Intervamption

by Kristin Miller

  —San Francisco Haven Rule #6

  Everyone in the great room was dressed to the hilt. Flowing gowns from the puffy-sleeved whimsical Romantic era to the elegant and t-sleeved Edwardian period floated around the room, creating the image that the place was a melting-pot of fashion over time.

  No matter the striking women sizing him up and down, brushing his back with tantalizing fingers as he walked by, he couldn’t take his eyes off Dylan. She was breathtaking in a pale blue Victorian gown that brought out the heaven in her matching blue eyes. Her breasts . . . good Lord . . . those soft pillows nearly spilled over the top ridge of the dress making Slade want to drag her in back and treat her like the Lady she was.

  She was absolutely show-stopping.

  If Ruan looked a second longer he would’ve cold-cocked him. Fortunately, the second he spotted Eve in a pink chiffon number that floated over the floor behind her, his eyes were more than occupied.

  “I can’t believe Dylan’s letting her walk into the middle of the room like this. Look at her. People are staring. They know something’s not right. No. This isn’t good.” He took two protective steps before Slade wrenched his arm around.

  “Can you sense her? Can you smell her from here? Use your brain and don’t call attention to her for no reason. She’s fine.”

  Ruan searched the room, most likely for hungry eyes.

  When he remained silent with worry, Slade continued. “They’re staring because she’s gorgeous, Ruan. They don’t sense a thing. Believe me, by the way my senses have been whacked out of control, I’d know if there was a mundane around.”

  As Ruan took another step toward her, she turned to him and smiled, then nodded her head with certainty. She was fine and she wanted him to know it. He froze in his tracks . . . and smiled back.

  “Thanks for letting me borrow the scrubs,” Slade said, patting down his black Armani.

  Ruan picked a piece of lint off his shoulder and slowly straightened his own black tie. His long blonde hair draped over the solid black of his suit, making the contrast between light and dark mesmerizing. Looked damn sharp—a mighty compliment, considering Ruan was hell and gone from Slade’s type.

  “Don’t mention it,” Ruan said. “I thought you’d be swimming in the threads, actually, but you seem to have filled out all of a sudden. Been skimming off the top of Dylan’s chocolate drawer?”

  Yeah, he wasn’t joking. Since going through the ceremony with Dylan a whole lot of things were suddenly different. His build was larger. His energy was sky-high. He knew vampires could only find nourishment from mundane blood, but he didn’t feel a damn thing around Eve. No tingling urges to puncture her neck, no lust for the juices flowing through her veins. All he wanted was Dylan.

  He hungered for her in ways that could only be explained in terms of constant starvation. For her blood, her body, didn’t matter. Both were equal in Slade’s eyes.

  And yeah, his eyes were different too; permanently onyx black. No more crimson red, brightening when his hunger flared. His fangs were a trip, though he’d already started getting used to them in his vampire form. He could still shove them back at will, but they were always there. Much like his therian marking. That same intricate looping that he’d seen in the mirror since he was a boy was here to stay. Or so it seemed for the time being.

  Through the Valcdana he’d somehow become a solid meshing of both species—fast and strong as a vamp with sinister fangs, but the same therian body. When he realized he’d never been so comfortable in any skin, not even his own, and that Meridian might’ve been right about his true blood being a strong mixture of both species, nausea washed over him. His skin clammed and his head spun like he was on a merry-go-round.

  “Hey man, you all right?” Ruan asked, placing a large supportive hand on his shoulder. “You don’t look so good.”

  Slade nodded and searched the crowd for Dylan. “Christ, where’d she go? She was just right there.”

  Ruan followed his eyes up to the podium at the front. “Looks like she’s getting ready to address the Primus. Come on, let’s head up.”

  Didn’t have to tell him twice. She was within earshot, but still too far away for Slade’s liking. As they reached the front stage he realized Dylan was holding a half-empty Alvambra bottle in her hand. The blood sloshing around inside the plastic was fresh, taken within the last few minutes; he could smell it from where he stood.

