Murphy cocked his head as we approached a staircase. “That’s the one to the south wing.”
We passed several closed doors, and then the hallway opened into a gourmet kitchen with stainless steel appliances. Beside the sink was a basket of winter herbs and vegetables, confirming my suspicion about the greenhouse.
A long, quartz counter lined with barstools divided the cooking area from what looked like a hotel lounge. Armchairs and sofas were positioned around two big-screen TVs anchored to opposite walls, and more seating formed a semicircle around a stone fireplace at the back of the room. Massive windows filled in around it and spilled over onto the adjacent walls, making the space look more like an enclosed porch. I could only imagine how incredible the sunsets were to watch from here.
A chorus of cheers drew my attention to one of the televisions where three women and a man were huddled together on a sofa. One of the women violently clicked away on a controller, and I realized that they were playing a video game. Everyone groaned as the cartoon character on screen fell from a cliff to its grisly death.
“Damn it!” the woman grumbled before handing off the controller to the man. She caught sight of Murphy and me and quickly excused herself from the crowd, standing up from the sofa. She couldn’t have been but five feet tall, with almond-shaped eyes and straight, black hair that grazed the tops of her shoulders.
“Hey, Yosh. Got someone I’d like you to meet.” Murphy beamed at the woman, and her fingers went to her throat to stroke a faint mark near the low-cut collar of her blouse. When she noticed me staring, she blushed and moved her hand away, holding it out to me instead.
“I’m Yoshiko,” she said. “You must be the mystery vamp the werewolf girl has been fetching blood for.”
“Jenna,” I answered with a nod and a tight smile. “Mandy had to leave for a few nights, so I’ll be fending for myself until she gets back.”
“Oh.” Yoshiko’s eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t ask for more details. “Well, would you like me to arrange for a private visit with a donor, or do you prefer a blood pot to take back to your room?”
“Um…the blood pot, please.” I shot Murphy a sideways glance, wondering how pathetic he thought I was for turning down warm blood straight from the vein. I just couldn’t risk getting attached to anyone else right now. My heart ached whenever I thought of Natalie, one of my donors from the BATC harem, who had been murdered by one of Scarlett’s irrationally loyal rejects.
“Coming right up,” Yoshiko said, keeping whatever opinion she had about my selection to herself. She circled the counter and grabbed a clean tray from the dishwasher, quickly loading it with a teapot, a syringe, and a box of bandages. Then she disappeared down a hallway on the other side of the kitchen.
Murphy leaned toward me until his shoulder brushed mine. “No need to be embarrassed. The boss requests blood pots all the time,” he whispered in my ear.
“Really?” I made a face. “Why? I would think he’d have a whole tribe of donors all to himself.”
Murphy pressed his lips together and sighed. “He’s at the right age for a scion, so it’s complicated. He doesn’t want discord in the harem—donors tend to get all cutthroat with one another if they think they’re competing for a royal title and eternal youth.”
“Right.” I stole a glance at the three humans playing the video game across the room. They seemed happy and friendly. One of the women propped her feet in the man’s lap. I wondered if maybe Murphy weren’t giving them enough credit, or if they’d really turn on each other so quickly.
I’d been a human not too long ago, and I liked to think that I wouldn’t have thrown any of my friends under the bus for anything so shallow as a crown and an extended shelf life. That sounded more like something Laura would vie for. Hell, she’d probably make a reality show out of the feat.
I smelled blood, and my fangs began to extend before Yoshiko rounded the corner with the tray in hand. She set it on the counter and fetched a knit tea cozy from a drawer, tugging it down over the small pot. Then she added a cloth napkin and a pair of espresso cups.
“Would you like me to deliver it to your room?” she asked with a sweet smile.
“I-I’ve got it. Thanks.” It was a struggle to speak without giving her a flash of my fangs. I didn’t want to look any more like a novice than necessary.
“I’ll carry it for you,” Murphy offered. “I’m scheduled for the south wing tonight anyway.”
“Thanks,” I said around my fangs again.
