Blood Rebellion (Blood Destiny #7)

by Connie Suttle

"Are you familiar at all with High Demons?" I asked sweetly.

  "I have studied their race, since their planet is now applying for Alliance membership."

  "Are you familiar with the Guli—the Truthsayer for the High Demon race?"

  "Yes, I found that fascinating," he replied. "They know when anyone is telling the truth or giving you a lie."

  "Very good," I said. Jayd folded into the room, wearing a carved gold band on his head and looking like the king he was. "This is Jaydevik Rath, King of the High Demons and a Guli. Say something to him. He will tell you if it is true."

  All cameras turned to Jayd, who had as good a non-expression on his face as any vampire I'd ever seen.

  "I have been married twice," tree man declared.

  "Lie," Jayd proclaimed. I was enjoying this—I'd never seen Jayd work.

  "I have been married four times," tree man went on.

  "Lie," Jayd said, crossing arms over his wide chest and glaring at tree man. I just hoped Jayd could keep his Thifilathi in check—if he started blowing smoke, we might all have to leave.

  "I have been married six times."

  "Truth."

  "It really does work," tree man was obviously impressed. "And you're not worried that the vampire will use this compulsion on him?"

  "No spell or compulsion works on High Demons," Jayd answered. "We were made that way. We will have the truth from any criminal."

  "Ask him why he's here." I nodded toward tree man. Tree man backed up and swallowed hard. He hadn't expected things to turn in his direction.

  "Why are you here?" Jayd smiled nastily. He smelled it, just as I did. The guests had to undergo rigorous screening to come to Le-Ath Veronis. The media didn't.

  "I am here for the same reasons the others are," tree man pointed around him.

  "Lie," Jayd pronounced. "Why are you here?"

  "I don't have to answer that," tree man whined. Now all cameras were on him, including those of his crew.

  "I think it would be wise if you did." Gavin was there quickly, standing before tree man. Drake and Drew were backing him up.

  "I took the money—it seemed harmless enough," tree man quavered.

  "Truth," Jayd said. "What money and from whom?"

  "They didn't tell me, they said it was a secret society that wanted to learn about the vampires."

  "Partial truth," Jayd proclaimed. "You have a guess. What is that guess?" Damn—Jayd was good at this. Well, he was nearly a million years old. He ought to be.

  "I think Solar Red is reforming," the man whimpered.

  "Fuck," I muttered. All the cameras turned back to me. "Detain him and ship him to the Reth Alliance," I said. Solar Red was supposed to be out of business. The Reth Alliance had outlawed them two hundred years ago, according to Gabron. Anyone having information on the sect was held for questioning. If they practiced the religion, they could be imprisoned for participating in or condoning human sacrifice. Gavin, Drake and Drew hauled the reporter from the room.

  "Thank you, Jayd," I said. He gave me a regal nod and skipped away.

  "This is the most exciting interview I've ever done," a reporter chortled.

  We were back to business after that, with normal questions pertaining to the new gambling district. Until we arrived at a tricky area.

  "Have you seen the casinos on the light side of the planet?" A female reporter asked.

  "Yes," I replied, without thinking.

  "You can walk in daylight?" She sounded incredulous.

  "Her Larentii mates may supply a shield for her, if it is needed," Connegar replied stiffly. He wasn't lying, he could do that—he just didn't have to.

  "Oh my, we have a Larentii speaking during an interview," another reporter sighed in bliss.

  "You have Larentii mates?" Someone else asked.

  "I have two," I said.

  "These two, here?"

  "Yes."

  "How many mates do you have?"

  "Thirteen, I think," I said. That got chuckles. Reth Alliance worlds recognized multiple mates.

  "Are the other eleven vampires?"

  "No. Only three are vampires," I said. "The others, well, one is Kifirin—I assume you recognize that name?" They nodded—they'd seen the tapes of my coronation, I'm sure. "Two Larentii, two Falchani, one Karathian Warlock, one High Demon, one Grey House Wizard, one Refizani and one comesula."

  "Can you get us a discount with Grey House?" Someone joked.

