Chapter
One
Sure, it’s a
tired cliché. But that doesn’t seem to matter to millions of girls the world
over. The animated princess movies keep rolling out, and the costumes and
tiaras continue to sell. If they knew what being a princess was really like, it
would reduce most of them to tears. If they knew what being a vampire princess was like, they’d run
screaming.
Vampire princess. Before my rude initiation into undead society,
the only place I would have found such a title acceptable was on a cheap,
all-in-one costume kit. The kind that filled the seasonal aisles of grocery
stores around Halloween. I never expected the title to apply to me, or that it would weigh so heavily on
my heart.
I stood as
still as a gargoyle in the BATC war room, doing my best to pay attention to
Dante’s discussion with the Blood Vice generals and council representatives
seated around the massive table. Ursula had excused herself hours ago. I was
beginning to regret not slipping out with her. I was too invested now. Too
curious and equally terrified.
Dante sat at
the head of the table. I had a perfect view of him from my corner behind
Ursula’s empty seat. Even as the new unofficial Princess of House Lilith, I didn’t
feel right about inserting myself between centuries-old vampires to discuss
war. A vampling’s input would mean nothing to them. Less than nothing.
Tonight, I was
here to listen and learn. To be an extra pair of eyes and ears for Ursula.
Eventually, my sire would want to be brought up to speed, and she’d appreciate
the quick and dirty version of the truth over the curated notes Dante was apt
to sugarcoat.
We had far more
questions than answers, and after Kassandra’s betrayal, it was hard not to
suspect that our enemies had infiltrated the Vampiric High Council as well.
What other households had the Free Blooders wormed their way into?
I tried to hide
my cynicism behind a bored façade and studied those present in the war room.
The BATC sergeants over the three training programs. Kai Natani, the base’s
academic director. Four members of the council—Lord Carter, Lord McCoy, Lady
Peyroux, and Lord Sorano. Dr. Marquis, the dean of Renfield Academy. Only two
faces at the table were unfamiliar to me.
Lord Starling
had sent his eldest scion, Ambrose, to the meeting in his place. He reminded me
of Sonja with his wild curls and dark, piercing eyes that absorbed everything. Ambrose
was older than his late niece by at least a few centuries, but his youthful
face made me place his time of death somewhere around his twentieth birthday.
The morsel of dry humor in his expression was also reminiscent of Sonja, though
he was silent throughout the meeting. I hadn’t made up my mind yet whether I trusted
him.
Vampiric family
trees weren’t much different from mortal ones—they all had their fair share of
bad apples and nuts.
The second
unfamiliar face, Notah Álvarez, alpha of the largest pack in St. Louis and the
Midwest representative of the American Alpha Association, sat to Dante’s left. I’d
never met the man before, but Mandy had helped find his daughter last year
after the girl was abducted and buried alive.
Notah was twice
Dante’s size, with long, dark hair and proud features that spoke to his Mexican
and Navajo heritage. He wore a necklace of animal teeth and turquois over his suede
dress shirt.
“The Moreau Pack
have always been outliers,” he said, addressing the council’s concerns regarding
which werewolves could be trusted to assist Blood Vice. “When Marcel began
attending alpha conferences, I knew he was up to no good.”
“And yet, you
did nothing,” Lord McCoy injected. I couldn’t decide if the statement was more
question or accusation. Notah didn’t seem to take offense. Everyone had mostly moved
beyond the blame game and were well into brainstorming counterattack
strategies.
“I kept a
careful eye on the Midwest packs Marcel attempted to endear himself to,” Notah
said. “The Raymores in Kansas City and the Rosco Pack in Denver are among those
I’ve maintained tabs on—although given Marcel’s recent attacks, I fear he
relies on covert agents to carry out the worst of his dirty work.”
“Yes,” Dante
agreed. “His public associates are sloppy henchmen, serving only to distract
from larger threats.”