Yoshiko’s shoulders shivered as he took the tray from her, and her neck and cleavage flushed pink. Her lashes fluttered, and dimples appeared in her cheeks as she looked up at him. Murphy returned her gaze with a wink.
“I’ll swing by after my shift ends. You owe me a rematch,” he said, eying the crowd gathered around the television. The tone in his voice suggested that he was hoping for more than a video game, but I didn’t comment until after we’d said goodbye and began our descent down the south stairwell.
“So…is the harem, like, a free-for-all? Do any of the vamps here have exclusive donors?” I asked. The smirk on Murphy’s face told me I wasn’t half as sneaky as I fancied myself.
“Yoshiko is my favorite, and I suspect I might be her favorite, too,” he said. “But only the duke has any real claim on the house harem. He makes the rules, and Yosh follows them. She pairs the undead staff with suitable donors or fixes their blood pots, and she’s good at what she does—so good that the boss doesn’t allow requests.”
“Requests?” I frowned at him. “You mean you’re stuck with whoever she picks out for you?”
Murphy shrugged. “She hasn’t had any complaints yet.”
“Wow.”
It seemed like a strange talent, but somehow, I wasn’t surprised to find Yoshiko in the duke’s company. He seemed like the type to surround himself with quality help that prevented rather than fostered drama and turmoil.
And there I went again, admiring the creep who had sliced and diced my life.
The radio on Murphy’s hip chirped, and he pressed a finger to his earpiece, shoving it in deeper. A frown wrinkled his forehead and tugged down the corners of his mouth as he handed the tray with the pot of blood to me.
“Duty calls,” he said grimly. “My apologies.”
“Not a problem.” I nodded at my bedroom door a few paces away. “I think I can manage from here.”
His radio made another noise, and he groaned softly. “On my way now,” he said, then hurried down the hallway toward the foyer.
I hoped he wasn’t in too much trouble for abandoning his post to play tour guide for me. I hadn’t been out of my room for even a full hour, yet I was exhausted and starving. It was likely from all the Eye of Blood abuse. I needed to find a less taxing way to soothe my boredom.
The smell of warm blood wafted up to my nose from the pot as I pushed open my bedroom door. I set the tray on my bedside table and turned to close the door and click on the overhead light. When I faced the inside of my room again, my breath caught in my throat.
The boxes of my most valued possessions that Mandy had salvaged before my house was torched were strewn everywhere. The shade from my mother’s fire hydrant lamp was crushed as if someone had stepped on it, and the sweater Laura had gifted me last Christmas hung from a blade of the ceiling fan.
Depleted or not, my blood vision kicked in instantly, and my fangs slid free with a hiss.
If Ursula wanted to know who she was really dealing with, I’d show her.
I threw the door open, nearly ripping it off its hinges, and marched to her room, entering without knocking.
“You’ve gone too—” The words died in my mouth as the cold night air sucked past me and into the hallway at my back.
The sliding glass door that led out to our shared terrace had been left wide open. Long curtains billowed inside the room, glowing in the thin light of a lamp on the night table. The material whipped into the air, revealing a man dressed all in black
.
He looked up at me from where he squatted on the floor, and then I saw Ursula, laid out beneath him, her throat trapped in his hand.
Chapter Four
Ursula’s eyes bulged, and she gurgled something at me that I took to mean help.
An ugly voice in the pit of my soul rejoiced. Let the bitch take her suspicions about me to her grave.
What reason did I have to help her? If we were getting philosophical, I could trace my misfortune back to her just as well as I could blame the duke for it. She’d sired Scarlett and Raphael, after all. If she had done a better job of keeping her scions in check, I’d still be human. Mandy, too.
But then the spark of humanity I still possessed, that instinct to serve and protect, kicked in.
A handful of books on the nightstand caught my eye. Without thinking, I snapped them up and hurled them at the intruder’s face. One bounced off his shoulder, but the next smacked his eye and the bridge of his nose. It rocked him back an inch, and Ursula seized it.