  Sure enough, like he suspected, in the crook of Eve’s arm was a single puncture wound. Larger than most needle holes yet still inconspicuous for those not searching it out. Dried blood rimmed the prick. From the looks of it, Dylan had used the same needle on Eve as she had on Slade that night in ReVamp when she all about kicked him in the jewels to get his blood drawn.

  Damn, that seemed like forever ago.

  Slade was about to make his move and join her on the podium when the music silenced, turning all eyes to the front. And on him.

  Three black-robed vampires formed a semi-circle, backs to the crowd. Two of them pulled down their hoods, revealing Erock’s slicked black hair and Savage’s dark skull-trim cut. They both turned around, faced the crowd, their faces solemn.

  If they were stoic from respect, it was something new in Slade’s eyes.

  The last form remained unmoving, his billowy robe flowing behind him as if an unseen breeze flowed through its fabric. As he turned around, all voices hushed.

  Coal-black eyes searched the faces of the crowd, looking for something Slade couldn’t pinpoint. Did he sense a mundane in their midst? Was Eve in danger? Did he have powers as the elders did?

  When he turned his eyes on Slade, he could feel the heat of the stare on his skin. Unbridled power consumed the air between them.

  It didn’t take the MC announcing this vampire as Primus for Slade to know it was him. The moment had come. The Primus had safely returned. Too bad his khiss was in shambles and two chambers short of a therian attack.

  The crowd gathered as close to the stage as possible, pressing against one another until the space was no longer a dance floor; it was a very crowded, very anxious gathering hall.

  When the Primus raised his heavily decorated fingers, Slade caught sight of a gold-banded ring with a black heart tangled in barbed wire gleaming brightly on his right hand.

  Before Slade could process what the symbol on the ring might’ve meant, the Primus spoke up. “First, let me say how glad I am to be back amongst you all.” His gruff voice boomed off the vaulted ceiling, blasting through the air with dominance. “I’ve been away far too long, but have learned much that will make our khiss grow in strength and beauty.”

  Applause scattered through the hall.

  When it died down, and the only thing Slade could hear was the occasional cough and whisper and his own heavy breathing, the Primus pushed down his hood. His face was sunken and dry, the sharp angles of his cheekbones and chin even more severe among his drooping pallor. But his eyes . . . they were so black Slade thought perhaps this powerful Primus had somehow lassoed the limitless power of a black hole and roped it into his face.

  He leaned over the podium as if speaking into a microphone that wasn’t there. “I’d like to thank Savage for serving in my stead. For stepping up when I needed him, I am eternally grateful.” He extended a heavy hand to Savage.

  Savage took it and held firm, but didn’t bow. Chose instead to meet him eye to eye.

  Bold sucker.

  There weren’t too many people Slade was intimidated by, but the eyes of this Primus alone would be enough to make him mind his manners. For the most part.

  When the Primus turned back to the crowd, his face was stern. Direct. “I’ve been informed there are a few matters to discuss before we get on with this wonderful celebration. Dylan, will you approach.”

  Her eyes flashed to Slade, then back to the Primus. She bowed low and didn’t take her gaze off the floor until directed to do so by his dramatic finger lift. “Charges have been brought against you. Have you been
made aware of said actions and possible consequences?”

  “I have.” Her voice held steady and strong in the face of this vampire who held such power over her. She wasn’t much different from an Assassin like himself, he realized. She held her goal steady in her sights. Her weapon, a single draw of blood, was clutched tightly in hand.

  Above all, focus dominated her fear.

  Slade never loved her more.

  “And what say you to the accusation that you have tainted the blood to weaken our race, in order to promote your business?” the Primus said.

  “May I approach the podium?”

  After a second’s hesitation, his hand swayed toward the front.

