The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Revolution ~ A vampire story
09:32 Jan 17 2007
Times Read: 552


Warning - Warning This story is extremly long, if you do not have at least 1-2 hours , then do not read this.

Chapter One



It's close to 1 a.m. I'm sitting in one of those all night diners, my cold hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea; no sugar, extra cream. It is not a cold night; the air is thick and muggy. My hands are cold anyways. They are always cold, to match my heart, I guess.

The man sitting across from me is a vampire. He doesn't know I know he's a vampire. He's doing his best impression of human: pleasant smile; honest eyes; each movement slow and deliberate. No display of inhuman abilities at all. The stench of death, however, clings to him like a cheap suit. That was my first clue. After that, I started to notice other things. Nails that were too long. Eyes glassy and too dark to be natural. Marble smooth skin waxy and slightly yellowish, shimmering with an almost iridescent light of it's own, like a ghost made solid.

He's trying to hide his unnatural pallor by wearing as much clothing as he can without looking like a vagrant. Neatly pressed khakis; long-sleeved dress shirt a pale blue ( to counteract the yellow); light brown sport's jacket; and an ah-so-stylish beanie in military green. Actually, I think it was the hat that gave him away. It clashed with the rest of him. Draws attention. It had drawn my attention when I had passed him in the street earlier.

Vampires. No fashion sense at all.

Across the table, he's giving me the eye. Trying to pretend to be any healthy male attracted to a beautiful female. But his eyes stray to the juncture in my neck just a little too frequently for me to be convinced. He wants something from me alright, but it has nothing to do with my attractiveness.

I give him my best flirtatious smile over the rim of my mug. Let him think his ploy is working. But I am careful not to make direct eye contact. It is a well-known fact that vampires bespell their victims with their eyes. He will think it is shyness or embarrassment, or some other weak trait. Demureness, maybe? I almost giggle aloud at the thought.

Vampires are bold hunters, and this one had been no different. He had come up to me on the street, pleasant as you please, and proceeded to hit on me in the all-American fashion. I pretended flattery and intrigue, following him to the diner at his invitation for coffee. Why they feel the need to woo their victims first, I don't know. All part of the game, I guess. If he wanted to plat cat and mouse, that was fine with me. But make no mistake, I am no mouse.

I'm a bounty hunter. Assassin. Slayer. I make a living off of putting the dead back where they belong. And vampires are my specialty.

I have trained to be a vampire hunter since I was nine years old, when my mother was killed by one. By age 16, I was operating in the field, with my two best friends and fellow vamp haters. I spent my senior prom up to my elbows in undead gore. The thrill of the kill is quite elating, but all that blood is not exactly kind to watered silk.

"It's getting late. Perhaps I should walk you home," the vamp suggests pleasantly. On a less aware mortal, his voice would have been seductive. I found it annoying. "The streets are a dangerous place for such a beautiful girl."

"I don't know," I hesitate with a delicate shrug. "I really don't know you."

I turn large jade green eyes on him, channeling my best lost-little-girl aura. Knock it off if you want, but it works. Every time. There is just something about a helpless, innocent female that monsters can't resist. Why do you think Dragons always demand maiden sacrifices?

I can pull off helpless and innocent pretty well. I can't help it, it's my looks. I'm petite. Five two, 103 pounds, small-boned and delicate looking. When loose, my hair flows down my back in coppery-blonde ringlets. My large eyes are slanted, like a cat's, and an enchanting blue-green that never fails to draw attention. I appear benign, angelic. I am not, but I make good bait anyway.

He reached out and caressed my fingertips with his. I resist the urge to shudder, just barely.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Anne," he coos, intoning the name like a lover.

Anne is not my name, but I told him it was. It was the first rule of vampire hunting. Never give them a scrap of personal information. They could use it to control you. Vampires and voodoo priests.

I agree to let him walk me home, letting him assume it was his awesome powers of suggestion that has convinced me. I suddenly feel like Little Red Riding Hood, all innocent and naive before the monster. I wonder where my basket of goodies is.

We are out in the dark, deserted streets now, moving farther and farther away from the safety of the diner and people. There are few cars in this section of town, and no pedestrians. I am alone with an undead creep. Well, not totally alone. I can see Ian's red tempo parked a little ways down the street, looking dark and empty. Somewhere in the shadows, he is watching me.

For safety and the occasional what-ifs, my two partners and I had agreed on the buddy system. Whenever one of us went out hunting or investigating any supernatural beings, we were always sure to inform someone of our whereabouts first. If possible, one or the other would accompany whoever, keeping a safe but not too far distance. Tonight it was Ian, my best friend since 4th grade.

The vamp beside me twitched involuntarily. Anticipation of the moment, I guess. So gross.

The streetlight ahead of us is burnt out, and we are plunged into darkness. I regret the passing of that heartening little circle of light, but the undead prefer to attack in shadow.

No sooner has this thought passed my mind than I am pressed painfully against a brick wall, tepid foul breath caressing my cheek as the vampire leans into me familiarly. He was going for it, sudden, no warning. Just deep shadows and bloodlust. Unexpected, but I could deal. I was adaptable.

"Let me kiss you, love," he whispers eagerly. I shiver from the chill that washes over me. Vampire breath is not hot and soft. The dead give off no heat. It was cold and touched my skin like an icy wind.

My right hand strays to my tote purse as he nuzzles his face against my cheek. He takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweet smell of life. His nearness is revolting, but I have to play along if I don't want him to notice what my hand is doing.

I have succeeded in retrieving one of my special-made stakes: ash wood tipped with pure silver, the two most deadly things to a vampiric immune system. He has migrated to my neck, sharp fangs grazing across my flesh as he searches for the perfect spot to chomp down. I'm not going to give him the chance.

With my left hand, I push him from me, allowing for free movement of my right. His eyes light up in surprise, his mouth agape. It takes him a moment to realize his prey is defending itself. Like most vampires, it's not used to having to battle it's food. Then he sees the stake in my other hand and his lips twist into an angry grimace. My strike opportunity is quickly vanishing.

I raise the stake and throw myself at him, using my momentum to drive the stake through shirt, flesh, cartilage, heart. I have perfected my aim over the years, quickly having learned that an inch to the left or right is the difference between victory and death.

He gasps in shock and pain, the air being pulled into his damaged lungs with an audible wheeze. Eyes bulge out of his head as the silver and ash start to take effect. Black blood bubbles up from his mouth, already congealed. Arms wave uselessly in front of him, trying desperately to scratch or grab or do whatever damage he may to his killer. But he is slowly falling backwards and I am out of reach.

"No necking on the first date," I taunt as he sinks to the ground. I stand over him, watching the effect of his death in satisfaction.

When a vampire dies, releasing whatever it is that keeps those suckers alive, the body degenerates. Essentially, I was watching a corpse decompose in fast forward. The skin graying, wrinkling and shrinking, eventually shedding off completely. The musculature rotting off in like manner. Finally, the skeleton aging, cracking falling into dust. Soon, there is nothing left but the remnants of my stake, eroded by the vampiric blood, and the empty clothing. Red Riding Hood's revenge.

"Superb. Couldn't have done it better myself."

I spin around quickly, searching for the owner of the voice. Out of the shadows of the alley steps a devastatingly gorgeous male. 5'10, classic features, mop of curly dark tresses, chiseled body. He is dressed all in black, which is probably why I didn't notice him earlier. I reach for the silver knife strapped to the back of my jeans under my shirt, immediately on guard. I know what he is, can smell it. Werewolf.

My movement does not go unnoticed. He holds out a hand pleadingly.

"Please, no weapons. I have no wish to fight you."

"I thought wolves liked a challenge from their meals?" I return snidely. Okay, so I'm not the most diplomatic of people. Better rude than food, ha ha.

He tosses me a wolfish grin, and I mean that literally. The only thing he's missing is the fur and the snout. Everything about him screams predator.

"I'm not going to eat you. Yet. I'm here to warn you."

Alright. That 'not going to eat you yet' crack has got me ticked. I'm considering stabbing the bastard just for that. But I'll wait until I hear what he has to say first.

"Warn me about what? The dangers of talking to stranger?"

"There are some who do not appreciate your...occupation." Cute choice of vocabulary, there. "You are being watched."

"That's your big warning?" I scoff. Annoyingly cryptic. I hate the supernatural. Why don't they ever just get to the point and stop being dramatic? "Thanks, pal, but I can handle myself."

To prove my point, I draw my knife and take a step forward, ready to rumble. Before my foot touches the ground, inhumanly strong arms wrap around my middle, pinning my arms to my sides and lifting me from the ground. Shit. There's two of them.

I kick and wiggle, but it is no use. Trying to break the hold of a supernatural being is like trying to bend steel bars with your bare hands. Unless you're Arnold Swarztenagger, don't even think about it. I try to twist my head so I can at least look at my captor's face, but the angle is wrong.

The first one advances on me, relaxed but with violence in his eyes. He leans close into my face and I can't help but breath in his masculine, woodsy scent. It is arousing and seductive, but I'm too worried about my neck to linger over lust.

"That warning was from my Master. This one is from my Mistress." His eyes shine yellow in the dark and he growls deep in his chest. I know that sound. The sound of a predator when he has cornered his prey. Shit.

He opens his mouth, displaying teeth growing longer by the second. His face elongates, inching outward into an imitation of a snout, skin stretching and bones popping. I stare at his half-mutated face, reminded of a 6' grizzly shaved bald. I don't know whether to laugh or scream, am too scared to do either. I don't dare look away, though. Don't want to make it easier for him.

He licks his chops with his big doggy tongue, obviously imaging what I'd taste like. Involuntarily, I close my eyes against that moist, smacking sound. He had superb control over his body to effect a half transformation, only his face and hands changed. I needed an escape plan in the next split second, or I was dog chow. Unfortunately, the best thing I could think of would be to kick desperately at my attacker's legs. When you are pinned tight against a werewolf 10 times stronger than you, your options are kind of limited.

The one behind me suddenly let out a howl and dropped me like I was hot. I let gravity do it's thing and I sprawled on the ground. Anything to get those jaws out of reach. I rolled to my back, knife brandished before me as I groped blindly in my purse with my spare hand for the small derringer I carried. It wouldn't kill a damn thing, but I loaded silver bullets and it just might be enough to scare the bastards off.

The one who had held me was staggering around madly, both hands reaching down his back in a vain attempt to remove the silver cross-bow bolt that was lodged in his scapula. My partner Ian stood at the edge of the sidewalk, crossbow in hand. He had already reloaded, but hadn't decided which werewolf to aim at yet; he was waiting to see which one would notice him first.

Dog-boy had turned his attention from me at his partner's outburst. He spotted Ian immediately and growled threateningly. His body tensed and I knew he was preparing to charge. I abandoned my search for the gun and scrambled to my feet. I had to distract him before he made a leap for Ian. Ian was a good shot, but he'd be helpless in hand to hand.

Ian swung the bow to Dog-boy, making the mistake of meeting the wolf-man's eyes. He hesitated and Dog-boy jumped. Jumped, perhaps, is an unflattering and simplistic word for what he did. It was more graceful and stronger than any mere jump. Anyone who's seen the nature channel knows what I mean. You could see the muscles bunch beneath his skin, even through the black pants. You could feel the tense energy emanating from him, the eager hunter and his prey.

I didn't think; I reacted. Like a star pitcher, I pulled back and hurled my knife at the wolf-man's back. I didn't care where I hit him, as long as it made him miss Ian. The knife plunged into the back of his thigh at a wild angle, sliding all the way through the skin to peek out the other side like a macabre safety pin. He rolled to the side in mid-air with a yelp of pain, missing Ian by several feet. Now, however, his attention was on little ole' unarmed me. Oh, goody.

I dived my hand back into my purse after my derringer, but I wasn't going to find it before teeth and claws found me. But he didn't rush me. He passed so close to me I shivered, but he didn't touch me. He reached for his fallen comrade, who was now writhing on the ground. I got the feeling this was the first time he'd been shot by a silver bolt and wasn't adjusting well to the pain. Ian kept his bow trained on the pair, watching their every move, but didn't fire. Dog-boy grabbed his friend by the arm and hauled him to his feet. Holding him against his shoulder like a frightened and whimpering pup, Dog-boy reached over and yanked the bolt from the flesh. He was rewarded with a howl of pain.

I pulled the derringer from the folds of my purse and aimed for Dog-boy's head. He caught my movement out of the corner of his eye, turning faster than was humanly possible. I didn't even see his hand move, but suddenly the bolt was quivering and thrumming like a tuning fork beside my ear, buried three inches thick in the wall behind me. The shock of it froze me, finger half squeezing the trigger. My heart was in my throat, pounding hard and fast. Ian pulled the trigger on his bow, the bolt missing his head by centimeters as the werewolf ran past me with his friend over one shoulder, answering the question if werewolves were faster than a speeding bolt.

When he reached the far side of the street, he turned and flicked his wrist. My knife was suddenly trembling beside my other ear. We locked eyes, mine wide and green; his calm and shiny yellow. He was letting me know he'd missed on purpose, letting me know they weren't scared off but were letting me go. He could have killed me at any time. That scared me more than the two missiles on either side of me head.

Ian finished reloading and spun to face the werewolves. It was too late, of course. They were gone, melting into the night as only the supernatural can. He pivoted from side to side, scanning the darkness for more danger. We were alone. He relaxed, pointing the bow to the sky and strode towards me. I watched him walk, without grace, body still tense from adrenaline, eyes wide with fear. By the time he reached me, the panicked look had faded from his eyes.

I always wondered what Ian was doing following me on these suicide missions. He wasn't a killer, not like me. He was one of the gentlest people I knew. He was an even six feet, slender as a pole, the kind of person who didn't look intimidating even with a crossbow over one shoulder. A cap of mousy brown hair topped a boyish face that made him appear years younger than he was, and round soft brown eyes as innocent as a puppy's. None of it was illusion. He was innocent. Not in the virginal way, of course, but the way a child is before they learn what death is. He'd defended himself and me against the undead, but he'd never killed anything. He wouldn't. That was my job. That was why he hesitated in the face of a charging werewolf, and why he never aimed where it would count. He tried to detach himself from the violence of his job as much as possible, sometimes to the point of endangering himself. Still, there was no one I'd rather have at my back. He might not kill to save me, but he'd sure as Hell try his damndest to scare 'em off.

He stopped a couple of feet from me. "Are you alright?" he asked calmly.

I was not calm. I was shaking like a leaf in a monsoon. My nerves had all been shot to Hell, the adrenaline the only thing that kept me on my feet, and that fading fast. Almost having your brain pinned to a wall twice in less than 5 minutes will kind of do that to you.

"I'll live," I answered, shoving the gun back in my purse. Cautiously, I pushed myself away from the wall. I took a trembling step and my knees gave out beneath me. I was breathing hard, on all fours, hating myself for this show of weakness. Ian knelt beside me but didn't touch me. He knew better.

"Werewolves only hunt on the full moon," he said, tone puzzled. It was a question, but I didn't have an answer either of us would understand.

"He said he had a message for me," I answered. "A warning to stop hunting vamps, I think."

"They don't know you very well if they think you'll just walk away because they said so."

"Threatening me just makes me want to kill them. Slowly." I meant it. They had cowed me, threatened my friend. It made me angry, and when I got angry I got violent. I wanted revenge.

I pushed myself slowly to my feet, standing with my legs slightly apart for better balance. Usually when I was this weak, I was in a monumentous amount of pain. But I wasn't even bruised. I was crippled from fear alone. That pissed me off more.

"He said something about his Master and Mistress," I said, working through the short conversation in my head, looking for clues. "Werewolves don't call their pack leaders Master. The only thing arrogant enough to be called Master is a vampire."

"Something stronger than the Casanova you wasted tonight," Ian added.

"Strong enough to boss around at least two werewolves. Not a comforting thought." I began walking for the car. I left the knife and bolt where they were. I knew I wasn't strong enough to pull them from the wall, so I didn't even try. I was feeling inadequate enough as it was. I opened the passenger side door and fell into the seat. I was smart enough to know it wasn't a good idea for me to drive right now.

Ian slid into the driver's seat, cranked the ignition but didn't move the car. I waited. Ian sometimes took a long time to say what was on his mind. It was something that was both annoying and endearing.

"So I'm guessing we start looking for these two Master vamps?" He didn't sound happy about it. He was never as excited as me when it came to hunting the enemy.

"Do you even have to ask?"

"But we've never come up against Master vamps before," Ian argued. "Maybe you're in over your head this time."

"You're saying I should do what they say and throw in the towel?" He winced at the anger in my voice, but I didn't back down. "Let the bloodsuckers feed off the innocent, knowing I could stop them? Let them make orphans out of another child? Is that what I should do?"

"Sometimes it's all you can do," Ian whispered, not looking at me. "But you're right. We'll hunt them down. And if we get killed, at least we'll die with a clear conscience."

"Being dramatic, aren't we?" I returned snidely. He was trying to make me feel guilty but it wouldn't work on me.

He turned a smile at me, his dramatic mood broken. You couldn't keep Ian down for long.

"You're right, okay? I should know better by now that you'll never quit. Not until you kill all of them, or they kill you. So, where do we start?"

I sighed, unsure myself. I didn't have a clue where to start. I had absolutely no information at all, didn't know where to get any. The best thing I could do was wait for them to fall in my lap. Not a promising plan.



Chapter Two



I patrolled the streets for days without a single undead sighting. Highly unusual. My friend Hannah, a Witch of mostly telepathic ability, is on edge. She can feel an energy. A gathering.

A gathering of werewolves and vampires sounds like a party. My invitation better be in the mail.

