Bite

  Two or three dozen cars lined the circle drive in front of the plantation house, among them several long white limousines and a couple of hearses.

  “Not a party.” She flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips nervously. “High council.”

  “High council?”

  “It’s the end of the month, isn’t it? Time to settle affairs, collect offerings, and mete out punishments.”

  “What punishments?”

  “You really don’t know much about being a vampire, do you?”

  “Apparently not.”

  The more her fingers twined in her lap, the more his own nerves jumped to life. He had a bad feeling about this.

  “At the end of every month, the vampires of a clan—in this case, the clan Atlanta—are called before the High Matron to pay homage. Some bring gifts. Some share the wealth they’ve stolen from their victims.”

  “You think Garth gave my formula to this High Matron?”

  “Undoubtedly. Whatever he has belongs to her. He belongs to her. He is her Enforcer.”

  Daniel narrowed his eyes. “What, exactly, does he enforce?”

  “The rationing, mostly.” She rubbed her scarred shoulder. “We aren’t supposed to take mortal blood without permission. They say it’s because too many suspicious neck wounds gets the mortals riled up, makes them talk about witch hunts, but I’ve always thought it was because the less blood we have, the weaker we are.”

  “And the more powerful they are. The more control they have.”

  “The landowners starving the peasants so they won’t revolt. The bigger the offering we bring, the more blood they give us permission to take.”

  “Son of a bitch. So that’s where he gets his money.” He put his hand over hers on her shoulder. “Did he do that to you? Give you that scar?”

  “I—I took blood when it wasn’t my turn.” Her gaze jumped to his beseechingly. “I was so thirsty. I can’t go as long as some of the older vampires. I only took a little. I didn’t kill the man.”

  “I know. You wouldn’t.”

  She swallowed, lowered her face. “Garth knocked me down and held me there with his foot on my shoulder.”

  Daniel’s throat closed. “The metal cross embedded in the sole of his boot.” So that’s what it was for.

  “He’s so old, as long as there’s leather between it and his foot, and as long as he can’t see it, it doesn’t bother him.”

  “But he uses it to keep the rest of you in line.”

  “The rest of us. He’ll use it on you, too, if you interfere with him.”

  He reached into the cooler behind the seat and pulled out two plastic Coke bottles he’d washed out and refilled with his wünderblud. One bottle, he opened and handed to her. The other he kept for himself, then knocked his container against hers in mock toast. “From now on, you can have all the blood you want.”

  Turning his gaze toward the brightly lit house, he drank deep, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Garth LaGrange is never going to put a hand, or a foot, on you again.”

  She followed his lead and downed her blood with gusto. When she finished the bottle, her eyes were fever bright. In medical terms, he’d say she was feeling no pain.

  She slid her hand over to his lap, and he felt the building arousal in her, and in himself. It would be hard not to feel it, since it was currently threatening to bust the seam on his pants. If they were anywhere else, they’d be going at it like minks already.

  “Killing Garth can wait one more night, can’t it? He’ll be more vulnerable when he’s alone. And tonight…” Her tongue curled in his ear. “We have better things to do.”

  Come to think of it, what did it matter where they were? No one knew they were here. No one could see them.

  He took her hand and started to pull her closer, but the headlights of another car sliding past them down the long drive had him blinking and throwing his hand up over his face.

  “A late guest?” he said.

  “Not likely. No one would dare be late to Council.” Raising her head, Déadre watched the car pull up to the walk and stop. Four people got out, two of them huddled together and wearing dark hoods, the other two flanking them on either side.

  Daniel’s expression darkened. “You didn’t tell me this was a costume party.”

  “It’s not.” She shook her head. “I guess now would be a good time to tell you that sometimes, when the High Matron is feeling particularly generous, they invite guests to the High Council. Mortal guests.” She had to pinch her lips together to keep them from trembling. “Most of the time they don’t survive.”

  8

  DANIEL’S face twisted. “They kidnap innocent people and bring them here…to feed on?”

  She shrugged, but there wasn’t a hint of carelessness in the gesture. “The vampire equivalent to a gang bang. Everyone who’s been good gets to take a turn.”

  “That’s sick.”

  “I told you it was a miserable existence.”

  He slung the satchel he’d packed full of deadly goodies over his shoulder and reached for the door handle. “We’ve got to help them.”

  “There are thirty or forty vampires in there. Are you going to fight them all?”

  “If I have to.” He swung the door open and jumped out of the truck.

  Swearing under her breath, she followed, beseeching whatever deity would listen to her—if any would listen to her—to save her from fools and do-gooders. More importantly, save him.

  “Wait.” She caught up to him at the edge of the trees, tugged on his sleeve. “They won’t get to the…refreshments until after the ceremony. They’ll stash them somewhere until they’ve finished their business.”

  “Where?”

  “Somewhere with only one way in or out so they can’t escape. Near the assembly—that would be in the largest open area, probably, so there’d be room for everyone.”

  Daniel took her hand and skirted along a hedgerow, careful to stick to the shadows. “Sounds like the ballroom.”

  “You have a ballroom?”

  “It’s an old house. There’s a big pantry between it and the kitchen. No windows. One door into the hall.”

