Dark Currents
Page 50

“Sit,” she crooned.
Oh, great. My vulnerable mortal half betrayed me. I found myself sitting on the ottoman without any conscious recollection of having done so, gazing up at Pemkowet’s vampire mistress. Lady Eris was straight out of central casting, with wide-set eyes almost as black as my own, raven tresses caught back in a chignon, and bone-white skin so luminous it almost seemed lit from within.
Those white, white fingers stroked my cheek, cold and undead, and yet . . . gah. My tail twitched with involuntary pleasure. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t just the mortal half. Goddamn eldritch Kinsey scale. “Such warm skin,” she mused. “You run hot, little half-breed. It makes for a delightful contrast, don’t you think?”
A shiver that wasn’t entirely distaste ran over me. “I don’t know,” I managed to say. “But it sure as hell freaked out my pediatricians.”
Her crimson fingernails raked over my skin. “Do you really wish to offer me further offense?” she inquired.
My mind had gone temporarily blank. “Um . . . no?”
“You wished to speak to me.” One finger pressed lightly against my temple. My obedient head bent sideways, baring my neck. “So, speak.” Leaning down, Lady Eris inhaled deeply and deliberately. “Or not,” she whispered in my ear, her fangs grazing my earlobe. “I suspect that your blood must taste deliciously of brimstone and ichor, my dear.”
Such a cliché, right? What I wanted to say was that someone had been watching a few too many episodes of True Blood. And yet . . . gah! I couldn’t even begin to make myself formulate words. The blankness in my mind spread to make way for wonderfully depraved thoughts. I’d never really gotten how someone like Bethany could so readily enter into a blood-bond with a vampire, but I’d never been the target of an attempted seduction before. The shadows pressed in on me, a dark voice whispering how good it would feel when those fangs pierced my skin and sank deep into my flesh, those ice-cold lips pressed against my throat to drink—better than sex, better than anything, an intimacy and ecstasy beyond anything I could imagine. My blood throbbed in my veins, begging for release.
A rill of unholy laughter ran around the ballroom, amused and contemptuous.
It pissed me off.
I sat with my head craned at an awkward angle. “Okay, all appearances to the contrary, I do not consent to this,” I muttered.
“You’re sure?” Lady Eris sounded dubious.
“Very.” With a considerable effort of will, I shifted my left hand to dauda-dagr’s hilt, wrapping my fingers around it. It emanated a different kind of cold, clean and bracing. “You’ve made your point,” I said under my breath. “I’ll go along with the public humiliation if you accept my apology.”
Backing off a few inches, she stared at me without blinking. “And if I don’t?”
My neck was starting to ache. I nudged an inch of dauda-dagr free. “I’ll make it perfectly clear I’m not in your thrall, and you’ll lose face.”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure if Lady Eris would go for it. She sat without blinking or breathing, motionless and . . . just really, really freaking undead. I began to wonder what would happen if she refused. The idea of fighting my way out of the House of Shadows against an entire vampire brood wasn’t very appealing.
Then she drew a breath and released me. “Very well, Hel’s liaison. I accept your apology.”
A murmur of disappointment echoed through the ballroom.
I sat upright, exhaling with relief. “Thank you.”
Lady Eris arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Consider it a much-needed lesson in diplomacy.”
Okay, what is it with the undead and the eyebrow thing? “Duly noted.”
She made a magnanimous gesture. “What brings you to come seeking audience at the House of Shadows?”
I fought the urge to tilt my neck from side to side and work out the kinks. “A request, my lady. A reasonable one, I believe. I don’t know if you’re aware—”
“Yes, of course.” Lady Eris interrupted me impatiently. “A boy has died. I assure you, it’s nothing to do with us.”
It crossed my mind that Pemkowet’s vampire mistress could use a much-needed lesson in courtesy from the Oak King. Wisely, I kept my mouth shut on that thought. “I know,” I said instead. “I’m just here to ask that you keep your people off the streets until this blows over. That’s all.”
She studied me. “On whose behalf do you ask this?”
With the memory of Stacey Brooks flashing me the devil-horns sign fresh in my memory, echoing a hundred times I’d endured similar taunts in high school, it was oh, so tempting to pin this on the PVB. But the fact was, no matter how much I disliked Stacey, her mother was right. Amanda Brooks was good at her job. This was a simple, smart precaution to take.
And if I didn’t own it, I stood to lose face, which could come back to haunt me in future dealings with the House of Shadows.
