Last Blood

The only reason for his absence that made sense was that she was still too weak from grief to call him properly. She clung to that, because the thought that her liege, her source of power, had abandoned her was… unacceptable.

“Please, Samael. I-I… beg you.” The word soured in her mouth, a bitter reminder of how far she’d fallen. Because of Malkolm and his comarré pet.

The air stayed still while she vibrated with anger. She picked up a vase and hurled it across the room with a snarl. “Damn you, Malkolm. Damn you and your meddling whore.”

Kosmina came running in. “Is all well, my lady?”

“No, all is not well.” Tatiana tucked the rest of her emotions away as best she could, but Kosmina knew what these last days had brought to the House of Tepes. She would certainly understand Tatiana’s frustrations. “I asked not to be disturbed.”

“My apologies, my lady.” Kosmina’s gaze skipped to the shards of Chinese porcelain decorating the carpet. “Shall I have that cleaned up or leave it for later?”

“Clean it.” Tatiana stalked out of the room, the overwhelming need to hold her child burning through her body like sunlight. She wrapped her arms around herself as she headed down the hall and into the empty nursery.

The faintest tang of Svetla’s ashes still lingered, but not enough to drown out Lilith’s sweet scent.

Tatiana sank into the rocker where she’d often sat with Lilith, closed her eyes, and inhaled. She could sense Lilith’s weight in her arms, hear her soft coos and demanding cries, feel the delicate silk of her skin. Heat stung Tatiana’s eyes. She opened them and stared skyward. Not tears, she told herself. Anger. Righteous, indignant anger at what had been done to her and her child.

One of the rocker’s wooden arms groaned under her grip. She released it and stood. It was time to make something happen. There had to be a way to summon Samael, but just in thinking that, she knew there wasn’t. Even the council had been unable to call him when they’d wished his decision on whether or not to name her Dominus.

The father of all noble vampires only came when he wanted. That was the trouble with the ancients. They only did what they wanted, not what benefited their children. As parents went, they were wretched examples. How would they know how desperately she wanted, no, needed Lilith back? How could they begin to understand?

A knock on the nursery door dispersed her thoughts. “Yes?”

Kosmina stuck her head in. “My lady, Daciana has returned with your new comar.”

“That didn’t take long. I guess Rennata didn’t want to deal with my emissary any more than she wanted to deal with me.” The tickle of anticipation trilled down Tatiana’s spine. Her sorrows temporarily pushed aside, she nodded and pointed out the door. “Send them to my office. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes, my lady.” With a short bow, Kosmina left.

Tatiana took a long look in the nursery mirror and arranged her expression into one of calmness and serenity. She would drink from this new, unspoiled comar until her strength was completely returned to her, until power rippled over her skin. Then she would call Samael again, and this time, he would come to her. She hoped.

“Faith,” she whispered, nodding solemnly at her reflection, seeing the woman who had defied her human life to rise through the ranks of her vampire brethren until she’d been named head of her House. There was no one above her. No one who had the power she did, power that had been given to her by the very creature who now refused her beckoning.

She smiled, showing her fangs. “This time, my liege, you will not deny me.”

Creek approached the old Catholic church with caution. He knew Preacher wasn’t a big fan of company. The front doors didn’t look well used, so he went around to the side. He knocked twice. No point in overloading the man’s vampire senses.

“Who’s there?” The door stayed closed.

“Name’s Thomas Creek. I have information about your daughter.”

The door moved, but only an inch, the light from inside casting Preacher in shadows. “What kind of information?”

“Where she is and what’s being done to get her back.”

“You work for the mayor?”

Creek made a face. “Hell no.”

The door opened all the way. “Come in.” Preacher stood back, watching him. His nostrils flared. “Your blood smells strange.”

Creek came in but not too far. “Most vampires think it smells sour.”

“No,” Preacher said. “Smells sweet to me.”

Creek laughed once. “Figures you’d think that considering where you live. I’m Kubai Mata. You know what that is?”

“Nope. Should I?”

Creek shook his head. “Most vampires don’t and those that do don’t believe in the KM. I guess you could say I’m part of a secret society organized to protect humans against othernaturals.”

Preacher’s stony expression cracked into a grin a few seconds later. “You mean you’re a vampire slayer?”

Not the reaction he’d expected, but then nothing was expected when it came to a vampire like Preacher. “You could say that.”

Preacher crossed his arms. “Prove it.”

“You mean you want me to try to kill you?”

He laughed. “I think we both know that’s not going to happen, so I’d find a different way if I were you.”