  “Which will surely be guarded. How will you get in?”

  He looked back at her and smiled encouragingly. “I told you this house was built before the Civil War, the slave era. It has service tunnels running all through it. One of them leads right to the pantry close to the ballroom.”

  “And if they aren’t there?”

  “Then we’ll try somewhere else.”

  They found a ground-floor window open at the back of the house, the gingham curtains barely fluttering on the still air. Inside, they heard voices. Raucous shouts and pleas for mercy. A few screams. Daniel’s jaw ticked and his hand tightened around hers, but he said nothing. Just led her deeper into the mansion. Into trouble.

  They entered a narrow passage behind a stairwell and followed it as it twisted and turned around the house. At one point, they were so close to the assembly that she could make out the individual voices: Maximillian and Tomása, Gretchen and Alexi, and Garth’s mad screech.

  Her breath stuttered and quit. Spiderwebs caught in her hair, and she had to flick something big and black off her forearm twice, but Daniel seemed unaffected, so she stumbled along after him as quietly as she could.

  They went down a few stairs, into a cellar. There were racks on the walls. What looked like wine racks, only…

  Daniel stopped and stared at the bottles, finally lifted one from its cradle, shook it, squinted at the label and smelled the cork.

  “It’s blood, isn’t it? Your synthetic blood.”

  He nodded.

  “So all this time Garth has been making it and hoarding it. Making the rest of us go thirsty. Punishing us for taking mortal blood while he gorged himself.”

  Daniel put the bottle back in the rack, gave her a hard stare. “Looks like it.”

  She exhaled noisily. “Let’s get the b
astard.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  They walked on through the musty cellar, finally stopping under an old-fashioned service lift. Daniel pushed the box meant to wench goods up into the pantry from the cellar out of the way and dragged over an old crate to stand on. Stretching up, he wrapped lightly on the ceiling above him.

  “Shh,” he warned in a harsh whisper. “I’ve come to help you. Keep quiet.”

  Then he slid the hatch aside and leaped straight up into the pantry with no more than a mild fluttering of air to mark his travel. Déadre followed close behind.

  She pulled the hoods off the young couple curled together in the corner while Daniel untied their hands.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  The young man’s finger flew to his lips. He made the symbol for two and then pointed at the door.

  Guards.

  Daniel nodded and helped them slide down into the cellar without a sound.

  “What now?” Déadre asked when the hatch was back in place above them.

  “Take them to the truck,” he answered. “Get them out of here.”

  “What about you?”

  His gaze slid up and back to right about where the assembly would be. “I have unfinished business.”

  “You can’t do it alone.”

  “I can’t do it with them in harm’s way.” He looked from the frightened mortals to her and brushed her jaw with his knuckles. “Or you.”

  WITH only a few false turns and backtracked steps, Déadre retraced her path back to the truck with the two mortals in tow, shoved the keys into their hands and told them, “Go!”

  Damn Daniel Hart to hell and back. He deserved to live the rest of eternity as a vampire for this. But he didn’t deserve to die, which was what was going to happen if he faced Garth alone.

  Probably what would happen if they faced him together, too, but there was nothing she could do about that. Or about the fact that even if they did survive, by some miracle, he would have his precious Sue Ellen back, and wouldn’t need Déadre anymore.

  She was head over dead stupid heart in love with the man, so what’s a girl gonna do?

  Probably get herself killed, too, that’s what. But then, it wouldn’t be the first time.

  As the pickup’s taillights disappeared in the distance, she crept back into the shadows, back toward the house.

  Back toward Daniel.

  If she’d only smelled a little sooner the smoke the guard taking a break by the side entrance puffed out, or stepped a little lighter, so that her foot hadn’t snapped that twig, she might even have made it.

  DANIEL put the hood the man had been wearing over his head and looped the rope that had bound him loosely around his wrists, then waited. The goings-on in the other room seemed to drag on forever, and he willed the vampires to hurry. With every minute that passed, the advantage he’d gained from the synthetic blood waned, and his chances of success lessened.

  Finally, the pantry door opened. He heard footsteps shuffling in, was jerked to his feet.

  “Where’s the girl?” a man’s voice asked. “Where’d she get to?”

  Someone else growled. “Take him out. We’ll find her.” Daniel found himself stumbling along in the grasps of two strong men-vampires.

  He felt the press of bodies around him when he entered the assembly, the excited surge of static electricity through the air as he was pulled onto a raised platform at the front of the room. He could almost hear them licking their chops.

  The vampires were hungry, and he was the main course.

  A hand yanked off his hood and he found himself staring into Garth’s insane eyes. “Surprise,” he said.

  Shock flashed across Garth’s face, then amusement. “Well, Dr. Hart. How nice to see you again.”

  “Good to see you, too. So I can send you to Hell, where you belong.” The room was dim, lit only by candles in the four corners. He scanned the crowd for Sue Ellen, didn’t find her.

  “Been there, done that. Got the blood-stained T-shirt,” he said and laughed. “But I’ll take great pleasure in passing the favor on to you, instead.”

