Blood in the Water (Blood Vice Book 3)

by Angela Roquet

  He paused in the archway that connected the foyer to the ballroom, his eyes searching the crowd. The guests bowed lower, and I was suddenly aware that I was the only one standing upright besides him. Roman’s hand found mine and jerked me into an impromptu curtsey.

  Heat rushed up my neck and into my face, but as I stole another glance at the duke, I saw a small grin twitch across his lips. Then it was gone, hidden beneath a stanch disguise for the predatory masses.

  Roman was right. They were sharks. And if someone as powerful at Dante feared bleeding in these familiar waters, what chance did I stand as the new fish in the pond?

  “You must pay better attention,” Roman hissed in my ear as the murmur of the crowd resumed. “One wrong move, and you won’t be leaving here tonight.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.” I frowned at him, feeling the flush in my skin grow more uncomfortable. I was probably as red hot as the dress I wore.

  Roman lifted a skeptical eyebrow and released my wrist. He pushed the folds of his jacket back and tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks as if to prevent himself from accidentally touching me.

  More eyes snagged on us now. I wondered what they were waiting for. How far had the rumors spread? Did they expect me to tail after the duke and the small lot of guards surrounding him?

  A few moments later, Lord Starling arrived. As the doorman announced him, I turned to get a better look. I knew it was ridiculous to expect a familial resemblance, but it still surprised me when an elderly Asian man entered the foyer. His white kung fu jacket looked out of place among all the darker colors flooding the room.

  “You’re staring,” Roman whispered. The worry straining his hushed voice didn’t translate in his expression. His guard was up again, eyes steadily observing the sharks in the room without appearing too interested in any one particular guest.

  “Is that Sonja Starling’s sire?” I pressed.

  Roman tilted his chin toward me and lowered his voice. “Her grandsire. His scion, Sonja’s sire, is not in attendance. I hear she had to be coffin-locked to contain her…mourning.”

  “I should say something to him.”

  “No, you should not.” His voice was even, but the authority was there, hidden in the way he stiffly enunciated each syllable.

  I set off across the ballroom anyway, feeling Roman’s presence at my back. Another guest had just departed from greeting Lord Starling, and he turned as I approached, curiosity puckering his brow.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said before Roman could intercept.

  The old vampire regarded me with dark, appraising eyes. “And you would be?”

  “Jenna Skye, a BATC cadet in the vampire program. House Zajalvo,” I added when his frown deepened.

  “Zajalvo’s orphan?” His bushy eyebrows lifted at the revelation.

  “Yes, sir.” I dipped my head politely.

  “I tended to a harem donor of his once,” he said. “Lovely girl, though her English was terrible—worse than mine when I first came to this country.” His face softened at the memory, but hardened when his focus returned to me. “I was under the impression he preferred donors from his homeland.”

  I lowered my eyes, sensing the bait. “I don’t know why he picked me, sir. I just wanted to express my condolences. Sonja was kind, and even though our time together was short, I considered her a friend.”

  Lord Starling frowned, but he offered me a conceding nod. “Then perhaps you know who is responsible for her true death? I do not believe the Novak spawn capable of such a bold slight.”

  Blair’s obnoxious chortling drew my eyes over Lord Starling’s shoulder, but I quickly refocused my attention, remembering Kai’s warning about unproven accusations only leading to more trouble. “I wish I did.”

  “Her Majesty the Queen of House Lilith,” the doorman announced, ending our conversation. We all turned toward the foyer entrance.

  With a name like Lili, I’d expected a petite girl, one as deceptively angelic as Scarlett. I’d prepared myself for the little terror’s doppelganger. So when everyone bowed toward a tall, dark, and handsome woman, I was stunned immobile.

  Her bronze skin glowed in the candlelight. The high cheekbones and strong jaw gave her a masculine sharpness, but the almond eyes and full lips were a Helen of Troy brand of beauty. How many vampires in this room were willing to die for that face alone?