The duchess thrust her hips up in a yoga bridge pose. Then she hooked her leg closest to the man around his neck, jerking him down as she slammed her opposite knee into the side of his face.
Something in his eye socket made a horrid crunching noise, and he screamed as he released her throat so he could wiggle free of her thigh hold. By the time he did, I was waiting with the largest of Ursula’s library picks.
I swung the book in an uppercut that clipped him under the chin and abruptly ended his scream. His hands groped the air as he stumbled backward, and he snagged the curtain that danced in the wind. The metal rings creaked against the curtain rod, and the material ripped as he used it to right himself.
I was out of books. My hands balled into fists as I waited for his next move. But then a shot thundered inside the room. Blood splattered the curtain, and the man’s hand went to his shoulder. I blinked, and then he was gone.
“Your Grace!” Murphy bypassed me to kneel beside Ursula, taking in the red droplets staining her dress. “Are you hurt? Should I call for Harold?”
“I’m fine.” Ursula pushed her curls over her shoulder and glared at me as if I hadn’t just saved her sorry ass. As if she’d noted my hesitation and held it against me. Then her eyes took in the gory curtains, and she made an affronted noise. “Have someone clean up this mess at once.”
“You don’t want to taste it first?” I asked, fingering the tacky blood drying in the breeze. Ursula shuddered and gave me another sour look.
“My first use of the princess’s parting gift will not be wasted by sucking silver-tainted blood from the drapes. Besides, he was a werewolf.”
“You’re positive?”
“He reeked of wet dog—though I suppose you wouldn’t have noticed, what with the little wolf girl you associate with.” She ignored my scowl and took Murphy’s offered hand, letting him help her to her feet.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked again. “Maybe we should take you downstairs where it’s more secure.”
“Nonsense.” Ursula straightened her dress where it had bunched up during the scuffle. “The assassin failed, and now they’re wounded. They won’t try again tonight.” She held up a finger, and her eyes narrowed. “Though I would like a word with whomever let the mongrel slip past the estate perimeter—that is, before Dante has his way with them.”
The radio on Murphy’s hip beeped, and his jaw flexed. “Evan is dead. All off-duty security personnel are being called in, and the duke has been notified. His entourage is turning around and heading back to the manor now.”
“Wonderful.” Ursula rolled her eyes. “I’ll be in Jenna’s room until mine is ready.”
“What? Why?” I balked before thinking better of it. I did not want to be left alone with the duchess, especially not after the look she gave me. “I mean…my room was breached, too. It’s a complete mess.”
Her nose wrinkled with disgust. “Trust me, vampling, I’m not eager for your company either.”
* * * * *
When Laura and I were four, and our mother was juggling waitressing shifts and classes at the police academy, we used to spend a lot of time at a neighbor lady’s house. Mom didn’t have much choice but to leave us with her. It was either that or pick up a second job to pay for daycare, and there were only so many hours that could be squeezed out of one week.
Mrs. Crabtree must have been pushing eighty, but she had enough strength in her old limbs to put the fear of God in both Laura and me. As a retired school teacher, she’d had plenty of experience inflicting corporal punishment via a wooden ruler that she proudly displayed in a cheap china cabinet in her dining room.
Crammed in around the implement was a gaudy collection of floral print tea sets and antique sandwich glass that would rattle anytime Laura or I even so much as walked past the cabinet. Just the faintest clink of china would send Mrs. Crabtree into a frenzy. She’d rise from her knitting chair like Cthulhu from the sea and promise to leave splinters in our asses with her “manners stick” if we didn’t stop our tomfoolery.
Not that we were brave enough to ever engage in anything that even came close to tomfoolery in Mrs. Crabtree’s house. We were terrified of her, and rightly so. Mrs. Crabtree didn’t make empty threats, and Laura and I had each felt the sting of the manners stick more than once. We weren’t angels, to be sure, but we hadn’t done anything deserving of the abuse she inflicted. The way Mrs. Crabtree watched us, as if she’d already made up her mind that we were heathens in need of her severe brand of structure and discipline, was insulting and uncalled for.