  "I don't have any influence on the pricing structure for Grey House," I said. That got another laugh. The interview was over shortly after. I shooed the reporters and their crews into the state dining room, where food and drinks would be served. I had to go, too, unfortunately; it was a reception, after all, and the crews were still filming while the rest of us mingled. Wlodek, Adam and Merrill were talking business with one reporter, who wrote for a gambling vid-magazine.

  "Your husband died on the same day you were turned? These are delicious," the reporter was eating an oxberry tart. A specialty of Cheedas'.

  "Yes and yes," I said. "My comesula cook loves to make those for my non-vampire residents." He made them for some of the vampire residents as well, but we weren't going to let that cat out of the bag.

  "Raona, Reemagar said you were thirsty before he left." Roff was at my side, handing me a bottle of blood substitute. I took it and smiled at him. He leaned down to give me a quick peck. Well, that was going to be plastered all over the news immediately.

  "How does that taste?" The reporter asked, curious.

  "Like blood," I said. "It's the best substitute I've ever had." I drank from my bottle. Also something that would be plastered on the news.

  "May I try some?" Well, he was an adventurous soul. I nodded to Roff, who motioned for someone to bring another bottle. These were room temperature—better if you liked blood. Worse if you didn't.

  "Yes, it tastes the same as when I cut myself," the reporter grimaced and handed the bottle back to the comesula waiter.

  "Thanks," I told the comesula. He smiled at me and took the bottle away.

  "These are the next wave of vampires?" The reporter meant the comesuli.

  "Yes. They normally live a life span of six hundred years, barring accidents. If they are worthy when they are dying, the turn is attempted. Not all will be turned."

  "Have any been turned since Le-Ath Veronis became inhabited again?"

  "Not yet, but we are watching some of the older ones closely. When the time comes, we will act." I drank more of my blood substitute. I thought briefly about calling it BS before reconsidering.

  "If they don't want the turn?"

  "We will honor their wishes." That was a flat and final answer.

  "What about humanoids wanting the turn?"

  "Highly unlikely, at this point. I won't say impossible, because very little is impossible. I will not entertain applications for vampirism. Those will be returned unopened," I replied. "Female humanoid vampires are very rare. The mere attempt at turning a female humanoid almost always results in her death. It is suicide to attempt it."

  "What do you think the success rate is?"

  I had to call Wlodek over to get an answer. The reporter repeated his question. "Perhaps one female in twenty-five thousand attempts will make it," Wlodek replied smoothly, his dark eyes betraying no emotion. If anybody would know, he would. There had been few females on Earth and none on Refizan or Beliphar. The other six worlds whose vampires now lived on Le-Ath Veronis had maybe a handful between them.

  "And the success rate for turning male humanoids?"

  "Nine out of ten are successful," Wlodek knew that answer right away.

  "That's a huge discrepancy," the reporter whistled. "What do you think is the cause?"

  "I have spent three thousand years attempting to find an answer and have personally reached no verifiable conclusions," Wlodek replied enigmatically.

  * * *

  "Gabron, stay with us for a little while," Shala coaxed. She and Elthine had wander
ed around the brothel naked, taken several clients and now they were off the clock. Shala had the tip of a nail under Gabron's chin, smiling at him. She was slightly taller than he was and rubbed her body suggestively against his. Elthine, not to be outdone, was at Gabron's shoulder. "We will make your day worthwhile," she kissed his cheek. Gabron nodded and they led him toward a room.

  Chapter 9

  Arvil San Gerxon paced. Sat down, angrily rearranged items on his desk and rose to pace again. The vampire planet was all over the news networks. The first week's take had far exceeded every projection. And customers were coming away from the place happy. There were winners and losers as always, but this was completely unexpected. He'd walked through his own casinos, listening carefully while his customers discussed Le-Ath Veronis even as they gambled on Campiaa.

  Many of his high rollers were discussing trips to the vampire planet—they'd already applied for tickets and were waiting to hear if their applications had been accepted. The hidden deals that might be brokered on Campiaa could be brokered anywhere—they didn't need Arvil's casinos for that. And the gambling payouts were regulated and certainly better on Le-Ath Veronis—those were mandated by Reth Alliance laws.

