Drac had carved his challenge to Mircea into my flesh, then gutted me and left me to stagger back on my own to the house the vamps were renting. And it had worked. Mircea had gone off to meet him, but instead of killing the son of a bitch who had just carved up his daughter, he was going to trap him in some concoction of the Senate’s, all neat and tidy and problem solved.
I swallowed bitterness and stared at the door, trembling with exhaustion and waiting to pass out from the blood loss. It had some impressive dents where my fist had hit it earlier, but it was solid. Nonetheless, I could dimly hear a low-voiced conversation on the other side. I was breathing in pants, trying to get enough air into my lungs to satisfy their craving, but I managed to catch snatches of it anyway.
“The Consul grows impatient and demands a solution, or at the very least an update. I have to tell her something—”
“She will have her solution, tonight.”
“And what will that be? The dhampir is right. You must kill him!”
“This is a family matter, Augusta—it does not concern you.”
Jack’s voice sounded again, stronger than the others, perhaps because he was making no effort to be quiet. “Do I have your permission to attend her, master?” I didn’t catch the reply, but the door opened a moment later and in he came, with bandages, a new basin of water and a small black bag. I eyed it suspiciously, but he took out only a length of thread and a scary-looking needle. He tugged me onto the rug and examined my stomach with a critical eye.
“He may not have been responsible for the deaths of Jack’s victims, but he has been making vampires without permission, and not registering them. For that alone, he will surely be sentenced to death. Kill him now and spare your family the shame of a public execution.”
“Release my arm, Augusta. I do not have time to discuss this with you, even were I so inclined.”
Jack had started to sew me up, and I badly needed something to distract me from the pain. Why wasn’t I unconscious? The needle plunged in and out of my flesh as I stared at the door, straining to hear the conversation.
“Mircea!”
“You do not understand the situation.” Mircea’s voice was calm, but I knew him well enough to recognize the thread of anger running through it.
“What is there to understand? If he had insulted one who belonged to me in such a fashion, I would crack his skull like an egg!”
“And thereby give him exactly what he wants!”
Jack used fine, even stitches, I noticed in something like a daze. He’d have made a good tailor. “If he wants to die, he has merely to say,” Augusta whispered viciously. “There would be no lack of volunteers to grant his wish!”
“And they would be slaughtered for their trouble. Why do you think he provokes me—threatening Radu, attacking Dorina? He wants to die by my hand and no other.”
“Then give him what he wants!” I would have echoed Augusta’s sentiment if I’d had the strength.
“No.” Mircea’s voice was hard as stone. “Let him live and remember, not die and forget!”
I heard him stride away and a moment later, Augusta slammed back into the room. “She will live, master,” Jack told her, unruffled. “I swear it.” He patted my hair almost fondly. “I am not surprised that the count did not like this one. There is no fear in her.”
I wondered, as I finally allowed myself to pass out, how anyone could be so wrong.
Chapter Fourteen
“Dorina!” Hands were clenched frantically on my shoulders. Whoever was holding me was shaking. I gripped strong arms in both hands, struggling to reconnect with the present. “Are you all right?” someone demanded.
I was back, I realized. Shocked to the core, but back. “Never better.” My laugh sounded thin and ragged even to me. I let it peter out.
My eyes focused enough to see Louis-Cesare staring down at me. He didn’t look much more composed than I felt. Panic had washed the color from his face, leaving his eyes insanely blue. “You are not all right.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” I said, still half-confused about where we were. My eyes saw grass and stars and fireflies, but my brain kept telling them they were wrong. Only the lighting was right: the dim glow from the house approximating candle flame. “He wanted to be sure I lasted long enough to deliver the message….”
Louis-Cesare said something extremely rude in French. I blinked at him. It took me a moment to realize that he was talking about Drac. But how did he know…? “You saw.”
He nodded grimly. I felt the flex of strong biceps under my palms as his grip tightened. “As if the memories were my own.”
I peeled a wet strand of grass off my cheek. It felt clammy, like the touch of Jack’s hands. “Sorry about that.” It seemed pretty inadequate, but it was the best I could do at the moment.