by L. A. Banks
He watched Tetrosky struggle with the mind puzzle and calm down a bit, but he was still on guard. “See, man, this is why we have to have trust across regions. I thought if we all came together, had fun, got people’s land issues sorted out, loosened up for an evening . . .”
“Very well,” Tetrosky said, sounding half convinced. “Just tell me what it is.”
Carlos leaned forward, talking with his hands. “I left the banquet after the hunt, rather abruptly, right?” He waited for them to all nod. “Right,” he said, standing and going to the far side of the room, away from the sure contact that would come out of the box with Tetrosky’s half cap. “You all saw my wife. She was over the top, made me fold her away in a pure vapor lock. Fell over the freaking balcony with her, almost hit the rocks.”
Four pairs of eyes were riveted to him, drinking in his every word. Carlos ran his fingers through his hair, as though exasperated, making them wait, prolonging the agony of not knowing. “Shit was so outrageous that I scared myself . . . almost bought daylight.”
“She kept you outside of a lair till near dawn?”
Carlos nodded and held Amin’s eyes. “No lie.” He waited, feeling the sure fraud assessment, and sent an impression of the intensity to Amin that made him lower his gaze. But he withheld the actual image—that he would never give him. When Amin glanced back up at him to pry for more information, Carlos looked at the wall. Go to Hell.
“He’s not lying,” Amin murmured, and sat back in his chair. “Incredible.”
“So,” Carlos pressed on, keeping his line of vision away from Master Xe’s stealthy attempts at an impression siphon, “figured that I could share a little of that with you fine gentlemen. Give you product for the road, so until we met again, there’d be no hard feelings.”
“What is it?” Tetrosky said, now leaning forward on the large walnut table.
It was all Carlos could do not to laugh. “It is the blood of the Neteru, uncut. I call it ‘Oblivion.’ ” Satisfied when they went slack-jawed, he allowed himself to laugh. “Gentlemen, you have no idea what I had to do to bring you this sample.”
“Oblivion?” Master Xe stood, walked to Carlos, and bowed. “Fair exchange is no robbery.” He snapped his finger twice and waited as a young male vampire entered the room. Master Xe smiled. “Third-level, from the old empire,” he said and nodded toward what appeared to be a shy twenty-year-old.
Fear filled the young vampire’s eyes, and Carlos watched his dark brown eyes glance around the table, unsure. Nervous perspiration was beading up on his lip, and soon he smoothed it back in his jet-black hair. Carlos noticed that his armpits had become ringed with sweat that now stained his lemon yellow suit.
“Our Councilman Rivera has brought us a sample of something very special,” Master Xe crooned. “Won’t you test this for us?”
The young man glanced around again, terror haunting his eyes. But he bowed in deference and extended his hand.
“I’m only going to give him a quarter hit,” Carlos warned, “because if he bugs, you’ll have to smoke him.”
Master Xe laughed, but motioned for Carlos to proceed. As the young vampire held out his palm, Carlos opened a capsule, shook a bit of the substance in it, capped it quickly, and put it back in the box, holding his breath. All eyes were on the lower-level vampire as he sniffed the substance, closed his eyes just from its scent, swooned, and quickly licked his palm. Within seconds, he’d battle bulked, his incisors had lowered, and he was beginning to seize. Duly impressed, the older masters laughed as they watched his torment. But when the young vampire opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, openly monitoring Damali’s whereabouts, Master Xe ended his misery by summarily ripping out his heart.
Red embers and ash floated through the cabin. Carlos brushed off his suit. “This is why I said it was only for the truly senior members in this room who could hang.”
“Let me try it,” Master Xe said urgently, following the scent that still lingered. “Clearly it’s not poison . . . but do give me the rest of the capsule that has already been opened. You do understand my caution.”
“Naw, man,” Carlos warned. “That’s almost a whole hit. This shit ain’t no joke—will knock your head back. That’s why I call it Oblivion. I have zero tolerance for it, actually. It fucks me up, bad.” He could feel Amin siphon him and shudder when he pulled away the truth. “Told you,” Carlos said, vindicated.
