One of the rocker’s wooden arms groaned under her grip. She released it and stood. It was time to make something happen. There had to be a way to summon Samael, but just in thinking that, she knew there wasn’t. Even the council had been unable to call him when they’d wished his decision on whether or not to name her Dominus.
The father of all noble vampires only came when he wanted. That was the trouble with the ancients. They only did what they wanted, not what benefited their children. As parents went, they were wretched examples. How
would they know how desperately she wanted, no, needed Lilith back? How could they begin to understand?
A knock on the nursery door dispersed her thoughts. “Yes?”
Kosmina stuck her head in. “My lady, Daciana has returned with your new comar.”
“That didn’t take long. I guess Rennata didn’t want to deal with my emissary any more than she wanted to deal with me.” The tickle of anticipation trilled down Tatiana’s spine. Her sorrows temporarily pushed aside, she nodded and pointed out the door. “Send them to my office. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Yes, my lady.” With a short bow, Kosmina left.
Tatiana took a long look in the nursery mirror and arranged her expression into one of calmness and serenity. She would drink from this new, unspoiled comar until her strength was completely returned to her, until power rippled over her skin. Then she would call Samael again, and this time, he would come to her. She hoped.
“Faith,” she whispered, nodding solemnly at her reflection, seeing the woman who had defied her human life to rise through the ranks of her vampire brethren until she’d been named head of her House. There was no one above her. No one who had the power she did, power that had been given to her by the very creature who now refused her beckoning.
She smiled, showing her fangs. “This time, my liege, you will not deny me.”
Creek approached the old Catholic church with caution. He knew Preacher wasn’t a big fan of company. The front
doors didn’t look well used, so he went around to the side. He knocked twice. No point in overloading the man’s vampire senses.
“Who’s there?” The door stayed closed.
“Name’s Thomas Creek. I have information about your daughter.”
The door moved, but only an inch, the light from inside casting Preacher in shadows. “What kind of information?”
“Where she is and what’s being done to get her back.”
“You work for the mayor?”
Creek made a face. “Hell no.”
The door opened all the way. “Come in.” Preacher stood back, watching him. His nostrils flared. “Your blood smells strange.”
Creek came in but not too far. “Most vampires think it smells sour.”
“No,” Preacher said. “Smells sweet to me.”
Creek laughed once. “Figures you’d think that considering where you live. I’m Kubai Mata. You know what that is?”
“Nope. Should I?”
Creek shook his head. “Most vampires don’t and those that do don’t believe in the KM. I guess you could say I’m part of a secret society organized to protect humans against othernaturals.”
Preacher’s stony expression cracked into a grin a few seconds later. “You mean you’re a vampire slayer?”
Not the reaction he’d expected, but then nothing was expected when it came to a vampire like Preacher. “You could say that.”
Preacher crossed his arms. “Prove it.”
“You mean you want me to try to kill you?”
He laughed. “I think we both know that’s not going to happen, so I’d find a different way if I were you.”
Creek thought for a moment, then shucked his jacket and his weapons holster. As much as that went against his self-preservation instincts, he had a feeling showing Preacher the brands on his back would do the trick. He turned and yanked his shirt up.
“Latin.”
“You read that, don’t you? You were a priest, right?”
“A chaplain. I read a little.”
More than most. Creek helped him out anyway. “
Omnes honorate. Fraternitatem diligite. Deum timete. Regem honorificate
. Translated that says, ‘Honor all men. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honor the king.’ It’s the code of the Kubai Mata and it comes from—”
“The New Testament,” Preacher finished. “1 Peter 2:17.”
Creek pulled his shirt and gathered up his holster as he turned around. He nodded. “Proof enough for you?”
Preacher stuck his hand out. “Good to meet you, son.” Creek shook his hand, and then Preacher turned on a dime and headed into the church’s interior. “We can chat in here.” He took a spot on one of the front pews.
Creek sat a few places down from him. “The KM would like you to know that we have some intel on your daughter’s location and we’re working on getting her back but that it would be in everyone’s best interests if you let us handle it. The ancient ones that have her are more powerful than you can imagine. Chances are if you went after her, you’d end up dead before you got close.”
