Blood Feud

  Dad swore, very loudly and very creatively.

  Mom’s fists clenched. “Quinn, Logan. With me. Now.” She shot a glare at Marcus and Connor. “You too.”

  Mom didnotlike being saved by her children.

  We followed her into a small private antechamber. Adrenaline was still coursing through me. Quinn’s jaw was clenched so tightly he looked like a marble statue, pale and cold. I knew just how he felt.

  We had a short reprieve as Dad cupped Mom’s face and ran his hands down her neck, over her shoulders. “Helena, are you hurt?”

  She waved that away. “I’m fine.” She smiled briefly, then turned hard eyes on us. Each of us took a healthy step backward and not a single one of us felt any less manly for the wise retreat.

  “I distinctly remember,” she said softly, her long black braid swinging behind her as she crossed her arms over her chest, “after the events of last week, ordering you never to step between me and a weapon again.”

  “Mom,” Quinn ground out. “Give me a break.”

  Her glare could have sizzled steak. “I will not have my sons killed by some third-rate assassin.”

  “And we won’t have our mother killed by one either,” I added.

  She closed her eyes briefly. She looked less like an ancient Fury, pale as fire and just as angry, when she opened them again.

  “Thank you, boys,” she said finally. “I’m very proud of you. Don’t ever do that again.” She leaned against Dad. “You either, Liam.”

  “Shut up, dear,” he said affectionately, kissing the top of her head. He looked at the guard standing in the doorway, under the string of small glass lanterns. The candles flickered. “Well?”

  I recognized Sophie when she stepped forward. She had a mass of curly brown hair and scars on the side of her face from when she’d been human. No one knew how she’d gotten them. She bowed sharply. “The girl belonged to Montmartre. His insignia was stitched on the inside of her vest.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s all we know.”

  “That’s not nearly enough,” Helena snapped.

  “I agree, Your Highness.”

  Helena sighed. “Don’t ‘Your Highness’ me.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Wait.” Quinn frowned. “She had a tattoo.”

  “You’re sure?” Mom asked. “Where?”

  “Under her collarbone, above her left breast.” To his credit, he didn’t blush. Exactly.

  Mom’s eyes narrowed on his face. “You were looking down her shirt?”

  Quinn swallowed. “No, ma’am.”

  “Mmm-hmmm. What was the tattoo?”

  “A red rose with three daggers or stakes through it. I didn’t get a very good look.”

  Dad frowned. “I don’t know that insignia. I wonder if it’s new?” He glanced at Sophie. “Find out. And double the patrols, and set another guard on my wife.”

  Sophie bowed and left the antechamber just as Mom started to bristle.

  “Liam Drake, I can look after myself.”

  “Helena Drake, I love you, take the extra guard.”

  They glowered at each other. I knew Dad would win. Mom was vicious when cornered, but Dad had a way about him, like a snake hypnotizing his supper. His glower softened. “Please, love.”

  Her fangs lengthened with her annoyance. “Don’t do that,” she muttered, but we knew Dad would get his way. “Only until the coronation,” she said finally, firmly.

  Dad nodded. “Deal.” He’d find some other argument come the coronation. The walkie-talkie on his belt burbled some garbled sentence. He pressed the button. “Repeat.”

  “You asked us to let you know when it was midnight.”

  Dad looked at his watch. “Right,” he said to the rest of us. “The Hound delegation should be here any minute. Logan, you’ll go meet them. If what we know about this Isabeau is true, she was turned just after the French Revolution. You’ll be more familiar to her in that frock coat.”

  “Okay.” I ignored my brothers’ smirks out of long habit. They were strictly the jeans and T-shirt types. I couldn’t help it if they had no style.

  “The mountainside guards know to expect them, but no one else does,” he added. “We didn’t want the drama.”

  “All we get is drama.” I rolled my eyes, leaving to make my way down to the main cave entrance. Dad’s walkie-talkie warbled again. His voice went grim when he called out to me.

  “Logan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Run.”

  Chapter 2

  Isabeau

  I hadn’t expected the ambush. And that’s saying something.