I needed to find out what was going on. I called a contact of mine, Deacon Brodniak. He wasn’t exactly a friend; more of a business associate. I hunted on the outskirts of the Underdark. He lived it. I needed his knowledge.

He gave me the address of a local undead hangout. A coffee shop, of all places. Seemed like an odd choice of den for vampires, but what did I know? Some people hang at bowling alleys.

I asked him what to expect. I wasn’t about to go into unfamiliar, hostile territory with guns blazing. His answer?

“What do you know of the Ziggy Stardust era?”

Great. Noveau punk cross beatnik vampiric coffee café. Stranger and stranger.

I decided to go with the wasted intellectual look. Black pants, black camisole with lace trim, charcoal sweater coat. My hair was in it’s customary bun, but I had let two curly strands frame my face artfully. I thought I looked very poetic. A true follower of Poe. A person who liked nothing more than indie films, gallons of coffee, and endless discussions on the afterlife. Ya dig, daddio? However, I was also armed to the teeth. As I said, it was unfamiliar territory.

There was a knife sheath on each wrist, each equipped with a 5 inch silver blade. A belt sheath on my right hip held a longer, thicker blade, hidden by my coat. Not silver, but mean enough to cut off a hand or two. A .35 magnum was secured to the small of my back; the derringer strapped around my right ankle. I would have preferred more guns, but there are only so many places to hide them. On my other ankle were two silver-tipped ash wood stakes, and three vials of Holy Water in a mini belt made especially for me. In my left-hand pants pocket was a silver cross. Never leave home without a cross; another one of those Vampire Safety rules.

Ian was going with me. He had dressed in a navy button down with pinstripes, dark jeans, and a black leather motorcycle jacket. He had a shoulder holster underneath the jacket that held a .35 and a set of small throwing knives. There was another .35 on his right hip, barely concealed by the hem of his jacket. I knew he had at least three crosses on him somewhere, and definitely some Holy Water.

Ian was crap at hand to hand combat. His goal was to hurt the bastards without getting too up close and personal. He could shoot anything, but he punched like a girl.

The coffee shop was located in a popular bar district. No neon lights announced it’s presence, no bouncer herding an eager line of patrons, but it stood out anyway. A window that stretched nearly the whole length of the façade was lit with outside track lighting. The words Madcap Café were painted across the glass in swirling white letters. The dark curtains were drawn aside, allowing passersby a peek inside. From my place across the street, I peeked as well as my poor mortal eyes would allow.

It was well lit, homey looking. I could see small round tables with patrons huddled over coffee mugs against one wall. Indistinct heads bobbed and swirled just inside the glass, indicating the presence of a bench or couch. It looked friendly, welcoming. I was almost disappointed.

We had decided to split up. This was an intelligence mission. We stood a much better chance of learning something useful if we both worked the crowd. We would be playing the roles of vampire groupies. Yeah. They have groupies. Something akin to necrophilia’s, just not so…ick.

Ian was going in first. I had argued this at first but he had pointed out I had a much better chance of saving his ass than he had of saving mine. He slid out of the car, across the street, and slipped into the interior of the pleasant-looking den of evil. I saw no reaction from the window and Ian didn’t come screaming out the door. Apparently, they welcomed strangers.

I waited 5 minutes, then got out of the car. I walked nonchalantly for the door, scanning the area in my peripheral. So far so good.

A trio was walking opposite me. I caught the woodsy, primal scent of untouched nature. Two of them were Lycan. The taller, blond man and a woman with wild honey-colored hair. The lead man wasn’t Lycan, but he wasn’t entirely human, either.

Black curls hung to his shoulders. His body was lean and lithe like a dancer’s. He didn’t so much walk as glide. The face was narrow, angular, almost sallow. Two shiny points glimmered out from under the newsboy cap he wore. His eyes. He was looking at me as I was looking at him.

We met and stopped in front of the door. The woman looked bored, roaming her eyes idly around the scenery. Blondie looked at me with a bright smile, letting me know he was picturing me naked. The darker man simply stared. I stared back, meeting those shimmering eyes.

They were blue, with a fire deep inside that gave off actual heat. His whole body seemed to emanate a tangible heat, caressing over my skin like a comforting blanket. I wanted to cuddle into that delicious warmth.

I hadn’t thought he was handsome before, but I suddenly couldn’t think of anyone more attractive. He wasn’t sexy in the Brad Pitt way, or even the pretty boy way. I couldn’t explain it to myself. His angular features seemed flawless to me.

“What is your name?” he asked, his voice rolling over me like a touch. I shivered.

“Paige.” It didn’t even occur to me to lie. It should have.

“The name does not suit you.” He traced his eyes over me and I blushed. It was the kind of look that said he knew where each curve lay.

“What would?” I asked, my voice breathless.

He reached out, fingering one coppery curl. “Guenever,” he whispered. It was the whisper of a lover. A whisper that made you want him to touch you more. He dropped his hand away, staring at my hair in an expression close to hunger.

That snapped me out of it. Anything that looked at me with hunger, sexual or otherwise, puts me on instant guard. My training was too ingrained to ignore warning signs. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t use him to get what I wanted.

“Buy me a mug?” I asked, giving him a coquette smile. Hey, I was playing a groupie. I was supposed to flirt.

He agreed. Not with words or a nod, but I knew. It was in his expression. A look that said, if it would keep me close to him he’d buy me anything. My insides fluttered nervously. I was wary of him now. He had bewitched me. How else could I explain the feelings of lust and adoration I had experienced? It certainly wasn’t something I would have done of my own accord.

Blondie rushed forward to open the door, standing to the side like a pageboy. My suitor didn’t try to take my arm. A good thing, considering he could weave enchantment around me with only his voice and eyes. Romeo turned and walked through, not bothering the check if I followed. Arrogant of him, and very ungentlemanly. It also hinted that he was a master, at least of the current company. He was powerful. Powerful meant dangerous. Dangerous meant he would know who else was master in this city.

I followed him in, the woman trailing behind. Blondie slipped in last. I fought the urge to glance behind me. Maybe it was the natural rivalry present between all women, but I was getting a really weird vibe off that girl. I don’t think she liked me. Or maybe she did like me, but only for dinner.

The left wall was lined with small round tables. The right was taken up entirely by a long wooden bar where a couple of employees served lattes and teas. The front wall did indeed have a large overstuffed couch under the window, flanked by square end tables. On the back wall was a small stage, good for small live acts and DJ’s. Tonight it was a live act. A slender man-boy with feathery light hair and an acoustic guitar crooned into the microphone. I didn’t recognize the language. Vaguely European.

The rest of the room was a mix of tables, couches and easy chairs. It was very comfortable, if you didn’t mind a room full of Lycans, vampires and Witches. Everywhere I looked was otherworldly grace and strange glowing eyes. Most of the mugs were filled with black or mocha-colored liquid, but some were rimmed in bright red. No java in those cups.

I spotted Ian at the bar, head bent towards a petite blonde beauty. Her movements as she emphasized her words were not any more fluid than Ian’s own. Not a vampire or Lycan, then. Witch, judging by the abundance of lace and jewelry.

Romeo led me to the last table on the left, at the corner of the stage. I chose the seat against the wall, giving me a good view of the rest of the room. If he noticed my strategic positioning, he didn’t show it. He sat to the right, facing the stage. The woman sunk into a nearby easy chair, close enough to touch Romeo if she so wished. Blondie stood to the side, waiting.

“Mocha latte,” Romeo ordered. I ordered the first thing that came to mind: honey mint tea. My favorite. Yum. Blondie scampered off the play fetch.

Romeo turned those eyes on me, but I knew better than to meet them now. Enchant me once, shame on me. Enchant me twice, I’m six feet under.

“My name is Modred,” he announced, the name rolling off his tongue like silk. His voice was something tangible. It had a power to it.

He was suddenly holding my hand. I hadn’t seen him move. I hadn’t felt my hand move. It was that fast. One moment, hands folding neatly in lap. The next, his fingers are curled around mine, our elbows resting on the table. His thumb rolled over my knuckles gently, caressing.

“I have not seen you here before.”

His thumb circled round and round, stoking a slow heat low in my belly. I couldn’t stop staring at our conjoined hands. I kept expecting mine to burst into flame at any second from the heat he was generating.

It dawned on me his comment was more question than observation. I tried to pull my muddled thoughts together.

“A friend of mine told me about this place.” I glanced up at his forehead, as close as I dared to his eyes. “Said it was a good place to meet interesting men.” I put an inflection on the key word to add an innuendo to it that would either be ignored or confirm his supernatural connections.

He didn’t believe me, as evidenced by the raising of his eyebrows. “Your friend’s name?” he asked, perhaps teasing me a little.

“Melissa,” I blurted. His eyebrows disappeared completely under his cap and his lips turned upwards. He was amused. My bluff was disintegrating rapidly. I had to make myself believable quick. It was very difficult to fool the undead, yet vital to success. I added a surname. “Melissa Jones.” Shit. That was almost as bad as claiming I was close personal friends with Jane Doe. Damn, I was having trouble thinking with his hand touching me.

He was prevented from denouncing my lie by the return of Blondie with a tray. Blondie passed the mugs around, leaving the tray on the edge of the table. He curled into the chair with the woman. She shifted her legs, laying them across his lap. He used her as a makeshift table for his mug, one hand absentmindedly stroking her bared calf. Cozy.

Modred removed his hand from mine to grasp his mug. The confusion lifted from my mind. I took a deep breath and wrapped my hands around my tea like a lifeline.

“What kind of interesting men did you hope to find?” he asked, putting the same twist on his words that I had.

I leaned in, smiling coyly. “I like dangerous men.” I looked him up and down suggestively. “Are you dangerous?”

“Without doubt, lass,” he answered lowly. He had an accent. Faint, only coming out in certain words. Something kin to English, but not quite. Scotland, maybe. Wales? Interesting.

“How dangerous?”

He leaned in to me, so close I lost sight of his features. Hot breath caressed my cheek. His lips touched my neck, warm and trailing.

“What do you want here, slayer?” he asked against the curve of my ear, his lips brushing my lobe. I opened my mouth in a silent moan.

It took me a good 5 seconds to realize what he had said. I opened my eyes, looking at him. “What are you talking about?” I feigned ignorance. He wasn’t fooled. His lips twisted up in a sardonic smile as he leaned away from me.

“Paige Williams, fearsome vampire slayer,” Modred stated, keeping a close eye on my expression. “Or, at least, you would like to think so.” He turned slightly, motioning to Ian at the bar. “Ian Barnett, your equally fearless companion.” He watched my face turn warily to Ian, reading my concern for him, my fear at having been recognized. I hadn’t quite perfected the stone cold look. I needed to work on that.

He was amused again. “Did you think you could kill so many of us and we would not learn your name? Tsk. Tsk. Near-sighted of you.”

“Are you going to kill me?” I inquired calmly, mentally berating myself for being so stupid. I met his eyes firmly. There was no bespelling me now. My life, and Ian’s, was at stake.

“Not yet,” he whispered, giving me the once over that meant he had a more devious plan in mind. I glanced over at his two companions. They were listening intently, not even trying to hide it. Enjoying the show.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Rape and torture first?” I let out a short, scathing laugh. If he thought I was going calmly, he didn’t know shit about me. He was about to learn.

“Sadly, no.” Scarily enough, he did sound disappointed. “Not until he’s done with you, anyway.”

“He?”

“My Master.” He spit the word out, like he’d choke on it if he didn’t get it out fast enough. Interesting. Whoever Modred followed, he didn’t do it out of loyalty. I stored that away for later.

He stared at me and I got that tingling sensation again. He was trying to enchant me. Trying to control me with lust. I wasn’t falling for it this time, though it took all my self control.

“What are you?” My voice was awestruck. I didn’t like that sound, but I couldn’t help it. He really was tripping me out.

He smiled widely for me, displaying perfectly wicked fangs.

“No way,” I breathed in disbelief. “You can’t be a vamp. You don’t feel like a vamp.”

“Not the kind you’re used to,” he answered. “But nonetheless….”

Did that mean there were different kinds of vampires? Ones that could take over your self-control with a mere thought? Holy shit.

I suddenly realized I was in over my head. I had cornered myself in a room full of enemies, the most powerful of them right in front of me. My future was not looking too bright. I was getting the fuck out of there.

I calmly pushed my mug away from me. I didn’t want to accidentally knock hot tea on myself if I got into a tussle, which was highly likely at this point. What I wouldn’t give for some back-up right about now. Like, say, the entire Marine Corp.

“I’m going to calmly get up and walk out of here,” I told him steadily, trying my best to stare him down. Maybe if I was bad-ass enough, they’d just let me go. Ya think? “Ian is coming with me.”

“Of course. We’ll all go together,” Modred said just as calmly. It gave me a bad feeling.

“No,” I corrected slowly, as if explaining it to a particularly dense person. “Ian and I are leaving alone. Anyone caught following us will get a silver bullet between the eyes.”

Modred looked at me in disbelief. “Do you really think you can get out that door before one of us kills you?” he asked incredulously, indicating the rest of the room.

I was confident we couldn’t. But we were sure as Hell going to try.

“Final warning,” I threatened, my hands itching in anticipation. My right hand slid slowly up my thigh. I sat up straighter under the pretense of intimidation, thus opening the way to my .35. My eyes stayed steadily on Modred’s. First time he blinked, I was blowing his head off.

His said one word. Quiet. Commanding.

“Benny.”

I reached for my gun the same time Blondie leaped for me, the woman rolling smoothly to the floor in a crouch. I shot, still seated, with no time to aim. Blondie‘s, I mean Benny’s, shoulder exploded in a spray of blood. He didn’t scream. He didn’t change course.

I threw myself to the floor and Benny bounced off the wall above me. Without pausing, I rolled to the side. Benny landed hard on my left arm, pinning it, but at least I wasn’t completely trapped.

I swung my arm around for another shot only to have my wrist grasped firmly by Benny. He rolled on top of me, casually tossing aside the table so he could straddle me. He snarled in my face, blue eyes gone feral, teeth longer and sharper than they should be. With my suddenly free left hand, I reached for the knife on my right wrist. Benny was too busy wresting the gun from one hand to notice what the other was doing. I let the gun go, then brought my left hand arcing across, the knife slashing a thin line across collarbone and chest as I moved.

Benny howled in pain as silver bit into his flesh. He slapped my hand away. The blow vibrated through my hand painfully, but I held on to the knife. I waved my arm wildly, trying to dodge Benny’s grasp. If he trapped both my hands, I was done for. His arm and hand were soon covered in bloody nicks from the many times he’d missed and been caught by the blade.

He managed to get a grip on my other wrist and I brought my knees into his back as hard as I could. It caught him off guard and he toppled over me, dragging us into a somersault. I pushed up from the floor, hunched over him as I stood as straight as I could with him still clinging to my wrists. I lifted my left leg and brought my foot crashing down on his twisted face. His nose flattened into a bloody mess as he screamed. He released my hands to cradle his face.

I drew my other knife as I spun, ready to face my new attacker. She was on me before I finished turning. It was the wild haired female, now with equally wild eyes.

I stumbled when her body smacked into mine. Only the wall saved me from falling on my face. I slashed at her with the knives, one hand arcing after the other and crossing back, leaving double X’s on her chest. Her shirt hung in tatters from her shoulders, blood dripping down her abdomen. I was keeping her back. I didn’t want to risk her getting too close to me, instinctively knowing she would be a lot more vicious than Benny.

I tried to sweep a leg under hers, but she jumped it easily. It left me in the precarious position of being on my knees, with the woman looming over me. I drove my left hand upwards, plunging the knife to the hilt in her stomach. Her eyes filled with pain, but she didn’t cry out. Blood spilled over my hand, hot and slick. Teeth bared, her weight pushed down on my arm painfully as she leaned closer and closer. If I didn’t do something quick, she’d have me on the floor with her teeth in my neck.

I pushed back, lunging up to bury the other knife in her neck. Her weight lifted off me immediately as she staggered back with a choked gurgling. My one hand was so slick with blood the knife just slid out of my hand. The other was buried so deep in tendon and muscle it was wrenched from my grip. I grabbed the dagger from my hip. I was running out of weapons fast.

“Pause,” Modred said from across the room. He didn’t raise his voice, yet it was commanding enough to carry. We all turned to him.

He was standing at the bar, one hand casually wrapped around Ian’s neck, the other pointing Ian’s gun to his temple. The pretty Witch who had been with Ian stood to the side holding his other weapons. There was a darkening bruise on Ian’s cheek, but otherwise he seemed unhurt. Remarkably, no one else in the room had moved, though an eerie silence prevailed. Maybe they thought it was the floor show, or maybe they were waiting for their cue.

“Enough play, slayer,” Modred continued. His voice was not threatening in the least, but I wasn’t reassured. If I didn’t become a team player, he’d kill Ian without a second thought.

“What do you want?” My voice was harsh, tinged with anger and violence.

“Put down your weapons and come with me,” he replied, as if that was the reasonable thing to do. “After we have had our private conversation, you and your friend will be free to go.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed. Ian wiggled his fingers, subtle. If I hadn’t been looking at him, I’d have missed it. Something glinted in his palm. A vial of Holy Water. I understood immediately: he’d distract Modred with the Holy Water and I’d take the bastard out. I kept Modred’s attention on me while I waited for my cue.

“You’d let us go, just like that?” I glanced at the female. She wasn’t going anywhere, except maybe the afterlife. My eyes slid over to Benny. His nose had stopped bleeding and the bones had knitted back into place. He was bruised and tired, but I couldn’t count him out as a threat yet.

Modred smiled at me. I didn’t trust that smile. “Just like that.”

Sure. I also believed the tooth fairy was real.

“What’s so important that we have to have a private talk?” I asked. I was stalling, trying to give Ian his opportunity. I certainly didn’t want to go anywhere private with this bunch.