Shaking off the allowed encroachment, Carlos began pacing, seeming as though just talking about it was messing with him. “I felt that creating this for you guys was the only right thing to do, the way she hard-ball negotiated against my own men. Treacherous shit, that woman is deep. Besides, you have to have your control back before we pull into Sydney Harbor—and you can’t allow your wife to smell it on you. Might cause an incident to raise human awareness in the Sydney—”
“My wife knows she’d better not fuck with me on this issue, or any of my business dealings,” Xe said icily, and then walked over to the brunette and opened the box. “If Tetrosky is too much of a pussy to try it, I will. My dynasty is used to rare opiates, it will take much to impress me.”
“Aw’ight, man,” Carlos sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
They all watched as Master Xe slipped a small red capsule onto his tongue, closed his eyes, and swallowed. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and shut the box, protecting himself from the excess fumes. He shrugged and walked away, shaking his head and chuckling. Carlos could feel the disappointment register in the other masters. But they kept their eyes on Xe. For a moment, a new worry wrapped around his mind threatening to strangle it. What if he was the only one that had a total intolerance to Damali, simply because of the way he’d felt about her before he turned? A serious variable.
“No offense, Councilman Rivera, but you must do better than . . .”
Xe’s words trailed off as he approached his seat, tilted his head to the side, and closed his eyes with a hard shudder. His hand went to the back of the chair, and he gripped it so hard that he scored the leather. “Damn . . .” He murmured through another hard shudder that made him breathe through his mouth.
Small beads of sweat had formed on his brow, and his red silk shirt bled dark with sweat on his chest beneath his black silk suit. The other masters watched him intently, measuring the length of the rush, making sure the man was just enjoying the hit, not poisoned. But when he dropped his head back as his incisors ripped his gums, all around the table nodded, thoroughly impressed.
“That was only a three-quarters hit?” Xe murmured, his eyes flickering red as he raked his fingers through his damp hair and he stumbled as he tried to sit down.
“Yeah,” Carlos said sensually, slowly, holding Xe’s gaze. “A pint will nearly kill you.”
“I would have bled her out,” Xe said as an aftershock shiver made it difficult for him to steady the swivel chair to sit. His gaze immediately went to the young woman holding the box.
“That’s why, unless you know what you’re doing, you can bleed a female out, not have enough judgment to give her back a vein till you can find a feed source, and might get caught by the sun.” Carlos nodded to the young woman to get out of Xe’s snatch range and to move to Tetrosky.
“This ain’t no joke, I’m telling you.” Carlos took on a paternal tone as he glanced around the room. “So, while this is seriously recreational, I don’t want to hear about a master frying himself out in the regions behind this. I’m not even supposed to be giving this to you all . . . this is council-level shit for those who can handle it. But I’m trying to be progressive up here.”
“He is definitely that,” McGuire said. “I can vouch for him, he’s a man of his word, a sure pisser with no flies on ’im. The bloody bastard is so fair he almost made me weep up on the deck with such a kind offer.” McGuire stood, went to Carlos, and hugged him hard, breaking all protocol.
Stunned, the others around the table waited to see how the significant protocol br
each would be redressed. Carlos smiled. McGuire had been sitting on the other side of Xe. Just the contact from the box alone had McGuire sloppy. You didn’t roll up on another master and get in throat range unless you were prepared to lose yours. He held McGuire out by the arms, looked into his reddened, watery eyes, and shook his head.
“He’s high, just from the contact, gentlemen. What are we going to do, huh? Told you it was strong.” Carlos motioned to the woman with the product. “Give him a hit and sit his ass down, away from you—and me.”
“It’s so strong,” Xe murmured, his eyes closed, his head back, still recovering. “If you don’t get your head together before you take it, you will assuredly lose face.”
Amin and Tetrosky gave each other a sideline glance as Xe had spoken, and McGuire popped one of the little red gel caps. Instantly, the Aussie dropped fang, held his head in his palms, then tore one hand away and banged on the table with his fist. The tremor that ran through him shook the huge oval table, and saliva ran down his fang, collecting in small splatters as he convulsed.
