I wondered briefly if Rain’s father knew he was in a club that served alcohol, just as I wondered how Jason had already gotten his hands on a smaller version of Charles’ beverage. I wanted to believe it was non-alcoholic, but the way Rain occasionally eyed his friend’s drink with disapproval made me seriously doubt that it was.
“Heyo, mujer muerta.” Jason grinned, smiling at me over his drink and where his feet were propped irreverently on the table. “About time. Ready to get this party started, chica?”
“Almost,” Tamara answered for me, not taking the final seat. A tall woman with striking, icy blue eyes came up behind Tamara and whispered something in her ear, then left. The Moroi sighed. “I have something I have to take care of first.”
She left the rest of us trading curious looks—all except Mama Flora, who was busily sipping from an oversized margarita glass, holding it carefully in her small, dark hands. I glanced at the empty three already in front of the tiny witch, salt still caking their rims, and wondered which of us was truly dead inside.
I didn’t miss the three fingers of rum left untouched on her side of the table, either.
“Moroi business,” Charles informed us, nodding discreetly at a couple of tables over, where Tamara sat down next to another pale-skinned, flawless figure with supernaturally bright eyes. Something about the other woman rubbed me wrong at a glance, so I tried not to pay her too much mind.
“Good to see you guys,” I rasped over the sound of the frenetic dance music. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You always are,” Charles replied.
I gave them all a sheepish grin.
“Did something happen?” Rain queried me louder than was strictly necessary, reminding me that both changelings had hearing far sharper than a human’s and making me wonder if they were both half-deaf by now. His eyes were wide with excitement, and he kept peering over the chrome railing at the dance floor below with nervous interest.
I shook my head, eying him and Jason. “Nah. No creepy ghouls n’ ghosts, or crazy vampire lord wannabes.” I smirked. “Just staying home with Lori.”
“Glad t’see it’s goin’ well, child.” Mama Flora smiled, her eyes bright, cheery, and a little unfocused. “With you an’ your lady friend, I mean.”
“Thanks, Mama.” I gave her an appreciative smile, but didn’t elaborate. For now, it was simply easier on Lori if I kept the two sides of my life separate. A tingle ran up the back of my neck, and I couldn’t help but glance over at Tamara’s table again. I couldn’t tell what was going on, but I noted Tamara’s eyes had gone as hard as the gemstones they resembled.
I turned back to the table. “So, how’s school?”
Jason snorted. “Horrible. Two more years to go.” He took a drink. “Feels like forever.”
“I don’t miss them old days,” Flora cut in. “O’course, school was a mite different back when we was little…” She elbowed Charles, and he stoically ignored it.
I raised an eyebrow. “How is it two years? You two can’t only be sophomores. You’re both too old...right?”
“Yeah…” Rain’s cheeks tinted red again. “We’re just juniors next year, unfortunately.”
“Yeah,” Jason huffed. “I've failed so many times it's ridiculous. Turns out one of my teachers doesn't like my mouth or my skin color.” He jerked a thumb toward the other changeling. “And they just plain fucked up Rain’s school transfer and placement tests when he moved here from Chicago.”
I grunted. “I always forget you’re from that far North.” Like yours truly, I figured it likely that his accent simply hadn’t survived extended exposure to the famous Southern drawl. “I thought your dad adopted you down here.”
Rain shook his head. “No, well, I mean...Dad finalized everything after we moved here. But originally, he picked me up while on a business trip in Chicago.” He glanced away, smile faltering a little. “Things are way better here.”
“What does your father actually do?” Charles asked, shifting the subject a little. “You’ve never mentioned.”
Rain blinked. “Business...stuff. I guess.”
I snorted. “You don’t know?” I twitched, resisting the urge to rub at the irritating prickle running along the back of my neck and down my spine.
Jason rolled his eyes. “Freelance business advice, especially with security and law.”
“How do you know that and I don’t?” Rain protested, eying him.