Modred hesitated, looking for the right words. Ian took his opportunity. Faster than I have ever seen him move before, Ian raised his hand over his shoulder, smashing the vial of Holy Water in his palm into Modred’s face. The vial broke, shards of glass embedded in both their skins, the water running harmlessly down Modred’s face.

I wasn’t expecting that. There should be smoke, sizzling, screaming. It should be eating at the bastard’s face like acid. The only reaction we were getting was anger. Extreme anger.

Modred calmly passed the gun to the Witch, his whole body trembling as waves of palpable rage rippled off him. I shivered at it’s intensity, the knife sliding from my hand, clattering at me feet, as my body numbed in shock. He reached up and, in agonizing slowness, gently pulled a long sliver of glass out from his left eye. Blood gushed from the wound like a broken dam, covering several minor rivulets from insignificant nicks. His lips curled in pain and rage as his eyelid swelled closed.

“Fuck!” he cursed, stomping his foot like a toddler. Modred grabbed Ian’s collar by one hand, lifting him several inches off the floor. He wasn’t even straining. He casually tossed Ian across the room. Ian smacked hard into the far wall, crumbling motionlessly at the silent musician’s feet. I screamed.

Someone grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my side. I reacted on sheer impulse. I lifted my heel and stamped down with all my weight onto my attacker’s foot. He cursed and straightened, making a perfect target for a hard elbow to the abs. His breath escaped in a rush, his arms relaxing enough for me to break free. I spun quickly, grabbed his hunched shoulders and drove my knee into his groin. Benny dropped like a rock.

I turned back to Modred, looking at him in hatred and pain. He had hurt Ian. If the damage was permanent, so help the sorry bastard. He stared back, frustration and annoyance plain on his face. Apparently, he wasn’t used to things not going his way.

“It’s one fucking slayer,” he yelled in exasperation, staring one-eyed around the room. “Get her!”

Almost as one, the crowd leaped out of their chairs and bum-rushed me. I was panting, covered in monster blood and had no chance of escape. I was tackled like the star quarterback at the 20 yard line.





Chapter Three



I came to slowly, my head throbbing and the taste of blood in my mouth. I felt like someone just used me as a piñata at a toddler’s birthday party: beaten, but not quite broken.

I lay on my stomach, hands tied painfully behind my back. My face was smooshed into something not near so comfortable as carpet. I forced one eye open, glad the light was dim.

I was on the floorboard of a limo. Ian was before me, sandwiched between Tweedle-Wolf and Tweedle-Bitch. Though the woman held a knife to his juggler, he appeared otherwise fine. How the woman had survived the wounds I gave her, I had no clue. Her neck still oozed blood and her breathing was raspy. She was in some discomfort, at least.

“You’re alive,” I breathed thankfully to Ian.

“Unfortunately.”

I twisted my head to the other side, wincing at the stab of pain that induced. Modred and the traitorous Witch sat on the other seat, staring at me. The girl’s eyes were blank, apathetic. Modred glared with a contemptuous hatred that made me shiver.

He fingered his injured eye gingerly. The bleeding had stopped, but it was an angry red color, the lid swollen three times it’s normal. I doubted he could open the eye at all.

“I hope it hurts,” I ground out. He smiled at me, thin and evil. A grimace, really.

“I hope to return the favor,” he answered pleasantly. That made me shiver, too.

I turned back to Ian. My head exploded as a size ten boot plowed into my nose. I jerked back with a yelp. Hot blood streamed from my nostril to pool on the floor.

“Fuck!” It wasn’t broken, but it hurt like it should be.

Benny leaned over me, his face still purple and bloody from the beating I had given him earlier. “Payback’s a bitch, bitch,” he chanted.

“Witty,” I replied with a sarcastic eye roll. I just can’t help myself sometimes.

Benny snarled. I thought he was going to kick me again, but he held himself back. From the look he darted over my head, I bet his master had something to do with his self-control. If I was going to be used as a human punching bag any more tonight, it would be the big boss man who’d be doing the punching. Not a comforting thought, but at least it gave me time to recover from Benny’s un-sportsman-like kick to the face.

The motion of the limo stopped. The door at my feet was opened and Benny slid out. He grabbed my ankles and dragged me from the car. I got rug-burn on my left cheek and another circle of stars when I hit the pavement. Benny yanked me to my feet, wrenching my arm so hard, I gasped.

We had arrived at one of those Victorian style mansions that squatted like sentries among the smog and skyscrapers of founding cities. It was beautiful, with dozens of tall windows, a wrap-around porch and a widow’s walk. In the limited light, I can only tell that it was painted some dark color and well-taken care of. A brick wall with a wrought iron gate separated the house and it’s courtyard from the city outside. The drive continued on around the side of the house, making me wonder just how big the property was.

The gate was left standing open, inviting. I’m tempted to scream for help and attract the attention of a passing motorist. Benny jerks my arm again and the temptation fades.

Modred appeared at my side, bending down slightly to whisper in my ear, “You have not felt pain yet.”

“Is that a threat?” I am unimpressed. A glob of blood and saliva narrowly misses his pristine Converse. Damn. I’ve got to work on my aim.

Benny delivers an open-handed slap to the back of my head for my rudeness, doubling the pounding in my battered nose. He has just reached the top of my beat-down wish list.

The female scoots Ian out of the limo, holding him so close the knife, my knife which is still pressed to his throat, digs into his flesh. He is bleeding freely by the time their feet touch the ground. She’s definitely second on my list.

I turn to look at the new one, the chauffeur. He’s small, about 5’5 and slender with a childlike face. He won’t meet my eyes and is careful to keep his distance from the others. I feel his aura, the other that hovers about him, but discount him as a threat anyway. He’s trembling so hard, I bet he’d run like a rabbit if I said ‘boo’.

We move as one up the walk. Scaredy-Cat opens the double oak doors and steps aside. Modred enters first, followed by the female and Ian. Benny shoves me past the threshold like a good gentleman. The little one shuts the door behind us. He stayed outside. I envy him.

The inside of the house is just as beautiful as the outside. Spacious, with hard-wood floors, white trim and red damask wallpaper. The foyer has a long gilded mirror, cherry wood hall tables and an elegant floor rug. There is an entryway to the left that leads into a large and elegantly appointed living room. Velvet-covered chairs, Queen Anne couches, a black leather chaise lounge. A grand piano in front of a marble fireplace, antique card table nearby. Big screen plasma TV, X-Box, cabinet of movies and games. All in bas relief against a blood red carpet.

To the right of us is a wide red-carpeted staircase. Paintings line the wall. I wonder what’s up there, realizing I probably don’t want to know.

We walk straight ahead. There is another double door to the left, closed. On the right I could see into a dining room large enough to seat 50 people. A small sitting room. We pass finally through a left-hand door, following Modred into a sedate, well-stocked study.

All four walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves. The far wall had a built in desk top that ran the length of the room, cluttered with candelabras, ledger books and taxidermied birds. Two leather easy chairs and a small round table were set to the right. A long royal blue velvet couch sat in the middle of the room. There was no other furniture.

A man lay on the couch, nose deep in a book. His black loafered feet were crossed at the ankle just centimeters from the arm of the couch, putting him at about 5’9 standing. He was looking sharp in a camel colored suede suit and black and red dress shirt. Black sausage curls tumbled about his head, somehow managing not to look feminine. I could only see his profile, but what I could see was achingly attractive. Full lips, patrician nose, high cheekbones, dark sensuous eyes, olive skin tone. If he had been human, I would have placed his age at around 26. I had a feeling, though, that he wouldn’t be human.

Modred walked directly passed the man as if he wasn’t there, heading for the end of the left wall. Nothing was there, so either he was going to read me a bedtime story or there was a secret doorway I couldn’t see. I was betting on the latter. The man didn’t even blink, oblivious to the five bruised and bloody people, two obviously there against their will, strolling past.

The man spoke when Modred reached parallel his head.

“Uh, Modred? Where do you think you are going?” The voice was smooth, breathy. The whisper of a lover. He didn’t move, didn’t set aside the book, didn’t even glance up. Yet, Modred halted as if he’d hit an invisible wall. I could see his shoulders tense and knew this was a man Modred both feared and hated. I watched in avid curiosity.

We had shuffled some on the walk. I was now sandwiched between Modred and Benny, Ian and his guard behind us. The Witch was last. I didn’t like being that close to Modred, no matter how good the view.

“Look who I found, alive and amazingly well,” Modred said, his voice trembling with barely suppressed anger. I was glad those killing eyes weren’t directed at me this time.

The man looked up then, at me. There was nothing in that look. His expression was one of total boredom, his tone flat. “Astonishing.”

Modred was pissed. Apathy was not the reaction he had been hoping for. I was suddenly on the new guy’s side. Anyone who pissed Modred off was an ally of mine. Enemy of my enemy, and all that.

“She tried to kill Benny,” Modred announced self-righteously.

I snorted very unladylike. I noticed he didn‘t mention that Benny had started it. “Tried would be the operative word,” I cut in. I would have loved to more than try. Modred back-handed me indifferently. By morning, my face was going to look like a Picasso.

“Insolent bitch! I will break you!”

I licked blood from the corner of my mouth, turning my head slowly to face him. I let the full weight of my anger spark from my jade eyes, what little effect it might have.

“You will try and you will fail,” I spat back. I had been pissed off for the last two hours and I was near the breaking point.

Modred’s face blanked, settling into a mask of cruel marble. His black eyes, with their strange burning darkness, bored into me. He stepped close, letting his proximity add to his threat.

“Oh, no,” he answered in a dry monotone. “I will succeed most admirably.”

We stared at each other in perfect understanding. He was going to show me bold new levels of pain, and he was going to enjoy it.

The man rose gracefully from his position, coming to stand before us in a fluid motion, the book forgotten on the couch. His face was still set in that beautiful blank, but his incredibly dark eyes held a fire that matched Modred’s.

“Modred. Behave.” Each word was precise, clipped, toneless. “Where are you going?”

“I caught her. She’s mine to do with as I please,” Modred said, rounding on him in a rage. The air fairly crackled around him. The hairs on my arms stood at attention. I shuffled closer to Benny.

“No. You know Ms. Williams and I have business to discuss. You may have her when I say you may.”

I blinked. This was the master Modred had vaguely alluded to? The one who would hand me over to Modred when he was ‘done with me’? Maybe I didn’t like so much after all.

“You do not rule me,” Modred answered petulantly. He moved into the other’s personal space. His fists clenched at his sides while he stared down at the unflinching, unmoving man. I got the feeling he was supposed to be intimidated. “I will speak to the Empress about this.”

That threat had me a little worried. I was dealing with vampires, Witches and Shapeshifters. Anyone they respected enough to entitle Empress had to be daunting.

There was a noise behind me. We all turned as one as four beefcakes straight out of Studs ‘R’ Us wandered in. I recognized two of them as Wolf-Man and his partner from a few days ago. A third dark haired Lycan was obviously some close relation. The last was a golden idol of feminine lust, tall, handsome, blond, and a body Mr. Universe would envy.

“Hey, Mo-dred,” Wolf-Man greeted with an insolent salute. It was obvious this was one wolfie that didn’t bow to the boss man. “What’s shakin’?”

His partner nodded to Ian as he passed, staring at him warily. I remembered Ian had shot him with a silver bolt. If I was a werewolf, I’d be wary of him, too.

“Hey, brother,” he greeted. Ian stiffened, meeting the other’s eyes but said nothing. I cocked an eyebrow at Ian. He didn’t answer my gaze.

Wolf-Man and the two other dark Adonis’ sank onto the couch, languid and unconcerned. The blond perched on the arm, giving a good display of his muscled arms. Wolf-Man let his half-lidded eyes roam up and down my battered frame. There was nothing sexual in the stare, but it unnerved me anyway. I slid my eyes from his to stare at the little one. He jerked his head to the side quickly, avoiding my gaze like a frightened child.

“Watch her,” Wolf-Man drawled lazily, indicating me with a jerk of his head. “She’s a tricky one.”

Benny growled low and menacing. He was ignored.

“You! You were supposed to kill her,” Modred charged, pointing an accusing finger. Wolf-Man shrugged. Modred swung his gaze to the master, who raised his eyebrows in response.

“Viktor, Modred was just saying he’s going to tattle on me to our Mistress.” His voice held a certain note to it, mocking and daring at the same time. It dawned on me that they were in the middle of a power struggle. A Master and a Mistress playing tug-a-war with their underlings. The Mistress says ‘kill her’, the Master says ‘don’t’. Modred seemed confident the Mistress would let him torture me. The Master wouldn’t. Interesting.

“Oh?” Viktor asked, amused. He stared at Modred in a very unfriendly manner. “How un-brotherly of you.”

Interesting, and complicated.

“You push your boundaries,” Modred told the master. He gazed about the room, weighing his odds. But it was five against four, if you could count the petite Witch. And three of them weren’t exactly at 100%. The almost certainty that he would lose was the only thing that kept Modred from striking him then and there, I think. The master knew it, too.

“You’ve had your fun for the evening, Modred,” the master said, nodding at me. I raised my brows at the fun but wisely said nothing. “Take your whores and busy yourself elsewhere. Bother me no more tonight.”

I don’t think the girls appreciated being referred to as whores, but they were in no position to argue. Modred prudently backed away.

“One day, I will not have to take orders from you,” he snarled. He turned to leave, Benny, the girls, and Ian following.

“Benny and Mr. Barnett may stay.”

I released a sigh of relief. I did not want Ian going anywhere with Modred alone.

Modred whirled. “The bargain was for the girl, and Benny belongs to me,” he argued heatedly.

“Benny belongs to Viktor,” Mr. Attractive corrected mildly. “And I’m changing the bargain. In fact, as Master of this household, I forbid you to leave with Mr. Barnett.”

Modred’s eyes narrowed, but he obeyed. I was glad to watch them go. The Witch had set our weapons on the table on the way out, and the frizzy haired female had actually handed Ian my knife when she released him. He stood staring at it, idly rubbing his fingertips on the cut at his throat. His expression said he didn’t know why she had given it to him, and neither did I. Though, I suppose she thought in a room with five Lycans and a master vamp he wouldn’t be foolish enough to use it. I hoped she was right.

We stared at each other for a moment, the master and I. Blankness to my wariness. I wondered how many centuries it had taken him to perfect that mask-like look that gave away nothing. Everyone was silent. Waiting.

“May I present the Ramey brothers,” the master announced abruptly with an elegant sweep of his hand. “Viktor, Peter and Damien. The other is Trevor Burton.”

I stared hard at Viktor, letting him feel my dislike. “Yeah, I’ve met your little errand boy before.”

“Such hostility,” the master tsked. “It is not conducive to business.”

“What business could we possibly have, other than my stake through your heart?” I shot back. I just wanted this night over.

He placed a fine-boned hand to his chest. “You wound me. What have I ever done to warrant such treatment?”

“How about you siccing Fido on me? And Modred.”

“Viktor,” he corrected subtly, “was in a precarious situation. He hurt you as little as possible. As for Modred, you appear to have held your own.”

“Yeah. He’s real brave with his shifter buddies to do all the dirty work for him,” I scoffed, glaring at Benny. He glared back, but he had lost some of his terrifying aspect now that his back-up was gone.

“Benny?” the master inquired, turning to the Lycan. “Did you do this to Ms. Williams?”

Benny’s eyes darted back and forth between us. He couldn’t deny I looked like Hell rolled over me, but he didn’t want to admit he’d done it, either. Long moments stretched while the master’s question remained unanswered. Of course, sometimes, all you need to know can be heard in a moment of silence.

“Viktor,” the master said over his shoulder, keeping his eye on Benny. “Teach Benny what it means to stray from the Pack.”

Viktor and his crew rose and advanced on the nervously quivering Benny. I was glad someone could scare the little creep. They circled him like wolves on the kill, slowly with narrowed, intent eyes.

“Master, please,” Benny pleaded, backing away from his fellows. “Forgive me.”

“You have shown your preference for Modred over me far too many times,” the master replied. “Viktor has stayed your punishment over these last few weeks only at my request. But no more. You knew I did not want her harmed. You no longer have my protection, Benny.”

Viktor rested his hand on Benny’s shoulder, friendly in a threatening sort of way. Benny visibly deflated as the light of rebellion died in his eyes. He was resigned to his fate, whatever that was. I bet it wouldn’t be pleasant. They started to usher him out of the door.

“Take the young one with you,” the master added as an afterthought.

“No,” I blurted, a desperate tint to my voice. I couldn’t let them take Ian. There was no telling what they’d do to him.

“He will not be harmed,” the master assured me. It didn’t make me feel any better.

I turned to Ian, the fear for his safety plain on my face. I felt horrible getting him in to this mess. He’d never had to have physical contact with the enemy before. Apparently, he was making up for lost time tonight.

Damien had his hand held out to Ian, inviting. There was a look in his eye. Expectant, without any malicious glee at all. Like it was important to him that Ian came of his own free will. I didn’t understand that look and that scared me. Ian looked at me and I knew he wasn’t going to fight it. He was going with them, willingly, fate uncertain.

“I’ll be alright, Paige,” Ian told me with a wavering smile. He sounded so sure of it. So brave. So stupid. He turned and followed them out the door. I was slightly comforted by the fact that he still had my knife.

I was alone with the master now. I didn’t know if that made me more comfortable or more uneasy.

The master wandered over to the table and picked up one of my slim knives. He handled it delicately, running a finger down the blade to test it’s sharpness. A thin line of blood welled up from the shallow cut that made. He placed the finger in his mouth, sucking gently. He started back towards me. I was definitely more uneasy.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he began. He was standing up close to me, almost touching. I caught a whiff of a faint, alluring cologne. Staring into those dark eyes from so close, feeling that same wave of power Modred had possessed, I was unnerved. The knife in his hand didn’t make me feel any better.

