Death's Rival

Alex looked up from his keying. “Sorry. Okay. So. How does the virus work? The vampire immune system is attacked by the Ebola variant and VR combo, and other bacteria quickly take over,” Alex went on, “the same way that bacteria would break down any dead body.”

 

 

I almost groaned. He had just called some of the most powerful vamps in the nation dead. Which they were, but still. I glanced around, gratified that none of them seemed to be taking offense. I’d hate to have to stake someone for hurting Stinky, and I was already in enough trouble with the vamps.

 

“It makes the victims look like plague victims. The important thing to remember is that the vamps are addicted and sick. That’s why the masters of the city in Sedona, Seattle, and Boston gave up without a fight. De Allyon owns them undead body and soul.”

 

I spoke up. “And do we know who from Asheville, um . . . dated a Blood-Call escort?” All the vamps in the room turned as one to me and stared.

 

Finally Leo said, his voice all Frenchy and stilted, “An internal investigation will take place. Those who need to be notified of the results will be informed. Please continue, young man.”

 

Ah, I thought. As in “not me.” Gotcha.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 

 

Vampires Are Like Boars. And Like Kits

 

An hour into the meeting, my phone vibrated in my jeans pocket. I stood to slip out of the room. So did Bruiser, holding his own cell. We met in the hallway and both of us took the calls.

 

“Jane. Derek here. I just got word that Sabina is sick. The crazy nutso priestess, the one with loose marbles, that Bethany chick, wants to go to her, but I’m not risking one of my men to take her.”

 

“Wait, wait. Sick? How sick?”

 

“She woke up this evening and she was bleeding. She called in, but my men are not driving Bethany. And Leo’s cars all got torched along with the house.”

 

“Bleeding,” I whispered. Sabina had healed the once-sick vamp Callan. Now she was sick. “I’ll make sure that Bethany is taken to Sabina. Thanks.”

 

“Copy.” The call-ended light appeared on my cell.

 

Bruiser was hanging up too. “Bethany wants a ride to the Mithran graveyard,” he said.

 

“Yeah. Sabina is sick.” My mouth turned down. “She probably has the illness she healed Callan from, and if Bethany sips from her while trying to heal her, Bethany will be sick too.”

 

“Understood,” Bruiser said. “I’ll handle it.” But he didn’t hurry away, instead, standing apart from me in the narrow hall, watching me, giving me space. Giving me time.

 

I remembered the way Bethany had healed Bruiser from the dead. She had been more than half naked, sitting on top of him in Katie’s office, giving him her blood, her essence, to bring him back from the dead. I wanted to be angry at him for his subsequent betrayal—okay, I wanted to hit him so hard my fist would pop out his back—but I knew what vamp blood, especially large amounts of vamp blood, could do to a human. “You know, if the vamps and their pals would tell me what was going on and I didn’t have to fly by the seat of my pants all the time, I’d make fewer mistakes. Like maybe I’d have carried the Enforcer I shot into Grégoire’s room and made him heal him. Instead, he’s dead.”

 

“Had Grégoire’s blood-servants known the man you shot was going to die, and had we known he was a valuable blood-servant, and had we known his master was going to attack so many other masters, the man would still be alive.” Bruiser’s face softened and something odd sifted through me. He was being kind. “You did the best you could with the information you had, Jane. So did we. No one knew that you had hit an artery with your second shot. No one knew he would bleed internally. None of us could read the future or delve into the heart of an enemy. Don’t carry guilt that isn’t yours.”

 

I stared up into his eyes as he spoke, trying to remember to be angry at him, unsettled by his kindness. But after all the events and memories of my own, that was hard. Instead I just felt . . . more empty, if that was possible. Bruiser cocked his head at me, as if trying to read my thoughts. He looked younger, leaner than only a few days past, and his skin glowed with health. The amount of vamp blood he had ingested had given him back ten years. I wanted to smooth my hand along his cheek, just to see if his skin really was as velvety as it looked. I also still wanted to belt him a good one. I curled my fingers around my cell and shook my head. “None of you ever leads a normal life, do you?”

 

“I bloody well hope not,” Bruiser chuckled, his British tones leaking through. “Normal is short, painful, and boring.”

 

“But if you were normal—” I stopped, having almost said, If you were normal you wouldn’t have had to watch me being forcefully fed on. But I had been normal once, and I’d watched my father killed and my mother raped. Being normal was no proof against horror.

 

Bruiser reached out a hand and touched my face. “If I were normal, I’d be dead by now, love. I’d likely have never lived to see a moon landing or an intercontinental flight, never had the chance to see the Russian ballet, or hear Pavarotti in his prime, never lived to see the advent of the electronic age. I’d trade normal for that any day.” His smile widened. “And even if I’d lived as a normal man, I’d have been very, very old by now, and you’d have thought I was cheeky at best, not charming and debonair.” I raised my brows as if challenging his self-description. “You might have seen an old photograph of me and thought, ‘He was a good-looking chap when he was young.’ But you’d never have let me kiss you, which I full well intend to do again, just as soon as we get past this.

 

Faith Hunter's books