Sloppy or not, there
was power in numbers. The firefight that went down at the Hearty Harem
warehouse had proved that much. And the threat had felt plenty significant when
the building caved in on top of Mandy and me. Still, I tried not to take
Dante’s words personally.
Lili and
Alexander were dead. The attack that had claimed their immortal lives and
destroyed the queen’s manor in Evergreen was clearly the larger threat.
Dante had felt
the prince’s death the night of Laura’s wedding, when he’d inherited the Eye of
Blood. Then the captain of the Blood Vice division in Denver had called with
the rest of the horrific news. What was left of the queen’s blood harem and
staff were crowded inside the BATC infirmary and spare barracks.
All the pride
and prestige that had inflated my ego after uncovering Arnie Moreau’s harem food
service bomb scheme was gone. Sucked straight out of my soul until only the
bitter throb of failure remained. The evidence had been there, plain as day.
And like every day since my death, I had missed it entirely.
Bart Haulette,
the patsy Arnie had used to conduct his terrorist plans through, had human
roots in Denver but no pack ties. Yet he’d been making regular trips to the
Mile High City, confirmed by his girlfriend who’d worked at the Nightfall Opera
House.
Instead of
another harem food service, Haulette had set up a housekeeping business in
Denver under a stolen vampire identity. He’d established employment with the royal
family months prior to the incident in St. Louis, and by the time the bomb at
the queen’s manor went off, Haulette’s people were long gone, their base of
operations vacated and bleached clean.
We had nothing.
And this meeting was getting us nowhere.
Notah’s brow
creased. “However trivial a role the other packs play, Marcel’s drafting methods
are…concerning. He’s distributing dangerous new drugs, and I have it on good
authority that he was a catalyst to the Raymore alpha’s death. It’s how Marcel assumed
de facto control over their pack—”
“That’s hardly
surprising,” Lord Sorano said. “But we are not here to discuss retribution for
a slain traitor.”
Vanessa’s
grandsire looked down his bony nose at Notah as if he hated sharing the table
with a werewolf even more than sharing the room with a vampling. Any time he
spoke, my pulse quivered in my throat. He’d spared me a fleeting scowl upon his
arrival but had avoided making eye contact since. I was glad for it.
“No, of course
not.” Notah ignored Lord Sorano’s sour expression and directed his reply at
Dante. “But it may be useful to know Marcel’s intentions. You’re familiar with
Spero Heights?”
Dante nodded
but then took notice of the confused faces scattered around the table. “A
small, supernatural community in the Ozarks,” he explained.
It was a bare-bones
definition, but I imagined he was not eager to expose any more about Spero
Heights than absolutely necessary. The secretive nature of the town made it
clear to me that they harbored fugitives. Dante was surely aware. It made me
wonder what secrets he might have hidden there, as well.
Graham Pierce,
the mayor of Spero Heights, was a former Blood Vice agent and personal friend
of the duke’s. That was the only reason Roman and I had been granted safe
passage for our investigation last year.
The town was
protected not only by its near impassable mountain roads that were prone to
flooding and landslides, but by the creatures who inhabited the forest
encircling the plateau the town was built upon. The Eye of Blood had only given
me a glimpse of them on the ride up. It had been more than enough. Especially after
the resident poltergeist rolled out the welcome wagon.
“They are small
in numbers, perhaps,” Notah said with a cautious frown. “When Devin
Raymore’s pregnant mate sought asylum in Spero Heights, Marcel hired witches to
assist him in retrieving her.”
“Witches?” Sergeant
Carmichael’s nose crinkled. She and Notah were the only wolves in the war room—along
with eight vampires and two half-sired humans—though being a fellow shifter
didn’t appear to earn the alpha any brownie points with her. “You expect us to
squirm over a few magic dabblers?”
Notah opened
his hands and laid them palms-up on the table. “I expect you to examine this
information and consider the possibility that if Marcel is willing to work with
witches, he might also be consorting with other shifters—or worse—the fay. We
must exercise caution.”
