No, he hadn’t, but he’d done a good job at clouding the issue. Hell, I could barely remember what the question was myself after that outburst. Oh, right, why the really old bitch wanted Bones dead. Focus, Cat!
“I warned Patra many years ago what would happen if she went down a certain path.” Mencheres’s voice was so low, I had to strain to hear him. “Centuries ago, I saw a vision of a man marrying a woman who was neither human, vampire, nor ghoul, and then the same man wielded the knife that killed Patra. So you see, Bones…as soon as Cat was revealed to be a half-breed and you wed her at Ian’s, Patra knew what I’d told her all those years ago had come to pass. So the only way she can avoid that fate is to kill you.”
“You son of a bitch.” My voice was a furious growl. “You knew Patra would come after Bones with all she had, but you didn’t warn him. You didn’t do any- thing!”
“Kitten, infighting won’t solve anything,” Bones said, but he didn’t sound pleased, either. “We have to stick together, else we’ll be doing Patra’s work for her.”
The logic penetrated that red part of my brain that was thinking, Kill! Kill! toward the vampire in the front seat.
Mencheres shook his head. “I’ve had guards watching Bones since that night at Ian’s. The only time I didn’t was when you both were carrying out your missions with your uncle. Furthermore, I…I’d hoped when Patra realized I’d been right, that she’d cease her plots against me. But after what happened to you, I knew she was set on her course. And that is why soon afterward, I made my offer of an alliance with Bones. Without it, do you think either of you would have a chance?”
Hard words. Bones gave Mencheres that same flat stare. “You’re very right I’m going to kill Patra for what she’s done to my wife. No matter if you plead with me not to.”
“Why the hell would he?” I wondered irritably. “Seems to me she wants him dead, too, or she wouldn’t have just barbecued his home hoping he’d be in it along with you. In fact, oh powerful one, why haven’t you taken her out yourself? Can’t you handle her on your own?”
Mencheres closed his eyes. It was Bones who answered my question.
“There’s more about Patra you don’t know. She chose her vampire name in honor of her mother, one of Egypt’s most famous rulers, and merely shortened it when she changed over. Patra is the daughter of Cleopatra, and Mencheres refuses to kill her…because she’s his wife.”
TWELVE
M ARQUIS WAS A SWINGERS’ BAR WHERE S&M was in vogue and humans were the minority. To blend in with their anything-goes style, I was posing as the third in a trio with Tate and Dave. Bones was here somewhere, but I hadn’t seen him. It was hard enough for me to disguise who I was without walking in arm-in-arm together.
Not that we were here for kinky fun and games. Even though we were at war with the undead—the very famous undead, to be precise—I still had a job to do. After the deadly fiasco with Belinda, Don hadn’t found another woman to be a replacement for me as bait yet, and this club was reported to be a place several people had disappeared from. Even though it was getting very difficult trying to juggle my job with all the upheaval in my personal life, work waited for no one. Not even the two-millennia-old daughter of Cleopatra.
I still had a hard time coming to grips with that, but Bones reminded me that people who were remembered hundreds or even thousands of years after their time were bound to make a lasting impression on their contemporaries. Put like that, I guess it wasn’t such a surprise that some of history’s notables—or their offspring, like Patra—had been changed over by a vampire or ghoul. But Mencheres hadn’t just changed Patra, he’d also married her a mere few years after turning her. Practically a whirlwind courtship, as far as pulseless couples went. And even worse for him was that while he couldn’t bring himself to kill his estranged wife, she sure didn’t seem to have that same hesitation with him.
To blend in with the Marquis crowd, I’d had a drastic makeover. My hair was streaked with wide black highlights, and my outfit, if it could be called that, looked like a combination of Last Tango in Paris and American Chopper.
Two black leather circles attached to my breasts by thin metal chains were all that covered me from the waist up. Black leather thong panties were the bottom half, with more chains dangling from my waist in an absurd version of a skirt. Leather-topped thigh-high stockings embedded with spikes doubled as my hosiery, and I wore solid silver high-heeled shoes. All the better to kick the hell out of someone with. I’d gone heavy on the black eye makeup until raccoons and I could pass for cousins. Add numerous chains crisscrossing my arms, and this evening couldn’t end fast enough.