“I know. Don’t worry—I won’t put any pressure on your stomach.”
“No!” I was trembling with the effort of standing up, but I couldn’t lie down. “Look at my back. It’s a message, for Mircea.” The vamp had been paying so much attention to my ruined stomach that she hadn’t even noticed that the back of my coat was completely drenched, and not by water.
I was trying to get the coat off, but couldn’t manage with only one hand. Augusta helped, then stopped when it was half off to stare in shock. I could see what she saw in the mirror of a small rosewood dressing table, not that I needed the reminder. Someone had carved letters into my flesh, although the blood, part dried and part fresh, blurred them, making them impossible to read.
“Get Mircea,” I whispered, kneeling on the floor, gripping the bedpost to stay partially upright. I heard her leave the room, shouting, and for a small woman she had a surprisingly strong voice.
What seemed like only a few seconds later, Mircea came in, shaking black snow off his greatcoat. He smelled of coal dust, horses and cheap perfume. He knelt by my side. “What happened?”
“You sent me to find your brother,” I gasped, fighting to stay conscious. “Unfortunately, I succeeded.”
Mircea began peeling the coat the rest of the way off. His expression was carefully blank, but his eyes were amber fire. Another vamp entered the room, carrying a basin and a towel. “Master,” he said, bowing to Augusta but managing not to spill the water. “I would like to clean up the girl.”
Augusta gave a bark of laughter. “I’m sure you would.”
“I was an orderly in South Africa, master. I survived the Zulu War; I know something about knife wounds.”
That wasn’t the only way he knew about them. Jack was Augusta’s current pet—and he’d been a monster even before she’d turned him. He stupidly offered Mircea the basin. One savage movement later, both it and Jack went flying against the wall. Jack hit hard enough that his body actually left an impression, tearing away the wallpaper to show the bricks underneath.
He didn’t get to his feet, but cowered on the floor where he’d fallen, hands on his head, not daring to look up. He’d have seemed almost pitiful if I’d had any emotion to spare. I didn’t, and it looked like Mircea felt the same. “Do it,” I told him. “You have to.”
Mircea’s hand smoothed my hair gently. Then he snapped his fingers and Jack reached out a trembling hand to retrieve the basin. He crawled with it to the door and was gone. Faster than I would have believed possible, he was back, with more water and several towels. He also carried a bottle of whiskey, but no glasses.
“No alcohol,” Mircea said without bothering to look at him. I guess he must have smelled it.
“Forgive me, my lord,” Jack murmured obsequiously. “I merely thought, to prevent infection—”
“She is dhampir,” Mircea said curtly. “She doesn’t contract infections. Leave us.”
Jack bowed deeply and backed out of the room, either to show respect or because he didn’t dare turn his back on Mircea. There was a vibrating tension in the air, sort of like the tremors before a volcano erupts. I concentrated on staying upright while Mircea carefully washed the wounds on my back, wetting an area, patting it dry, pausing to apply pressure here and there to the cuts that were still bleeding, then starting over again. I wouldn’t let him touch my stomach—I assumed I was going to die anyway, so what was the point?
Slowly, the letters began to show more clearly. It took forever and was excruciating, but I was so close to passing out that I barely noticed.
“Can you read it?” Augusta asked when Mircea had finished and set the bowl aside.
“Bandage her wounds,” he said after a moment, ignoring her. “See that she lives.”
“Mircea!” My lips were numb, but somehow I forced the words out. “If you do not finish this tonight, if you leave him any avenue by which to return, I wash my hands of the whole affair. Next time, you will hunt him alone.”
The only answer I received was the door shutting softly behind him. My head drooped to rest on the edge of the bed. My reflection showed that a few of the shallower cuts were already starting to knit together, blurring the edge of some words like random strokes of an eraser. The whole thing would be illegible in a few hours.