An involuntary
shiver rocked my shoulders as I again thought of the forest creatures. It had
been feat to wrap my brain around vampires and werewolves and ghosts. I wasn’t
ready to graduate to witches and fairies and whatever the hell else was out
there.
“We are not
without our own wild cards.” Dante’s eyes flicked to me.
I could guess
who he had in mind. But Dr. Delph, Spero Heights’ psychic therapist, wasn’t
exactly what I would’ve called a wild anything. He was more of a faded, dog-eared tarot card. If we
brought someone like him into this battle, sure, he’d be able to read the
enemy’s mind—right before they bashed in his.
“These witches
killed Raymore’s mate,” Notah said. “Then they carved the pups from her belly.”
He paused at Carmichael’s sharp intake of breath before going on. “Word is,
Spero Heights’ new pack showed up to even the score. They’re very loyal to
those they offer refuge.”
“And the pups?”
Carmichael asked.
“Unaccounted
for, though some suspect one of the Raymore deserters delivered them to Spero
Heights for their own safety. The pack has yet to announce a new leader,” Notah
added. “The Raymore namesake is nearly extinct, but Marcel has promised to help
them…reclaim Devin’s twin heirs in
exchange for the pack’s allegiance to the Free Blooders. Whether their
intentions are to groom one of the pups to become alpha or to tie up loose ends
before assigning a new head family is still unclear.”
At the mention
of twins, I thought of Selena Chase and the pair of car seats I’d spotted in her
truck. If I had babies in need of serious protection, I could think of no one
better for the job than the she-wolf Roman and I had met in Spero Heights. She
was fierce. Just recalling the acid in her gaze cued sweat to rise on the back
of my neck.
Now she was a wild card. Not that Selena
would give two shits about our cause. And I was certain she wouldn’t abandon
her post in Spero Heights or the babes in her care. If only Marcel had promised
the Raymores he’d tangle with her first instead of us. Maybe we’d be spared the
trouble of dealing with him at all.
Lord Sorano
cleared his throat, drawing the table’s attention once again. “We should seek
out these lost heirs ourselves in
order to secure the Raymore Pack’s loyalty.”
“For shame, William.”
Lady Peyroux shook her head. “You would have us stoop to their level? We, the
ambassadors of order and civility among our people?”
“What do you
know of war, Louise?” Lord Sorano’s gaze snapped to the dainty French vamp at
the opposite end of the table. “Your toxic flowers notwithstanding, perhaps
these unsavory endeavors are best left for those with the stomachs to carry
them out.”
“Tread
carefully, my lord.” Lady Peyroux’s eyes narrowed. “Your empire relies upon my toxic flowers.”
“I believe you have
that backwards, fair lady.”
“As backwards
as your toupee?” she countered with a venomous smile that I rather admired on
her.
“Enough.” Dante
ended the spat with a slash of his hand. “The pups will remain wherever they are.
If Raymore loyalty is so easily shifted, it is not worth our time or energy.
Besides, we have Marcel’s brother.”
After news of
the attack in Evergreen reached the council representatives escorting Arnie
Moreau to Denver, they’d gone straight to the Blood Authority Training Center hidden
under the airport. It was the most secure location for a prisoner who could
communicate telepathically with his sinister alpha brother.
The bat cave
was also the safest place for House Lilith now that the Free Blooders had a
taste for our blood. Regardless, being here made me feel like a coward. I was
just thankful it had been the council who’d requested the meeting venue.
Apparently, being in close proximity to a member of the royal family right now
wasn’t considered good for one’s health.
“We are back to
the drawing board then.” Lord Sorano sighed and pinched the bridged of his nose.
As much as he
unnerved me, I found his frustration relatable. I was ready to get out of here
and do something useful. And if there was nothing constructive to be done, I
was happy to take up space somewhere else. Anywhere
else.
