The Bitten

by L. A. Banks

  “Good evening, Mistress Rivera,” Evelyn said, but there was no threat in her tone as the female vampire moved closer to her. “I am so glad to have you grace our humble house.”

  Damali glanced at Carlos and then toward McGuire. This was not what she’d expected.

  “Lady McGuire,” Carlos said, taking her hand, kissing the back of it slowly, while looking up into her eyes. He held her gaze for a moment, then let her hand fall away. “Thank you for enduring any disruption to your household that our impromptu visit may have caused.”

  “The pleasure was all mine,” she breathed, smiling at him, and then giving Damali a sidelong glance. “You must be starved.” Evelyn motioned for the butler, and he immediately brought two large decanters and fresh goblets.

  Damali held up a hand and begged off breakfast. “I will feast after the hunt,” she said smoothly. “I like to stay . . . hungry when so much excitement perfumes the air.” She smiled. “Makes the feed taste so much better. Besides, Carlos loves it so when I suffer waiting for him.”

  This seemed to appease the lady of the house, because Evelyn gave her a sly pout. “Ah, Councilman Rivera, she’s delicious.”

  Damali looked at the master of the house out of the corner of her eye. An expression of utter appreciation spread across his face. There weren’t many vamps who could control the hunger so well. But she had to give them the impression that she was so much more than an average vamp.

  “You know,” Evelyn finally murmured, easing in closer, “we ladies should get to know one another, since our husbands are getting along so well.”

  Carlos and McGuire were now deeply entrenched in talk about the upcoming hunt. She wished she had baby Isis in her hand.

  “Yes, I agree,” Damali said, pleasantly. Her mind worked on a strategy as she stared into Evelyn’s gorgeous but deadly eyes. She could feel the vamp trying to siphon her for information. Okay, so if that’s how she wanted to play. Offering Evelyn a bit of juicy insider gossip, Damali laid a trap to form an alliance, but to also let the female know that she could take her, if Evelyn tried her.

  “You know,” Damali said in a conspiratorial murmur, “Carlos made me after he was turned council level, and—”

  “What?” Evelyn sat back in her chair, all conversation at the table stopped. Then she lowered her eyes and her voice became tense with fear. “Mistress . . . I didn’t know. Please forgive my insolence.”

  Damali blinked twice, confused, but went with whatever had freaked out the female vamp. “It’s nothing,” she said as calmly as possible. Then she noticed the shocked expression on McGuire’s face.

  “And she says it’s nothing?” Evelyn looked up and glanced at her husband. “Harold, why didn’t you tell me he’d made her a female master?”

  “Councilman,” the Aussie master said, his eyes wide with amazement, “I thought you made her before you descended . . .”

  Carlos shot Damali a glance that told her to stay calm. Play it. Work it.

  Damali reached over and smoothed the long, silky blond hair off Evelyn’s shoulder. Just the touch alone seemed to stir her. “Darling, of course he did. It was mortal combat, we were both armed to the teeth, and I went down with my blade swinging. I’d nearly bled out.” She paused, sensing the vamps’ interest in the tale.

  “But I’m no amateur,” Damali said casually, leaning in close enough to Evelyn to nearly touch Evelyn’s nose with hers, “and that’s why from time to time I can project Neteru for my husband, or seem so close to human that it could confuse the unaware. I’m sorry that I upset you.” Damali drew back, cast a loving glance at Carlos. “I will try to be more considerate, though. But bear with us, we’re newly mated, and he so enjoys those memories of the night he turned me.”

  Evelyn had placed her hand over her heart.

  “Mistress Rivera,” she said her glance nervous as it flitted between her husband and Carlos back to Damali, “my deepest apologies for my behavior last night. I assure you it will never happen again.”

  “I will make up the offense my wife has caused,” McGuire said, low in his throat. “She wouldn’t be sitting here at breakfast, had I known how generous your husband truly is.”

  The Aussie stood and walked away from the table. Damali raised an eyebrow, and gave Carlos a provocative pout. “I know you fellas have much to discuss in order to strategize for the hunt. Why not let Evelyn and me have some time for girl-talk?”

  Carlos gave her a slow nod. She could feel his tension as he stood and left the room.