  A crown set with rubies and onyx rested on top of her head, holding up a nest of dark braids. Her neck and shoulders were bare, but I suspected it was to highlight the splendor of her headpiece. The massive dress she wore resumed with the extravagance. It was a deep, crimson red embroidered with black roses and swirling designs. Layered skirts trimmed with black lace blossomed at her waistline. The topmost skirt was bustled at two points in front, and under the hitched hem flowed a mass of black tulle. The dress hovered just above the floor, perfectly tailored to enhance the silence as she glided into a room.

  Roman’s fingers found mine again and squeezed hard, dragging me down into a deeper bow before Lili’s head canted our way. She didn’t comment on my sloppy, delayed curtsey, but her eyes grazed our touching hands.

  Once she’d passed through the ballroom, swarmed by an entourage of attendants and personal guards, two servants opened a pair of decorated double doors leading into a separate area. Only after the queen had exited the crowd did everyone rise and begin speaking again.

  “Kai and Sorano will expect you to line up soon,” Roman said. “Don’t get stupid in there. Bow long and low, and say ‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’ after she anoints you. Nothing more.”

  “Or what? Off with my head?” I gave him a teasing sneer, but there was no humor in his expression.

  This was going to go great. I could already tell.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Back when I’d been a rookie patrol officer, I did a lot of random jobs that required a light police presence—supervising pro-life protests outside women’s clinics, searching a parade crowd for a missing kid, breaking up fights at rock concerts, and once, I’d even been asked to work a pop culture convention, where fans stood in line for hours just to have their picture taken with their favorite actor or comic book artist.

  Waiting in line to see the queen felt a lot like that. Of course, I somehow doubted she’d be too keen on striking a pose for a photo op. The wait time seemed even longer because I was by my lonesome. Roman, Mandy, and Collins weren’t being granted an audience. Vamps only. Lucky me.

  I waited my turn between Andre and Emma, finishing off the long procession ahead of us. The lords and ladies from the noble households got to go first, each eager to offer their personal acknowledgement to the queen and receive her attention in turn. I imagined they got more time with her than what the cadets would be allowed, too. For all I knew, she was taking the time to play a game of checkers with each of her favorite subjects.

  The two servants at the entrance of her room immediately closed the doors behind guests as they entered, and the previous guest departed through a smaller side door down the hallway Roman and I had used to access the gallery where we’d necked like horny teenagers.

  A shameful, erotic thrill pulsed through me every time I thought of him. I looked around, wondering where he’d gotten off to. Wondering if there would be more time after seeing the queen to find another hidden nook…

  My fantasizing was stunted by the sight of Cain Davis’s fishy, gray eyes. The half-sired cadet watched me from where he reclined against the far wall, waiting like an obedient dog as Blair made small talk with the fanciest guests. She was doing a fair job of hiding her distress over Mic’s situation, if she’d ever cared at all. The way her fingers grazed the hand of another vampire made me wonder if she’d already decided it was time to move on. Or if maybe that was the doting sire Sonja had spoken of, the one she’d insinuated Blair was sleeping with.

  Emma’s tight breath snapped my attention back to the line. Her simple, black dress would have been stunning in a hum
an crowd, but it blended into the background amongst all the finery draping the guests at the queen’s manor. Her wrists, neck, and ears remained bare, but her short hair was held back by a pair of silver brooches, the only bit of sparkle in her ensemble. She shuddered and closed her eyes before taking another sharp breath. The sound hackled my own nerves.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, touching her arm. She shrugged me off with a glare.

  “Wonderful. You’re up.” Her chin jerked ahead.

  I spun around as Andre’s backside disappeared through the double doors. Another servant who matched the doormen addressed me with a bored, straight face. “Sign here.”

  He held a large guest log with silver-gilded pages across one arm, wedged between his elbow and wrist. With his free hand, he offered me a thick quill. I took it and signed in the same fashion as those before me had, listing my full name, house affiliation, and sire. As I finished, the double doors began to part again.

  Well. That escalated quickly.