Jason shrugged it off with another drink. “Manito, sometimes I got nothing better to do than hang around your house and listen to people talk. Better than bein’ on the streets.” Rain nodded his solemn agreement.
Raised voices from a couple of tables over captured my attention. There was no doubt now that Tamara was irritated, though it seemed like she was trying to hide it. I watched her make a dismissive gesture at the other Moroi and fake a yawn, but the way the other vampire leaned in and snapped her fingers in Tamara’s face as she responded made the ire simmer in my gut. I didn’t like people disrespecting my friends, not while I was around, and I didn’t care much for the bulk of Tamara’s family, either.
My chair legs scraped across the polished tile floor as I stood up.
Something thumped against my shins as I started that way; I glanced down at a length of painstakingly crafted, silver inlaid wood sticking out from under Charles’ side of the table. Did he seriously bring his wizard’s staff into a dance club? If he’d brought the staff, I was surprised he’d bothered to leave the armored vest at home.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Charles cautioned, catching my dead eyes with an obvious warning lingering in his sharp cinnamon ones. “Leave Moroi business to the Moroi. She can handle herself just fine.” From just past his elbow, Mama Flora frowned, but said nothing.
I stepped carefully over the wizard’s staff. “I’m not doing anything,” I protested. “Be right back, guys.”
“Surely you can understand our position,” the new Moroi was saying as I approached the table. “I figured if anyone was capable of understanding and sympathizing with what we’re trying to achieve, it would be the Lillith’s little rebel princess.” She layered the scornful undertones on thick. “But you’re telling me I was wrong? I thought you were smart, Tamara. The world’s changing. Fast. It’s not going to wait on you or your Mother to catch up.”
Tamara’s deep blue eyes glittered with a hint of lambent irritation at the jab toward her Mother, none other than Lillith herself, the Succubus Queen of the Moroi. From what I’d heard about her, I could hardly believe one of her own kin would dare to be so openly disrespectful. Likely, Tamara felt similarly, but I interrupted whatever retort she might have voiced as I wandered up.
“You okay?” I said bluntly, looking at Tamara, then down at the short Moroi across from her.
“Oh. It’s you.” The other vampire spoke over Tamara, gazing up at me with her own cold, calculating, viscous hazel eyes. “Tamara’s new...friend.” She appeared unimpressed, to say the least. She dismissively brushed a few perfectly curled, honey-brown ringlets of hair away from her face. “Coming to your mistress’ aid already?”
Tamara winced.
My anger inched a step closer to the boiling point, and the Moroi glanced up, catching my eyes with hers. “Don’t like the sound of the truth, darling? Poison to your ears?” Slowly, languidly, she rose from her chair, standing almost close enough for her large bust to brush against my torso. “Did you somehow forget she’s a Moroi, my dear?”
“Davora…” Tamara’s voice was seeded with a razor-sharp edge of warning, but we both ignored it, our eyes locked.
Up close, I could tell Davora wasn’t one of Tamara’s actual sisters; I’d seen a couple of those, and they matched her flawless appearance pretty closely. This woman was much shorter, with almost a ridiculous curve to both her bust and hips for her stature, curves which she aggressively flaunted with the criss-cross white dress that wound its way up from her miniskirt and the way she put a slender hand on one c
ocked hip. But even so, she was missing...something, an indescribable something that Tamara had in the appeal department that this Moroi utterly lacked.
Maybe it was a decent personality.
I stifled a growl as she leaned up toward me, peering at me as if I were on display. Davora idly put the tips of her fingers to her lips; while she still had that signature Moroi paleness to her skin, hers was more ashen, with darker undertones. “You should really call off your pet, Tam-Tam, before she gets herself in trouble.” She lowered her voice, her tone intimate and throaty, seemingly intended for my ears alone. “Or before you manage to write a check that you don’t dare cash, as they say.”
My rage spiked, blazing hot, then icy cold, then burning bright again. I felt my pulse thud once, thunderous, ramming dead blood through my veins as my fists clenched and that tidal wave of Strigoi rage threatened to come crashing down. Inches from my face, Davora’s hazel eyes swirled faster and faster, excited and almost hungry.
