Dark Queen (Jane Yellowrock #12)

Knew the moment the sons finally trapped their father and chopped him into bits with a stolen Roman sword.

Knew the moment they walked the streets of Jerusalem and tasted the first kiss of blood.

Knew when they killed. Killed again. Innocent blood, so full of life.

Then hiding. Always hiding. Always running. Always going back and back and back again to the pile of bloody broken wood, the pile of the Blood Cross, that had given them this undeath.

Fleeing the Christians who sought to kill them.

Escaping the hell that the Romans brought upon the rebellious city. Taking the ones with whom they had shared their gift of undeath.

Reaching safety. Settling in Rome. Later in France. And later still in Spain. Traveling the world, from Africa to the steppes of what is now Russia and China. Drinking from the Khan who would change the world. Giving Genghis power and success in return for servitude and safety and enough humans to satisfy them. For centuries. Hundreds. Thousands. The power behind the conquest of the world. Then back to Europe. And—

The memories stopped. I returned to myself.

The Glob was so hot in my palm that I could smell the flesh there scorching. I blinked. Holding the Glob in his blood, I pressed the Son of Darkness away from me. Hands gripped his head and pulled back. Other fingers gripped his jaw and pulled down. I smelled Eli. He hadn’t stayed in the SUV. Of course he hadn’t.

The fangs of the Son of Darkness slid from the lower curve of my neck.

Beast rolled me over and to my feet. People backed away fast. I picked up the vamp-killer I had dropped when I embraced the SOD. I raised the blade and swept it down.

And took the head of the Son of Darkness, Joses Santana, Yosace Bar-Ioudas, the son of Judas Iscariot. There was almost no blood. The body quivered. Shook. The fingers clenched and opened. I held up the head. Its eyes blinked. Focused on me. “Huh,” I said.

The lips moved, though there was no sound. “I live,” Santana’s head said.

I considered that.

Beast thought at me, Vampire head is tasty.

I did not want to know how she knew this. I looked over my shoulder. “Brute? You hungry?”

The werewolf stood and padded to me. Sniffed at the head of the creator of the vamps. Brute chuffed. Santana’s mouth opened in horror, a silent scream. I tossed the head up into the air like a basketball. Brute leaped. Caught it in his fangs.

“When you’re done”—I indicated the pulsing body on the floor—“be sure to clean up any mess.” Brute chuffed again, muted through the hair of his dinner. “We don’t want anything left to regrow.” Brute nodded and dropped the head to his paws.

I looked around at the humans who stared at me in fear and horror. As if I was a monster. Which I was. All except Eli, who looked vaguely amused. To the others, I said, “Go back upstairs. Leave the wolf to his dinner. When he’s done, burn the bones and scatter the ashes.” They turned and fled.

I walked to the elevator and the doors closed behind Eli and me. My last glimpse of the SOD was Brute eating all the soft tissue of the face, in preparation to ripping off the jaw and eating the brains. I had been with Beast when she ate skulls and brains. I knew how it was done. Messy but effective. She sent me an image of Titus’s head as she ate it. Gack. The elevator rose to the foyer, the two of us silent, me trying to decide what I needed to do next.

There was the undying heart in the hands of the NOLA witch coven. Wherever that was. I figured I could leave that to Eli.

I left the way I came in, but this time there was only Wrassler waiting. I stopped and shook his hand. He hugged me. I hugged back. Silent. Tears in his eyes. I stepped back and asked, “Del?”

Wrassler shook his head. “Her mother took her back to the mountains. She was buried there, in the family plot.”

I blinked away the tears. “Jodi? Did she ever say yes?”

Wrassler beamed. “We’re planning a June wedding.”

“Congratulations!” I hugged him hard. Holding him close, so I couldn’t see his face, I asked, “Leo?”

“Buried in the Pellissier mausoleum, beneath the new moon, with the blood of his enemies poured upon him, with the potion of blood he created from the Caruso vial. Buried with all honors and glory due to his name.” Wrassler stopped, breathed in slowly. “He didn’t rise with the full moon.”

My heart clenched. But . . . Leo had given part of himself to me when I tasted his blood. I wondered what would happen if . . . I reached out with my mind, with my skinwalker magic, calling to him. Leo? Are you there?

But there was nothing. No answer. Not even a hint of a whisper of a breath of undeath. I shook my head and left HQ, Eli on my heels.

I heard the lock clack closed as I got into the car. Laid back my head.

Eli drove me to my freebie house. My house. My first home ever. I had the deed. I owned it outright. A fierce sense of possession washed over me. Then it rolled away like the surf on the island. I got out of the SUV and went inside. Alex rushed up and hugged me. I hugged him back, as if memorizing the way he felt against me, all bone and muscle and inches taller than when we first met. Eli gestured to him and the Kid stepped back.

“We’ll catch up after dinner,” Alex said. “I’m in the middle of security for your new clan home.” I nodded and he stepped away.

Dropping off my gear, I walked around the house looking things over. Eli stood in the middle of the living room, watching, waiting. He said nothing, as I noticed the missing wall and the exposed fireplace. I could smell paint and fresh building materials.

I’d asked him once to see if he could find and restore the original fireplaces. This was my answer. While I hid on the island, he had found one, uncovered it, and repaired it, with a ceramic surround, a bronze facing, and a heavy Victorian-style mantel carved with curlicues and fleurs-de-lis. Beautifully restored. It was on the small wall between living room and kitchen. I’d never have thought about a fireplace there. I checked out the kitchen to see that we now had a copper farmhouse sink and commercial fridge, things Eli had been wanting. I checked out the laundry, which was unchanged, and followed him up the stairs. He had refinished the bathrooms, with sleek quartz countertops and new fixtures and fancy tile. My partner had been busy. I smiled at him to show I liked it.

A smile lit up his face and he led me up the new narrow staircase to the third floor.

It was amazing. The central space was vaulted and wood floored. The bedrooms in back—office spaces to make the housing and insurance companies happy—were finished. The bathroom was a tiny cubicle done up in marble and antique ceramic tiles.

I finally spoke. “This is gorgeous.”

Eli nodded, his face full of compassion. “Babe.”

I held up my hand and shook my head.

“But—”

I shook my head again. “Edmund?” I asked. Ed. Leo’s heir. The vamp primo of the Dark Queen. Complicated. Just the way Leo wanted it.

“In Paris,” Eli said. “As your emissary. Setting up a cabinet, establishing your power, sending out edicts in your name.”

“Good. It’ll be easy for him to step in when I abdicate.” I walked away and down the stairs. Behind me I heard Eli talking on his cell, his tone frustrated.