  I hadn’t become a Hound princess in the year and a half since I’d been dug out of the ground because I was a trusting sort. If the French Revolution hadn’t cured me of that, being bitten and abandoned by one of Montmartre’s Host would have.

  And I might have been taken by surprise, but I wasn’t an idiot.

  I was, however, armed to the teeth.

  The guards outnumbered us. I’d only traveled with two others, Magda and Finn, since it was difficult to find a Hound who had the temper to deal with the vampire royal courts and the associated unrelenting arrogance. Magda’s temperament was hardly stable, but she was beautiful and just, which mostly balanced everything else out. Finn was as serene as the cedar woods he loved so much. And I was just me: lonely and vengeful but still as polite as the French lady I’d been raised to be. I was both eighteen years old and more than two hundred years old. As if this wasn’t confusing enough, I’d been pulled out of the grave by a pack of witch’s dogs.

  Kala preferredshamankatowitch. Most of the princes and lordlings respected her and since she’d been the one to send me to the meeting, no one had argued or offered to take my place. I was her apprentice and that was enough for the others, even if I wasn’t sure it was enough for me. I’d have been happier fading into the background, but I owed Kala my life, such as it was. She’d pulled me through the madness and made sure I didn’t turn feral or fall prey to Montmartre. She claimed if I was strong enough to last two hundred years in a coffin, I was strong enough not to go savage too. I didn’t remember the centuries in the cemetery, only brief images before I lost consciousness. But I definitely remembered the pain of being pulled out and reawakened. And it wasn’t strength of character that had seen me through, or even Kala’s considerable magic.

  It was the need to find the Earl of Greyhaven and my thirst for revenge.

  For the sake of outsiders, I’d been labeled a Hound “princess” even though we didn’t have princesses or other royalty. It was a useful title though, since the new queen would be more apt to listen to me, even if they were probably expecting a savage girl with mud on her face who ate babies for dinner.

  That was why Kala had sent me to the courts for the coronation of Helena Drake and her husband, Liam Drake; that and the fact that I and the other Hounds had kind of saved their daughter’s life. Unfortunately Montmartre had gotten away, so I didn’t consider the mission a complete success, even if everyone else seemed to.

  I was here to represent the best of the Hounds, and I had a wolfhound puppy to present as a gift. Kala’s wolfhounds were legendary; I had a full-grown one as a companion: Charlemagne.

  And he was growling low in his throat, muscles bunched under his wiry gray fur.

  “La,” I murmured, pointing for him to stay behind me. I had no problem releasing him to attack, but only if I knew he wouldn’t be hurt. And right now there was an arrow aimed at his throat.

  “Hounds.” One of the guards sneered. I knew that half-disgusted, half-fearful tone intimately. We weren’t exactly famous for our elegant table manners. It hardly mattered that half the rumors weren’t true. We used them to our advantage. The more the others disdained us, the more they left us alone, which was all we really wanted in the first place. Let them worry about politics and hunters. We only wanted the caves and the quiet.

  Well, most of us.

&n
bsp; The puppy in the basket slung over my shoulder barked and I set him down. I drew the long slender sword strapped to my back, which the guards hadn’t noticed yet. The moment I touched the hilt, both Magda and Finn sprung into action.

  Learning to fight was no different than learning to waltz or dance the quadrille, in my opinion. It was all about the tension between you and your partner, about footwork and balance and timing.

  And I preferred the long deadly sword to any silk ball gown I’d ever worn. I wasn’t sure what that said about me, but I had bigger worries.

  Like the polished mahogany stake flying through the air toward my heart.

  I leaned back as far as I could. It passed over me, close enough that I could see the wood grain. Trust the damned royals to polish their stakes to a high gloss. We just sharpened sticks.

  I popped back up again to crack my opponent on the side of the head with the hilt of my sword. I might have stabbed him into a pile of ash but Kala had warned us time and time again that we were here for negotiations.

  Someone might try telling the guards that.

  Magda took one out before I could stop her. It was hard to feel regret since he’d been about to snap her neck. Charlemagne whined with the need to jump into the fight.