Dr. Marquis,
the half-sired dean of Renfield Academy, folded his hands over the table. “If I
may, Your Highness?” he asked Dante.
The new title
of prince wasn’t yet official, but everyone had adopted it as if to win over Dante.
Except for me. I could see how much the idea of taking his sire’s place wounded
him. The way the lines in his face deepened at every reminder.
“Yes, Dr.
Marquis,” Dante said, nodding his consent.
“Every werewolf
at Renfield Academy has taken leave from training in order to aid in the St.
Louis search,” Dr. Marquis announced.
“Same for the
werewolf cadets here on base,” added Sergeant Carmichael. “They’re assisting in
the Denver sweep.”
“So what?” Lord
Sorano threw his hands up. “You expect us to sit and stay like good little dogs?
You forget who you are dealing with.”
“We will carry
on, as is expected of us,” Dante said. “Beginning with the Imbolc celebration
tomorrow night.”
“Do you think
that wise, Your Highness?” Lady Peyroux asked, a gentle note entering her
voice.
I’d posed the
same question to Dante before the meeting. His reply had not changed, but he
delivered it with more conviction this time.
“We must
present a strong front and not let our enemies take more from us than they
already have.”
“This attack must be countered,” Lord Sorano
insisted.
“And it will be.”
Dante pressed his lips together and drew in a long breath through his nose.
“But as Lady Peyroux said, we are the ambassadors of order and civility. Our
traditions and ceremonies are the cornerstones of that order. We will not
sacrifice them on the altar of wrath.”
But it was
wrath that boiled in all our veins, and no amount of pomp and circumstance could
soothe it for long. I just prayed that the time Dante was buying would yield
something useful that might point us in the right direction.
Chapter Two
When the
meeting in the war room finally adjourned, I lingered behind, hoping to have a
moment alone with Dante. I hadn’t seen much of him over the past few nights—ever
since we’d arrived in Denver, really. He came to bed right before dawn and was
up and back to work just as soon as the sun set.
I couldn’t
shake the feeling that there was more to his silent treatment than all the
important people demanding his attention. Was this his way of grieving? Or did
he blame me for what had happened to Alexander and Lili? Was I as useless in
his eyes as I now felt? The fear settled like a chill in my bones.
“Could I have a
word with you, Owen?” Dante said as I neared his end of the table. Our eyes met
briefly, but then he looked away as if he hadn’t recognized the hurt in my
gaze.
“Of course,
Your Highness.” Lord McCoy bowed before resting his hands on the back of
Notah’s vacated chair.
Dante’s
rejection felt more blatant with each time he dismissed me. I hugged myself and
hurried from the room, eager to find someplace private to lick my wounds. Instead,
I ran headlong into someone waiting in the hall.
“I’m so sorry—”
I blurted before realizing who it was.
“Your Grace.”
Roman bowed, flashing his head of close-cropped, white hair. His tone was
surprisingly earnest. Or, at least, it lacked the scathing resentment I’d
expected. Still, I bristled in his presence.
As much as
Dante had been avoiding me, I was sure I’d invested twice as much effort in
evading my ex stationed at the bat cave.
“Agent Kni—Sorano,” I replied, remembering he had a
new name now, too. Then I sidestepped around him and continued on my way.
I watched Roman
turn in my peripheral, his stare following my movement down the corridor. The
close quarters tightened the breath in my lungs, but something else in my chest
relaxed as I realized I didn’t feel him in my blood. Not the way I had the last
time our paths had crossed.
Our bond was
fading. Maybe it was gone altogether.
“I owe you an
apology, Jenna,” Roman said before I reached the end of the hall.
I paused and
considered the exit. For all my want of action and resolution, emotional rifts terrified
me. Some things couldn’t be solved with gunpowder and a badge. And those seemed
to be the only tools I was any good with.
What would a princess do?