“Ashes! Davora!” For once, Tamara’s words didn’t cut through my rage. For once, it stayed right where it was, on the bleeding edge of violence.
I glanced to the side, breaking the chains of Davora’s gaze. A year ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to step over and cold-cock her with my chair. As a Moroi, she wouldn’t even sustain any brain damage from the epic concussion I was considering giving her, so why not?
But that needed to change—didn’t it? I’d be a fool to think the secret of my vampiric heritage would just continue to go unnoticed much longer. That secret was already leaked to at least one surviving Sanguinarian, and several of Tamara’s younger siblings already seemed familiar with me. Soon enough, someone was bound to figure me out, and each passing week only made it more likely.
And when that happened, there was no way I could just go it alone. I needed allies. Which meant I couldn’t beat Tamara’s relative senseless in public, no matter how good it would undoubtedly feel for everyone else involved. So far, the Moroi were the only group I had a good working relationship with, and I couldn’t afford to shatter it with a single rash action.
With what felt like a monumental act of will, I walked away without a word, my flesh burning with barely restrained rage.
Everyone at our table was staring at me, but I ignored it, choosing to instead focus on not flipping the fuck out. Once away from Tamara and Davora, I was able to fall into shallow meditation, slowly dissolving that current of Strigoi ire, even though an aggravating, electric tingle kept coursing along my nerves and distracting me. While my friends slowly pieced together a conversation around me, I found myself gripping the edges of my chair longingly, leaving a series of not-so-shallow indents in the smooth steel.
Eventually, I noticed something jabbing me in the thigh from under the table, over and over. I suppressed an irritable twitch and looked up at Charles. “What?”
The prodding stopped. “Why did you let her talk to you like that?” the magician raised one bushy brown eyebrow, seeming surprised.
I glanced around. Rain and Jason had stepped away; a quick glance showed them at the mini bar on the third tier, possibly arguing. Mama Flora had added two more dead margaritas to her collection, and looked content and drowsy. I sighed. “Because starting a supernatural fight on Tam’s opening night seems like a bad idea?” I shrugged. “That and just maybe I shouldn’t alienate the Moroi by hitting one of them with a chair.” I wondered if I’d said that last bit a little too loudly.
“Pfft.” Out of nowhere, Tamara settled into the chair next to mine, scooting it close as she sat down. “You totally should have. This is my place she was starting shit in; I’d have smoothed it all out later—all except her personal feelings, that is.” Tamara flashed me a grin. I glanced over at the table she’d been at a moment ago, but Davora was gone.
Well, crap. I sighed. Opportunity lost.
“Besides, she and I both knew you wanted to whack her with that chair.” Tamara nodded at the slightly-dented thing I was sitting in. “You couldn’t tell how nervous she was, there at the end?”
“What?” I blinked. “Um, no? Could you?”
She pointed to herself with an amused, resigned smirk. “Emotional vampire? How does everyone keep forgetting this?” Her light touch on my shoulder helped evaporate the lingering effects of my anger, leaving me only with chair-related regrets.
“I don’t,” Charles commented, sipping his now-obvious vodka.
Tamara ignored him. “That’s to say, you wanted to do it so bad we could both feel it.” I frowned and opened my mouth, but Tamara shook her head. “No, it’s fine. Yes, it does kind of make you look weak in some ways, but it’s just one encounter. And yes,” she smiled more earnestly, “I do appreciate the gesture.”
I shook my head. My Moroi friend couldn’t read minds, but I often forgot how damn close she could come. “You know,” I said thoughtfully, “Maybe it’s not too late…”
Tamara chuckled. “Thanks, but no thanks. Knocking her down a peg or few would have been fine in the heat of the moment, but chasing her down the street with a chair is another matter entirely. Besides, she’s probably long gone by now.”
“If she knows what’s good for her anyway,” Charles added.
I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks.”
He shrugged.
“Besides,” Tamara said thoughtfully. “It was also kind of impressive that you resisted her like that.”