He reached behind me. I fought the urge to jerk away. He made a quick motion and my hands sprang apart, the cord that had bound them cut. I rubbed my wrists, encouraging circulation and trying to ease their ache.

“I am Vissarion, Master of this house and Prince of Chicago.”

“So, you’re the big boss man?” I asked in my usual pleasant manner. I glanced at my weapons, gauging my chances of reaching them before he snapped my neck. Not good. “Are you immune to Holy Water, like Modred? Did you make him?” Purely professional curiosity.

Vissarion smiled and turned away. He curled up on the couch again, looking so comfortable I wanted to scream at him. “All true vampires are immune to holy relics and prayer, Ms. Williams,” he answered with an amused smile.

“True vampires?” I was getting sarcastic again, but it was just my way of dealing with danger. “So what do you call those blood sucking corpses I fry for a living? Fake vampires?”

“They are Blood Fiends,” Vissarion clarified patiently. He was the most patient guy I had ever met. “Hell-Spawns. Their existence is blasphemous to God, which is why holy items hurt them. They are indeed animated corpses.”

“And good friends of yours,” I added impertinently.

Vissarion grimaced and looked away from me. He balled one hand into a fist and bit on his knuckles. The action was so vulnerable and human I almost forgot what he was.

“They are hardly friends. They are disgusting, crude, and draw far too much attention to themselves. But my hands are tied.” He turned back to me. “That is why you are here.”

“I don’t follow,” I said, completely confused. That’s been happening a lot lately. “You’re the leader here. If you don’t like them, why don’t you send your puppies out to get rid of them?”

“The Ramey Wolves would like nothing better than to rain a little mayhem on the Fiends,” he replied pleasantly. “But, alas, they are forbidden. You see, we are in the midst of a war. Vampire against Vampire, and everyone else is caught in the middle. My Mistress - oh, yes, I have a master of my own,” he said at my furrowed brows. “My Mistress has made an alliance with the Fiends. As her servant, I cannot harm them. You can. You are mortal, outside this war.”

“You don’t like your Mistress, do you?” I asked in sudden clarity. I had never been good at politics, but I think I understood where this was going.

“I am not strong enough to oppose her,” he answered with a nod. “But there are many of us who do not like her.”

“Not Modred, though,” I whispered, recalling how he had referred to their Mistress as the Empress.

Vissarion stared into blank space. “No. Not Modred.”

“I don’t think I understand this clearly,” I said, frowning as I concentrated. “If many of you don’t like your leader, why don’t you just kill her?”

“You don’t kill the President just because you disagree with him,” Vissarion answered wearily. “There are procedures to follow. Besides, with the Fiends at her beck and call, I doubt we would win anyway.”

“And you want me to eliminate the competition for you,” I added for him. “Why should I help you? Why are you better than this Mistress?”

“Because I represent the New Way,” Vissarion replied, giving me a look that said he thought it was obvious. “A truce between humans and us. Living together, side by side.”

“Over my dead body,” I remarked coldly. “Werewolves. Fiends. Vampires. All just pretty names for Killer.”

“You don’t understand,” Vissarion whispered sadly. “You see everything un-human as evil. But it is so much more complicated than that. Nothing is black and white.”

“I understand when I see fangs sinking into an innocent,” I shot back. “I understand when someone finds a body ripped apart by teeth. It’s the only thing I need to understand.”

“That’s it?” Vissarion asked, showing the first signs of anger. “Anything not normal must obviously be a monster? Regardless of their morals, their character?”

I laughed. This was getting ridiculous. Theology at it’s most confounding. “Evil with a conscience. Charming.”

His face settled into that blank mask. A shiver of fear ran through me. I had pushed my luck this time.

“You have not met evil yet, Ms. Williams,” he intoned. It was a threat and a warning. He pushed off the couch, still full of that liquid grace. I was tempted to ask him if there were classes on supernatural grace. “My Mistress wanted you dead. She doesn’t like you killing her army. I do.” He paused, picking up my magnum, turning it over in his hands. He held it by the muzzle. Amateur. “Modred will tell her of my involvement with you. She will know I am using you to move against her. She will have you hunted.”

“That mean you’re letting me go?” I was hopeful but still distrusting. I wondered if this was some sort of catch and release program.

He smiled, gathering the rest of my arsenal. “I never had any intention of keeping you here against your will.”

He offered me my weapons. I hesitated, expecting a trick. He stood still, waiting, smiling mockingly at my unease. I took the gun from his hand.

“This game is fucked up,” I said, replacing my weapons to their proper places. I was missing only the knife Ian had. The rest of his gear I stuffed where I could.

“It is,” he agreed, laughing. He had a magical laugh. It sent delicious tingles down my spine. He sobered. “Think on what I said. In this, I am not your enemy. I hope you realize that. Soon.” He paused, shielding his thoughts from me with a drop of his head. He looked up, raising a hand as if to touch me. I tensed and his hand fell away. “Trust no one but my wolves,” he advised.

Silently, I vowed not even to trust them. After all, the big one tried to turn me into a midnight snack just days ago.

“I hope you kill each other in this war,” I told him honestly. “Save me the trouble.”

He smiled wanly, but didn’t answer. I wondered if, perversely, he hoped the same thing. Naw.





Viktor and Damien drove us back to the car and left us on the pavement. We were both armed again, I having given Ian his weapons back on the ride. The Madcap Café was still open, apparently recovered from this evening’s excitement. I wondered if Modred was in there, but I sure as Hell wasn’t going back in to find out. I hoped never to go in there again, ever. I didn’t even glance in the window as we passed.

I was more beaten than Ian, my nose swollen and aching. My whole face sore from the excessive abuse it had received. I drove anyway. I needed something to do to keep my mind off the pains of my body and the sinking feeling in my gut.

Ian was still whole. Quiet, but whole. Whatever they did to him it hadn’t been physical.

“You alright?” I asked, casting him worried glances. He had been really quiet.

“Yeah. I just have some things to think about,” was his despondent answer. It was curiously vague.

“What do you mean? What things?”

Ian grimaced. He didn’t want to talk about it and I wasn’t going to let it go. I wanted to know what had happened when he left the room.

“Ian? Give it up,” I pressed.

Reluctantly, he unfolded the tale of Benny’s punishment. They had taken him to the garage. In case there’s a mess, Peter had explained. There, they stripped him and made him kneel on the floor. Peter and Trevor held him still while Damien carved mystic runes into his chest with a silver knife. Benny had grunted and yelled in pain as his own blood pooled around him. Viktor had stood to the side, chanting a few choice rules of the Pack.

“Thou shalt not betray thy Brother. The words of thy Chief are law. Thy word of honor is sacred. To break the laws of the Pack and thy Chief is punishable by death. Mercy is for the weak.” Viktor bent over Benny, grabbing the lower half of his face in a vise-like grip and forcing him to meet his eyes. “Challenge me again, Brother, in any way, and I’ll kill you,” he swore. Turning away from the man in contempt, he ordered, “Break his arms.”

Ian shuddered, coming back the present. “And then Viktor offered to accept me into his Pack,” he concluded.

“What?” I demanded, still disturbed over his recounting of Benny’s torture. It could have been worse, but I’d never seen anyone tortured before. “Make you a werewolf? No fucking way.” I shook my head in disbelief.

“Paige.” Ian turned to me in frustrated agitation. I met his eyes briefly before returning my attention to the road. I didn’t like what I’d seen. “I’m already a werewolf.”

I slammed on the brakes, my body jerking against the seatbelt. Ian’s upper body was thrown forward violently and his head bounced off the dashboard. He grunted an ‘ow’ and rubbed his head. Nothing else. No concussion, no skull fracture. A normal person would have been unconscious. I decided to ignore that fact for the moment.

“What!? Since when?” I felt like I should have noticed something like that.

Ian sighed and pressed his hands to his face. I could hear the regret and anguish in his voice. “Since always, Paige.” he answered wearily. “I was born a werewolf.”

I stared as him, shocked, confused, in denial. I didn’t want it to be true. My best friend, one of the monsters I had sworn to kill? Impossible.

“No fucking way,” I denied. He stared at me, steady and unflinching. It was true. “No fucking way,” I repeated, this time in awe. I still hadn’t got the car moving again. Good thing this was a slow night for traffic. “Your parents? Do they know?”

“They’re werewolves, too, Paige,” he said patiently. “We were born that way.”

“But you’re my best friend,” I reasoned, grabbing at anything to support my disbelief. “And Peggy and John. They’re so…nice.” My voice trailed off as the conversation I’d had earlier with Vissarion returned. My own words haunted me. Evil with a conscience.

This was a little too close to home. The monsters had always been snarling strangers. Nameless, with no life-story. Now, I find out the person I trust most in the world is one of them. I was supposed to kill the monsters. Could I kill Ian? Drive a silver blade through his heart as I stared into his trusting eyes? He had been my friend since I was ten years old. We had hunted evil together for years. He was my back-up. My partner. A werewolf.

“Get out,” I demanded, my eyes mirroring all my anger and pain as I clenched the steering wheel.

“What?” he replied, flabbergasted.

“Get out!” I couldn’t deal with this right now. I couldn’t even look at him.

“But it’s my car,” he argued logically.

“Fine.” I got out. I left him there in the middle of the street staring after me. He didn’t call me, he didn’t chase me. He knew better.



Chapter Four



I awoke with the sun in my eyes and dried tears on my face. After I made it home last night, or rather early this morning, I had showered and medicated my bruises. Then, I sat at my kitchen table and thought. I thought about my mother and what had happened to her. I thought about all the monsters I had killed. I thought about Vissarion and Modred. I thought about Ian.

Him being a werewolf forced me to look at everything I believed in a different light. If werewolves and all such creatures were evil, the Ian and the Barnett’s were evil. But they weren’t, I knew that. And if they weren’t evil, then maybe Vissarion was right and not all supernatural beings were bad. I couldn’t imagine a good vampire, but maybe there was a shade of gray.

I fell asleep around four in the morning knowing two things. First, I had to apologize to Ian. He was my friend and that should never change. Second, I needed to speak with Vissarion again. If he was supposed to be one of the good vampires, I needed to know what the bad ones were.

I blinked against the sunlight, wondering what had woken me. My bedside clock said 7:34. No way I woke up after only three hours naturally.

Someone pounded on my door, loud and insistent. Who would be calling on me at this ungodly hour? Certainly no one I knew. I dragged myself out of bed and answered the door. Viktor stood there, leaning against the doorjamb in black leather pants and a navy dress shirt. He looked good, dammit. Why did the bad guys always look good?

He looked me up and down, smiling at my Power Puff Girls pj’s. I hated it when the bad guys laughed at me. “Morning, Glory,” he greeted cheerfully.

“How the Hell did you know where I lived?” I demanded. I’m a very gracious morning person.

“Cute jammies,” Viktor answered. “Get dressed. You’re coming back to the mansion.”

“Against my will?” I inquired in mock politeness. Viktor sounded so pleasant. I didn’t want him to be pleasant. I didn’t like him and I liked it that way. “Vissarion said he wouldn’t keep me against my will.”

Viktor shrugged. “Something happened last night, after you left. Vissarion’s afraid for you. He’s offering his protection for you and your friends.”

“My friends?” Fear shot through me. He didn’t say ‘friend’, or ‘Ian’. He said ‘friend’s’. Plural. “What have you been up to this morning, Viktor?”

Viktor stepped into the kitchen uninvited. My neighbor’s were beginning to wake up and leave their safe apartments, so I didn’t argue. Never involve the neighbors. I shut the door behind him.

“Ian and Hannah are already at Vissarion’s,” Viktor answered. My face must have betrayed my feelings because he rushed on. “Believe me, Paige, we don’t want to hurt you. We want your help. As much help as we can get, really.”

“Why me?” I asked earnestly. “Why not someone more experienced, with more kills? Why little ole’ Paige, who didn’t even know the difference between Fiends and Vampires until last night? I’m not sure I understand it now.”

Viktor’s eyes were clouded, hiding. “Vissarion has his reasons,” he hedged. It was the kind of response that discouraged further discussion. I let it go. He continued, “Why don’t you get dressed and pack a bag?”

“Pack?” I repeated, wary. “Am I going on a trip?”

“For your own safety, Vissarion has decided it would be best if you resided at his mansion for a few days.”

“Ian and Hannah, as well?”

“Of course.”

“Did they have time to pack?” I shot at him as I passed. I didn’t like being ordered around. He followed me into my bedroom, playing the role of shadow. I began rummaging through my closet for clothes to take.

“Ian has clothing with him,” Viktor answered. I turned to him suspiciously, old brown suitcase in one hand. He looked away from my gaze.

I threw the suitcase on the bed and began shoving clothes in it. “Hannah?” If he’d hurt her, so help him….

“She proved difficult.” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture, smiling. “Apparently, she doesn’t trust me.”

“Yeah. No shit,” I snorted. Couldn’t fault her there.

“But she is unharmed. Scared, but unharmed.”

I said nothing, reserving judgment until after I’d seen her. I was willing to give a little benefit of the doubt after last night’s revelations.

I stared at Viktor expectantly, bundle of clothes in one hand. He gazed back blankly. “Can I get dressed?” I asked. “I’m not going in my pj’s, and I’m certainly not giving you a peep show.”

“Too bad,” Viktor replied with an exaggerated pout, eyebrows wriggling. I gasped in maidenly indignation, causing Viktor to chuckle gleefully. “I will stand at the door,” he announced. He crossed just outside my room and closed the door. But I knew he was right there, leaning against the wood. It made me nervous.

“So, what happened that’s got V spooked?” I called, tossing my pj’s in the corner. I never could understand neat freaks. The floor just seemed the logical place for dirty clothes to me. I slipped on a black lacy bra. All my bras were lacy. I may be a slayer, but I was still a girl.

“Right after you left, Vissarion had some visitors,” Viktor answered through the door. “Wing Sing and her ally.”

“Wing Sing?” I repeated, stepping into a pair of well worn jeans.

“His Mistress,” he clarified. “And her ally, the master of the Blood Fiends. A piece of work, that guy.” His tone held revulsion and I imagined him shuddering. “Modred blabbed, of course. Wing Sing’s pissed. Her upset is a very scary thing.”

I bet it was. I pulled a dark blue boat neck, wedge-sleeved shirt on. It showed my bra straps, but it was one of my favorite shirts. It made the soft blue in my eyes brighter. I slipped into my canvas Vans, grabbed the suitcase, the duffel bag that held all my slaying gear and opened the door. Viktor must have heard me coming because he wasn’t leaning on the frame anymore. He was looking at me with something close to appreciation. I doubted I could be that attractive with both sides of my face purple, the left cheek scabbed over and my nose twice it’s normal size. I did appreciate the compliment, though.

“Vissarion doesn’t strike me as easily intimidated,” I commented, sensing there was more to the story.

“He’s been defying Wing Sing for centuries. He knows how far he can push.” His pupils contracted to pinpoints and I realized Vissarion wasn’t the only one spooked. He continued, “Two hours ago, someone called to say the White Lady arrived in town. Things are going to escalate now. The hostility will be in the open. It’s all going to get a little unpredictable.”

“Who’s the White Lady?” I was pathetically out of the loop.

“Aisling,” Viktor whispered, as if there was anyone to overhear us. “Some call her the Queen of the Vampires. She is Wing Sing’s true rival. They hate each other. This war is really their war. From now on, they will try to destroy each other’s power bases and gather as many allies as they can.”

“Who’s side are you on?” Though I didn’t really think it mattered.

Viktor thought about it, staring into space for several seconds. “Aisling,” he finally answered.

“Why?” A monster was a monster, but I was curious what had them so divided.

“Because,” he explained in deadly earnest, “Aisling demands a reason to kill you. Wing Sing…? To kill is the reason.”

I thought that was a pretty thin dividing line. I had to remind myself, I wasn’t dealing in good verses evil anymore. Now, I had entered the many mystifying shades of gray. I couldn’t wait to get back to the world of color.





Damien was waiting for us in the same car Viktor had driven me in last night. A silver Chrysler. It was a nice, white collar kind of car. It didn’t suit the brothers’ taste. I suspected they were only borrowing it.

I saw the mansion as soon as we passed the gate and gasped. Last night, it had been too dark to pick out details. In the morning light, it was beautiful. The paint was navy blue, the trimmings black. The yard was well manicured with dozens of brilliant flowerbeds, leafy trees, and lawn furniture. The drive curved around the back of the house, past a standard size pool, and ended before a stone carriage house that had been modified into a six-car garage.

Damien hit a remote attached to the windshield and the doors rolled upwards. He pulled in between a red Corvette and a blue BMW. Further down was a shiny black Camaro and a cream Rolls Royce. They were all expensive, pristine vehicles. I wondered greedily what sat in the vacant spot.

“Are all these cars Vissarion’s?” I asked as I slid out of the backseat.

“No,” Viktor answered, slamming his door. “Only the BMW. The Camaro’s mine. This one’s for the girls. The Corvette belongs to Dona Rosa, and the Rolls is sort of community property, so to speak.”

That brought up so many questions. I asked them all. “Really? The girls? Who’s Dona Rosa?”

Damien grabbed my luggage from the trunk. We followed him up the drive to the front of the house. I admired the scenery as we walked. I could dig sitting around here a while. It was like being in a Jane Austen novel, only with constant danger.

“The girls,” Viktor replied, as if that was a real answer. I gave him a withering look and he elaborated. “Our sister Ava and Lady Jane. She’s one of Vissarion’s…fellows.”