  “Non,” I told him sharply. “We were invited!” I added, shouting as I cracked my boot into the guard’s heel. He stumbled, dropping his stake.

  “Stop!” Someone else hurled himself into the melee. Great, just what we needed.

  He leaped between us, lace cuffs fluttering. He was pretty, like the boys I’d known at my uncle’s parties, but not nearly as soft, even in his velvet frock coat. His fangs were extended, gleaming like opals. I didn’t know who he was but the guards eased back, weapons raised respectfully even if they were still snarling.

  “She killed Jonas,” one of them spat.

  “Because he was trying to kill me,” Magda spat back unrepentantly.

  The guard snarled. The boy turned to him, speaking blandly. “Don’t you recognize them?” He pointed at me. “This girl saved your life not too long ago.”

  That hardly got the snarls to subside.

  He looked about eighteen, same as Magda and me—though technically I was really 232 years old. Only Finn looked to be in his thirties, though he was nearly eight hundred years old. Kala had sent him to keep us level-headed. He wasn’t really a Hound, just an ordinary vampire, but he’d been with us for so long that we treated him as if he was one of us, especially since he hated Montmartre as much as we did.

  “My apologies,” he added, bowing to us. “My mother’s only been queen for a few days and everyone’s still on high alert. Someone tried to assassinate her not ten minutes ago.” He must be one of the legendary Drake brothers. There were seven of them and a single daughter who’d just been turned. “But you’ll be safe,” he hastened to assure us.

  “I know.” I did not need his protection. His eyes were as green as mine, like moss. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me, as if I wore one of my old ball gowns instead of a leather tunic with chain mail over my heart.

  “Isabeau,” he said. “And Magda and Finn, I presume?” He nearly drawled each word. “I’m Logan Drake.” His brown hair tumbled over his forehead, and the shape of his jaw and his narrow nose were distinctly aristocratic. He would have been more at home among the nobles of my time than this modern place. It made me both distrust him and feel oddly drawn to him. I straightened my spine. I wasn’t here to admire pretty boys; I was here as Kala’s emissary. It was inexcusable to be distracted, even for a moment.

  “We’re here for the coronation,” I explained stiffly.

  “It’s not for another two weeks,” another guard said.

  Logan made a sound of frustration. “At ease, Jen,” he said before offering us a charming smile. “If you’ll follow me?”

  I snapped my fingers and Charlemagne bounded forward to trot at my side. The basket full of wriggling puppy went over my shoulder again. They led us down a carved hall, the gray stone dipping low over our heads. Magda was scowling.

  “These caves used to belong to us,” she hissed.

  “A hundred years ago,” I hissed back. “You weren’t even born then, never mind turned.”

  “So what? They still stole our home from us.” Her long flowered skirt flowed around her ankles, the silver thread embroidery glinting in the torchlight.

  “Lady Natasha stole the caves,” Logan said, without turning to look at us.

  “Are you planning on giving them back?” Magda snorted, before I could stop her. I pinched her arm. She jerked out of reach but didn’t say anything else. Actually, she said a lot but she was grumbling, so we were able to pretend not to hear her.

  The hall widened and finally brought us to a cavern dripping with stalagmites. Candles burned in silver candelabra and iron birdcages. There were numerous benches and a dais with the splintered remains of a white throne and dozens of cracked mirrors.

  And vampires everywhere.

  Conversations halted abruptly. They all turned to stare at us as if we were poisonous mushrooms suddenly growing in a manicured garden. They were pale and perfect, with gleaming teeth and hard eyes. I saw every manner of clothes, from leather to corsets to jeans. One of them wore a poncho such as Magda often wore. Finding comfort in the styles of one’s human youth was common to all vampires. It was a similarity between us but it was hardly enough to outweigh the snarls and suspicious sneers.

  Even Finn stiffened, and Magda was practically vibrating with the need to attack. Charlemagne’s ears went back when he sensed the tension, thick and sticky as honey. Only Logan sauntered forward as if we were here for nothing more than tea and cake.