Tetrosky chuckled. “Xe, thanks for the warning. McGuire is definitely losing face as we speak. Pitiful.”
“Damn, that was only half a hit,” Amin said, shaking his head, his eyes locking with Carlos, a silent bargain in the offing. “She’s not going to be pleased with you, Councilman . . . Are you really sending her in there with him after the concert?”
“Aaaay,” Carlos said, laughing and opening his arms. “I gave the man my word.”
“I’ll take a full hit, and will show you that you might want to reconsider.” Amin smiled.
“Brave man,” Carlos said, his strategy sound, but a bit of his own emotional control ebbing. He wasn’t sure how he’d react if Amin could hang. “Remember, we all have to be straight before we hit Sydney.”
“Pass me the box,” Amin said, his tone dipping, and his eyes steady on Carlos as the young woman rounded the table. If I take a whole hit, he blew his chance.
Carlos chuckled and shot his response back in Dananu, just like the challenge had been given. You blow your load at this table on a full hit, and the deal is off.
I won’t even drop fang.
“This I have got to witness,” Tetrosky said, thoroughly amused. His eyes darted between the combatants with total excitement.
Amin took a whiff of the opened box, cleared his throat, and placed two red pills on his tongue, boldly upping the ante with a double hit. He held his gaze steady with Carlos, refusing to close his eyes as he swallowed. Carlos leaned against the wall, watching, waiting for the implosion with a sly, knowing smile.
The first shudder rolled up on Amin slowly, like a soft hand sliding up his back. The sensation made him tilt his head, and slightly altered his once-controlled breathing. His nostrils flared a little with the harder inhales and exhales, and the group watched him battle the hit by breaking eye contact with Carlos to find a point of concentration on the wall.
When Amin started breathing through his mouth, Carlos pushed off the wall, and pounded McGuire’s fist. The Aussie had weakly raised it for him, and was riveted to Amin, hope slipping away fast.
“No worries, mate. I know how this shit goes.” Carlos chuckled as he patted McGuire’s shoulder. “This motherfucker is gonna break down any minute,” he added with confidence as Amin closed his eyes, and they rolled beneath his lids. He could literally feel his adversary straining not to throw his head back and expose his throat. “Telling me my product ain’t da butta.”
“I believe he is indeed on the verge of losing a very promising bet,” Tetrosky said, chuckling low in his throat. “I should have weighed in on the wager, myself. Is it too late?”
“You better talk quick,” Carlos said, trying to sound unfazed, and glancing at the sweat now running down Amin’s temples, but very concerned that he hadn’t dropped fang—very concerned. He did not need to know that. That would have to be the first bastard he killed.
“How about if—”
A long, agonized groan stopped Tetrosky’s words. Amin’s fangs ripped so hard so fast that his gums bled into the saliva running down them. His shudder rocked the table and made his nose bleed. His head was back, jugular pulsing, his grip on the side of the table splintering a section of it.
Carlos walked away shaking his head. “You can’t hold that shit back, man,” he muttered, throwing a disgusted nod toward Amin’s bloody nose. Then he looked at the girl holding the box as another shudder rocked Amin. “You ready to die tonight, baby, or you just wanna hang out with vampires?”
“I . . . I . . . uh . . . I’m not sure I want to turn.”
“I didn’t ask you if you wanted to turn, sis. I asked you if you wanted to die.” Carlos glanced at the other masters, who all nodded. “Give me the box, closed, go get Mistress Alani, and tell her to come get her husband.”
The girl almost dropped the box as she dashed from the room when Amin’s eyes glowed red, his gaze went to her, and Carlos stepped between her and Amin’s reach. Even Carlos stepped back two paces when another hard shudder made Amin hold onto the table. Shallow, quick pants now replaced his once heavy inhales. He almost felt bad when Amin closed his eyes again, sending tears down the sides of his face as a spasm gripped him.
Tetrosky stood and summoned Alani in the most expedient way possible—instant materialization. She gave the group a puzzled look as she went to her husband’s side. Another master had summoned her for Amin? And Amin was in this state?