  As she took center stage, her hands spun the bottle round and round. He wondered if the speech in her mind was doing the same thing. Replayed on some sort of Dylan auto-loop. “I was completely blindsided by the charges set against me last week,” she began. “Those of you who know me or who’ve sought services at ReVamp know that I would do anything and everything in my power to help any vampire struggling with our lifestyle. I’ve assisted mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and children alike, taking advantage of no one.”

  She paused as if gathering her wits, took a deep breath, and pushed on. Slade couldn’t target exactly how it happened, but he got the feeling she’d scrapped her speech and was flying by the seat of her pants . . . or dress, as it were. “A member of our khiss came to see me, just before our last Newborn Induction. He said . . . he said he’d rather die than follow through with the Valcdana.”

  A muffled hush spread through the crowd like a raging epidemic.

  “Instead of condemning him like so many of us would be inclined to do, I listened. And when he chose death as his way out, I sought answers under the surface of our khiss’s laws. What I found was staggering. We all know our society is falling apart. Blood shortages and killings plague our streets. Therian attacks have become expected around Crimson Bay. This is unacceptable. If we shut down places like ReVamp these things will only get worse. Don’t you all see? If we—”

  “Dylan, you know nothing of what it takes to make a society like ours run,” Savage cut in, sliding beside her at the podium. “We thank you for your dedication to the race all these years. Unfortunately, that’s where your services will stop . . . at respectful dedication.”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She slunk from underneath and thrust the bottle of blood in the air. “There is something wrong with our blood supply, but I’ve found the answer. Herein lies the strongest, truest blood source known to our race. When I get back to the lab I plan to duplicate the code and produce it for everyone. With this . . .” she unscrewed the bottle, letting the powerful scent flow freely through the air, before continuing, “. . . our race will become strong again.”

  “You lie,” Savage hissed, loud enough for the vamps in back to hear. “This is a ploy. Some twisted trick to earn more time before you’re sentenced and removed from our khiss. Well, it’s not going to work. I’ll not stand here and let you waste valuable time we could spend celebrating the longest night of the year.”

  “I’m not lying,” she said, facing him. “This is the blood of Sample X, the purest donor on record.”

  More gasps echoed around the room. Seemed more people relied on donations from Sample X than even Dylan expected.

  “If this is the blood you speak of, hand it over.” Savage reached to take the bottle from her hand.

  She jerked back. “I’m not handing it over until my name has been cleared.”

  Savage spread his arms to the crowd. Like he was a puppet in master theatre, giving a five-star soliloquy. “See? She won’t release it because she knows she’ll be found a fraud. How are we to test your source if you won’t give it to me?”

  “You’re right. I won’t give it to you. . . .” She turned around, offering the bottle to the Primus. “Drink, sir. Drink and you will feel the strength immediately. It won’t take but a second for you to know I’m telling the truth.”

  “It is not for him to decide!” Savage roared, lunging for the bottle.

  Two things happened in the next few seconds, all in slow motion. Slade leapt onto the stage, ready to detach Savage’s arm from his shoulder. The milky red blood sloshing in the bottle between them dumped down the front of Dylan’s dress, and onto the floor.

  The entire front row of hungry vampires pushed against the stage, lusting for a single taste of the strength in the blood.

  “Silence!” the Primus howled, booming octaves above the chaos.

  In that instant, everyone froze. Including Slade, who was about two feet away from his mark. Shock and horror paled Dylan’s face.

  The Primus’s large black orbs sucked in all light, all reflection, until they were matte black. “I’ll not have this kind of disobedience in my Court! Not tonight. Not ever. Savage?”

  He strode to his Primus’s side, a grim look of satisfaction slicked on his face. “Yes, sir?”

  “You have forgotten your place and I am inclined to remind you. You have been in a position of power too long and have misplaced your direction and you have insulted me, the khiss, and the woman standing before you addressing your khissmates. Both of which are punishable by khiss law.”

  He linked his thin fingers together and rocked back on his heels. Slade could’ve sworn the red in the ruby shell of his ring was bubbling and boiling like molten lava.

  “I have done neither,” Savage said, retreating to Erock’s side and his proper place.