  “I’ve brought our guests,” he announced. No one could miss the inflection on the last word. And the warning. The conversations resumed, but mostly murmurs and whispers. No one wanted to miss the presentation between the queen and the Hound princess who helped save her daughter. I didn’t see Solange anywhere. I put my shoulders back and swore to myself, yet again, that I wouldn’t let Kala down.

  Logan stopped in front of a slender, short woman with a long braid. I cast an envious glance at the daggers lined up neatly on her shoulder strap. The man next to her had wide shoulders and a calm smile.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Isabeau St. Croix.” Logan presented me with such a flourish, I nearly forgot myself and curtsied. He’d introduced me to them and not the other way around, subtly claiming that his parents had a higher social standing. I felt sure he’d done it on purpose but I was surprised someone born in this century would know those particular rules of etiquette. They hadn’t survived the centuries, which meant I’d had to learn a whole new set of rules. As if it hadn’t been tiresome enough the first time. “Isabeau, this is Queen Helena and King Liam Drake.”

  “Welcome,” Liam said, his voice soothing and rich as brandy cream. I knew they were looking at my fangs. I had two sets, sharp and white as abalone shell. The more feral vampires went, the more fangs they grew. Even we avoided theHel-Blar,who had a mouthful of razor teeth and blue-tinted skin. Before Montmartre, they had been rare. You could go your whole life without ever coming across one. They were mostly created by accident or ignorance, especially centuries ago when the bloodchange was even more of a mystery than it is today.

  But now, because of Montmartre, they were like fire ants pouring out of an anthill; where there used to be one there was now a hundred. He’d been so eager to create his own personal army, he’d ravaged the old cobbled towns of Europe for hundreds of years, turning humans into vampires with indiscriminate greed.

  That wasn’t good enough for him though. He wanted his personal army to be the best, the strongest, and the most vicious. He began leaving people half-turned under the earth to prove themselves, to survive the bloodchange alone. Those who didn’t die, or go mad with hunger, were recruited to become part of his Host. The rest were abandoned asHel-Blar.

  And Hounds, or Cwn Mamau as we knew ourselv
es, didn’t fit anywhere easily. We weren’t regular vampires, we weren’tHel-Blar,and we most definitely weren’t Host, as much as that fact irked Montmartre. We were a thorn in his side, seeking out the vampires he left underground and rehabilitating them before he could claim them for his own.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” I said politely. “Finn, Magda, may I present Helena and Liam Drake.” Logan’s mouth twitched slightly and I knew he’d caught what I’d done. Finn bowed slightly. Magda inclined her head stiffly. Her long brown hair and soft clothes made her look like a fairy princess but she was contrary by nature, and admitting to being nervous or inferior in a royal court, especially this one, was right out of the question. I laid the basket on the carpet and hoped our gift wouldn’t relieve himself on the hand-embroidered roses. “I bring a gift from our shamanka, Kala.”

  Liam’s smile was genuine when he bent down to help the puppy out of the basket. I watched Charlemagne carefully, who was studying Liam carefully. When Charlemagne didn’t growl or tense, I relaxed as well. His instincts were sound. The puppy rolled over, barked, and then leaped to his feet, startled. Even Helena grinned. It softened her features considerably.

  “Kala’s witch dogs are legendary,” she said.

  “Yes, they are.” I nodded proudly. I wasn’t sure if she knew just how legendary they were. It was Kala’s giant dogs that had scented me in the cemetery and dug me out with their claws. They’d been loyal to me ever since. And, truthfully, I preferred their company to those of my own kind. It was less complicated. “And Kala’s not a witch, she’s a shamanka.”

  “I beg your pardon. She says your gift for training them is just as legendary.”

  I tried not to blush; it was unseemly for a vampire. Still, Kala wasn’t easy with her praises and I felt myself standing a little taller.

  “You’ll be our guest at the farmhouse.” It wasn’t a request. Even if it had been, there’d have been no polite way out of it. I wasn’t sure which was worse, staying in these caves with those who clearly didn’t want us here or staying in the house of the queen. She was making sure everyone knew we were under her protection but there was something else to it, I was sure. She didn’t fully trust the Hounds, whatever her husband said about wanting treaties and reconciliation. This was a test.