The Duchess of House Lilith looked at me much the same way. She sat in one of the oval-backed armchairs angled around a table in the corner of my room, sipping a cup of blood poured from the pot Yoshiko had fixed for me.
I’d chugged my own tiny cup of blood like a shot of hard liquor, and then went back for a second before starting in on the task of cleaning up the destruction in my room. It wasn’t that I cared about making the place presentable for Ursula. I just didn’t want her eyeballing my unmentionables and keepsakes.
It all probably looked like junk to her royal fancypants, and it pained me to accept it, but some things would have to be tossed. Like the shade to my mom’s lamp.
“I suppose I should thank you,” Ursula said regretfully. I paused in my futile attempt to wrestle the shade’s wire rings back in shape and blew a lock of hair out of my face.
“Any idea who’s trying to off you?” I asked, refusing to accept her reluctant gratitude.
Ursula pressed her lips together and set her cup down on the table. “Likely the same monster who murdered my sire.” Her stony features softened, and her gaze drew across the room to the closed curtains that hid the wall of windows and the sliding glass door to the terrace. There were four guards standing watch out there last I checked. More paced out in the hallway.
“Someone just have it in for the royal fam?” I said, tucking the lampshade down into one of the plastic tubs Mandy had delivered my things in.
Ursula rested her chin in her hand and sighed. “Only half the households that hold a seat on the Vampiric High Council.”
“Only half?”
Her eyes landed on me again and narrowed. “Careful, vampling.”
“But you’re so pleasant,” I said, batting my lashes in mock innocence. “How could anyone wish harm on such a saint.”
“I don’t need your pretense, but I also demand a certain degree of respect. I am your noble superior,” she hissed, unfolding her legs as if preparing to launch herself at me.
“Of course, Your Grace,” I said with less venom.
I was being rude and reckless, which meant I needed more blood, but the pot was near empty. Sharing my room and my dinner with someone I despised had done wonders for my mood.
I went to the door, hoping I might convince someone in the hallway to fetch another pot, but a commotion outside sent me back a step. A second later, the door flew opened.
“Ms. Sk
ye,” the duke greeted me in a tight voice. His eyes were wild, and they searched the room while darting back and forth to me.
I retreated a few steps, giving us both space until he felt comfortable enough to enter the room. Murphy stayed in the doorway behind him. When I caught his attention, I tapped the teapot on my night table, and he nodded before whispering something to another guard in the hall.
Dante went to Ursula, taking her hands in his as she stood.
“I’m fine,” she said before he could ask. “Truly. Your little pet project over there helped fend off the brute.” She tilted her head in my direction, and the edges of my vision tinged with red. Pet project?
“Is that so?” Dante sounded skeptical.
“She bludgeoned him with your first edition copy of Blood Customs,” Ursula said as if she were tattling on me. With the way the duke frowned at me, maybe she had.
“I meant for you to read the books, not vandalize them.”
“Sorry.” I held up my hands. “I would have preferred a gun, but I’m not allowed to carry one here.”
“And you will not be allowed until your wrathful resentment has passed,” the duke said.
“Maybe I wouldn’t be so wrathful if you hadn’t sabotaged the life I worked so hard to piece back together after—after my sire died.” My face flushed, and I hoped I looked more angry than guilty. I bit my tongue, silently cursing myself for coming so close to slipping up and confessing that I’d been murdered, by one of their own no less.
“Your Grace,” one of the guards called from the doorway. He pressed a finger to the radio on his belt and gave the duke a guarded expression. “We have unexpected company.”
“Well, tell them they need to make an appointment.” Dante’s jaw flexed as if he couldn’t believe the guard would bother him with such a trivial thing at a time like this.
“I would, sir, but they’re council officials.”
Dante swore under his breath and rubbed a hand over his face. Then he turned to me. “Stay here with the duchess and do not let anyone but me into this room until I return.” He left in a hurry without another word, locking the door behind him.
Thicker Than Blood (Blood Vice Book 5) Page 3
