by Thea Devine
“Where are you going?” Dnitra said drowsily from the bed, her nudity on brazen display. “I want more. I need more.”
“No more.” He had nearly finished dressing. “Ever.” He slammed the door behind him.
Good. Anger was still there. Resentment and frustration. Disgust at his capitulation. A yearning to return to what was, before the devastation of Drom. Even if it meant returning the Countess back to her worthless life.
He barreled down the stone steps into the tapestry room, wondering where the men spent their days if they weren’t spending their seed in whichever woman was available to breed.
“My son.”
Dominick turned to see Iosefescu seated in a thronelike chair of carved wood, watching him intently.
“I’m leaving.”
“Does Dnitra not please you?”
“I have no quarrel with Dnitra. How do I leave?”
“You don’t,” Iosefescu said flatly. “There is no need to leave. Everything you could ever want is here: an endless food supply, beautiful women, community, children, what more could you possibly be seeking beyond Biru?”
“Senna.”
Iosefescu waved that away. “Our women are her equal.”
Dominick stared at him through narrowed eyes, trying to read what would move an old man so set in his determination.
“She is carrying my child.”
Iosefescu made a sound. “Is it with us yet?”
“I don’t know.”
Iosefescu’s eyes closed for a moment. “I see.”
“The Tepes are rooting themselves in London.”
Iosefescu shook his head. “We are done with the Tepes and ancient feuds.”
But Dominick sensed some residual anger there, and regret. “You would want them to infest London? You know what that would mean. You know they’ve already begun.”
“I know.” But Dominick saw that Iosefescu already knew London would not be enough for them. The Tepes would only take more and more. A world dominated by Tepes would mean death to all and enslavement of the Iscariot. Not that many were willing to fight anymore. He had allowed the clan underbelly to become soft and complacent, content to live and feed in Biru and never extending its interests beyond those borders.
“You don’t know these Tepes power seekers,” Dominick went on. “My child will be born in the midst of all that. You can’t allow the Tepes free rein in one of the largest, most populous cities in the world. They’re already moving to take over. Their leader formed a vigilante group to protect the citizenry from the scary vampires who’ve already killed and fed on random citizens. No one knows it’s a smoke screen to bring in the Tepes and eliminate everyone else. You must let me return. I know them. I will destroy them.”
Iosefescu steepled his fingers and looked at Dominick. “Our clan’s population diminishes by the year. We need to procreate. We need a safe place to regenerate and bear our children, a place to feed, and to feel secure. That is not London.”
“You’d give up without a fight, old man?”
Iosefescu slapped his hands on his knees in frustration. “You want too much, Dominick. You haven’t healed. You don’t need to take on the Tepes for me.”
“For my child, I do.”
“Not for the mother?” Iosefescu watched him keenly.
This was the test: how quickly and sincerely he perpetrated the lie. “She is the mother. There’s nothing more. But if the child is Iscariot—”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“She was fanged by a Tepes before the Countess sired her. We don’t know if he drew blood.”
“I see.”
Something in their conversation caused Iosefescu to pause and further weigh what was said against what he knew, what he sensed, and what was possible. He nodded as he decided.
“Very well. You may go, but Dnitra must go with you.”
Dominick felt an immediate surge of energy. “I will be with the mother of my child.”
“No matter. You can service both.”
“I—” But he never finished the sentence. He was swept up in the whirlwind, Dnitra’s arms around him, her body open and seeking his.
Senna felt as if she would never last beyond the night. Tension kept her wary and on edge. Charles could be anywhere. Peter could regain consciousness at any moment.
Had Charles said Lady Augustine had been turned? By the damned, she was so tired, she didn’t know what anyone had said at this point, not least Charles’s detailing some mad plan to make her Queen.
She lay her hand on her belly. Are you there, baby? She felt nothing, but it was early yet. Her hand spread on her midsection was curiously soothing, as if she were connecting with the baby somehow.
None of it seemed real. Neither the baby nor the night when Drom burned, though it continually played in her mind’s eye: the bodies, the blood, the barren landscape.
But everything had changed. Her life, her love, her needs and desires. She resented it, she hated it. The darkness. The hunger.
It took nothing more than that thought to feel the ferocious need to feed. It swelled, blinding her to anything else. Even her pregnancy.
She was so overcome that everything became a blur around her, whirling and winding, making her dizzy and disoriented, bringing her to her knees.
Suddenly the whirling and the wind stopped and Dominick stood before her, a strange beautiful woman behind him.
She swallowed the hunger, her body calming until she felt more herself.
She wanted to leap into his arms, but she had the instinct that the woman, that Other, would kill her.
It was a knife to her heart.
He reached for her, and immediately her body reacted, sparking off his touch, so that she had to climb awkwardly to her feet by herself.
“Senna.” Regret laced his voice.
“Dominick.” She had nothing to say, not with the Other watching him so possessively. She hadn’t expected that. Another woman, on top of his abandonment of her and leaving her to cope with . . . everything.
The woman stepped forward. “I am Dnitra, of Clan Iscariot. You are?”