“A vampire?”

“Yep. And Rosa is a visiting Prince from St. Louis. There’s a big Pow Wow in a few days, ya know. A gathering.”

A gathering of power, that’s what Hannah had said. Now we knew what that was. A Vampire war.

“Gathering allies?” I guessed.

“Yeah. Both sides are trying to be diplomatic about it. You know, establish rules. Like the UN.”

I laughed. I didn’t think it was going to be anything like the UN.

“You’re being very open about this,” I commented, walking up the front steps.

“Well, whether you like it or not, you’re one of us now, Paige,” he replied, opening the door with a flourish.

I wanted to argue the point but didn’t think he’d listen. Apparently, he thought just because I’d agreed to go with him this morning that we were friends. I didn’t think now was the time to disillusion him.

I followed Damien in, Viktor closing the door as he filed in last. A small gasp made me turn. Ian and Hannah sat in the living room with Peter and Trevor. No one had any weapons and there was nothing threatening in their stances. A tension filled the air nonetheless. A tension I don’t think had anything to do with our lunarly challenged friends.

Hannah, tall, brunette with a childlike face, bolted out of her chair and threw herself in my airs. She was taller than me by five inches and I staggered back. She didn’t loosen her grip on my neck.

“I’m so scared, Paige,” she sobbed into my neck. Hannah was a very sensitive person. She lifted her head enough to breathe in my ear, “There’s a bad woman here.”

I had never heard such stark fear in her voice before. I pulled her up to stare at her. Her blue eyes were wide and panicked. When Viktor had said she was scared, I think he was putting it mildly.

I glanced over her shoulder to where Ian stood, looking at him questioningly. He was wearing the same thing he’d had on last night and looked like crap. I felt a stab of guilt, sure his world-weary and lack-luster appearance was my fault.

“Vissarion’s Mistress is here,” Ian answered my look. His tone was carefully blank, his face guarded. I think he was still upset over my outburst last night. I reached out to him, one arm still around Hannah. I let the regret fill my eyes, willing him to see how sorry I was for being so unreasonable. He was my friend and nothing should change that.

Ian hesitated a moment, then stepped into my embrace. I leaned into him gratefully, pressing my face into his chest. He has carried me when I was too weak to walk, followed me wherever I led and comforted me once when I discovered young love wasn’t eternal. O owed him my friendship, my loyalty.

“You will always be my friend, Ian,” I whispered against him. “Always.”

“If you were naked, this’d be really hot,” Damien cut in from behind me. I pulled away to glare at him. He shrugged. “As is, I’m just really bored.”

“I’m not here to entertain you, Damien,” I snapped, the moment of peace love and forgiveness destroyed.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but movement down the hall caught his attention. I turned to look. Vissarion had just stepped out of the study, looking delicious in black corduroy jeans and a purple and blue silk shirt. He glanced over his shoulder nervously as he moved towards us. By the time he had reached our little party, however, he was once again back to a careful blank.

“I’m so glad you agreed to come, Paige,” he greeted pleasantly. I didn’t smile back. His own look faltered and his eyes darted around anxiously, finally settling on Hannah and Ian. “Please, return to the parlor, friends. This is not a house to wander in.”

Hannah cast me a last desperate look before allowing Ian to guide her away. They resumed their seats across from Peter and Trevor. I wondered why they didn’t at least turn on the TV.

“I thought this was supposed to be a Safe House,” I accused, a little uneasy with the level of tension that prevailed. Vissarion, too, was scared. He didn’t show it in stance or expression. It was the eyes that gave it away. “Why is Wing Sing here?”

He made shushing noises at me, waving his hands in small frantic movements. “Don’t say her name,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder. “And it is safe because it is my house. I don’t think she’d kill you here.”

“You don’t think?” I repeated in outrage, earning me another shush. I held an impatient hand out to Damien, who still carried my stuff. “Give me my guns. I want to be armed if something pops out at me.”

“Damien, take Ms. Williams’ things to her room, please,” Vissarion quickly cut in. Damien trotted up the stairs to comply. Vissarion didn’t trust me with weapons. Fine. He was probably right.

“Viktor thinks I should be on your side,” I said, staring hard at him. We were still all in the foyer, but I didn’t want to move any farther until he’d given me a reason to trust him. “Why?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I told you, you had not met evil yet, Ms. Williams,” he replied. “Perhaps, when you are better educated, you will not need to ask such questions.”

I was a little insulted by that reply. I opened my mouth to speak, stinging remark on the tip of my tongue. Vissarion held up a hand, silencing me. He stared over my shoulder at the door, head cocked to one side. He was listening, or feeling, something I couldn’t. I turned to see what the big deal was.

Viktor was pressed against the wall, peeking out a window with one eye. After a couple of moments, I heard it. Feet on the steps. I didn’t think Vissarion was expecting any more guests. Viktor, however, released a sigh of relief and stepped away from the wall.

“It’s Lucia,” he announced. Vissarion nodded and Viktor swung the door open before the new visitor could knock.

I stared at the most beautiful male I had ever seen. He wasn’t particularly tall, maybe 5’7, and looked no older than 19. White hair with just a hint of blond fell about his head in gentle waves, brushing the back of his collar lightly. Brilliant fire-green eyes stared out from a face no artist could duplicate. High cheekbones; short, perfect nose; sensuous lips. The jaw was neither square nor soft, the chin slightly pointed. He looked like an elf from a fairy tale, the illusion deepened by his pale, pale skin. He wore a dark blue button down shirt with wide lapels and wedge cuffs; a black suit jacket over faded jeans that were too long in the leg. The cuffs of his jeans almost completely covered his dingy and well-worn tennis shoes. He looked absolutely fabulous.

The guest paused at the threshold, waiting to be invited in. Maybe the old tale about vampires not crossing doorways uninvited was true, but I was betting he was just being polite. He wait was not long.

“Lucia. You are always welcome in my home,” Vissarion greeted in genuine joy. They smiled at each other like the best of old friends. Evidently, Lucia was one of the good guys.

Lucia stepped into the foyer, the door closing behind him. He nodded first to Vissarion, then turned to Viktor. “Cousin Viktor,” he said, holding out his hand.

Viktor shook it obligingly. “Lucia.” There was a lot of respect in that greeting.

“Lucia Volpenhein, I’d like you to meet Paige Williams,” Vissarion formally introduced.

I hesitated before taking the proffered handshake. He had that aura that screamed vampire, mixed with something else.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” I whispered back. My, weren’t we all being awfully pleasant.

“Is your mother coming?” Vissarion asked anxiously. I couldn’t tell if it was a good anxious or a scared anxious. A little of both, I think.

“Not yet,” Lucia answered, still staring at me. I’d have been unnerved if he wasn’t so beautiful. But I actually didn’t mind the attention. Gave me a chance to stare into his eyes some more. He had beautiful eyes. Clear, bright, the kind you could trust. “She is awaiting some companions.”

“Lucia!”

I gasped at the ice in that voice, saw Lucia jump in surprise. I turned and couldn’t help an open-mouthed stare.

A woman stood just outside the study door, advancing down the hall. Her black hair fell in a tangled mess to the tops of her buttocks, sexy in a -just-tumbled-out-of-bed way. Her eyes were slanted and a deep, deep brown, thrown wide in a perpetually shocked expression. The nose close to the face and narrow, but with a gentle rounding that made it appear delicate. The mouth was small, the lips full but pulled tight over fangs in something that could be interpreted either as a smile, snarl or grimace. Her face was round but gaunt, making her cheekbones prominent. Her thin frame was encased in a black silk blouse, opened so low her white breast almost tumbled out, and a floor length tiered beige skirt with a colorful flower pattern. It would have been elegant in a ballroom, but looked out of place in the sunlit hallway.

She walked in stilted, jerky steps, like she was walking on glass, arms swinging awkwardly from side to side. Her head jerked with each step, reminding me of a bobble-head doll. Her eyes darted about like she wasn’t focusing on anything she was seeing. She had none of the grace the other vampires I’d met, none of the allure. She was a beautiful Asian courtesan from another time, only something had happened to her to mar that beauty for anyone who looked long enough. It had taken me about three seconds to realize what that something was. She was mad as a hatter.

Vissarion had tensed as she came up beside him. He stood still as a statue, like a rabbit before the hungry wolf. Trying so hard not to attract her attention. Viktor watched her warily, the stare of a dog who has felt it’s master’s boot once too often. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Hannah huddle into Ian, Peter move a fraction of an inch closer to Trevor. It was the clue I needed to figure out this was the dreaded Wing Sing, beautiful, deadly. Psychotic.

Only Lucia seemed able to look at her without flinching, pleasant smile frozen on his face, amazing eyes glinting like steel. Her roving eyes settled on him, focusing. Her nose lifted arrogantly, allowing her to look down on him.

“I thought I smelled the spawn of Aisling,” she “said, her deep alto fluctuating between breathy and forceful. Her face suddenly developed a nervous tic, forceful enough to make her head jerk a few times. When the spasm had passed, she continued, “Is your mother here? Where is she staying? I must send her flowers of welcome.”

She was trying to sound pleasant, but was unable to keep the malice from her voice. Lucia wasn’t fooled.

“Tell me what you want on the card and I’ll send it for you,” he answered conversationally. His eyes, however, had hardened even more, the color paling ever so slightly.

Wing Sing gave a soft humph, lifting her head higher. She peered at him from beneath her long lashes speculatively, deciding something. Her claw-like hands clutched spastically at the fabric of her skirt and she let out a mirthless rush of air, an imitation of a laugh. She turned away from him in contempt.

The hairs on my hairs rose as she stared at me. Such overpowering waves of hate emanated from those eyes I was surprised I didn’t drop dead then and there. Her aura of raw dark power rushed over me, tingling. I shrank away from it. She smiled in earnest, pleased at my reaction, giving me a clear view of her incredibly long, deadly fangs.

“This must be Vissarion’s little slayer. Impressive, I’m sure.” She didn’t sound impressed in the least. Her eyes softened abruptly and her hand reached up, tracing the air in front of her as if caressing my face. “Even more beautiful than your mother.”

My eyes narrowed, anger flaring. I didn’t like it when weirdoes delved into my personal life. Besides, I knew for a fact my face looked like ground hamburger at the moment.

“How do you know my mother?” I demanded.

Her smile turned positively gleeful and she pulled herself up in a moment of grace and lucidity. “Didn’t Vissarion tell you how he’s been watching over you all these years?” she asked, enjoying my anger and unease. “You have held his interest for a very long time, and I like to know what interests my children.” She leaned close to Vissarion, running the back of her hand down his cheek caressingly, possessively. Vissarion watched her from the corner of his eye. Wing Sing’s voice was almost seductive as she whispered, “Modred and he fought over you many times. It was very amusing.” She whispered a string of foreign words in his ear. I didn’t understand a single syllable of it, but Vissarion reddened brightly.

“Please do not taunt my guests,” he bit out angrily, embarrassed and striving for politeness.

Wing Sing’s eyes flashed dangerously and she stalked around Vissarion like a vulture. Her desire to do him bodily harm was palpable. I kept expecting her to peck him any moment.

“You disrespect me in my own house,” Vissarion said, calm and slow. Trying to reason, to demand respect without actually seeming to demand. I would never have been able to be so diplomatic.

“It is your house because I gave it to you. Careful I don’t snatch it away.” Her hand grasped at the air in front of his face, but he didn’t flinch. She ceased her predatory circling, staring around at all of us. Her nostrils were flared in anger, her eyes had regained their wide, crazed look. After several moments of contemplation, she gave an animalistic snort, a mix of snarl and humph. “You bore me,” she announced to no one in particular. She turned and walked erratically back the way she had come.

Viktor released a sigh of relief as she disappeared through the study door, and Vissarion visibly relaxed. Damien came trotting down the stairs, apparently having hidden above to avoid Wing Sing’s presence. Coward. Lucia circled his finger around the front of his ear in the universal sign for crazy. The tension broke, Vissarion and Lucia bursting into muted laughter.

Lucia would have looked like the nice boy next door with his perfect face lighted in laughter, if I hadn’t caught a glimpse of those small, delicate canines too sharp to be human. I couldn’t bring myself to call them fangs. They were too tiny, elegant almost. Nothing like the predatory teeth of Vissarion and Modred, or the frightening ivories of Wing Sing.

Vissarion opened his arms wide in welcome. Lucia embraced him quickly and they shared a complicated handshake. One of those secret greetings popular in fraternities and boys’ clubs. I could just see the two of them holed up in a clubhouse poring over comic books and old pin-ups of Pamela Lee. Swigging warm beer and munching on Cheetos.

“I have missed you these years,” Vissarion said excitedly. “What have you been doing? I heard about the excitement in LA this spring. I would have come to you, but I had my hands full here.” Vissarion grimaced to emphasize his point.

Lucia ran a hand through his snow blond hair, looking adorably bashful. “It was a bit of a to-do,” he answered, embarrassed. “But you wouldn’t have enjoyed it. Witches, werewolves and conspiracies. Kind of boring.”

Vissarion laughed. “Just another day in the life, yes?”

They were talking over my head. I didn’t appreciate that. I was here to get answers, not listen to a couple of vamps catch up on old times.

“This conversation is making no sense at all to me, so can we get back to business?” I cut in acidly.

The pair stared at me for several moments, silent. Their smiles faded and I felt like I’d just spit on some kid’s birthday cake. They looked so young, younger than me. Realistically, I knew they probably had centuries on me, but that didn’t stop the illusion.

“You are quite right,” Vissarion answered, sober. “I suggest, however, that for this business we go outside.”

“We’ll keep the guests company while you’re gone,” Viktor offered. Vissarion nodded in agreement, Viktor and Damien moving for the living room. I knew they had something much more serious than mere company in mind.

“Company, or guard duty?” I asked harshly, sure I knew the answer.

Viktor stared at me, deadly serious. “They’re guests, not hostages, Paige. I guard them for their own safety.”

I turned to Vissarion. “Am I going to come back and find Psycho Bitch leaning over their bloodless corpses?” They were all so scared of Wing Sing I seriously doubted their ability to guard against her.

Lucia raised his eyebrows, surprised and amused. “You are charming,” he said without a trace of sarcasm. His expression darkened and he stepped closer. “But Wing Sing needs Vissarion too much to risk his displeasure by killing his guests.”

“Then why the watch dogs?”

Lucia smiled and shrugged, nonchalant. “She is unpredictable.”

“Great,” was my dry reply.

“She can also hear everything we are saying,” Vissarion cut in, ushering us towards the door.

We stepped into the brilliant sunlight, blinking against the brightness. We walked together without destination. Where we were wasn’t what was important. The question of why my vampire companions weren’t bursting into flame from the sun’s touch rose in my mind, but I tamped it down. My curiosity on the biology of vampires would have to wait until we weren’t embroiled in a political labyrinth.

“Okay, I have several questions,” I said, focusing on the problem at hand. Everything is just so confusing, it was best to take it a step at a time. “Why is the crazy lady in your study? What is with this Vampire War, and what do I have to do with it?”

Vissarion sighed, keeping his eyes on the ground before him. “This Vampire War has been building for centuries, between those who wish to live among the humans, and those who see them only as vermin to be conquered. Nothing but a food source and playthings.” He took another deep breath and continued, “The war has been nothing but insignificant squabbles, private battles between rival masters of different opinions. Until last year. The Vampiress Aisling, whom most had believed was only a mere legend, a creature long dead, appeared in Los Angeles. She declared herself Queen, killed the local Prince and replaced him with a ruler of her own choosing. She declared that vampires had become degenerate parasites, drawing too much attention to themselves and losing touch with their human traits. She promoted a quieter, more sedate lifestyle of vampires living peacefully among humans and feeding only from willing donors. We are not savages, she said, merely not human.” He smiled wryly. “Wing Sing was furious, of course. She lives for savagery. She is a sadistic predator and lusts for power. She challenged Aisling’s right to rule, titling herself Empress in an effort to weaken her rival’s hold. She is the representative for those who want to see the human race enslaved.”

“She is, of course, completely insane,” Lucia added matter-of-factly.

“Yes. And I partly think her immense hate for Aisling stems mostly from jealousy and the fact that they had the same Mother,” Vissarion continued thoughtfully.

“Mother? They’re sisters?” I asked, bewildered.

“Mother is what we call those who turned us,” Vissarion explained. “Mother or Father. Their Childer are Brothers and Sisters to each other. It is a relationship full of more rivalry, jealousy and hatred than any true siblings.” He looked at me, face grave. “Never have two vampiric children at the same time unless you want them to be enemies,” he added with dark humor.

“You and Modred are brothers, aren’t you?” I asked, finally catching on.

“Yes. And that is why also she is here now. She is my Mother. Everything I have is hers, as well. I cannot deny her, not while my power is still inferior to hers.”

I nodded. It was all staring to make sense in a twisted way. “And Aisling is your Mother,” I said, turning to Lucia.

“I am her natural born son,” he corrected, and my grasp on the situation slipped. “But that is an explanation for another time.”

I had every intention of holding him to that promise. I was getting tired of all the surprising plot twists. But my attention was diverted again as Vissarion continued.

“The death of the Prince of Los Angeles a few months ago was the stepping stone Wing Sing needed to declare open war. All she has to do is get rid of Aisling, and the world will be overrun with vampires, Fiends, and Shapeshifters who want only to kill.”

“And you, despite the fact that you’re a vampire, disagree with that?” I knew I sounded incredulous, but come on! Vampires as warriors for World Peace? What’s next, Lucifer exonerated by the Pope?