“I stand before you as Hel’s liaison to request this small favor,” I said steadily. “Do you assent?”
Another long moment passed.
The music that had been playing in the background had stopped. A multitude of candles flickered soundlessly, casting moving shadows against the walls, reflected in the tall arched and paned windows with their blackout curtains drawn for the night. The ballroom was filled with the unnatural silence of the pale, pulseless, and breathless undead, broken only by the sound of their mortal playthings breathing, and the occasional soft, unnerving giggle.
Lady Eris inclined her head. The part in her black hair was ruler-straight and perfectly white. “Let it be heard and known!” she said, raising her head and lifting her voice. “Until such a time as I decree otherwise, there shall be no hunting on the streets of Pemkowet. Is this understood, my people?”
A dozen vampires grumbled without breath, but they bowed to their mistress, acceding to her wishes.
“Well, Hel’s liaison?” she asked me, her expression unreadable. “Does that suffice?”
I nodded. “Thank you, my lady. It does.”
Thirty-five
Outside, I gulped down air.
All in all, I hadn’t done a bad job. Okay, apparently I was more vulnerable to vampiric seduction than I’d realized, but I’d managed to hold my own. And I’d gotten what I came for, which was the most important thing.
On the far side of the parking terrace, Jen and Bethany were still immersed in conversation, perched on the fountain’s ledge. I drifted near them and hovered, unsure whether or not to approach.
“It’s just so bad at home, Beth!” Jen said, her voice breaking. “Dad—”
“So leave!”
“I can’t!”
Bethany huddled into herself, crossing her forearms and hugging her elbows. “Yeah, you can! I did.”
“For what?” Jen gestured futilely at the manor. “This?”
Her sister glared at her. “It’s better than—”
“Than what?” Jen touched the puncture wounds on her sister’s throat. “This? It’s just another addiction. Just like Dad and his drinking.”
“You don’t understand!”
“The hell I don’t!”
“You don’t.”
I cleared my throat. Both of them fell silent and looked up at me. “You’re both right,” I said to them. “Jen, I think we underestimated the allure.” I rubbed the side of my neck where my pulse still beat hard, my skin yearning to be pierced. “A lot. But, Bethany, I think Jen’s right. It is an addiction. And I bet it’s one that can be beaten.”
She gave me a stony look. “How many addictions grant you eternal life, devil girl? Geoffrey’s promised to change me.”
“Your goddamn bloodsucking boyfriend’s been promising to change you for eight years!” Jen said grimly. “Wake up and smell the plasma, Beth!”
“He’s waiting for me to reach my prime!” she retorted.
I gazed at her emaciated figure with sorrow. “Honey, the way you’re going, you’ve already passed it. He’s not going to change you; he’s going to trade you in for a younger, healthier model.”
That kindled a spark of alarm in her hollow eyes. “He wouldn’t do that. He loves me!”
“Yeah, and I love a good bottle of scotch, too,” I said. “But when it’s empty, I throw the bottle away.”
She looked confused. “You don’t recycle?”
Jen rolled her eyes.
I sighed. “Yes, I recycle! It’s a metaphor, okay? Listen . . . you know how they say absence makes the heart grow fonder? Why not put it to the test?” I patted the LeBaron’s folded top. “Come home for a few days. Rest up, get some beauty sleep, eat your mom’s good home cooking.” I’d never actually eaten Mrs. Cassopolis’s cooking, but I assumed it was good. Her husband probably wouldn’t stand for anything less. “Give Geoffrey a chance to realize what he’s missing.”
Bethany eyed me suspiciously. “If you’re right, he’ll just choose someone else for the blood-bond.”
I shook my head. “Not right now, he won’t. Lady Eris just issued a no-hunting decree. Believe me, there’ll never be a better time.”
Her gaze shifted back and forth between Jen and me. “Is this a trick?”
“No trick,” I promised.
“Cross our hearts and hope to die,” Jen said wryly. “Bethany, please? Just for a few days?”
A deeply buried longing surfaced behind her eyes. “I’ll . . . Okay, maybe I’ll ask Geoffrey about it.”
“No asking,” I said. “You’ve got to tell him. Make him think you’re strong enough to walk away if he doesn’t keep his promise.”
“But I’m not,” she said in a small voice.
“It’s okay, Beth,” Jen said, her tone gentle. “He doesn’t have to know that. You just have to make him believe it.”