Blood Rights

Tatiana drew her spine straighter and faced Grigor directly. ‘I believe justice, in its own way, has already been served.’ She turned slowly, making eye contact with each of the Dominus. ‘I visited the comarré’s quarters personally. Stepped over the threshold without need of invitation.’ She finished her sweep by returning to Grigor and opening herself up so that he might see her memories for himself. ‘The comarré is dead.’

‘Death is not an indicator of guilt.’ Grigor’s eyes went down to thin slits.

‘Are you accusing me of something?’ Rage bubbled up in Tatiana’s gut.

Ivan shoved back his chair. ‘That is uncalled for, Lord Grigor.’

Grigor raised his shoulders, then let them fall. ‘There is but one fatal sin among our kind.’

Syler scrolled his finger through the air and words appeared behind it, drawn out by his powerful black magic.

Thou shalt not kill thy brethren. One by one, the words dripped away until the air cleared.

She trembled at what was being suggested. ‘I had nothing to do with Lord Algernon’s death. Nothing. He was … a friend.’

Zephrim snorted. ‘You have no friends, Tatiana. You have acquaintances, those who tolerate you, those who fear you.’ He looked behind her at Mikkel. ‘Those who enjoy your good favor and pray it lasts.’ He shook his head. ‘You are exactly what you’ve striven to become. The best of the worst. The cruelest of the noble. You’ve not only lived up to your house’s reputation, you’ve surpassed it.’ His fingers tapped the tabletop. ‘I believe you recently killed one of your servants, did you not?’

‘Remuneration has already been sent to the family,’ she said. Those who came to work for the Families knew what they were getting into. Most hoped to earn the bite that would forever change their future.

He stood. ‘As to Grigor’s suggestion that no decision be made until Lord Algernon’s murderer is found … I second it.’

‘Motion passed.’ Timotheius rapped his ring on the table again. ‘The council is adjourned.’

‘Nothos,’ Chrysabelle spat out the word. ‘I thought you were dead.’

The assassin rose from his chair without the grace most vampires usually possessed. A blade flashed in one hand. By the looks of him, he still hadn’t fed. And by the smell of him, her dagger had left a lasting impression in that alley. He was weak. Easy to take down.

‘Nothos? Not hardly. And as blood delivery girls go, you fail. Unless Jonas meant you were the delivery.’ He made an attempt to retract his fangs, got them halfway gone, and failed. Could Nothos do that? She didn’t think so. ‘Not going to happen.’

‘You’ve got that right.’ She straightened her arms, unsnapping the locking mechanism on her wrist blades. They shot forward and she snagged them in her fists. ‘Guess I will finish what I started after all.’

She threw the first blade, but he ducked, letting it thwack into a copy of Schender’s Compendium of Pandimensional Beings. No loss. Schender’s Compendium was first-year stuff at best. The second dagger found its mark in the vampire’s shoulder. A thin wisp of smoke curled off the new wound. Varcolai bone blades had that effect. She snatched a third from her ankle holster.

He leaped over the desk, arms out to grab her, but the wince when he landed gave him away. He was more than hurt. He was about to collapse. His eyes rolled back in his head.

Check that.

He was collapsing. Definitely not Nothos then.

A half second after he thudded to the floor, his face went from human to full on noble vampire, proving her right about him not being Nothos. The big man who’d let her in came charging through the door. He was varcolai – or shifter in human terms, and of the feline variety by the scent of him. Another being followed him in. Chrysabelle blinked as the temperature dropped a few degrees – a ghost? What kind of vampire kept this sort of company?

‘What did you do to him?’ The man ripped the dagger out of her hand.

‘Hey!’ She grabbed for the blade, but he was quicker than she anticipated.

‘Sorry, princess. Can’t have you perforating the boss.’ He threw it out the door and, by the clattering, down the steps. ‘Fi, get corporeal and give me a hand.’

‘On it.’

With a quick shimmer like rising heat, the ghost was suddenly earthbound. She grabbed Chrysabelle and held her arms tight to her sides. The ghost’s cold touch reminded her of Lord Algernon. Fi leaned in, eyes flinty with anger. ‘You stake him dead, and I disappear. I’m not cool with that, you comprehend?’

Chrysabelle head butted Fi and knocked her backward.

‘Ow.’ Fi tumbled into a bookcase. She shook herself and felt her forehead. ‘I’m bleeding! I’m not supposed to bleed.’

‘We better get a look at that wound.’ The varcolai kneeled beside the vampire.

‘I’m right here, kitty cat,’ Fi said.

‘Not you, babe. Him. And I told you about calling me that when we’re not alone.’ He turned his attention back to the vampire. ‘Hang on, boss, this is gonna sting.’ He pulled the pale dagger out of the vampire’s shoulder and turned it over in his hands. ‘What kind of bone is this?’

Chrysabelle reached for it, but he tossed it over his shoulder before she could grab it. He growled and his eyes glimmered gold.

‘Move and I’ll tear your throat out, got it?’