  “I am so sorry,” Damali said, leaning in to whisper to Evelyn.

  “Whatever for, Your Majesty?” Taken aback, Evelyn’s eyes widened with surprise.

  “Last night . . . I know Harold probably was a bit . . .”

  “I should give you my throat,” she said, laughing. “It’s been quite some time since my Harold has been like that.”

  Okaaaay. “Well, then, there’s no reason for us to have anything between us,” Damali said. “Good.”

  Damali tried to keep from jumping out of her skin when Evelyn’s hand gently slid up her forearm. The touch was so delicate, yet so sensual that for a moment all she could do was look down at it. It felt like cool silk had slid against her skin, and the sensation stirred every erogenous zone on her. She’d expected the touch to be cold or clammy—after all, the woman was dead. Was that what male vampires experienced at a female vamp’s touch? she wondered. Valuable info.

  There was a slight tremble in Evelyn’s fingers as she moved them up to Damali’s shoulder. Her lovely cat’s eyes held a question; moonlight caught the barest hint of fang and made it glisten.

  “You’re so warm,” Evelyn purred. “No wonder you drive him insane.”

  “Like I said,” Damali whispered, trying to stay in character and not bug out, “there’s no problem between you and me, now that we understand each other.”

  “Nothing has to be between us,” Evelyn murmured. “Not even husbands.”

  Damali forced herself not to shrug off Evelyn’s touch. Instead, she smiled. “Do you like him?” she asked, referring to Carlos.

  Evelyn continued to caress Damali’s shoulder. “He took an Isis in the chest for you?”

  “Not completely,” Damali said, shrugging casually to get Evelyn’s hand off her. “My attack was off, he snatched the blade, but I still had my dagger, and when he pulled me to him, he got branded with it. Then he tore out my throat.”

  “How do you stand it?” Evelyn whispered, leaning in.

  “I could allow you a night with him . . . now that we’re friends.”

  Evelyn stared at her in disbelief, tears beginning to glisten in her eyes. “Mistress—”

  “Damali.”

  “Damali,” Evelyn murmured, close enough to Damali’s face now to take her mouth. “What does pure Neteru do to him . . . any of them? I only experienced what the fragrance transforms them into. But an actual blood siphon would allow me to truly experience it.”

  It took everything in her not to knock the female vamp to the floor. She had to remember to play this like Carlos had told her. Mix a good lie in a whole lotta truth, but always get something out of the deal. “If you siphon me, as a female, it will have an adverse effect on you.”

  “Oh,” Evelyn said, pouting and disappointed.

  “But there is a way,” Damali said, her voice cooing.

  Evelyn perked up, her eyes searching Damali’s. “Please, tell me.”

  “I want him to live through this hunt so he can show you,” Damali said, her voice dropping to a seductive purr. “Only when he siphons me is he at his best. Unfortunately it drives us female vamps crazy—makes us want to fight. However, I could let him gorge and then send him to your room.”

  A sheen of perspiration dampened Evelyn’s brow. “You would do that?”

  “Or, I could stay and the three of us—”

  “Please,” Evelyn whispered, closing her eyes. “The hunt will be hours from now and the anticipation is already killi
ng me.”

  “I just wanted you to know that I am truly sorry if I upset you earlier.” Damali sat back and waited.

  “It does make you want to rip out the female’s throat,” Evelyn admitted, finally opening her eyes to only half-mast. “But the residual effect is a wonderful high. There’s nothing like pure adrenaline.”

  “Uhmmm-hmmm,” Damali said, toying with the table linen. “And when it hits the master’s systems, they bulk to mortal-combat proportions, and will fight you on the way down. But the adrenaline hit that you both get on the double-plunge . . .”

  Evelyn let out a slow, erotic hiss. “Say no more, please. Just tell me when.”

  “Perhaps after the concert.” Damali held Evelyn’s gaze. She needed an ally in the castle, and needed to be sure that at least one vamp couple would guarantee their safety through the blood sport going down tonight. Damali chose her words with care. “However, I’m concerned the other ladies might not understand . . . and Carlos and I rarely discuss such intimate details unless there’s been a bond.”

  “The other ladies will not present a problem,” Evelyn said, and reached out to caress Damali’s face.