I tilted my head, confused. “What do you mean? Was she trying to get me to clean her clock?”
“Davora Varadi Alilovic,” Tamara stated. “Get it?”
I caught on. “She’s not Moroaică. She’s not your direct bloodline.” Tamara had told me long ago that only her main family line fed off lust, love, and devotion as their main food of choice. And while all Moroi could manipulate any emotion, other Moroi bloodlines held a similar affinity for other aspects of the mortal experience.
Tamara smiled. “The Alilovic bloodline are—”
“Rage eaters,” Charles cut in.
I blinked. “Oh. Shit.” I glanced up as Rain and Jason rejoined us, with Jason holding what looked like an elaborate smoothie the twin of Rain’s and seeming dissatisfied. “No wonder I wanted to just come over and lay her out for the way she was talking to you.” My unnatural rage was bad enough without any help from supernatural assholes.
“Shit, you weren’t the only one,” Jason said as he sat down. “She was almost as bad as mi madre.”
“Well.” Tamara sat back, putting a platform boot on the edge of the glass table edge and balancing her chair precariously on two legs. “Now you see why I never introduce any of you guys to my family.” She gave me a serious glance, her sapphire eyes glinting with a hint of worry. “And you can’t let them get to you or at least not walk all over you. Or believe me, they’ll never stop.” She sighed.
“What’d she want?” I asked. “Was she trying to pick a fight with you, too? She said something about your mother being behind the times?”
Charles’ bushy brows shot up and he made a choking sound.
Tamara scratched at the inside of her ear. “Honestly? I have no idea.”
The Magisterium wizard gave her a flat look. “Seriously?”
The Moroi grinned. “Seriously! I mean, I’m suddenly in Mother’s favor.” Tamara nodded at me. “And I finally get something going in town, like the Abyss, boom, somebody shows up day-fucking-one and wants something. Family politics. Fucking typical. After so many years of that bullshit, I just instinctively tune them out.”
Chapter Three
Warning call
“Well, anyway, let’s not let that sour the night, huh?” Tamara smiled around the table. “How’s everyone liking the Abyss?”
“You seem awfully proud of it for something you never wanted to do in the first place,” Charles replied, crossing his arms.
Tamara pouted. “Well, is it really so bad if I am?” I knew her family had more or less forced her into leveraging her newfound influence and p
opularity into a business venture. Something I was more or less directly to blame for, after bowing out of any credit for saving her sister’s life from a crazy Sanguinarian. The idea had been that it would buy Tamara the status she needed to regain her family’s respect and subsequently, her full freedom. But instead, it seemed to have swung the pendulum all the way in the opposite direction, complete with its own set of consequences and restrictions.
Supernatural politics were hard. At least she seemed happier this way.
“I mean,” my Moroi friend continued, “one of my older brothers suggested that if I was going to have to ‘finally apply myself,’ or whatever,” she stuck out her metal-studded tongue while using air quotes, “that I should at least try to find something I enjoy. So here we are.” She leaned back even further in her chair, looking over the metal railing at the churning dance floor. “Sick beats? Motion, energy, emotion?” Her sapphire eyes gleamed. “It’s genius.” She grinned.
“It’s also one hell of an easy feeding place for your people,” Charles grumbled. “And the music could be better. Much better.”
“Oh, come on,” Tamara crossed her arms and scowled at him. “And what would we play if you had your way?”
“Well, I like it jus’ fine,” Mama Flora mumbled. I’d have have thought she was asleep in her chair, except for the way her head wobbled back and forth to the thumping beat.
Charles held up a hand. “Classical,” he announced, face firm and deep voice absolute, “is the only real music.”
“Bullshit,” Jason replied, his eyes a little unfocused. I supposed he had been drinking earlier, after all—I figured the kid must have a decent tolerance, unless it was his supernatural changeling nature lending a helping hand. “You’re missing a hell of a lot of culture and variety with that attitude, vato.”
Shattered Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 3) Page 3