  Arvil was not willing to accept this—it could certainly affect his business concerns and cut into his profits. Theos was scheduled to return to Campiaa in two days. Arvil had gotten information daily from his employee, as requested. Theos was a good servant and completely under his thumb. As quickly as he could review the information provided, Arvil planned to get his management and security teams together to see if it could be exploited in any way.

  Arvil sighed. The interview with the Queen of Le-Ath Veronis had received more airtime than it deserved. Who cared that she'd caught a criminal during the interview—the man had accepted a bribe to pass information over to some archaic religious sect. Arvil snorted. More than likely, it had all been set up for the public's entertainment. He could do the same, if he wanted. Perhaps he should consider it. The Larentii, though, that was a stroke of genius. Who could have imagined that any of the blue giants could be bought or convinced in some way to pose there with the Vampire Queen? Unheard of. If they were Larentii. Perhaps she'd hired two Warlocks to present themselves as Larentii. A possibility to look into.

  Arvil had begun building casinos on the property abandoned by Erland Morphis and A&M Consortium. He would not be losing business over this. He'd still draw the criminal element; they always had money, but the regular, wealthy customers? They might all be lured away and it was never wise to cheat the non-Alliance criminals that came to Campiaa to gamble. He always made sure they won frequently.

  Theos and the information that he would provide upon his return—information that couldn't be sent through normal channels—was what Arvil waited for. His eyes gleamed at the prospect. This was a challenge and Arvil was more than up for it. If he could damage Le-Ath Veronis and its bitch Queen, he would—in any way possible.

  * * *

  "Why am I buried in fan mail?" I had everything from scented paper notes to electronic messages. Grant was doing his best to coordinate everything and had drafted form letters that could be personalized and sent back. He also pulled out the ones that sounded threatening and turned those over to Gavin and Tony (which could be a mistake) and the special ones he held out for a personal reply. Erland had come in two days after the interview, saying that my fan clubs (I had them and didn't know) were having parties just to watch the footage. People were dressing up as one of my mates or me and having theme parties.

  "It won't do a bit of good to do another interview," Erland laughed at me. "They're not interested in finding something better to do, even if you tell them that. Somebody already tried it. It didn't work."

  "And we have the requests for personal meetings," Grant handed a stack of papers and a comp-vid to me.

  "Oh, Lord, what next?" I muttered.

  "Did you address me?" Erland laughed. Yeah, he was Lord Erland Morphis, but he wasn't the one I meant. I thought a good elbow in his ribs might shut him up. I leafed through the requests. I was about to hand all of them back to Grant when something made my hand tingle. I went back through the stack slowly, until I got to the tingly one again and pulled it out. Someone named Theos Wimple had asked for an audience.

  "Bring this one in," I handed it to Grant. "As quickly as possible."

  "Want me to stand guard with you?" Erland offered a blindingly beautiful smile and then took a chance and kissed me. The kiss was nice. He seemed surprised that I didn't hit him afterward. "We'll work on more of that later."

  "Uh-huh. How are your guarding skills?"

  "I can create a gate and send them somewhere they never expected to go," Erland grinned.

  "Good enough." I watched as Grant contacted Theos Wimple on the communicator and told him we'd have a car sent for him right away.

  He was in my office in less than an hour and Drake and Drew had come along to back Erland up. Erland recognized Theos right away; Theos cringed and whimpered when he saw Erland.

  "This whelp works for Arvil San Gerxon," Erland snarled and Drake and Drew were just about to haul him out the door. Theos was short and slight of build, with no strength to tussle with two strong Falchani, even if they weren't Spawn Hunters for the Saa Thalarr.

  "I want to beg for asylum!" Theos wept, his heels dragging on my expensive rug. "I hate Arvil San Gerxon. If I leave him, though, he'll have me killed—I know too much!"

  That was how Theos ended up in my study, under compulsion by Merrill, Adam and Gavin, answering all sorts of questions. Merrill asked Theos what Arvil San Gerxon was doing with the vacant lots he, Adam and Erland had left behind. Theos explained that Arvil was already building on the property.