  Okay, seal this shit like Carlos showed you, sister. Damali caught Evelyn’s wrist and held it hard, then turned into it and planted a long kiss in the center of Evelyn’s palm. “Ensure no ambush, and after I’m done with Harold, Carlos and I will come see you.”

  Evelyn shuddered hard. “I’ll tear those bitches’ eyes out if they offend my most honored guest.”

  Damali gave her an air kiss. “Thank you, darling. I’m so glad we had this little talk.”

  “The girls seem to be gettin’ on,” McGuire said, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Yeah,” Carlos said, a little anxious about what he’d just witnessed. Damali was awfully close up on Evelyn, and had taken the woman’s wrist. Had Damali turned back, or what? And why did he have to find that shit so sexy?

  Suddenly the sound of the choppers could be heard in the distance.

  “Incoming,” McGuire announced, his expression excited. “Let the games begin.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  DAMALI DIDN’T say a word as she stood by Carlos’s side on the top step of the castle’s grand entryway, Harold and Evelyn three steps below them, watching the entourages dismount from the choppers. It was a spectacular sight as they watched each master inspect the staff lines, not trusting the skills of the master that had walked the line before him. Paranoia was thick in the air. She was just beginning to understand the whole twisted culture of the vamp empire.

  Everything meant something. Every conversation was about power shifts, even play was about the acquisition thereof, or to show prowess and ward off an attack. The way they ate, they way they spoke, the way they made and betrayed alliances, the way they had sex—made love was too nice a phrase, this shit was carnal. Primal, beneath the polished exterior.

  One by one, she sized up the targets. The first to arrive had been the Chinese ambassador. He was slim, muscular, of moderate height, and wore a very understated navy blue suit, white shirt, silk tie, and dark shades and a large insignia ring on his left hand where a wedding band might have been. He looked like he had been in his late thirties when he had turned, and he carried himself like the King of Siam. His gaze was mildly haughty but civil. His wife, however, was over the top. Damali had to give it to this female. She was all that.

  Wrapped in a raw silk red sari trimmed in gold, she had a body like she could dance the seven veils and start a war. She had large, dark brown eyes set in her perfectly proportioned, beautiful face. Her jet-black hair hung in a long straight wash of silky onyx down her back all the way to her behind. Her skin looked like it had a faint hint of bronze beneath, and her cultured voice had an opalescent quality to it that practically shimmered as she spoke. She nodded before she bowed, her eyes seeming to hold a lethal secret. But her aloof air was like that of a pampered, arrogant, pedigreed cat—bored, but watching everything. Damali could feel that she was old . . . real old. Okay, didn’t want to sit next to that one in the chopper.

  But when the Transylvanian couple appeared, Damali squeezed Carlos’s arm. His carriage screamed old power and entitlement. Looking down his nose with a scowl, his dark gray eyes narrowed as he whipped off his shades, his military formal cutaway tux not showing one crease. His chest was affixed with medallions and crests that boasted a long lineage. He walked with broad shoulders back as he strode down the lines with an air of superiority.

  His auburn hair was swept back from his forehead in waves that reached his shoulders and as he walked he shook his hair back, his Romanesque features making him look like a cross between Czar Nicolas and Timothy Dalton. His stride proclaimed him a thoroughbred, and the power that exuded from him almost broke the staff lines as he passed each one, said, “That will do,” and moved on.

  Then came his mate, perhaps. Damali wasn’t sure if she was his first wife, or just a lair kitten he’d brought along. She was the most genteel-looking, fragile creature she’d ever seen. Her blond hair shone in the moonlight as she stepped beside him, her eyes were blue ice, her skin as white as porcelain, and her clothes simple elegance. Just a sheath of crème, a whisper in the night, that made her seem more like a ghost than a vampire.

  When the African master exited his helicopter, Damali almost turned around and walked back into the castle. The master looked to be maybe forty-five, tall, blue-black handsome, six foot seven if an inch. She could feel Carlos bristle as she studied the chiseled features of the master’s hard-set jaw, but his profile nearly made Damali’s breath catch. Have mercy.