“You want me to agree to this, you’d better keep me
informed.” Preacher stared at him. “I’m not without skills. You keep me out of the loop or lie to me, and I will do whatever I feel necessary.”
“Understood.” Creek decided to test the waters a little further. “You asked if I worked for the mayor. I take it you don’t get along with her?”
“She may be the mother of my late wife, but she’s got bad ambitions. That ignorant woman tried to get me to turn her into a vampire.”
“Interesting. I can tell you she found someone else to do it.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped and his eyes lit with anger. “She is
not
getting her hands on my child.”
Creek nodded. “The KM shares your sentiment on that.”
Preacher twisted to stare at the altar. “The mayor was just here not long ago. She wants me to come see her at her office. Says she has information on Mariela.”
“That’s your daughter’s name?” Creek asked. “I didn’t know.” He leaned forward. “Go meet with her. See what she has to say, but don’t let her know that you and I talked. She’s not a big fan of me anyway. We know she wants Mariela for herself, but let’s see what else we can find out.”
Preacher nodded without looking at him. “Will do.”
Creek stood. “I’ll be back when I have information to share. Until then, keep a low profile.” The guy seemed all right. Not entirely normal, but not bad for a vampire. “If you need me, I live in that old machine shop.”
“I know the place.” Preacher rose. “And don’t worry. I won’t do anything stupid. I have a daughter to live for.”
“I didn’t think you’d show.” Lola didn’t get up as the housekeeper brought Preacher into her office. She glanced at her watch. “You’re almost four hours late.”
“I said I’d come. I didn’t say when.” The dog tags around his neck gleamed against his dull green T-shirt and camouflage jacket.
“But you were too busy earlier? When I came to you?”
He sat, his expression neither pleased nor displeased. A hard man to read. “Yes. Too busy.”
“Doing what?” Because honestly, she couldn’t imagine what filled his schedule.
“I see you got what you wanted. Found someone to sire you.” He snorted. “Can’t sense you, though, so I’m guessing you must be some kind of vampire I don’t know about.”
Fine. Play it that way, don’t answer. Once again, his loss. “House of Paole,” she told him. “It’s the inherited power all nobles of that house receive. We are undetectable to others.”
“Can you daywalk?”
“You know very well that is a gift you and you alone possess.”
He stared at her, a hint of impudence in his eyes. “What did you want to speak to me about?”
“I thought you might want to know. I had a team go after Mariela.”
He sat forward. “Why wasn’t I brought in? I’m trained for that kind of thing. I could have been an asset.”
She held her hand up. “This was more of a diplomatic exercise than a military one.” She lifted the prepared letter. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t successful.”
“They didn’t bring Mariela home?”
Lola pushed her tongue against the tip of one fang until the pain made her eyes water. “I am very sorry to inform you that Mariela perished during the mission.”
The muscles in his neck tensed and his eyes seemed to grow slightly brighter, more liquid. “What do you… mean… perished?” His voice was throaty and rough.
“You know what I mean.” Even as she imagined Mariela really being gone, she bit down, tasting blood. The combination was enough to cause her eyes to well. She let the emotions fill her voice. “She was killed in the escape.” She held the letter out to him. “It’s all right here. You can keep this copy, if you like.”
He took the letter, folded it up without looking at it, and tucked it into his jacket. Then he stood, his body rigid with military stiffness. One nod to her and he turned sharply and walked out.
She waited until she heard the front door open and shut, and then she leaned back in her chair and nodded with satisfaction. That had gone so much easier than she’d anticipated. Now Mariela would be truly hers.
If she could just find out how to get ahold of the ancients Dominic claimed had taken Mariela. They would be harder to deal with than a crazy daywalker who lived in a church, but how much harder?
She flexed her hands into claws, wishing she had something to grab hold of. She had worked around Preacher; she would find a way to work around the ancients. Mariela would be hers soon. She could feel it in her bones.
Chrysabelle stood her ground as Fi came at her again. For the second time, Fi failed to flip her over. “Come on, Fi.
You’ve got to bend your knees and use the power of your legs.”