  "We don't have much in the options department, since Campiaa isn't an Alliance world. This is why we razed the casinos to begin with," Adam raked a hand through his dark-brown hair. I could tell he was frustrated at the information.

  "I'd like to send this one back as a spy, but that could get him killed and not in a nice way," Merrill glanced at me, piercing blue eyes asking a nonverbal question.

  "We can't send him back." I was sure of that. Merrill nodded—that was the answer he wanted as well.

  "We need more employees on the light side," Erland suggested.

  "Fine," I shrugged. "But how are we going to pass the news along to Arvil San Gerxon? He'll put a contract on Theos. Theos," I turned to him; he was sipping his second Scotch and soda. He needed it; he was shaking. He lifted his eyebrows at me. "Do you have any family or loved ones that Arvil can threaten?"

  "No," Theos' gaze dropped to the floor. "He already killed everybody I know."

  "Christ," Adam muttered.

  "Find him a place to stay on the light side; we'll figure this out," I sighed. "And don't put him to work for a week—he needs some time."

  "Thank you," Theos was about to cry again, I think, when he was led from my office.

  "How do we get a message to Arvil San Gerxon?" I asked Erland, who was still there. Grant was, too, and he'd watched the entire incident with openmouthed astonishment.

  "I can get a message to him; what are we going to say?"

  "I have an idea," Grant volunteered.

  * * *

  "We caught your spy," Gavin snarled into the camera while Theos, cuffed and chained, sat in a chair behind Gavin looking terrified. Well, he probably was; Gavin's eyes were red and he was showing fang. "He will be detained indefinitely."

  "That's a wrap!" Bryan Riley was getting a high five from Brock and Grace, who also had experience in this sort of thing. I didn't know that Brock and Grace had once been award-winning documentary filmmakers. Who knew?

  "We'll have this put together as an electronic message in no time," Brock was having a blast. Gavin went back to normal; Theos breathed an understandable sigh of relief as Drake and Drew removed the chains and cuffs.

  "Do you want to come to the kitchens and have something to eat?" I practically pul
led Theos from his chair. He went with me and Cheedas found something for Theos to snack on.

  "Do you do this all the time? I thought the Queen would be inaccessible," Theos said over his roast-beef sandwich.

  "She comes to my kitchen often," Cheedas nodded. "We talk. If I need anything, I tell the Raona. Things get done after that."

  "I can see how things get done," Theos nodded. "Yesterday, I was a slave to Arvil San Gerxon. Today I feel like a free man."

  "You are. As long as you're honest with us, we'll protect you as well as we can." I was having half a sandwich with Theos—dinner had gone right past me, causing quite a bit of grumbling among the mate department.

  * * *

  "What the hell happened?" Arvil's Chief of Security watched the video with Arvil.

  "He got caught. Probably trying to record something he wasn't supposed to. No way to get him back—and he wasn't that important anyway. We'll just have to find someone else to send. Look through the applicants and see who might qualify."

  "Will Theos pass over any information?"

  "Nothing Erland Morphis didn't already know," Arvil snorted. "I kept him out of the important things."

  "I'll find someone else for you," the Chief promised.

  * * *

  "You all know what to do." Gart had dropped Felix and twelve thousand troops in the plowed fields on Beliphar. Now, Felix was handing orders to his troops. Spring had arrived and planting was about to begin. Farming had been done by vampires before they'd all disappeared—during the night since they could see just as well then as anyone else might during the day. Now, Beliphar was missing its slave labor. Most of the population had wakened one morning to find empty cuffs lying everywhere. Most of the cuffs were near piles of ash, but many were clean. The authorities were now scrambling to place humanoids in vampire positions and laying blame while they did it.

  Felix's second and third in command nodded to their leader as he stood in the soft soil of the tilled field. All they had to do was pass their saliva or blood to any one of the Belipharan population and they would be infected. It took roughly a month for the symptoms to manifest and about twenty percent of the population would die—the very young and the older ones, mostly; their bodies wouldn't adapt. The rest would become soldiers, like them.