I’d been asking
myself the same question ever since Ursula had burdened me with the revelation
I was to ascend. Me, who couldn’t
hack it as a mortal detective nor as a Blood Vice agent. Yet I was somehow
supposed to suck it up and play Princess of the Damned now. It was time to dig
deep and find more than I was sure I had to give.
My jaw
clenched, but I turned around to face Roman. “Let’s just chalk it up to the
blood bond and move past it, shall we?” I said, offering him a strained smile
that hurt my face with its insincerity.
“A blood bond
is no excuse for the way I treated you.” Roman swallowed, and his ice-blue eyes
glazed over. The sight pulled a startled breath from me. I didn’t know what to
say to him, but if he started crying, this was going to get awkward. Well, more
awkward than it already was. “I am truly sorry, Jenna.”
“It’s fine,
really—”
“No.” Roman
shook his head. “No, it’s not. You deserved better, and now you have it. I’m
happy for you,” he added at my skeptical frown.
“Thanks,” I said,
not sure how else to respond. “I’m…happy for you, too.”
“I’m not courting
Vanessa.” His shoulders sagged. “I never was.”
“I don’t care
what you want to call it.” My tone shifted before I could rein in my annoyance.
Apologies meant nothing if they were followed by lies. I paused to take a
steadying breath before going on. “Anyway, I was referring to your fully-sired
status. You’re a vampire now. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“It was.”
Roman’s tormented features slipped under a blank mask as his focus migrated over
my shoulder. “Thank you, Your Grace.” He bowed stiffly, turned, and headed off
down the hall.
I blinked after
him, wondering what I’d said to change his demeanor. Then Lord Sorano’s brittle
laughter sent a jolt through me. I spun around and found him standing much too
close. The invasion of my personal space sent me back a step.
“Still meddling
in my household, vampling?” Lord Sorano inched closer, but I refused to give up
any more ground. Ursula had schooled me well in the refined intimidation techniques
the aged vampire lords and ladies liked to employ.
“I’d hardly
call polite small talk meddling,” I said, mindful of the way I worded my reply.
If I lost my temper and uttered a direct insult, I didn’t think it beneath him
to challenge me to a blood duel. Current circumstances be damned.
“Vanessa
briefed me on your and Roman’s trip to Spero Heights.” Lord Sorano’s lips
twisted into a knowing smirk as my face warmed at memories of the hotel room
I’d defiled with his great-grandscion. The images flooded my mind against my
will, permanently entwined with my one and only visit to the strange town.
“We were there
to follow a lead on a case,” I said, begging my inner sailor to keep things
civil.
My last official
assignment with Blood Vice had concluded with Ursula’s capture, Roman’s mortal
death, and a house arrest sentence to be carried out at Dante’s manor since
he’d burned my home to the ground. More memories I did not care to revisit.
“I’m well aware
of what you were supposed to be doing
in that hellhole for degenerates,” Lord Sorano said. He rolled his eyes and folded
his hands behind his back. “As I mentioned, I was briefed. What I’d like to
know is if, while you were honeymooning with a blood servant pledged to my
house, you happened to spy these twin babes the Midwest alpha spoke of?”
“No, I didn’t.”
A frown tightened the corners of my mouth.
Lord Sorano
pushed in closer until I had to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. “You do
realize that lying to a member of the Vampiric High Council is a punishable
crime, don’t you, vampling?”
“Are you
calling me a liar, Lord Sorano?”
“Simply
ensuring that you’re conscious of the severity of breaking our laws. Not all
transgressions are as forgivable as you’ve been led to believe, no matter who
you’re…friendly with.”
His ass was
clearly chapped about Vanessa jumping the gun and forfeiting her house’s right
to legal retaliation—by making and then withdrawing her demand for a blood
duel—over my so-called theft of Roman’s blood. That Roman was half-sired made
the misdeed that much more serious.
I still had my
head and my freedom, which meant I’d gotten off easy. And everyone thought it
was because I’d been shacking up with the duke. I hadn’t been at the time, but
now that I was, the rumor had graduated to common knowledge. Which chapped my ass.