Senna looked her up and down. Too beautiful by half, and not awkward and encumbered by a growing child in her womb. “Senna.”
“No clan?”
“We don’t know yet,” Dominick said roughly. Senna looked thinner, ravaged, damaged, and drained. And he couldn’t touch her, comfort her, help her.
Devil’s bones, he’d kill the Countess again to have prevented her siring Senna.
Dnitra’s presence only made things worse. It was clear now that he was never meant to leave Biru and that Iosefescu had sent her with him in order to bring him back.
Over my dead body.
“How can one not know?” Dnitra asked as Dominick motioned to the parlor.
“Who is she?” Senna gingerly took a chair by the fireplace.
“I am of his clan,” Dnitra began.
Dominick finished, “She is a pawn of the patriarch Iosefescu and his partner, the Countess, who even in death interferes from the grave, blast her. But I’m here now.”
But what could he do?
“So are Peter and Charles,” Senna said acidly. “You didn’t need to put yourself out, coming back here. Everything is under control. Peter is badly injured and can do no harm for the moment, and Charles is just delighting in the freedom to indulge his bloodlust.”
I heard that.
They all recognized the voice as Charles’s, yet he was nowhere to be seen.
“He’s a fly,” Senna said drily. “He’s watching over me.”
“No more,” Dominick said. “I’m here now.”
You and Dnitra? Charles again.
“There’s nothing for you to do,” Senna said to Dominick, choosing her words carefully. “Charles to
ok charge of the Keepers. We held a funeral for Lady Augustine, I received the mourners and fed them, at which point Peter chose to return. I think that’s everything.”
Except my resentment of you, coming in like a knight-errant after things couldn’t be changed. And with a fertile Other who can also provide you with a child.
Make you Queen, Charles buzzed irritatingly in her ear. You forgot to mention Lady Augustine’s transformation.
She shook him off.
Lady Augustine could show up tomorrow.
By the damned, she would kill Charles when he transhaped. To do this to her when she was so distracted and deathly tired. With Peter in her coffin bed and that awful, thin, beautiful female vampire glued to Dominick’s side.
“Senna.”
“Yes, Dominick?” Easy to feign polite interest, listening, and not caring.
“I’m staying here.”
“Then I will as well,” Dnitra said immediately.
Senna wanted to pull Dnitra’s hair, wrestle her to the ground, and kill her. But at that moment, she felt a sudden unexpected curling in her belly.
The child moved.
This was not a moment to share with Charles or the vampire siren. Or even Dominick, who had left her to find her own way.
She felt another coiling sensation and she cupped her hand over it.
This time Dominick noticed. “Senna?” he said, moving his hand simultaneously toward her belly.
“Don’t!” Her voice flexed like a whip. “You’ll spark, it could hurt the child.”
The word child hung in the air between them. They stared at each other.
“I can’t touch, I can’t feel him moving?” Dominick’s dismay was palpable.
Senna’s anger was equally tangible. “Why should you? You have other interests now.”
“Dnitra can return where she came from.”
“I must stay,” Dnitra contradicted him. “Iosefescu gave this task to me.” Senna could feel her scorching gaze. Dnitra believed Dominick was now hers.
I am surrounded by enemies, Senna thought. I have to get out of here. I have to figure out how to transhape. Charles said I could become a fly, if I knew how.
And I have to get away from Dominick.
She wondered if they would stop her or follow her as she climbed the stairs to Lady Augustine’s room, across from where Mirya slept.
“I’ll protect you.” Dominick’s voice came out of the darkness as she raised the flame on the gaslight.
“I can’t touch you, but I can shroud you. No one can come near you then.”
She perched edgily on the bed. She was so tempted, she felt so alone. They all needed to contain her for different reasons. Charles buzzing around the room—she could hear him—promising her something that went well beyond vampiric power and eternal life. Peter was bent on vengeance both for her trying to kill him and for Lady Augustine’s death. Dnitra, by the door, hovered, watching, evil, waiting for the moment she could claim Dominick.
And Dominick?
But Dnitra was listening. And Charles buzzed around her head aggravatingly, swooping and grazing her ears. They just wouldn’t leave her alone.
Something was afoot, Senna could sense it. If only she could transhape into nothingness.
Dnitra was restless. “I need to feed. That short, fat, little person in the next bedroom will do.”
Senna leapt off the bed as Dominick wheeled on Dnitra. “Feed on the street—this house is off-limits.”
“Really?” Senna hated Dnitra’s dismissive indifference. She looked as if she couldn’t have cared less.
“I’ll kill you without a qualm if you touch anyone in this house.”
Dnitra just shrugged. With a sudden whomping sound, she disappeared.
I’m still here.
“Bastard,” Dominick spat. “What use are you?”
You definitely are our mother’s son, Charles buzzed, transforming suddenly into his mortal body, his attention on Senna. “Come on, Dominick. Come back to us. You must be exhausted.”
“Is Dnitra gone?”
“For the moment, I’d guess. Senna, come, join the conversation.”