“Are you dense?” Lucia returned, scoffing. “If everyone like us agreed with Wing Sing, the human race would have been extinct centuries ago. You really think a horde of peasants with crosses and pitchforks could have withstood a vampire apocalypse? Not a chance. You’re still here because we have a lingering respect for what it meant to be human.” I detected a hint of self-loathing in his tirade.

“What are you talking about? You guys eat us!” I retorted, enraged. Did I feel sorry for the cow every time I bit into a burger? Hell, no! Why should they be any different?

“We must drink blood to survive, yes,” Vissarion answered patiently. “But that doesn’t mean we wish your destruction or your forced enslavement.”

“Like your chickens free-range, do ya?” I said snappily.

He whirled on me, fists clenched, eyes flashing. “It is not - you - !” He stopped himself, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was counting to ten. “You are over-simplifying. It is complicated and I cannot explain it to you. Most of us only feed on willing donors. Those who can’t resist the hunt weed out society’s undesirables. Immoral, perhaps, but certainly better for you than indiscriminate hunting. But beneath the blood cravings, we are still who we were before the fangs grew in. We have emotions, desires, regrets. Everything that is human, only more.”

I wasn’t ready to think of them as people yet, beings just like me. I wanted them to be monsters, cannibalistic killing machines. I moved on.

“What do I have to do with all this?” I asked, backtracking to an earlier subject. “Why am I involved?”

Vissarion turned away and we continued walking. He was back to being calm and patient.

“Your involvement in this is regrettable,” he answered. “And all my fault. Wing Sing knows I am perilously close to leaving her. I’ve disliked her from the beginning, but was seduced by lust, and then stayed out of fear. But I haven’t desired her for quite some time and soon my dislike will outweigh my fear. She knows I favor you. She’ll use you to keep me with her, either as a prize, or to use your death as an example of what happens to those who disobey. I would not see that happen. You are safer here, surrounded by my friends and those loyal to me.”

“You favor me?” I repeated, my voice calmer than I felt. I imagined him stalking me through the years, like a shy nerd pining for the cool girl. I stopped, the boys stopping with me, as I remembered something Wing Sing had said. “You knew my mother.”

Silence descended around us. It should have been all the answer I needed, but it wasn’t. I needed to know everything. What had happened that night so long ago? Had Vissarion been the attacker? Why my mother? Vissarion stared at me, eyes wide and sad. I thought I saw guilt in their deep depths, but it could have been wishful thinking.

“I’m going to - ah -,” Lucia said awkwardly, scrambling for a believable excuse. “Yeah. I’m gonna leave.”

I turned to give him my best withering stare, but he was already gone, rounding the corner of the house in a meander walk. Apparently, this was a conversation he thought we needed our privacy for.

“I knew her, Paige,” he finally admitted quietly. “I’ve been watching you since you were a little girl, it’s true. I protected you from Modred when he would have gone after you. I slipped your grandmother money when she was too sick to work.”

“Sick?” I repeated with a derisive laugh. “That’s just a polite way of saying crazy. Grams went off the deep end from watching her daughter get killed by a fairy tale monster. And that monster was you.”

I was hurt, angry, sad. Hot tears burned behind my eyes but I wouldn’t let them fall. Not in front of him, the creature that had destroyed my childhood. I wanted to strike at him, make him hurt as he had made me hurt. But he was supernatural and I was only human. I wished I had insisted on that gun after all.

Vissarion laid his hands on my shoulders, light and hesitant. I wanted to shrug away from him, but it was oddly comforting. “I did not take your mother, Paige,” he said, his eyes pleading with me to believe him. “Believe me, I would never intentionally hurt you.”

I did believe him. Crazy, but true. Vissarion was not cold-blooded or heartless. How could I ever have thought that? The fact that this was not my normal thought process didn’t occur to me. I was just so relieved Vissarion was my mother’s killer. But then, who was? The only other logical choice, of course.

“Modred,” I hissed, hating him all the more.

Vissarion pulled me into his arms, enveloping me in a comforting circle of warmth. I should have pulled away, but couldn’t. Learning the identity of my mother’s killer made it all so fresh in my mind. The blood. The furniture tossed about like toys. Grams unconscious on the floor with a broken arm and a concussion. I needed a shoulder to lean on, even if it belonged to a blood-sucking vampire.

“I tried to stop him,” he whispered into my hair. “Truly. But Modred has a madness of his own. He pines for the mortal lover he lost over a millennia ago. In young Mindy, he saw his beloved Guenever, and he had to possess her. I have seen it happen before. I’m sorry.”

“She may never have been much of a mother,” I sniffed, remembering my neglected early years as my teenage mother flitted off to parties, “But she was my mother. He had no right to take her from me.”

Vissarion whispered some words of comfort in a language I didn’t understand. I pushed away from his arms, wiping traitorous tears from my face. I forced my sadness and anguish back, focusing on the hate. Hate was what gave me my killing edge and I needed all the edge I could get for what I had planned.

“I’ll kill him,” I swore, hands clenching. I wanted his neck between my squeezing fingers. I wanted to make him bleed.

“No, Paige. You mustn’t,” Vissarion warned, holding out a pleading hand. “If by some miracle you succeeded, Wing Sing would avenge his death. Modred is too powerful for you, even with your guns. And he would enjoy subduing you.”

The way he said that last gave me pause. I looked at him questioningly. He smiled wryly and answered my unspoken question.

“Do you not realize how like your mother you look?” he asked. My mouth gaped, remembering last night when Modred had insisted my name should be Guenever. “Do you not realize what that means? Alas, Mindy was not the woman of his memories and now he has his sights set on you. He wants you. To relieve his frustrated disappointment with past loves. To warm his bed, most definitely.”

“Bed? Like sex?” I asked skeptically. “Vampires can have sex?”

Vissarion smiled and took a step closer. I backed up. I didn’t like that smile. Made me feel like fresh meat under the predator’s gaze.

“Oh, yes,” he breathed. Another step. “I have told you before, we are not animate corpses. We are alive, with beating hearts, warm flesh, hot breath.” He had caught up with me, staring at me with those deep, deep eyes. I realized with a shock they weren’t black, but the deepest blue, like the ocean at night. I couldn’t look away from them. I was falling into them.

My heart leapt into my throat as his hands slid around my waist. My breathing quickened, coming in fast pants. Every inch of my body ached for his touch. I arched against him, leaning my head back as I pressed my body into his. He lowered his head and trailed wet, hot kisses up my neck.

“You want me?” he whispered seductively, nibbling gently at my ear. I moaned in response. “More than you have ever wanted anything before?”

“Yes,” I breathed, impatient for more.

Vissarion straightened, pushing me gently away from him. My lust evaporated like smoke and I was left cold. I wrapped my arms around my middle, shivering.

“It’s only a mind trick,” Vissarion said, his voice even and normal. “An enchantment I weave with eyes, voice and will. Modred will use it against you. He will bewitch you until you would follow him unto death just for his touch.”

Fear filled me. I had never felt anything like that before. I had wanted Vissarion with every piece of my body. When he moved away from me, I had felt desolate. I hadn’t questioned it, would never have left him of my own free will. It was frightening beyond words. I did not want Modred to have that kind of power over me.

“That is why you must not fight him, not yet,” he continued. “If he were able to bewitch you, you would be lost to him forever.”

I felt violated. For those few moments, Vissarion had controlled my body and mind completely. It had felt too good for me to care. Not being in control scared me more than dying.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” I hissed, trembling only partly from rage. I spun and trotted back to the house. I had to get away from him before I did something foolish, like an attempted staking.

Chapter Five



Peter and Damien showed my friends and I upstairs to our room when I returned to the house. I had a lot to think about and was working on very little sleep, so I was grateful for the chance at solitude. My room was as elegant and pleasant as the rest of the house, the large bed inviting. I locked the door and shoved a fancifully carved straight backed chair under the handle for insurance. This place was a loony bin and I didn’t want to wake up to any unpleasant surprises.

The politics and war didn’t bother me. What was the use stressing over things you couldn’t understand? I understood that Vissarion wanted me to kill some bad guys for him, and that was good enough for me. Anything that got rid of a few monsters was a worthy cause in my book. Viktor and Vissarion were right about another thing, too: after meeting Wing Sing, I was unquestionably on Vissarion’s side.

What nagged at me was the whole Modred thing. I craved his death like nothing else before. There was the fact that he killed my mother in a very brutal, violent manner, and drove my grandmother insane. But there was also my own personal relationship from last night. If memory served, I owed him a couple of bitch-slaps and a little mental torture. I was a big time believer in vengeance. If I wasn’t so sure he could kill me with a flick of his wrist, I’d be down there right now, smacking him like a piñata.

My head ached, exhausted from recent events. I needed sleep before I could sort anything else out. I threw myself on the bed and hoped everything would resolve itself in my sleep.

I awoke hours later and returned downstairs. My clothes were a little more rumpled, but I felt a million times better. My jumbled thoughts were better, too. I had resolved to exact revenge on Modred at the first opportunity, and to kill as many creepy crawlies in the process. Everything else was shoved to the back of my mind as unimportant.

We were not honored with Wing Sing’s presence again that evening, but I did get to met the rest of the Scooby Gang. They descended the staircase and filed out of the study door at regular intervals. No way that many people had been camping out in the study. My earlier assumption of a secret passage must have been correct. When I asked, someone confirmed that there was a door behind a bookshelf that led to a full basement below, where vampires who were not strong enough to withstand the light of day slept. They milled about the living room, chit-chatting and introducing themselves. Once in a while, someone would pluck an ancient tune out on the piano. It was like a cocktail party in the twilight zone.

Members of Vissarion’s household included Christian, another of Wing Sing’s Children. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, handsome in a high school English teacher way. He had been a crusading knight in another life until Wing Sing found him. Like Vissarion, he had an immense hate for his Mistress, but was too scared to go against her. He was polite, reserved and seemingly bored with everyone. His conversation was geared more towards the current best-seller list, but he was pleasant. I liked him.

Then there was Brady. He was not forthcoming about his past, but said he had been Vissarion’s good friend for decades. He was not Wing Sing’s Child, but suffered at her hands nonetheless. Brady was her current favorite bed warmer, not a preferred occupation. But I couldn’t fault her choice. He was bootylicious.

6’1, rugged features, an unruly mop of blond hair, and a athlete’s lean, muscular body. It was the kind of body you wanted to run your hands over leisurely. I was immediately attracted to him, which meant I was immediately wary of him. I tried not to stand too close to him. He gave me butterflies.

Jane was the only female vampire who lived at the mansion. She was Vissarion’s Child, an English blue blood who had chosen vampirism over age and wrinkles. She was beautiful in an elegant, anemic way. Long blonde hair piled high, pale blue eyes in a pointy, haughty face, pale skin stark against the black cocktail dress. She wasn’t very sociable. She had found out life based on superficiality and the pursuit of eternal youth was rather empty and now she was trapped in it. Brady had a betting pool on when she would take a walk in the sun.

I learned Viktor was the Pack leader of the local werewolf clan. The Ramey’s were a rather famous band of Lycans and Witches, biological cousins to Lucia and the rest of the Volpenhein family. Unlike Ian, however, these particular Ramey’s were not born Lycanthropes. They had been bitten and turned by a werewolf uncle back in the 1850’s. Being unnatural Lycans made them immortal, never aging, immune to sickness and disease. And, sadly for some, sterile, like so many other immortals. Viktor and his siblings had been Vissarion’s guards for decades, ever since the master vamp had arrived as Prince in Chicago. Personally, I would have been pretty bummed to have to live with my entire extended family for eternity ( nearly all the Ramey and Volpenhein members were an immortal of some kind), but I guess they were just blessed with actual familial love. Viktor admitted there were a few in-laws, aunts and uncles that they didn’t like, but what can you do? Family’s family. I think Vissarion and Modred would liked to have argued with him.

The Ramey’s had a sister, Ava, twin to Damien. She had the same dark curls and eyes as her brothers’, and pale creamy skin. She looked like a 5’8 porcelain doll with her round face and small features. Ava was serious, watchful and I felt a kinship with her, the way we both stood sentry over our loved ones.

Trevor, it turned out, was not a werewolf but a were lion, as was Benny’s girl Anya. I was disappointed when I saw the two of them walk in together, without a scratch on them. They had to be strong to heal silver wounds so quickly. Anya and Trevor were technically part of Viktor’s Pack. Other breeds of Lycans were so much fewer in number than the wolves that they often aligned themselves with the local Pack for protection.

The Necromancer Michael was a ghoulish thing. Gaunt to the point of skeletal; gray, waxy skin; lank brown hair; dead eyes. He was a walking corpse, the only difference between him and your average zombie being his brain was still fully functional. He survived on a combination of black magic, blood and flesh. He gave me the heebie-jeebies. I’d wanted to kill him as soon as he’d walked in the room, but Vissarion said it was forbidden. He was Wing Sing’s special pet. I was getting a little irritated by all the restrictions.

Several guests had also arrived in anticipation of the big Pow Wow Viktor had alluded to.

Grey Morris, a pleasant, mild-mannered middle-aged sorcerer. He looked like a History Professor, was adorably shy, and more than a little intimidated to be surrounded by Lycans and Vampires. Grey was a representative of Greystone Manor, a Safe House slash supernatural bounty hunter training facility also stationed in Chicago. He was much more accustomed to banishing these people to the Netherhells, not making small talk with them.

I met Dona Rosa, the Prince of St. Louis. She was an Italian work of art. Dark olive skin; luxurious soft chestnut curls cut around her ears; eyes a tawny brown. She was petite like me, but well stacked. Her limbs were more shapely than I could ever hope for, which she was displaying quite nicely in a red lycra dress. Rosa was turned in 12--, an eternal Lolita of temptation. Her whole person, right down to that husky bedroom voice, exuded sex. I’d never felt the least bit attraction for girls before but even I wanted to touch her.

Rosa had brought her two vampiric Children with her, both under three years of age, immortally speaking. Kristen, an under-developed waif with waist-length blonde corkscrew curls and little girl eyes. She looked even more childlike in the oversized boho dress that draped her figure in layers of color and contrasting patterns.

Edward had that brown skin that was part genetic, part tan. His hair was a curly cap of auburn, his eyes large and brown. He was a shy and awkward teenager, the kind you wanted to hug and whisper promises of a happy future. They were a ménage a trois in all it’s forms: friends, companions, lovers.

I remembered what Vissarion had said about never having more than one Child at a time. I asked Rosa about it, because it was very obvious the three adored each other.

“I don’t play games,” she answered. “I treat them both equally, love them equally. There is never any contest, nor do I encourage jealousy. So many masters make Children out of boredom or cruelty. I made them out of love.” She leaned into me, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Of course, the most important part is never to pick favorites in bed. That’s where they need the most attention.”

My eyes widened and my face reddened in maidenly embarrassment. Her smile was suggestive and inviting, with a hint of amusement at my reaction. There were lesbians, gays, and bi-sexuals. And then there were Vampires. They opened my eyes up to a whole new world of kink. It was shocking and awkward for a girl who hadn’t had so much as a date in over a year. Too busy staking to cruise for tail.

Lucia’s crew came in to check in with their boss. It was a pride of Princes to travel with an entourage, though I was to learn later Lucia was considered quaint by most standards. None of his people were Daywalkers, what they called those who had gained in power and age enough to venture out in the sunlight.

There was Evamaria, a Spanish senorita from the early 1800’s. She was Lucia’s second in command. No-nonsense, capable, she had a sharp eye and a commanding posture. But she had a frilly fashion sense, stalking around in a lacy skirt and chiffon silk blouse. I might have liked her more if I was the buttons and bows kind of gal. Evamaria didn’t say much, but she glared evilly at me as I stood with Lucia, the look of a woman sizing up a rival.

“That your girlfriend?” I asked curiously when she had moved on.

“What? No. Well, she was.” He was talking awful fast. I smiled. Watching him get flustered was cute. He was cute. Not something I should be admitting to, but he was just do darn loveable. “It’s complicated,” he added with a shake of his head.

“Ain’t that the truth,” I replied dourly. That seemed to be everyone’s favorite phrase this week. It’s complicated.

Crow was a black-haired cowboy. Not the rugged Harlequin Romance, Fabio with a hair cut, kind. The whip-cord lean, craggy faced, scruffy, ‘back up before I shoot you’ kind. He was silent as a ghost and stared at everybody with hard, suspicious eyes. I got the feeling he was good friends with Evamaria.

David, the last of Lucia’s company, was a wisp of a man-boy. Long blond hair, baby face, pale blue eyes. Attractive only to 14 year old geekettes. I wondered how old he had been at his turning and what the Hell he was doing here. Vampire or not, he didn’t look capable of protecting himself, much less soldiering in a superhuman war. I said as much to Lucia and he agreed. David was kind of like the coven baby, a helpless child amongst beasts and demons. Lucia had brought him with him to keep an eye on him, to assure himself no one was harassing David while he wasn’t around.

Out of curiosity, I asked Lucia if any of them were his Childer, or if he had any at all.

“No. I’ve never tried to make any,” he answered. “Evamaria and Crow are older than I am, and David’s an orphan, so to speak. Whoever made him didn’t stick around long enough to teach him anything. He never should have been made,” he added grimly. “He was 15. Never make a young male like that a vampire. It’s too difficult for them to survive.”

“But Rosa was only 15,” I countered.

“Yeah, but she’s a girl,” Lucia returned in a sexist tone. “It’s easy for girls. If they can’t get by on wit and charm, there’s always sex. Rosa was a prostitute most of her immortal life, feeding on johns and supporting herself with their coin. It’s not so easy for men. David’s too little and naive to live among humans or to defend himself against other Brethren, and too childlike to attract a proper keeper.”

“So you play daddy,” I remarked sarcastically.