  I wasn’t prepared. My panic had been a dull nag in the back of my mind until this moment. One of the doormen cleared his throat and stared at me. I stepped inside at his cue and folded my hands over my stomach as I assessed the new scene. Once again, Andre’s backside caught my attention, and I watched him exit as I inched further inside.

  The throne room was straight out of a fairytale. The queen sat in a chair on a raised platform angled in the corner. More of the colonial servants were stationed around her—one behind the throne holding a stack of white silk, another at her side holding a silver platter, and a third near the smaller exit into the hallway.

  There were also several men in more modern suits like Roman’s. Vampires, I thought as my blood vision made an appearance. An elite handful of seasoned agents served in a direct capacity as personal bodyguards to the royal family. It was the kind of promotion I couldn’t even dream of setting my sights on until I had a hundred years behind me on Blood Vice. As it stood, I wasn’t sure I wanted the honor. Your Grace this and Your Majesty that would drive me mad in no time, I was sure of it.

  The duke was in the throne room, too, standing erect to the left of the dais, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He opened his free arm toward the queen, encouraging me along. I quickened my pace, hurrying to the foot of the steps where I curtseyed as low as my heels would allow. After an uncomfortably long few seconds, the queen’s servant with the tray relieved me.

  “Rise and approach the crown,” he said.

  I climbed the few steps, knees shaking and eyes roving the room as if I couldn’t decide where I should be looking. The servant held up a gloved hand once I’d come close enough.

  “Kneel,” he instructed.

  It was awkward in the dress, but I obeyed, hobbling down to my knees. When I was in an acceptable position, the queen took an ornate dagger from the tray, and the servant reached behind her to fetch a square of white silk from his associate. They’d done this a time or two before, apparently.

  The queen pressed the blade to her finger, and a single drop of dark blood welled on the tip. She offered it to me, stretching her hand out in a silent summon to lean closer. I did, and when she pointed at my lips, I understood the command and opened my mouth. She tapped her finger lightly on the end of my tongue.

  With this blood, I anoint thee mine forevermore.

  The honeyed, feminine voice sent goosebumps crawling over my skin, only the queen hadn’t spoken. As her drop of blood slid down my throat, the room faded into darkness around us, and I glimpsed a flash of her in a different light and time.

  She was a woman then as she was now, but she wore a simple, colonial dress that she observed in an oval hand mirror. That I observed through her eyes. This was a distant memory of the queen’s. Paranoia and panic tightened my throat, but I couldn’t move. I was an unwilling voyeur.

  The queen, Lili, touched two marks on her neck and frowned. “Will this fade when I die?” she asked, her voice much softer than before.

  Another woman stood behind her, reflected in the looking glass. Long, strawberry red hair flowed over her shoulder. She grinned at the Lili, at me, and her liquid laugher sent a tremor through my veins. When she spoke, I recognized her voice as the first one I’d heard. It hadn’t been Lili at all.

  “It will be gone by nightfall this eve,” she answered. She stood and came up behind Lili, delicately moving her dark hair aside to take a closer look at the girl’s neck. She smiled at her handiwork and laid a soft kiss on the twin wounds.

  Lili shuddered as she turned to face the woman. “I’m ready, my queen.”

  My queen. Lilith. Lili’s sire.

  Lilith pressed her hands to either side of Lili’s face and tilted her head to one side. I felt my own head move with the motion, felt her fingers dig into my scalp. Her fangs extended methodically, and I lost sight of them as Lili closed her eyes—the eyes I’d borrowed. But I felt the sharp ache when Lilith bit down on the girl’s neck, just below her ear. I heard the crunch of tendons and smelled the tang of blood.

  And then I was back in the present. The queen watched me carefully from her throne. I blinked up at her before lowering my head again, feigning reverence in order to hide my shock.

  What the hell was that? My mind grappled for an explanation. Was it some trick of the queen’s? Did everyone experience the bite down memory lane when they tasted her blood? Hopefully Roman would know what it all meant.