“You’re mad,” Senna said. Charles had always been a little off—no less so after becoming a monster. She had to tread even more carefully with him.
“I’m the soul of practicality, my dear. The Tepes are here and we intend to stay, conquer, and”—Charles turned to Dominick—“make lovely Senna our Vampire Queen.”
Dominick drew a sharp breath. That was a permutation he’d never considered. It was dangerous. To him. To Senna. To the child.
He turned to Senna. “It’s about commingled blood. Both the Tepes and Iscariot believe that the one with the commingled blood of the clans will rule forever.”
Her eyes widened as she comprehended what he meant. Her. They meant that she might be carrying a child with comingled blood.
She touched her neck but still couldn’t feel anything like a puncture.
Charles looked at them like a benign uncle. “We all have our parts to play,” he said gently.
“As do I,” a ragged voice interrupted. Peter stood at the threshold, barely hanging on. “That you intend to honor Senna with the role of our Queen—damn your bones—”
Charles mouthed something, and Dominick read his lips: We want the child.
A fierce protectiveness welled up in him, an emotion beyond anything he had ever experienced. His child—his son or daughter, HIS. He had to get Senna out of there, he had to protect the child.
And Senna. Especially Senna. He hoped she hadn’t seen Charles’s lips moving.
“I’m in deep mourning, if you haven’t noticed,” Senna interpolated uneasily because it was obvious from Dominick’s expression Charles had said something unsettling. “No visitors, no receiving for at least three months. I think Lady Augustine’s friends will observe the niceties. They saw enough last night to keep them gossiping for days, Peter.”
“I could kill you,” Peter spat viciously.
“You’re not strong enough,” Charles said.
“Bastard.”
“Yet,” Charles added kindly.
“I will help.” Another voice, Dnitra, who with a loud ruffling sound, had returned and reformed into her corporeal body.
“This is Dnitra,” Dominick said, keeping his voice neutral. “Clan Iscariot.”
“Ah, too bad,” Charles murmured, giving her an appreciative look.
But they are really nipping around me, Senna thought. They want to keep me occupied so I can’t elude them, now that I know their plan. And she knew Lady Augustine lived, a fact neither she nor they were going to share with Dominick.
Charles believed she had no control of her powers or her impulses. Peter believed his thirst for vengeance would fuel his impaired body until he could steal her child away and then kill her.
And Dominick somehow thought that bringing an Other into her house, Lady Augustine’s house, would soothe the anguish she’d endured at his leaving her in that blood-drenched landscape with nothing more than a nugget of obsidian to ward off the sun.
Oh, no. All of her trying to understand what had happened that life-changing night could not be explained or wiped away with a sudden reappearance with another woman, she thought caustically.
Especially that woman.
Damn him—how did one transhape?
Charles thought she didn’t have the ability to use her powers. He intended to watch over her and pin her down so she was never out of his sight, until he got what he wanted.
And that bloodsucking bitch wanted to eat Mirya and possess Dominick.
Senna felt a jolt of fury that almost paralyzed her.
She had to get Mirya away from here. Which meant she had to figure out how to change shape.
She
had already successfully willed her body through time and space just by picturing where she wanted to go. Surely trans-shaping was no more difficult.
So just imagine yourself a fly . . . your body diminishing to the size of a bean with wings.
A slurping sound. Really?
Charles: “Oh, Senna, you didn’t.”
She tried out her wings, buzzing high up toward the ceiling.
Oh, yes, I did.
Mirya!
She buzzed insistently in Mirya’s ear.
Quick, we have to go.
Mirya slept like a log. And Senna’s puny little fly legs couldn’t wake her. She could only buzz relentlessly in her ear.
Mirya, we don’t have time. Wake up, wake up!
Finally, Mirya struggled to consciousness.
Mirya, we have to go. To your home. Now.
She buzzed away, just as Charles broke the door into Mirya’s room, followed by Peter, Dominick, and Dnitra.
“Where is she?”
Mirya rubbed her eyes. “What?”
“Senna. I know she was here.”
“How can you know that when I don’t even know that?”
“I know.”
“Ah,” Mirya murmured. “I don’t know. Go away.”
“She knows,” Dnitra said, pushing her way past Charles. “Old woman, I will eat you if you do not tell.”
Mirya shrugged. As Dnitra lunged at her, Dominick grabbed Dnitra.
“You will die,” he whispered as she fought him. “Choose.”
She wrenched away from him. “Only because of Iosefescu.”
“That’s as good a reason as any.” Dominick pulled her back into the hallway.
“Peter and I, we’ll find her,” Charles said, following him. “We’re not going to waste time looking for a needle in bell towers and hidey-holes. We’ll watch Mirya. Shadow her. Find Senna. Simple.”
Charles turned back to the bedroom, where he expected to see Mirya sitting docilely on the side the bed. But no one was there. She was gone.
The alleyway was dark and narrow. Senna couldn’t even see Mirya, but Mirya was like a cat; she saw in the dark, she knew her way by gut and by instinct, and she moved quickly and evasively as if the enemy were at her back.
