“I don’t get it,” the boy told me shakily. “You killed them. You killed all of them. Why couldn’t I do that?”
“Because you aren’t dhampir.” The voice that answered for me was pitched low, from near the shattered door, but it carried. I knew that voice in a thousand moods and tones, from the chill whipcrack of anger to the warm caress of pride, although the latter had never been directed at me. I tensed but didn’t bother to look up. Wonderful. Just what I needed to make my day complete.
The boy was staring at the newcomer with relief. Sure, I thought sourly, I do the work, but you save the worshipful looks for the handsome devil with the charming smile. Just don’t forget that he could rip your throat out with a single gnash of those pearly white teeth. For all the charisma and expensive tailoring, he’s a predator.
One even more dangerous than me.
I busied myself pouring some of the expensive alcohol in my pocket over the clean portion of the handkerchief and pressed it ruthlessly to the worst of the boy’s wounds. He screamed, but neither of us paid any attention. We were used to it.
“He’ll need medical attention,” the voice said as the dark-haired vamp who owned it crossed the room carefully to avoid messing up his two-thousand-dollar suit and Ferragamo loafers. He smelled of good brandy, nicotine and fresh pine. I’ve never really gotten that last one, but it’s always there. Maybe it’s some terribly costly cologne, mixed at an Italian perfumer’s shop for his exclusive use, or possibly it’s just my imagination. A memory of home, maybe.
“I’m sure the Senate can arrange something, considering that they went out of their way only last month to proclaim that this sort of thing doesn’t happen anymore.” I sloshed a bit more alcohol onto the bite marks at the boy’s neck and breast, before moving on to the ugly tear in his thigh. He fainted a few seconds later, which left us with an—on my part at least—uncomfortable silence. I broke it first, more interested in getting this over with than winning some kind of power play. “What do you want?”
“To talk to you,” he said calmly. “I need your help.”
I did look up at that. In five hundred years, I had never heard those words pass his lips. Hadn’t ever thought to, either. “Come again?”
“I will be happy to repeat myself, Dorina, but I believe you heard me the first time. We need to talk, and the young man needs attention. We can obtain both at—”
“I’m not going there.”
“At my apartment, I was about to say. I am well aware of your sentiments toward the Senate.”
I refrained from glaring, but doubted that my vaunted poker face was good enough to fool him. It had never been before. Besides, he could hear my heart rate speed up with the extra adrenaline of anger, and probably detect the telltale flush my pale skin couldn’t hide. I told myself I didn’t care. It had been twelve years since I saw him last, and that had ended with my threatening to kill him—for something like the thousandth time—and storming out. He always got to me. Always. Even when he wasn’t trying. I didn’t think this was likely to be any different.
He reached out to take the unconscious boy in his arms, assuming with that unchanging conceit of his that I’d agree to whatever plan he made. I didn’t object, since taking the kid to a local hospital would entail explaining who or what had done this to him, something that would challenge even my ability to stretch the truth. And running to the Senate’s local branch was definitely out, considering what had happened the last time I dropped by. Insurance had probably covered the damage, of course, and the place had needed remodeling, but I doubted they saw it that way. I could take the kid back to my house, but although I could deal with his physical injuries, I couldn’t erase all this from his memory. But the overgroomed bastard at my side could manage it with little more than a thought.
“I didn’t know you had a place in New York,” I said, and that worried me. There was no reason for him to be here, much less with what was probably an outrageously expensive Central Park–view apartment. Vamps tend to be territorial by nature and usually stick close to home. Of course, the Senate outlawed the old boundaries some time ago to cut down on feuds, so technically he could go wherever he wanted, but as far as I knew, he had no business or personal interests in New York. Except maybe me.
“It’s a recent acquisition.”