  Daniel’s heart thumped like he was alive again. He threw the ropes off his wrists and pulled out the sickle jammed under his coat between his shoulder blades. The crowd of vampires gasped, took a step back as a unit.

  “Sorry,” Daniel said, flashing the razor-sharp blade in the candlelight and circling Garth. “Not interested.”

  “Well, well, Daniel. You do surprise me.”

  “I’m going to do a lot more than that to you.” He spoke over his shoulder, keeping one eye on the crowd and one on Garth as he moved. A still target was a dead target.

  Garth’s hand lashed out at supersonic speed. Daniel dodged left, swiped the blade down hard. It was only a glancing blow, and still it sliced his wrist to the bone. He lifted the bloody limb and gaped at it.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Daniel said. “I’m as fast as you. I’m one of you. It’s a fair fight, now.”

  Garth screamed out at the assembly, “Take him!”

  Daniel wheeled, swung the sickle at neck level, the threat of decapitation—one of the few sure ways to end a vampire’s existence—obvious. No one moved.

  “He’s been holding you hostage with blood and his punishments,” Daniel said, his gaze roaming from face to haggard face in the crowd. There wasn’t one among them without sallow bags under their bloodshot eyes, hollow cheeks. They were thin to the point of emaciation. “For how long now? How long have you let him torture you, starve you while he has all the blood he needs stored right here in the house?”

  “Kill him!” Garth yelled, holding his injured wrist.

  No one moved.

  “I know where he keeps the blood,” Daniel told them. “There’s enough for everyone. You don’t have to take it from mortals. You don’t have to ask his permission.”

  A ripple of murmurs spread round the room.

  “Don’t listen to him. He lies.” Garth took a step forward.

  Just then the double doors to the ballroom banged open and two burly vampires dragged Déadre in.

  She lifted her head and looked up at him with ravaged eyes through the hair that had fallen over her face. “I’m sorry.”

  He jerked his head sharply once. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  She’d come back for him. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around that fact. He knew how afraid she was of the Enforcer, and yet she’d come back to help him.

  “Ms. Rue. How nice of you to join us. Bring her up here,” Garth ordered. “I presume since you’re skulking about instead of joining the assembly that you’re with him.” He jerked his head toward Daniel.

  The guards laid her on the floor on her back. Garth lifted his boot over her and she turned her head away, hissing in pain.

  “You know what this is?” he asked Daniel without waiting for Déadre to confirm or deny his assumption. “What it does?”

  “I’ve seen your handiwork,” Daniel answered.

  “Ah, then the two of you have been…close. If I touch the metal cross to her skin, she burns. If I hold it there, it burns all the way through her.” He moved his boot until it hovered inches above her chest. “If it burns through her heart, she dies. Permanently, this time.”

  “Let her go, asshole.” Daniel swung the blade, but Garth ducked. “I’m the one who came to kill you.”

  “Kill me?” Garth laughed. “I eat bugs like you for breakfast, boy. You’re not going to kill—”

  As he was talking, Garth took his eyes off Déadre. She took the opportunity to slide a small wooden stake out of the sleeve of her coat and jam it upward, right about where his testicles would be.

  He swayed, his hands moving to his crotch and his boot inching closer to Déadre’s chest. As if moving in slow motion, he leaned. His boot came down.

  And Daniel lopped off his head with one clean swipe before he could put his weight on it.

  Grabbing her by one arm, he dragged
Déadre away from the corpse, which decayed to dust in seconds.

  The crowd hushed for a moment. Then one of the vampires fell to his knees, crawled forward and bowed his head, holding on to Daniel’s pants leg and calling him “Master.”

  “Leggo,” Daniel said, shaking himself free.

  A few of the vampires broke into sobs. Others began to crowd around him. Unsure what they intended, he waved them off with the sickle.

  “You said you knew where there was blood,” someone yelled.

  “Plenty of blood.”

  “I do,” he answered, still backing toward the door, one arm looped around Déadre’s waist. “Enough for everyone.”

  “We need blood.”

  “We need it now.”

  “Get ready to run,” he whispered in Déadre’s ear, and then told the crowd, “It’s in the cellar. Bottles of it, and it’s more powerful than anything you’ve known. Once that is gone, I can make more. But only for those who don’t abuse it. Only for those who don’t take blood from humans, or harm them in any other way.”

  Then he made for the door, towing Déadre along with one hand. They skidded into the hallway, around a corner, then another, while the mob fought each other to get downstairs.

  At the back of the house they ducked out the same window they’d come in, and ran across the lawn, not bothering with the shadows this time, until a voice from a second-story window jerked Daniel to a stop as if he were a dog on a leash.

  “Daniel?” Sue Ellen’s pretty voice called. “Daniel, is that you? Help me, Daniel. Please, I need your help.”

  9

  “DANIEL, no! You can’t go back in there.” Déadre tugged on his hand once and gave up, the futility of her efforts written on his face.

  It was useless; she’d lost.

  “Daniel, please,” the sickeningly sugary voice in the window said. She couldn’t see the face in the darkness, but Déadre just knew it would be a pretty face. Women with voices like that were always pretty.

  “Don’t leave me here,” the woman called. “I’m afraid.”