“What did you give him?” she asked, her gaze narrowed on the men around the table.
McGuire just waved her away. Xe shook his head. Carlos swallowed a smile.
“Mistress . . . you husband is very high, and needs to come down before we dock. If you would just be so kind as to get him to a stateroom—”
But she was standing way too close to Amin, had gone to him before Tetrosky could finish his sentence. The snatch was instantaneous; her back hit the table; her dress ripped; Amin blanketed her. Carlos put the box in his pocket. The other masters released a weary sigh, stood, and calmly filed out of the room behind him. They shut the door as they heard Alani’s flesh tear with her scream. There was nothing to say.
“That’s some good shit,” McGuire said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as they reached the deck. “You should try a hit, Tetrosky—before we dock, man.”
“I have enough pride to take it to my room with my wife in tow,” he said smiling, but wiping his nose. “Does pack a kick.” He chuckled. “Think Amin will make it to the concert?”
“I don’t know,” Carlos said, worried. “I hope brother is gonna be all right . . . Damn.” All he needed was a variable like that jumping off. However, one thing was for sure, after this, they were definitely gonna turn on each other. When Amin came up off the full double hit, being with Alani was just going to piss him off. She wasn’t da butta.
He quietly stood by Tetrosky while Xe and McGuire left them to go hunt aboard ship. Both masters considered the moon and the stars, not speaking, but understanding each other in their own way. Carlos watched the black water whir by as the supernaturally propelled vessel cut white froth-topped waves stained pink by vamps from stem to stern ditching blood bottles. Yeah, the rest of this crew would have to stay on board while only the VIPs went into the Sydney Opera House. There was no way he was gonna allow the full entourage to disembark and take Sydney by storm.
Suddenly morose he pulled out the black box, flipping it between his fingers, manipulating it like worry beads.
“Decisions, decisions,” Tetrosky said, his tone wry. “Should you wait for her, knowing you’ve committed this gorgeous eve to another master, or take some of the sting out of the promise by taking a hit?”
The bold comment made Carlos laugh. “Yeah, decisions decisions,” he echoed back, enjoying that Tetrosky had loosened up enough to actually try to fuck with him.
“You seem so . . . petulant.” Tetrosky smiled.
“You want a hit, man?” Carlos asked,
dangling the box precariously over the side of the yacht, threatening to drop it.
“That’s rare product—would a man let go of Pandora’s box, something he could hold over each master’s head, and let such a treat to the senses go to waste, just to cut off his nose to spite his own face?”
Carlos dropped the box, and his smiled broadened when Tetrosky caught it. “She’s amazing, man.”
He watched the master toy with the box, manipulating it through his fingers as Carlos had done.
“Thoroughly,” Tetrosky finally murmured, bringing the box to his nose, and slowly opening it. He took out the pill with shaking hands, and placed it on his tongue and closed his eyes. “Then why are you so morbid, you lucky bastard?” he asked through his teeth, holding onto the rail.
“I’m cool,” Carlos muttered, monitoring Tetrosky’s increasing agony from a sideline glance. In a very weird way, this was becoming family, too. Twisted, dysfunctional, violent, and nuts, but not very different than his old territory while alive.
“Murder McGuire and renege on the deal and go wherever and screw your wife. Why suffer?” Tetrosky said through a pant. “Who could blame a man?” Tetrosky’s knees buckled, and he held the rail tighter for support as his fangs dropped. “I have to go find Kiersten,” he said, followed by a long hiss after a moment, but couldn’t seem to move. “Damn, this is good shit, Rivera . . .”
There had only been one half-hit left in the box—Amin took a double portion, and after whatever Jose had on him might have been distributed to lower levels he’d encountered. The purest product in the world was possibly gone. He could only hope that Jose didn’t have to use the double hits he’d produced. The sudden reality gave Carlos pause. What used to be his—freely flowing, naturally produced, offered willingly from Damali, and which four masters had just tasted—he’d never know again. Blood from her veins; the very essence of her. Plus he had to kill them because they had tasted it, and deeply appreciated it. Twisted, but necessary.