Regardless,
Lord Sorano would have to work harder than that to provoke an outburst from me.
I ground my teeth and held firm to my neutral expression. Giving his hairline a
pointed look seemed to help, too.
“Careful, my
lord. If we spend much more time chitchatting, people might start to think you’re friendly with me.”
He snorted at
the inuendo. “Then I shall get to the point. There was mention of a man you
interviewed—Benjamin Macaulay—noted as Selena Chase’s childcare provider in
your case file.” Sharp eye teeth peeked from between his parted lips. They were
extended ever so slightly, but I wasn’t sure if that was their natural state or
if he was getting off on harassing me.
“There were no
children in Macaulay’s store when we questioned him,” I said evenly. “And none
present when we spoke with Chase. So, as I said before, no, I didn’t see any
pups. Not that it matters. Even if Raymore’s twins are in Spero Heights,
Dante said they’re to remain there.”
“For now.” Lord
Sorano tilted his chin up and straightened the folds of his jacket. “But if
your new prince does not retaliate in a timely manner, the council will be
forced to reexamine the many options he’s vetoed. Every passing moment of
inaction makes us appear weaker and bolsters our enemies.”
“Why tell me
this?” I finally snapped. “I’m just a vampling—as you so frequently like to
remind me.”
“While that is
true, and I have found your behavior beyond
insulting to my house…” Lord Sorano’s entire face seemed to pucker, as if he
couldn’t believe what he was about to confess. “Perhaps a little vampling
impulsiveness is precisely what we need right now.”
Was that a compliment? I couldn’t decide. The council rarely had anything
nice to say where I was concerned. It was also entirely possible that the
flattery was just a bit of extra rope to hang myself with. Before the shock had
time to dissipate, Lord Sorano stalked off, leaving me speechless and alone in
the dark hallway—alone except for Vanessa lurking around the corner.
House Sorano
really had it in for me tonight.
“Trying to
catch flies, Your Grace?” she asked at my slack-jawed expression.
There was the scathing resentment I’d been counting on.
Vanessa folded
her arms and leaned against the doorframe of the exit, blocking my escape. I
gave her black fatigues a once-over. The look was a far cry from the designer
suits she’d sported as captain of Blood Vice’s St. Louis field office. A ragged
braid hung over one shoulder, and her face was clean of makeup. It made her
look ten years younger, which was why I supposed she’d caked it on out among
the humans.
“Are you spying
on me or Daddy Long Fangs?” I asked.
“My scion,
actually.” Vanessa’s unpolished pout twisted into a sneer. “I knew it was only
a matter of time before he sought you out.”
I shrugged. “So
long as you know Roman approached me and not the other way around.”
“No, of course
not. I’m amazed you even remember his name after such a regal rebound.”
“There was
nothing to rebound from, Vanessa.”
“Like I care,”
she hissed and pushed off the concrete wall to scowl down at me from her full
height.
For not caring,
she sure was salty.
“It was an
honest mistake. The lifeblood bond was…intense.” I sucked in my bottom lip and
tried to ignore the images that Lord Sorano had forced to the surface of my
mind once already tonight. “I was a sireless vampling, and Roman was only human,”
I said. “Neither of us were equipped to resist the bond. But it’s over now.”
“Oh, naïve
little green fang.”
“No.” I locked
my gaze on hers and steeled my voice. “The bond has run its course. There’s no
trace of Roman left in my blood. When I see him…I feel nothing.”
Something I
took for relief crept into Vanessa’s expression, but it was gone too soon to be
certain, washed away by sadness. And then her tough-as-coffin-nails glare was
back in place.
“The blood bond
may be broken”—her voice dropped to a lethal whisper, and she stepped in closer—“but
you and I both know that’s not what afflicts my scion.” Vanessa’s pupils
dilated, eating away the vibrant green irises that gave her an otherworldly
appearance no matter how she was dressed or made up. It caused my breath to
catch in my throat.