  The manservant handed over the silk handkerchief, and the queen wiped her finger, leaving a small smear of red across the white. She wiped the end of her blade next, leaving a second line not far from the first, about the distance between a pair of fangs. Her servant folded the silk into a tidy square and presented it to me with a bow, and then waved his arm toward the arched exit.

  “Dismissed.”

  The little ritual reminded me of my high school graduation. Take your diploma, smile for a picture, and move along. We don’t have all day, kids. But hey, what did I care? Everyone was more interested in the after-party anyway. And right now, I was more interested in dodging the queen’s piercing gaze.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said, remembering Roman’s advice. I rose up off the platform with as much grace as a gorilla, doing my best not to step on the hem of my gown, and made my way down the steps.

  Emma was already progressing across the room toward the queen. She looked more resolved, more confident than she had in line. I watched her over my shoulder as I slipped off toward the exit, my bloody handkerchief clenched in one fist. Emma moved faster than I had, and the queen was already drawing fresh blood before I reached the door.

  That’s when Emma struck. She rose up off her knees in one fluid motion, leaning at an angle as if stumbling. One hand seized the queen’s elbow, and Emma thrust her full weight into the woman’s arm as her other hand repositioned the wrist holding the dagger.

  The blade penetrated the queen’s chest, sinking in to the hilt. From my angle near the exit, I saw the tip of it protrude from her back and dig into the throne chair. The queen gasped violently, her mouth opening and closing without making words.

  An instant of confused terror struck everyone in the room—everyone except Emma. The vampire slipped a hand into her hair, ripping one of the silver brooches free. It cracked open in her palm, and a powdery substance sifted from its edges. She held it in front of her mouth and blew the contents into the queen’s gaping face.

  Dante was the first to break the spell of silent horror that had befallen us. He reached the throne as Emma made her escape, catching the queen in his arms as she tumbled from her chair. Her hand still clasped the handle of the dagger. She choked violently, her face ashen from the strange powder and the whites of her eyes turning black.

  Emma fled toward the exit I blocked. The skirt of her dress was wadded in one hand. She looked right past me, not even acknowledging my presence, just as she’d done a thousand times in the bat cave.

  “Stop her! Bar the doors!” Dante ordered. Th
e command was meant for the agents in the room, but I was closest, and growing closer as Emma neared me.

  My instinct was to attempt one of the takedowns we’d learned in class—but she’d trained alongside me and would be expecting that. My hesitation didn’t leave room for a more eloquent plan. As Emma tried to dodge past me, I snagged the back of her dress.

  The material ripped but held, slowing her down. She swung her free arm in a wide arc, clocking me across the cheek. I grunted at the impact, but I refused to let go. As soon as my head snapped around, I tackled her. Her face hit hard, and her chin made a sickening crack as it connected with the marble floor. Still, she fought against me.

  In our dresses, we probably looked like feuding pageant rejects. Several of the agents had drawn their weapons. They circled us with pinched brows.

  “Stand down!” one of the men shouted. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if they were making the request of me or Emma. When she reached for her remaining brooch, I didn’t care.

  I grabbed Emma’s wrists and pushed them to the floor, pressing my chest across her shoulder blades to hold her down. She shrieked and threw her head back, cracking her skull into my nose. I bled instantly. The sight triggered my fangs, and before I knew what I was doing, I’d bitten the back of Emma’s neck.

  I sucked hard, hoping to weaken her enough that I could safely dismount without getting dusted. When her struggling lessened and her arms grew slack, I released her long enough to rip the brooch out of her hair.

  One of the agents held his hand out for it as I stood, and two others swooped in to cuff Emma. Her blood had shaken me, delivering another glimpse into the past. I didn’t have time to dwell on it right now. Not with the queen wheezing on the platform, taking her dying breaths in Dante’s arms.

  I took a step toward them, but one of the agents cut me off, the end of his gun trained on my face.

  “Let her pass,” Dante ordered. The agent grimaced, but he obeyed.

  “What can I do?” I begged him. “Should we call for her harem? Will that fix…this?” I looked down at the queen’s unseeing, black eyes. A vein in her brow pulsed with each breath she croaked.