“If I don’t, someone else will,” he retorted. “Someone like Wing Sing, who’d abuse him and hurt him because they think it’s entertaining. Do you want to know where I found him?” The way he said that last made me not want to know. I was sure it wasn’t Disneyland.

I guess Lucia was right. Just because he wasn’t mortal didn’t mean he wasn’t weak, or impervious to pain. Hell, I knew the bastards felt pain. I’d delivered some to them myself. Could I really be okay with someone purposefully torturing simple little David just because I didn’t like the way he took his meals? Wasn’t that kind of the same thing as PETA pelting people with rocks because they like McDonald’s?

“How old are you?” I asked, turning away from the uncomfortable subject.

“I became a vampire in 1906,” he answered candidly. “I had lived 20 mortal years.”

“Who turned you? Aisling?”

He laughed softly. “I told you that was a tale for another time,” he teased, Infuriating.

“How are you a Master, then?” I pressed. “I thought only the really old vampires like Rosa and Vissarion could be Masters.”

Lucia frowned, his brows drawing together. He around the room full of acquaintances and veiled enemies. “This isn’t the place for this discussion,” he said, turning back to me. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll answer your questions over dinner.”

I backed up, afraid his true devious nature had finally been revealed. “Oh, no. No one’s sinking fangs in me, pal,” I told him firmly. Talking to them, fine. Being at one of their parties, weird yet okay. Sleeping in the same house with them, uncomfortable but I could deal. But dinner? Did I look that gullible?

Lucia gave an impatient huff and looked at me like I was an idiot. “I meant food, Paige. Real food,” he said indignantly. “You know, salad? Maybe a steak. Oo-oo, Alfredo Linguini! I knew a great little Italian place just a couple of miles from here,” he said excitedly, his eyes brilliant.

If I had thought Vissarion’s eyes were compelling, I just hadn’t had time to really look at Lucia’s. It wasn’t so much their unnaturally bight color or the magic pull that rested behind them. It was their incredible expressiveness. They lightened and darkened, shifting colors, depending on his mood. Steely olive when he was mad, bright pale green when he was happy. Right now, they were a clear spring color, little lights dancing in their depths.

His enthusiasm was infectious. I couldn’t help a smile as I asked, “Won’t you miss the party? All these old acquaintances meeting up for the first time in decades.”

Lucia made a face. “There’s more cheer in a cemetery,” he replied with a grimace. “Besides, Crazy Eyes will crawl from her crypt soon, and I’m really not looking forward to another one of her stimulating conversations.”

I laughed, in total agreement. He had won me over and I decided dinner sounded like a wonderful idea. He guided me towards the door, on hand on the small of my back in gentlemanly fashion. I didn’t mind, though normally I would have given such a bold move a sound verbal thrashing. It was like we were old friends, nearness and private jokes welcome.

“Does she really sleep in a crypt?” I asked, still giggling.





My face was still bruised and scabbed, sure to attract curious eyes, so I talked Lucia into a drive-thru burger joint. He lamented the lost opportunity for fine Italian cuisine, but relented. He was a gentleman, after all, and gentlemen always let the lady have her way. Lucia drove us in a beautiful dark blue Mini Cooper convertible. I had to admit these people sure knew how to pick cars. We parked in an empty lot for a closed furniture store, in complete solitude. Lucia's pleasant manner and infectious friendliness made for a nice evening.

"You seem to know your way around town," I commented as I tore into my double whopper with extra cheese and bacon.

He shrugged. “I used to live here. Back in the late 90’s. Vissarion and I attending college here together for a while.”

I had guessed something similar, so I didn’t reply. “So, how are you a Master, then?” I asked, picking up the earlier conversation.

Lucia sighed, as if he had hoped I would forget about my earlier questions and his promise to answer them. “Being a Master has little to do with age,” he answered. “It’s how much power you wield both magically and politically. Granted, one usually doesn’t gain such power for several centuries, but there are exceptions.”

“Like you?”

“Yes,” he agreed, devoid of self-importance. I liked his natural humbleness. It was refreshing. “And the Prince of Los Angeles. He is only 18 vampiric years. There are a few others that I know of, but they do not hold the title of Prince.”

“Really? I thought that was every Master’s goal, to be lord of their own territory.” I sounded cynical, but they really did seem to be an egotistical bunch. Modred thought everyone was his slave; Rosa had made it no secret she thought she was a sex idol; squabbles over who got to be Queen of the world.

Lucia gave me a look reserved for pessimists and party-poopers. “Not everyone is so ambitious,” he returned. “Many are happy without the responsibilities of minions and law enforcement. And most are incapable of such, like Jane or Rosa’s lovers.”

“You don’t seem to be the dominant boss-man type,” I pointed out. “Yet you hold territory.”

Lucia made another face and averted his eyes. He was embarrassed again. “To make a long story short, I originally took the job to prove I had the balls for it,” he began. He snorted self-depreciatingly. “Now, I hold it because there’s no one better. I haven’t the stomach for it. As in every society, you have to punish the lawbreakers. Only, there’s no vampire prisons. When an underling does something bad, you have to do something bad back to ensure they don’t do it again. You have to have a leader who can mete out punishment without delving into outright cruelty.” He meant torture, like what they had done to Benny. I’m sure, however, that vampire justice was much more heinous and violent. Comparing Wing Sing and Vissarion, I could imagine the delicate balance that position entailed.. “I hope one day to resign in favor of Evamaria,” he added wistfully.

I could picture that. Evamaria would make an excellent enforcer.

Lucia wadded up his burger wrapper and tossed in into the bag on the floorboard. I still had half a burger to go, he having dove into his meal like a starving man, explaining Vissarion didn’t keep much in the way of food at the mansion. Why would he? Not like he ever got a craving for a turkey sub. I decided to pursue that subject.

“I am having a Hell of a time differentiating between Vampires, Blood Fiends, and you,” I said around a mouth stuffed full of fries. “Blood Fiends and Vampires drink blood to survive, but you claim you guys are human and they’re not. I don’t get it.”

“Okay,” Lucia said, bracing himself for a lengthy explanation. “This is how it goes: Vampires were created by Blood Magic. The original Vampire, while still a mortal, performed a spell on herself that made her eternally young, beautiful, and alluring. But there were parts to the spell that she didn’t understand. The effects were a little more broad. She also gained superhuman strength and senses, telepathic abilities, and an incredible thirst. To keep the magic alive, she must continually supply her body with fresh blood, exactly like a Blood Fiend. However, as the spell was performed on a living body, it only works on people while they are still alive. A Vampire drains you to the point of death, then replaces what was lost with their own blood, the magical blood. You become like them. You are human, but more so. More sensitive, more primal, but still basically the same person you were before. At first, there are several dangers to your knew body. Disorientation from keening senses, uncontrollable rages from bloodlust. Sunlight kills. Something about the Blood makes it very vulnerable to UV rays for a time. After a while, as the Blood ages, you gain more control over your senses and desires. Eventually, for most, the touch of the sun no longer damages, though some remain weaker in the daylight hours. Also, as you’ve discovered from Rosa and others, Vampires are capable of sex. In fact, all normal body functions of humans, with the exception of consuming food. Like sunlight, Vampires must gain a tolerance for digestion.” I was keeping up so far.

“Blood Fiends are not human. They were once, when they were mortal. But the first Blood Fiends were demons, creatures of Hell, who escaped onto the mortal plane to feed on the souls of man. They possessed the bodies of fresh corpses to give themselves corporeal forms. Their bite infects the victim with a little bit of Hell. If the same person is bitten enough, they rise as Fiends upon their deaths. This is where the old wives' tale of three bites making you a vampire come from. Fiends are dead. Nothing that was human is left when they rise from their graves. They are pure demon. Some can mimic the actions of humans, appear to retain some traits of their former selves. But it’s all just an act. They feel nothing but hunger, and the desire to kill. As cursed by God, Fiends are susceptible to Holy relics, prayer by true believers, and cannot cross consecrated ground. The warmth of the sun is eternally denied them.”

I nodded, clear on the subject now. At it’s simplest level, the difference was this: Vampires are superhuman; Fiends are demons. I had no trouble deciding what to do when faced with a Fiend. Just stake his ass. The Vampire matter was becoming more diluted. Wing Sing, Modred and the like: kill. But then there was Lucia and David, seemingly harmless and utterly pleasant. It seemed immoral to contemplate their destruction. And, of course, the ever popular shade of gray, Vissarion, Brady, Rosa, and the rest. Potentially dangerous, definitely had their darker sides, but could I classify them as evil? So far, they had been courteous, pleasant and hospitable. I resolved to withhold judgment on them until they became a viable threat.

I had Lucia blissfully enjoying his deep fried food, trying to figure him out. He didn’t quite match with the explanations he had been giving me. He was too young to be a Master Vampire, but he was. He should have been too weak to be out in the day, eat regular food, and make Wing Sing hesitate. But he wasn’t. He was as strong as Vissarion and Rosa, though it was hard to gauge power in such a sedate setting. The question of his turning was also confusing. He claimed to be only a hundred immortal years, but insisted that Aisling, a Vampire rumored to be well over 2,000, was his biological mother. I didn’t think they had egg-freezing technology or test tube babies in ancient Gaul, so how did that happen? I waited until he paused to sip his coke before pouncing on him.

“You said being a Master isn’t solely dependant on age,” I started brusquely. “Alright, fine. I guess you had good Blood. But isn’t it a little odd that you have all the Master abilities at such a young age? Not to mention Aisling, an immortal and thereby sterile, gave birth to you only little over a century ago. You don’t fit in with your own description.”

“Alright, so I left some things out,” Lucia allowed, unconcerned. “I'll tell you some other time.”

“You said that earlier,” I accused, refusing to let him go so easily. “It already is some other time and I really want to know.”

He gave me a steady, contemplative look. “Are you sure you wanna know? Are you gonna hate me if you don’t like it?”

“I’m gonna hate you if you don’t spill it now,” I returned, only half joking. Actually, there was a tiny knot of uneasiness at his questions. No, I didn’t want to learn anything about Lucia which would make me like him less. I didn’t want to leave here not knowing, either.

He said and spread his hands in an eloquent shrug. “Apparently, there is some evidence that fertility returns with time, as well,” he answered with an infuriating smile. He was playing with me now, teasing me with comments of the obvious. I tossed a French fry at him to make my displeasure known. He dodged it easily, laughing. “Okay, okay!” he surrendered, continuing, “No one knows for sure how it was possible, not even Aisling, but I am a natural born son of a Vampire. My father was a pretty powerful Warlock, so maybe that had something to do with it. Of course, it turns out he had a mixed heritage, as well, which makes even more sense. Or less, I can’t quite figure it out myself,” Lucia added with a comical frown.

“So what was your father mixed with?” I asked in frustration, trying to hurry him along. I was eager for the moral of the story.

“I’m not going to tell you,” he deadpanned. “Sorry, but that’s the way it is. Only three people living today know, and that’s my mother, myself, and a very powerful empath I shook hands with one day. Skip it, it’s not relevant. Just somehow I was born, with both the powers of my mother and my father. That’s why I’m a master at such a young age. I have more magic in my Blood than others.” He paused, letting me absorb his words. “Fortunately, there’s also a lot of human in me. I was born mortal. I lived completely mortal for 20 years. Mostly.”

“What do you mean, mostly?” How can one be mostly mortal? I always thought the question of mortality was pretty straightforward. Either you died, or you didn’t.

“I don’t have any scars,” he explained. I failed to see how that was relevant and told him so with an eloquent look. He made an impatient movement. “Didn’t you ever fall off your bike or get into a tussle at school? Normal childhood things where you get a cut, or a bone fracture? They leave scars, evidence of their existence. I don’t have any scars. I cut my palm on a broken vase when I was 4. The wound was completely gone in hours. I fell out of a tree when I was 8 and broke my left arm. It was healed in days. All the boyhood bruises, nicks, scratches and breaks never left a mark on me. You know any mortals who can do that?”

“Okay. So you lived mostly as a mortal until you were 20,” I summarized. “Then what? Who made you?”

“Normally, it’s considered very rude to ask someone such a personal, private question,” he informed me in mock haughtiness. He was stalling. He stared blankly at the steering wheel, slipping into a moment of self-depreciation. “I made myself,” he intoned lowly, sounding apathetic and miserable at the same time. “I was hit by a car in the winter of 1906. I died. When I woke up, I was a Vampire.”

“So you don’t know who did it? Who made you?” I asked quietly, subdued by his own dejected tone. On the surface, Lucia was a happy, amazingly friendly extrovert. But just below the surface lurked a deep sadness, and maybe a bit too much self-loathing.

“No one turned me,” he insisted in a temper. “The vampirism was always there, lurking. I just had to die for it to come out. For the mortal side to release it’s hold on me and let the Blood take over. But it was always there, tormenting me. The Hunger denied is a terrible and violent thing.”

“Did you ever…attack anyone you loved?” I asked haltingly. I looked at him with something dangerously close to pity. What can I say, I’m a sucker for tortured souls.

He glared at me, the look that said I’d gone too far. Or maybe he thought I was just being dense. “What do you think, Paige? You think a kid confused by desires unnatural and diabolical, surrounded by magic, could withstand the pain of the Blood Hunger for long?” He shook his head and chuckled darkly. “You have no idea what that feels like. You don’t feed, you go insane. It will break your mind. The Blood has it’s own goals, and if you don’t cooperate, it will strip you of everything that is human until your just a host for the parasite. No better than Fiends or ghouls. So, yeah,” he continued with an angry inflection, “I have attacked people I cared about. A long time ago. It’s not anything I want to remember. It’s not anything I want to repeat.” He relaxed, the fire fading from his words. He waved the air, as if shooing something away. “It’s all behind me, now. I don’t do that anymore.”

I imagined scenes of a white-haired toddler chasing after rabbits and household pets like a rapid monkey. The look of horror on the housekeeper’s face when she came in to find Fluffy tossed in bloody bits about the room while infant Lucia licked gore off the floor. I wondered what puberty must have been like for him. Then that last bit sank into my head.

“Do what?” I was shocked, repulsed and dismayed at his confession. I hadn’t wanted to think of Lucia as being one of the monsters. He was just so…normal, really. To learn that he was just as violent, just the same as Modred and the like, was disheartening. It was depressing to think one day I might have to kill him.

“Feed,” he answered neutrally. “I don’t feed anymore. I don’t need to. Another perk of being a Master, you don’t need to hunt very often. Really strong ones, like Wing Sing and Aisling, only need to feed a few times a year. Lucky me, because of my mixed heritage, I can resist it altogether. Food helps. Quiets the cravings.”

That was nice knowing, that I’d never have to watch my neck around him. I knew a few more things about Vampire biology now, even if I didn’t understand it. But knowing something was a lot more important than understanding it. The knowing was unchangeable, a question of do you or don‘t you. Understanding? That was open to interpretation.

Our meal was finished, the mood ruined. Too much talk of unhappy things. By the time we were back on the road, Lucia had banished his demons and was his usual cheery self. After a few decades of fluctuating between I Like Me, I Like Me Not, he was an adept mood swinger. I wasn’t so skilled. I couldn’t get off the subject of depressing, otherworldly things.

“Tell me about your mother,” I said. I knew about loopy Wing Sing, obsessive-compulsive Modred, and the rest of the good news-bad news crew. The only thing that had ever been mentioned about Aisling was that she was just as powerful as Wing Sing ( whether that was good or bad remained to be seen) and she was Lucia’s mother. That didn’t really help me assess her threat level. After all, a man with a gun is only dangerous if he plans on using it.

“I don’t know that much about her,” he admitted coolly. “She left us when I was a little kid. Said it was for my own protection. She always insisted I remain a secret, unknown to the rest of the Dark Kingdom. Aisling floated in and out of my life, returning for days or weeks at a time over the years. My father - died - when I was 19. She didn’t come back after that until I had been a Vampire for over ten years. Our relationship is not close. She’s not maternal, and I don’t like her,” he added with a shrug. Continuing, “All I know is that she was the first Vampire’s Childer, long before the coming of Christ. She killed the Mother of Us All, as we call the First, and has since been rumored to be the most powerful Vampire in existence. A few would argue that. Wing Sing, and a couple of European Princes. Everything else I know are rumors.”

“Like what?” She didn’t sound like a very chummy person so far.

He shrugged again. “That those who dare disobey her never do it twice. She’s domineering, territorial, selfish, egotistical, arrogant. The list goes on. Vampires who knew her spread tales of cruelty and her reputation as a control-freak. I can attest to that one personally. Always has to have her way, even when it’s my life. She’s the one that insisted I become Prince of Las Vegas. Hell, she handed it to me on a silver platter!” I got the impression Lucia didn’t like being told what to do. “Aisling, on a personal level, is a tyrant. But she’s a good leader, I can’t fault her that. Fair, always has her eye on the long term, and she’s gotten rid of a few nasty characters.”

“Sounds like a real peach,” I commented dryly. I was beginning to think this was a case of the lesser of two evils. Or maybe just the saner of the two.

We had arrived at the mansion, pulling into the drive behind a black ‘73 Torino, two shiny motorcycles, and a gold Mazda. Lucia cursed softly, his face grim. He recognized the cars and I took that as a bad sign.

“What’s up? More Modred wanna-be’s?” I asked, getting a little concerned. Lucia walked for the door like he was meeting his executioner.

“Speak of the Devil, Paige,” he answered in dark humor. Ah. Mommy Dearest had finally made an appearance.

The house was quiet but far from empty. Most of the guests had left to feed, or do whatever their particular species required. Vissarion, the Rameys, and our newest guests were in the living room awaiting us as we entered. They were arranged on the couches and chairs like a family portrait. It would have been cozy if anyone had bothered to smile.