Just when I
thought she might haul off and sucker punch me, Vanessa turned on her heels and
marched off, her boots echoing down the long hall.
Chapter
Three
After surviving
the rapid-fire encounters with House Sorano, I could have used a stiff drink. Since
being undead meant I was permanently on that wagon—unless I could find a donor
willing to tie one on for me—I instead decided to further test my luck by
braving a visit to the senior werewolf barracks.
While the
BATC’s primary goal was to train field agents for Blood Vice, they also housed
a small army of their own for catastrophic emergencies like the one we were
currently in the middle of. They also safeguarded the extensive collection of
vampiric texts and private records kept on base.
Those who lived
at the bat cave full time were separated into three groups, same as the cadets:
vampires, werewolves, and humans. The segregation wasn’t meant to foster ill
will between species. It was simply for convenience. The vampires required a
harem and kept odd hours. Most of the humans were half-sired and pledged to a
noble household—a dream that could be obliterated with nothing more than an
accidental scratch from a werewolf. The humans and wolves shared a cafeteria
but kept to themselves for the most part.
The senior
werewolf barracks also housed a few holding cells for moon fever, a condition
triggered when a werewolf cadet was pushed too hard or went stir-crazy and shifted
involuntarily. The forced nature of the shift tended to scramble their brains,
sending them on a Wolfman-esque rampage unless they could be contained in time.
The cellblock
was sectioned off from the rest of the building. It had a single exterior door
flanked by two guards. A third guard waited inside, slouched in a folding chair
at the far end of a long hall, reading a tattered paperback.
Six steel doors
were spaced between wide panes of thick, one-way glass. The windows were all
dark save for the one I found Mandy propped against, elbows resting on the high
sill. She wore her catsuit guard uniform but had forgone the red cape in favor
of a cropped leather jacket.
Ursula had been
too distracted by recent events to bother micromanaging my wardrobe, so I’d
gotten away with my business casual attire—mostly dark slacks and blazers that
fit well over my firearms. With my hair swept back in a low ponytail, I looked every
bit the detective I’d been just before my death.
Mandy’s pained
scowl was laser-focused on the occupant of the cell in front of her.
“Thought I
might find you here,” I said.
She grunted in
reply but didn’t glance up. She’d hardly taken her eyes off Arnie Moreau since
we’d arrived at the bat cave. I, on the other hand, couldn’t stand the sight of
him. My guts tightened as I turned my stare to the window.
Arnie sat in
the middle of the floor, stuffing handfuls of some noodle and hamburger
casserole into his mouth. A silver collar encircled his neck. The thick chain
attached to it was anchored to the back wall of his cell.
Arnie’s meals were
laced with a drug meant to keep him from shifting, but the collar was an extra
failsafe. If he tried to shift, it would put him in a chokehold that rendered
him unconscious. If he managed to break the collar, a sensor in the restraint
would cue the room to fill with wolfsbane gas. It wouldn’t kill him, but he’d
be out of commission for several hours.
He wasn’t going
anywhere. We had him. So why did it feel like he’d won?
“They get
anything new out of him yet?” I asked Mandy.
“No.” The skin
between her eyebrows puckered, and a soft growl stirred in her throat. “If
they’d just give me five minutes alone with the bastard…”
“Preaching to
the choir, sis.”
I wanted to
hurt Arnie just as badly as Mandy did, but from the looks of it, the BATC
interrogators had already done quite a number on him. Purple bruises dotted his
chest and jawline, and though he’d been in custody for less than a week, I
could count his ribs.
The reduced
sustenance had slowed his supernaturally fast healing. He looked pitiful, but I
couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry for him. Not when I thought of all the
people he had killed. All the people who might yet die if we didn’t break him
soon.