  Brother held his head so high and his back so straight that it looked like he’d been carved out of black marble. As he escorted his woman to the lines, the strength in his forearm literally rippled up the steps beneath his black linen soft-structured suit. His mate was stunning. Her long neck held her stately head high. Her skin was the color of powdered cinnamon, not a blemish to be seen, and she was swathed in trailing gold silk so fine that it nearly glowed. Her dark, beautiful, mysterious Ethiopian eyes made one wonder if they’d painted her likeness in ancient Egypt. They both had the presence of majestic lions—seeming afraid of nothing, fully sated, extremely patient, power exuding from their very fingertips.

  Maybe, just maybe, if she sat next to Evelyn or the see-thru blonde, she’d be okay. The African master’s mate, as did the Asian’s, looked too ruthlessly cool. She felt fear skitter through her. How was Carlos going to survive in the face of this much concentrated power? He wasn’t even risking a transmission in their presence. He obviously didn’t want to chance them picking up on even one of his thoughts. Concealment was all at this point. The only thing at the moment she was confident in was that, like her, he’d go down swinging to the bitter end.

  “Gentlemen, ladies,” Master McGuire said, his voice warm and inviting as he and his wife moved down to the first landing to greet the guests. “Welcome to my territory for a rare and momentous gathering. We are honored to have the newest member of the esteemed Vampire Council as our guest, as he listens to what our topside concerns may be. This is a truly progressive move to bring the nations to the bargaining table in the spirit of detente . . . very much needed after the Nuit rebellion in North America, which could have destabilized the entire empire. Therefore, permit me to introduce Councilman Rivera, and his wife, Damali.”

  Showtime.

  As Carlos stepped forward and moved down the stairs, Damali could feel her heart constrict. Terror ran through her, and her blood pressure spiked so high so fast that her ears rang. Shit, they could dust her baby right here in the yard, old mob style, and keep right on with the night’s festivities. She held Carlos’s arm with grace, however, pasted on her best smile, and followed his lead.

  “Gentlemen, ladies,” Carlos said, so cool that you could see condensation from his breath in the air, “thank you for meeting with me. Allow me to present my wife, Damali Richards, the former millennium Neteru.” />
  The fact that they appeared stunned for a moment helped her performance. They’d probably assumed she was captured, or was another female vamp casting the illusion of the Neteru. But that she’d been introduced as the former Neteru was clearly blowing their minds. However, as old vamps, their reaction was only a millisecond of doubt shadowing their faces, with slight nods of respect in Carlos’s direction, before their expressions became stoic again. It gave her a sample of just how in control they were.

  Damali glanced at Carlos, then she nodded, smiled, and waited as McGuire positioned himself at Carlos’s left side. She knew his move meant something, and she watched him begin to make individual introductions, noting who was presented in which order.

  “Master Sheng Xe, and his lovely wife, Lai, Councilman and Mistress Rivera.”

  The Asian diplomat bowed, his wife followed suit. They both raked Carlos and Damali with an indecipherable look then moved up the stairs and into the castle behind the butler without a word.

  “Master Gustav Tetrosky, and his lovely wife, Kiersten.”

  Initially, this master only nodded, while his wife glanced at Damali, up and down with absolute boredom. Then to Damali’s dismay, he tilted his head and held her gaze a moment longer than was appropriate. A new wave of panic brought her breathing to a halt as the master glanced at Carlos, reached for Damali’s hand, and brought it to his lips.

  “Councilman Rivera, we are honored that you have called this meeting. Your wife is simply ravishing.”

  Baby please, don’t! Damali’s mind screamed at Carlos.

  “The honor is mine, sir,” Carlos said, so smoothly his words slid over the Transylvanian like silk. “I am glad that you could pull away from the pressing matters in your region so that we could get to know each other.”

  The Transylvanian master smiled, tugged his wife’s elbow gently, and left the stairs with a nod.

  Damali wasn’t sure when she’d begun breathing again. But she was so glad that she only had one more introduction to go. For some reason, this one worried her the most, perhaps because the master was so much larger in size than Carlos and she could feel his ruthless edge in his energy as he neared them. Or maybe it was because she’d had dealings with brothers from ’round the way, and this guy seemed most familiar, diplomat status notwithstanding. Then again, maybe it was because this one had made her man bristle?