In the chair nearest the entry sat a woman in her late 20’s, silent and grim. She had long red curls, brilliant against the sky blue sundress she wore. Her eyes were also blue, but an unremarkable blue, the skin tanned. She was not striking or beautiful. In fact, there was nothing remarkable about her at all. She was just a mortal, unable to hold my attention.

I n the chair opposite lounged a modern rake. Average height, muscular but lean. His features were sharp, hard and narrow, an attractive scruff covering his jaw. His chestnut hair was cut longer in the front, allowing it to hang carelessly over piercing, ice blue eyes. One leg hung negligently over an arm of the chair, giving him a reckless air. But beneath the nonchalance and boredom, there was a tense energy, a violence. I recognized him for what he was. A killer.

Behind his chair, standing like good minions, were a man and woman. He was tall as a mountain and built like a house, arms crossed over his chest in bodyguard fashion. Long, orange-y red hair hung in front of his shoulders in twin braids. A long scar ran down the left side of his broad face, eyes concealed by large, thick sunglasses. He caught me looking at him and smiled, flashing gleaming fangs.

The woman was lithe and thin, like a sapling tree. Her skin was a gleaming dark shade, with long black waves of hair pulled up artfully. She looked like a model straight off the catwalks of Milan. Cold, emotionless, a statue of art. Her long thin hands rested on the back of her Master’s chair, possessive yet restrained.

Two more guards flanked the couch, again a man and woman. He was a little under 6’, with black tight curls falling against skin a golden hue. Of Middle-Eastern descent, he had a thick nose and shapely lips in a broad face. Archaic symbols were tattooed under each glittering black eye, giving him a sense of menace. His shoulders were wide and muscular; a weight-lifter, obviously. The rest of his physique was displayed quite nicely in dark jeans and a black muscle shirt, worth a lingering look.

The woman was just as intimidating. She was around my age, 5’6 and 118 pounds, clad in a yellow and black linen shirt and tight jeans tucked into tall motorcycle boots. The hair was long, thick and ash-blonde, her eyes a sapphire blue. Her features were plain, but made striking by the bad-ass attitude she carried herself with. I couldn’t quite figure out what she was. The others gave off a definite Vampire vibe, that feel of magic in the air. I felt absolutely nothing from her, but the experienced killer look in her eyes led me to believe she wasn’t mortal.

A tiny little flower of feminine fragility perched on the couch. She was mortal, like the red-haired one, but ethereal in her beauty. Long, pale honey waves of hair, almond shaped hazel eyes, button nose, bow mouth. Her skin was porcelain and smooth as silk. She looked like a frail child with her thin limbs and innocent eyes. So pretty and doll-like, wearing a yellow with white lace trim camisole and pale pink pants. If I had to guess her age, I would have said 12, but the presence of breasts forced the estimation higher.

Another woman also sat on the couch, straight-backed and regal. I knew in an instant this was the famed White Lady. It was an apt description, for she was white. White hair in a cascade, flowing like water over shoulders and lap. It would have been close to her knees if she was standing, it was so long. White skin, like the old marble statues of Greece, pure as new snow. Even her expensive pantsuit was white, almost indistinguishable in from her flesh. Her face and form were absolutely flawless, perfect, unreal. The porcelain lolita looked like a brown mouse beside her. The eyes were the same fire-green as Lucia’s, perhaps a little lighter. In fact, the two of them looked so much alike, even if I hadn’t known they were close relations, I would have guessed it. No warmth emanated from those eyes, though. No friendliness, no welcome. No emotion, her face a complete immoveable mask. She glanced at me, briefly, and I shivered at the chill in that look. She made me nervous and she hadn’t even moved yet.

“Mother,” Lucia greeted stiffly, bowing his head slightly.

She rose, no taller than 5’, and went to Lucia with her arms open, the face betraying nothing. Their embrace was stiff and short lived, done purely out of formality.

“Lucia. You are well?” she asked in a clear and pure melody. Even her voice was perfect. He nodded in response and she backed away from him, regaining her seat on the couch. When she looked up at him again, her eyes had changed. They no longer retained their apathetic blankness. In their brilliant depths was reflected pain, longing and hope. Another facet of Aisling was revealed: she loved her son. No matter her early abandonment of him, his dislike of her, the general rockiness of their relationship. Interesting.

Vissarion stepped forward from his position between the far chair and couch. He was very formal, more formal than I’d ever seen him.

“Paige, may I present Aisling, our Queen.” Was I supposed to bow? Curtsy? How did one greet Vampiric royalty these days? I settled on a half smile and polite nod. She inclined her head in return, ever so slightly. She darted her eyes quickly from me to Lucia and back. I fancied I saw suspicion in that glance, but then I usually saw suspicion.

With the introduction of the most important guest, Vissarion had passed on the responsibility of exchanging names. Aisling swept a hand towards the lounging rake, who declined to rise.

“The Prince of Los Angeles, Eben Wynn, and his consort, Winter Rodain,” she said, sweeping her arm elegantly to indicate the ethereal mortal. The girl waved shyly in greeting, but Eben gave absolutely no acknowledgment. Aisling turned to the guards behind the couch. “Kohen, his second, and Autumn Wensley.” More nods all around. The red-haired chick was introduced as Cassandra, Aisling’s personal assistant. I wondered what a Vampire would need a personal assistant for. The other two apparently weren’t very important because I didn’t learn their names.

Lucia and I squeezed onto the couch as the lesser minions filed out. We were left with Aisling, Vissarion, Eben, Winter, Kohen and Autumn, a silent and stern party. Vissarion caught his guests up with who was here, and who had yet to appear. Aisling would ask after people I didn’t know. Kohen and Eben would grunt thoughtfully at the mention of certain names. It was all very much over my head. I would have preferred to track down Ian and Hannah to converse with, but Lucia kept my hand firmly in his between our thighs.

I had only known him a day, yet we were like old friends. Already I could read his moods and needs. Right now, he was uneasy, a little nervous, and wanted the support of my presence. I wondered why we felt this closeness. It had taken me years to get this comfortable with Ian. Vaguely, I toyed with the possibility that it could be a spell.

“Word has already been sent,” Vissarion was saying. “All will be here by tomorrow evening. Arrangements have been made for a grand ball in your honor, as per Wing Sing’s request.”

“I do not trust her reason,” Aisling replied. “She is a false flatterer and this ball will serve another purpose for her. Do you have enough guards for the weaker ones?”

Vissarion glanced warily at me, then to Winter. “I hope so,” he whispered fervently. “Viktor and his people know their job well, but I’m afraid they will be little help if you fear an outright attack. My own people are still under her rule and can do nothing against her. Perhaps the weaker ones should be sent away?” he suggested politely.

Eben sat up and leaned forward threateningly, pointing an accusing finger at Vissarion. “She ain’t getting out of my sight,” he declared harshly. Winter glanced fearfully at him. Not fear of him, I think, but fear for him. “You think I’d leave her anywhere the way things are? Shit, as soon as I turned my back, one of Wing Sing’s lackeys would mangle her. Until we’re out of here, we - ” he indicated his crew with a circling motion of his finger, “- are peas in a pod.”

“Wait,” I cut in, not quite following the conversation. “You think Wing Sing will do something at this party tomorrow night, and you’re going to go anyway?”

“We have to,” Vissarion replied. “Politics. And yes, I think she will strike Aisling and her followers were they will be weakest: their loved ones. It is her way, to take away something you love to assert her power over you. Many are in danger from such an attack. We all hold someone dear, someone we would be desolate without.”

He looked me straight in the eye, his face sad. His midnight blue eyes filled with such longing and regret that I raised my brows in surprise. The weight of his emotion was impossible to miss. Unbelievable as it sounds, I think he had just admitted he loved me. He’d stalked me most of my life, never saying so much as a hello. I’d never even seen him before until yesterday, but it was true. He thought he loved me. Illogical and ridiculous.

It was enlightening to know Vampires loved. Most had no trouble displaying that love at all. Rosa adored her lovers, Eben obviously was obsessively protective over his own. Autumn and Kohen watched over each other in mutual esteem. Vissarion had a friendship that bordered on homosexuality with Lucia and Christian. Evamaria harbored a high school infatuation for Lucia. Several other Vampire guests had brought their significant others, whether they be fellow blood drinkers or something else. It would be rather cunning of Wing Sing to single out the loves of her most powerful oppositions and eliminate them. It would wreak havoc on company morale.

“But, illogical as it may sound, Eben is right,” Vissarion continued. “Close to our sides is where they will be safest. Wing Sing has supporters all over the world. It would be bad if Winter was all alone in LA while her protectors were here.”

“And after our meeting in two days hence, they will not be safe anywhere,” Aisling said ominously.

“Why? What happens at this meeting?” I asked, desperate to catch up with things. It was really frustrating having no idea what everyone was talking about.

“Ok,” Eben burst, throwing his hands up in irritation. “What’s with the greenhorn, V-baby? I mean, are we coming up with a game plan, or playing twenty questions?”

“You’re a jackass,” I told him honestly. Actually, he reminded me a lot of myself, which made it irritating. That said something for my self-image, but I wasn’t delving into that.

Eben stared at me a long time, brows raised. I was afraid perhaps I’d pissed him off and he was deciding whether to kill me here or wait until I went to sleep. Finally, he smiled and sat back in his chair.

“I like her,” he told Vissarion cheerfully. “Keep her.”

I leaned forward indignantly, about to tell him what I thought of his advice. Vissarion cut me off before I could say a complete word.

“Paige is my new enforcer,” he informed him evenly. “As a mortal, she is allowed to do things Viktor cannot.”

“Really?” Eben returned doubtfully. “You think she’s any match for G.K.’s brood?”

G.K. had been mentioned earlier. He was the leader of the Blood Fiends, smarter than your average ghoul. If I understood their tones correctly, he made the Master’s nervous. A very creepy guy.

“FYI, asshole,” I cut in smartly, “I am a Fiend slayer. I have been staking baddies for five years, and I’m very good at it.”

“Alright! Damn! Heel, girl,” Eben said, warding me off with his hands. He turned back to his crew. “Are we done here? Are we ready to eat now?”

Ugh. I knew what he meant by that. I faced away from them, not wanting to think about it. Aisling rose, and the others moved for the door.

“Very well, Eben,” she said. “I know how irritable you get when you are Thirsty.“ Turning to Vissarion, she added, “Cassandra will bring my things later. Please have a room prepared.”

Vissarion hesitated, unsure of how to dissuade her without angering her. “Would you not be more comfortable in the hotel?” he ventured. “I can assure you, Wing Sing would not make your visit pleasant.”

“I do not fear the threats of that disreputable whore,” Aisling declared evenly. “She is nothing but a spoiled child indulging tantrums. Moreover, Lucia is here. I will not leave him unattended in her presence.”

“I can handle Wing Sing, mom,” Lucia retorted defensively. Aisling gave him that look, one recognized by children around the world. He shut up and threw his arms up as if to say whatever.

I pulled Winter aside for a little mortal to mortal talk. She looked at me expectantly, like a curious child. It seemed almost wrong to me that Eben loved her, almost pedophile-ish. I had noticed, however, that Vampires seemed blind to age when choosing lovers. I guess when you’re immortal, physical age was unimportant.

“You’re going with him when he goes to...feed?” I asked, horrified.

Winter smiled indulgently at me, as if I was a simpleton. “Of course. It’s just food, and he doesn’t kill anybody.” Leaning in, she added with a knowing smile, “Besides, if they do it right, it feels really good. You should try it sometime.”

Ew. I was so not going there. Mixing pleasure with food was one thing, but not when I was the main course. I didn’t think I could stand to watch my boyfriend necking with some stranger, either. It wasn’t quite cheating, especially not when the intent had nothing to do with sex, but it sure would feel like it.

Vissarion asked Lucia to stay for a private word. I followed the rest of the Vamps out, heading for my room as they filed out the front door. I wasn’t really tired since I had slept the afternoon away, but I didn’t feel like hanging around downstairs either in a house full of otherworldly weirdoes. My weapons could use a good cleaning, anyway.

My room was half-way down the hall, Ian and Hannah on either side of me. I liked that Vissarion had grouped us together. Showed that at least he wasn’t planning anything nefarious.

I came to an abrupt halt a few feet from my door. Modred was standing there, seemingly appearing from thin air. I hadn’t noticed him before, but the hallway was shadowed. Maybe I just hadn’t been paying attention. I saw him now, though, and we stared across at each other, waiting. Modred was the first to break the silence.

“Alone at last, my pretty,” he whispered threateningly.

I scoffed rudely. “Yeah, whatever. Take a step closer, and you’re gonna need a dentist to find your balls.”

He smiled, coming a step closer. Shit. I hated it when they called my bluff, especially when I wasn’t armed. There was nothing I could really do. He was blocking my door, so I couldn’t hide in my room, and I was afraid the bastard would kill me outright if I actually busted his nads. The only defense I had was my biting wit, which generally just seemed to piss people off more. Maybe I should try flattery?

“All alone. Yep,” I started, wracking my brain for Vampire come-ons. My stomach twisted painfully and I wondered if he might find it attractive if I threw up all over his shoes. Probably not. “So, now that you have me all to yourself in a dark hallway, what you have in mind? A little slap and tickle? Or would that be suck and nibble, in your case?”

I had been backing up steadily as I spoke, herded by the advancing Modred. He hadn’t come at me in a straight line, though, so now I had my back against the wall. Very bad. He leaned over me, evil grin on his narrow face.

“I want to strip you until you stand gloriously naked before me,” he whispered, making me shiver in revulsion. “I want to run my nails down your body until you’re screaming and bloody. And then,” he paused, leaning lower as if he meant to kiss me. I turned my head away. If he thought I was going to let him make a move on me, he was a few pints short of a full tank. His voice took on a more seductive tone as he softly ordered, “Look at my eyes, Paige. I want you looking at me.” His voice was magical, soothing. It was hard to resist the pull of that power-filled voice. I turned my head so far away my neck hurt. Angered by my rejection, Modred grabbed my chin firmly and forced my eyes to his. I didn’t want to look, but once I saw them, I was caught. I couldn’t turn away, drowning in black pools of shimmering evil. My mind was still my own, hate and revulsion still churning. But my body was no longer under my control. I was paralyzed. “And then,” Modred continued sweetly, “I’m going to fuck you.” He leaned down to kiss me as I was compelled to stillness. Mentally, I screamed and scrambled, trying to escape those lips, but I ‘was frozen as a statue.

“Modred.”

The spell was broken as Lucia reached the top of the stairs. I pushed the Vampire away violently, rubbing frantically at my lips to get the feel of him off me. I was going to wash my mouth out with soap as soon as I reached my room. Lucia halted between us, staring at Modred with cold eyes. He was shorter than Modred by several inches, and Modred looked down on him with a hateful sneer. Lucia was not intimidated.

“Are you so ugly you can’t get laid unless you hypnotize them?” Lucia asked sarcastically.

Modred glared contemptuously, more mean-looking than I had ever seen him. If looks could kill, Lucia would have been fried. Luckily, Modred didn't have that kind of power.

"Be careful who you insult, Prince," Modred warned. "Your mother will not always be here to protect you."

Lucia took a step forward, getting in Modred's face. "She's not here, now," he informed him, challenging. "Wanna make something of it?"

Modred seemed to be weighing his chances, or perhaps the consequences should Aisling return to find her son mangled. Eventually, fear and good sense won out and Modred took a step back.

"I don't hit children," he snorted dismissively. With a final glare in my direction, perhaps blaming me for Lucia's interference, Modred stalked past us, brushing Lucia caustically with his shoulder. I waited until he was down the stairs and out of sight before I breathed a sigh of relief. I met Lucia's concerned eyes, thanking him silently. I moved for my bedroom door, eager now to get behind the privacy of it's wood.

"You know," Lucia began and I halted just before entering the room. I turned to look at him. He was standing casually behind me, arms folded over his chest. His face, however, was not casual. Concern, worry, even a bit cynical. He liked me and he was afraid for me, like Vissarion.

Why did everyone here think I couldn't take care of myself? Okay, so I was mind-hijacked by Modred and was hopelessly outclassed in the brute strength department. But this was still my job. I'd like to think I knew what I was doing, most of the time.

"What?" I pressed curtly. He was just staring and I was a little fed up with staring right now.

"If you're afraid of Modred, you could tell him you have my protection. He wouldn't dare touch you if he thought you were mine," he continued hesitantly.

I understood his reluctance to finish his thought now. Under normal circumstances, if a man had said that to me, I would have knocked his block off. But I was scared of Modred, and I did need protecting, at least against the major players. I resented the use of the word 'mine', though, and it made me sharp.

"Because of Aisling?" I replied insultingly. I shouldn't have said it. I knew it the moment the words left my mouth. I knew he had a bad relationship with Aisling, knew how she pushed him into doing what she wanted. I had to rub it in, anyway, cruel bitch that I am.

Surprisingly, Lucia didn't seem bothered by the statement. He shrugged nonchalantly, smiling smugly. "'Cause I'd kick his ass," he answered matter-of-factly.

I almost laughed. Not because I doubted him, but because he seemed so arrogantly sure of it. I was too shook up for laughter, though, so I just told him thanks, but no thanks. Maybe I did need help, but I wasn't ready to admit it yet. I was comforted somewhat when I said good-night and discovered Lucia was sleeping directly across the hall. Nice to know somebody on my side was within screaming distance.

I shut the door to my room, turning the small and probably useless lock. There was no phone or TV in the room, but I didn't need it, anyway. I had an ipod, that was good enough. I sat on the edge of the bed, the Ramones blasting in my ears, and busied myself with cleaning and oiling my gear. Tomorrow was the big ball. I wanted to be prepared because if Vissarion thought I was going in there unarmed, he was suffering from delusion.