There had been
plenty of times I’d wanted to take the law into my own hands as a patrol
officer. To inflict violence on the mortal monsters I’d once thought were the
worst the world had to offer. In my opinion, serial killers and pedophiles
didn’t deserve humane treatment, but I’d played by the book and let the legal
system deliver their sanctioned version of justice instead.
During my
training at the bat cave, I’d balked at the more extreme punishments for
breaking laws outlined in the Blood Decree. Some of the rules didn’t sit well
with me. Vampiric justice was certainly an acquired taste, but I found myself
appreciating it more and more. I wanted to blame it on the bloodlust that had
come with joining the undead, but that was a cheap excuse.
This immortal
life was not a right. It was a privilege. The vampires who had been properly turned understood that. I’d
taken a little longer to come around, to appreciate that we had the potential
to inflict so much more harm—not just on humans but our own kind. On our entire
species if we weren’t very careful.
Arnie had tried
to exact that sort of damage. He’d sacrificed his own men as well as dozens of
Blood Vice agents in his attempt to avoid capture. Before that, he’d raped and
turned countless human girls against their will at the Scarlett Inn. I felt no
remorse for the torture he’d endured while in custody. It would never be enough
to balance his moral debt.
“How’s the new
queen bee holding up?” Mandy asked, her cold gaze still zeroed in on our
prisoner. At my deep sigh, she added, “That well, huh?”
After a major
upset, I’d grown accustomed to finding Ursula in a fevered outrage. Her
particular brand of catharsis was destroying fine china and delicate bobbles.
Or at least, it had been.
“Ursula seems
to be a little…catatonic lately.”
“So, not
smashing everything in sight then?”
“It’s weird,
right?” I folded my arms and shot a sideways glance at the viewing window.
Arnie had
finished eating and was now relieving
himself in a corner. His dark urine streamed toward the drain in the center of
the room. Even though his back was to us and he couldn’t see through the
one-way glass, I diverted my gaze. Watching just felt too depraved.
I couldn’t
smell anything, but Mandy’s nose crinkled, and the guard at the far end of the
hallway stood, stretching his arms over his head.
“We’ll hose him
down after the meds have had time to take,” he said.
I pressed my
lips together and dipped my chin in response, thankful for my underwhelming
sense of smell.
“Ursula holding
her shit together is probably the only thing keeping Audrey from losing hers,”
Mandy said, picking right back up where our conversation had left off. “Levi is
teetering on the edge of sanity, too.”
“Well, that’s
just perfect.” I threw my hands up. “If he does anything stupid, I’ll be the
one who gets blamed for it. I handpicked him from Renfield, and I’m already on
thin ice with Dante—”
“Chillax,”
Mandy groaned and finally looked at me. “Levi wants to see Audrey turned more
than anyone. She’ll be harder to kill and easier to protect that way—and what
do you mean on thin ice with Dante?
You’re more popular than French fries right now. If not for you, the entire royal family would be toast.”
I swallowed and
tucked my hands under my armpits again. “Or if I’d dug a little deeper, maybe I
would’ve uncovered the plot against Lili and Alexander, too.”
“Shut it,”
Mandy snapped. “You’ve more than brought home the bacon for House Lilith, and
it hasn’t exactly been a piece of cake. Besides, Dante’s the one with fingers
in all the pies. I didn’t see him trying to uncover Marcel’s evil scheme. Did
you?”
“That’s five
food references in under a minute.” I gave her a tight grin. “You should probably
eat something before you take a bite out of the wrong diplomat.”
“No shortage of
those fuckers around here.” Mandy grumbled under her breath, but she nodded at
my suggestion and headed for the exit. I watched her go with a worried frown.
Locked up or not, being this close to Arnie wasn’t good for her psyche.
When I turned
back to the window, my body jolted involuntarily.
Arnie stood right
behind the glass, the chain on his collar pulled taut. His nostrils flared, and
then his eyes locked on mine as he sucked in a long, slow breath. I couldn’t
hear him, but I read his lips easily enough.
You’re next, sweetheart.
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