Fi snorted out a breath. “I can’t do it! You’re way taller than me. You can’t expect me to hoist you over like that.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with height. It’s all about leverage, which is really important when you’re fighting an opponent who’s bigger than you.” Chrysabelle pursed her mouth, trying to think of how better to explain it. “Do you want to wait until Damian’s back? He and Amylia should be home soon, and then he and I can demonstrate. Or maybe Amylia could help. She’s closer to your size.” Damian and the new comarré had left with Velimai to get groceries just as Fi had arrived that morning. The excursion was Damian’s idea, part of his effort to learn to live on his own and help Amylia come to terms with the new life that had been thrust on her. Chrysabelle understood all that, but the idea that Damian might move away from her after she’d just found him only added to her stress.
Fi sighed and fussed with the belt of her gi. “Maybe I should just get a gun.”
“Unless the bullets are silver, it’s not going to do much good against a vampire or a varcolai.”
Fi frowned. “But at least I’ll have the satisfaction of tearing holes in something.”
Chrysabelle lifted a brow. “You’re in a fun mood today. How about we reschedule?”
“No, sorry.” Fi sat cross-legged on the floor, then lounged back on her hands. “We had one of those super-boring formal dinners last night to introduce Heaven’s brother Remo to everyone as the new council member.”
Chrysabelle sat beside her. “I take it you didn’t have a good time.”
She made an impolite noise. “Other than getting to know the police chief, it wasn’t exactly a laugh-fest. Having Remo there just made it worse.” She shuddered. “I do not like that guy. He gives me the creeps.” She came off her hands to lean forward. “He looks at me like he wants to skin me. Or eat me. Or both.” She grimaced. “I know he blames me for his sister’s death, but what can I do?”
Chrysabelle sat back. “If he bothers you that much, say something to Doc.”
Fi shook her head. “I don’t want to add to his stress.”
“Do you think Remo would actually hurt you? Does he have a history of violence?”
“No clue.”
Chrysabelle dipped her head to stare directly at Fi. “You’re the wife of the pride leader. You said you got to know the police chief. Do you think he could help you out? Get a little background on this guy?”
Fi’s jaw popped to one side and her eyes took on the distance of thought. “He did give me his card.”
Chrysabelle straightened the hem of her tunic. “Is Remo why you want to learn to fight? Because you think he’s going to try to get revenge for his sister’s death?”
“No. Maybe a little.” She sighed. “At first, I felt awful about what happened. That fight wasn’t supposed to end in anyone’s death. But Doc and his council guys kept telling me not to feel guilty, that challenges and fights are part of life in a pride, and as I healed up, I realized that what happened
was
perfectly within pride laws—which I didn’t break—and by winning that challenge, I showed everyone what I was capable of. I was kind of proud of
myself.” Her fingers went to her neck and a slim leather cord that disappeared beneath her gi.
Chrysabelle nodded. “I get that. And you should be proud. In your human form, you went up against a varcolai. A creature stronger and faster than any human could ever be, and you came out the winner.” She reached over and squeezed Fi’s leg. “Even I would have been scared in that situation.”
Fi perked up a little. “You would have?”
“Absolutely.”
Fi smiled and dug under her gi to pull out something dangling off the long, black cord. “I made this to remind myself of what I’d accomplished.” She held a little glass vial in her hand. Something shimmered inside it.
“What is it?”
“It’s sand from the arena. It was in my boots. Every time I get intimidated by my position as the pride leader’s wife, this reminds me that I’ve already proved myself worthy.”
Chrysabelle held the vial, turning it under the light. “It’s actually really pretty. I’ve never seen sand that looked so sparkly.” She let go of it. “I think it’s a great idea. It’s like your talisman.”
“Thanks.” Fi tucked it back into her training uniform. “I haven’t shown it to Doc. I’m afraid he’ll think it’s silly, that I should just automatically have confidence like he does.” She propped her elbows on her knees. “I think he forgets that I was just a regular old human college student when I was killed. I didn’t grow up on the streets like he did. I don’t know how to handle myself in a lot of these situations that seem to come so naturally to him. He was raised in the pride. It’s been his life except for the years
Sinjin threw him out.” She leaned her head into her hand. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry. You have enough problems without me adding mine.”