui was starting to get a grip on her, I should have stayed, figured out a way to do this then, and then forced her to see the truth. She was . . . she was never right after my father’s death. Far more gullible. She needed me. I failed my father in that regard.”

Turning her hand, she tucked the silken curl in his. It had been lighter then, he noted, and wondered if the older she got, the darker gold her hair would become, until she would be like a sun unto herself, moving through darkness.

“You can let the wind carry that over the desert now,” she said. “That younger Danny can rest in peace, such that she is.”

He nodded. “And what about you?”

Her lips twisted, and she tangled the fingers of her other hand with his empty one. Bringing it to her face, she rested her face in his palm, holding there for a long moment, leaning into his touch. “I’ve got one more monster to handle.”

“You’re not going to—”

“Not tonight.” She lifted her chin, and he saw that streak of cold purpose glimmer in her gaze. “No stomach for it, and it’s the wrong time. But I expect it’s going to come to that. Ian was what I’d expect from most of my kind. Ruskin . . .” She paused.

“Ruskin is a true monster.”

As she began to rise, they helped each other up. In the small confines of the bathroom, she was nearly pressed against him. He had a sudden urge to slide his arms around her, hold her close, but she slipped by him, turned at the door, the lady of the manor returned.

“Let’s go get this fucking evening over with, shall we?”

The courtyard was an area enclosed with a low stone wall, a frame built over it with screen curtains draped on the sides to keep the flies from interfering with refreshments. Aapti was there already, her face drawn but composed. She wore a dark, less formal garment now, a skirt low on her hips and the stretched bodice from dinner that still showed the treasures she had to offer. She sat on one of the walls, a decanter of brandy next to her, ready to serve her Master if called.

The British vampire had simply removed his jacket, already being suitably attired. Danny’s tight breeches and snug long-sleeved shirt would have been an indecent outfit, but she’d obviously dressed in anticipation of the exercise, how she would need to move or bend. Interestingly, she left her feet bare. The courtyard was carpeted in flat stone tile.

When Dev took a position in the opposite corner from Aapti, he sat down on his haunches, his bootheels flat on the ground, his back curved and body balanced without the support of the wall behind him, the way he’d often gathered with the aborigines. It was a tranquil pose, and he definitely needed tranquillity.

As she warmed up, a knot of tension was forming. He couldn’t help but have a man’s prejudice, worried for her, thinking of a female as more fragile and vulnerable when going toe-to-toe against a man’s strength and skill at arms.

“Sabers?” Lord Charles nodded to the two weapons she’d brought out. Danny nodded, tossed one to him, which he caught by the hilt and examined the blade. “Your mother’s weapons?”

“One set of them. She had others, but these were the ones I most preferred. Three strikes?”

“Versus collegiate rules?”

Danny’s lips twisted. “Lord Charles, we were doing this when
dueling
was rampant. I like the simpler rules.”

He acknowledged it with a bow and humorless smile. “We’ll speak of Ian’s death and the debt you owe me after our bout. When I defeat you, I will have the upper hand. It is more advantageous to me.”

“Lord Charles, whether you win or lose this match, you will never have the upper hand on me.”

“We shall see.” He flashed teeth.
“En garde.”

Dev tried to keep himself relaxed, at least outwardly. And he had to admit his sheila had well-developed skills. As the two circled, feinted, parried, riposted, clashed, ducked and spun, running the gamut from competitive form to straight-out fighting, the stockmen who’d completed their tasks or were idle had circled to the outside of the courtyard to watch. While they stayed at a respectful distance, the vampires didn’t seem to mind as the men became more involved in the match, commenting and calling out. Dev was sure part of it was they were absorbed by their new Mistress, who was a hell of a lot better to look at than Ian or Ruskin. She was bloody mesmerizing. He had to force himself to focus past that to note the way she compensated for Lord Charles’s greater reach and height with quickness and superior flexibility. The first blood was hers, a slice that went over his guard and nicked his shoulder, leaving a bloom of blood on the white fabric.

They backed off, circled again. Charles was no longer looking relaxed and urbane, the polished aristocrat. He’d shifted to that aura of unnatural stillness, and Dev knew before the second strike came that he had her on this one. She parried in, and on the riposte, he lunged forward unexpectedly and jabbed her thigh, the blade scraping off, but tearing the fabric as she spun away. She’d put up her blond hair to keep it out of her way, holding it in place with sticks. Dev narrowed his eyes, wondering if they’d come from Chiyoko’s belongings. For some reason, he was almost sure they had.

When Charles gave him a disdainful glance, he also realized he’d come to his feet on that nick, his hand on his knife hilt. “Your servant doesn’t know the difference between play and threat among vampires, my lady.”

Danny gave a short laugh, humorless, as she backed, regrouped, and began to circle again, performing a couple graceful sweeps with the blade to loosen her arm up further. “Neither do vampires. And he’s not my servant.”

Charles snorted. “More semantics, my lady.” He engaged again. Clash of steel, turn, the torchlight catching the blades and making them flash. Sparks when the blades hit, edge to edge, slid off, both vampires retreating and then Danny starting with the lunge again.

Dev noted that Charles’s men and even Danny’s had fallen silent. One more strike to go. After seeing her dispatch one of his overlords . . .

bloody hell, win or lose this bout, if Charles was still standing, he’d almost have to exact something dear to her, to punish her, put her in her place. And Danny knew that.

Charles’s men had shifted from observation to watchfulness. Quite a few of them had wooden knives in their belts. Charles likely wasn’t planning to kill her, but he didn’t trust her, either. He wasn’t taking any chances that she might be working her way down her “to do” list, and he was number two tonight.

My lady, in case you’ve rethought your plans, now is
not
the time. His men are prepared.

He tried to make the thought quiet, unobtrusive, and realized how absurd that was, since he had no idea what difference the volume of thoughts made in the recipient’s head. Her glance shifted to him, briefly, and Charles had her. Using a surge of hard-to-follow speed, he thrust inside her guard, knocked it out wide and shoved her back, stumbling.

Dev started forward, and three of Charles’s men came over the wall, holding him in place with a battery of pistols and drawn knives, skirting the circling vampires deftly. “Let it play out, mate,” one of them said, keeping the pistol leveled at Dev’s midsection.

While she was still stumbling back, Charles plowed his boot in her chest, knocking her to the ground and pinning her there on her back. When he pressed forward, a blade shot out of the sole, the tip jamming against the base of her throat. He held the saber at ready.