  “You must accept the punishment given. For disrupting our ceremony, our celebration, something must be done.”

  “If I have forgotten my place, it is only because I want what’s best for my khiss. Let Dylan show the strength in the blood if that’s what she must. I am speaking the truth. I’ve been searching for this pure blood source for months and she claims to have found it at her whim? She should have to prove her claims here and now.”

  Dylan laughed on an exasperated exhale. “Yeah, now that it’s spilled and soured on the floor.”

  Slade wished he could turn back time. Reset the clock to draw two vials of Eve’s blood instead of one. Then Dylan could prove for once and for all that she’d found the true source. He took another step closer to center stage.

  “Then I suppose you’ll have to tell us where you found Sample X, so we can receive more donations,” the Primus said.

  Her eyes shot to Eve’s frail form hunkering beside the stage. All these raging vamps must’ve had her spooked. Within seconds Ruan had two hands on her shoulders, most likely ready to bolt out of here the second they got wind.

  “So?” the Primus asked again. “Where is this Sample X?”

  Time slowed to a halt.

  Dylan shook her head, her mahogany ringlets falling over her narrow shoulders. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  The Primus slid to her side, his long robe flowing behind him. He whispered loud enough for Slade to hear, “This is what will save your precious ReVamp. If you value your livelihood, your life’s work, you will tell me where I can find the donor who can save the khiss.”

  She swallowed hard. Stared right into the pits of his eyes.

  Slade nodded at Ruan to get Eve out of the warehouse when Dylan’s voice carried through the room. “There are more important things than ReVamp,” she said. “No matter if I am a member of this khiss or not, I will get you the blood that will save the race. But not now. I will not put someone in danger to save my neck. If you must kick me to the streets then so be it.”

  “Then so be it.” He snapped his fingers for the squad to drag her away.

  “Wait!”

  All necks whipped around to the sound of the angelic voice. Eve raised her arm ever-so-slowly over her head and strode up the first stair to the stage.

  Ruan dragged her back down.

  She whispered something in his ear, ran a finger across his healing chest, then took the step a second time.

  When she spoke again it wa
s louder, more determined. “I am the one you’re searching for.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “In a perfect world, mundanes would accept the fact that vampires wish them no harm. But in a perfect world I’m blonde and six feet tall.”

  —Raven-haired, four-feet-tall Judge Jameson, Crimson CourtTV

  Ah, hell, Slade thought. This place was going to be an all-you-can-eat Eve buffet in the blink of an eye. Ruan snaked an arm around her waist, shadowing her onto the stage. Slade took two steps back, ready to assist Ruan when the lusting vamps kamikazeed their way to her vein.

  Eve had never done anything to harm anyone. There was no way in hell Slade was about to let her sacrifice herself for the sake of a race she didn’t belong to. Damn it, Dylan was right. Being an anonymous blood donor was one thing. Giving your vein to a vampire you didn’t know was something completely different.

  Something intensely personal in his case.

  And it didn’t look like Ruan was about to share anyhow.

  Ruan, Erock and the Primus all turned to Eve, who was shaking head to toe and not hiding it well. If Slade could smell her fear, they most likely could too.

  The Primus extended his hand. “What’s your name, dear?”

  “Eve.”

  He smiled, tilting his head to get a better look at the smooth angles of her face. “Interesting that you’re named for the woman who started it all. I, too, am fond of biblical references, though many here would not know that. I’m named after someone from the Bible as well.”

  “And your name is . . .”

  The crowd recoiled as a whole, hissing and moaning as if they were appalled beyond words.

  “I cannot and will not punish you for being ignorant of our customs. As you can see from the reaction of those around you, Primuses’ names are not discussed freely. However, the meaning of my name is of little consequence. It means ‘brother exalted’ in Hebrew.”

  “Hiram? Your name’s Hiram?”

  A small crease formed from his lips. He spoke so softly Slade was sure no one but those on the stage could hear. “And how would a mundane woman like you know something like that?”