The Texas Hill Country was the last place anyone would ever think to look for vampires, and that was precisely why it was ideal.
The Haven stood nestled in an oak-blanketed valley like a bird in the hands of a saint, its dark wood and brick edifice rising three stories from the surrounding gardens, stables, and other outbuildings that were all kept perfectly tended by a fleet of humans during the day. They came and went without entering the house, not caring who they worked for as long as they were handsomely paid. In the two centuries since the Haven was first built, perhaps a dozen humans had set foot inside; in his entire tenure, there had been none.
Until very recently.
The car slid around the circular drive, coming to a halt before the main entrance. One of the Elite jumped out of the front seat and came back to open the door for him.
As he emerged, the second car, carrying Faith and her patrol unit, pulled in behind. A moment later she fell into step beside him up to the heavy oak doors, which sailed open at his approach. His two personal bodyguards took the traditional seven steps back as they entered the building.
“Report,” he said to Faith as they crossed through the Great Hall to the two grand staircases and headed for the second floor and his private wing of the Haven.
“The city is a tomb,” she replied. “Word has gotten out about Wallace, and the entire Shadow District has shut down for fear that there will be more executions. I had the body moved to a field where it’ll get full sun exposure in the morning.”
“Good.”
“I dropped the week’s patrol reports onto your server as well as the data sheets on the new Elite recruits. You’ll also find an updated version of the map showing the locations of the attacks around the territory in the last ninety nights.”
“Including the most recent?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Good.” He thought of the images the patrol unit had beamed back of Patricia Kranek’s body, her eyes open and staring up at the night as if she were simply stargazing. Seeing Wallace’s head tumble onto the ground had not been nearly satisfying enough, especially knowing that there were more where he came from, and that without more evidence to lead to the source of the attacks there would probably be more deaths.
The unrest in the city could not be allowed to escalate into full-out war. That was unacceptable.
“Sire . . . about your . . . guest?”
He didn’t speak until they had entered the East Wing. The woman stationed at the wing entrance bowed, and he nodded back to her; each member of the Elite guard that they passed did the same, and so did the lone servant making the rounds of the empty rooms with her feather duster. She had the wide-eyed look of a recent hire and was faintly awed at the sight of him; he knew she would tell her friends in the staff quarters that she had seen him, in the flesh, as it were.
The doors at the end of the hall opened into his suite. It, too, had its own guards. They bowed, and the one on the right, Samuel, held the door open for him and Faith to enter.
Once inside, he paused to remove his coat and hang it by the door. It was his second favorite. His favorite had been soaked with so much blood and filth that the only thing to do was throw it in the fireplace.
No matter. Clothes were easily replaced. A woman, on the other hand . . .
He took his usual chair and beckoned for Faith to take the other. “Now,” he said, “go on.”
She had managed to hold on to her professionalism, but now that they were alone, she shook her head and dropped her brisk demeanor. “With all due respect, Sire, you’re completely off your nut.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” He leaned back, hands folded.
“How could you bring her here? She needs a hospital, a real doctor. She might have had internal bleeding or broken bones.”
“Two ribs,” he replied. “No bleeding. Did she wake at all while you bathed her?”
“No.”
He nodded. That was his own doing; he’d kept the woman essentially in a coma until she was clean and safe, unwilling to risk her waking up naked under the hands of a stranger. He had instructed Faith to take care of her, and she had done so reluctantly, but without complaint.
The only thing he had helped with was the woman’s hair; Faith had wanted to cut it off, as it was matted and caked with blood and God knew what else, but something in him had rebelled at the thought and he had worked for over an hour with a comb and half a bottle of conditioner, gingerly separating the long curls and scrubbing them clean. A few strands had been ripped out during the attack, but he salvaged the rest. He suspected that Faith’s lowered opinion of his sanity had formed then.
“Come,” he said, rising.
Faith followed him across the main room of the suite, to the adjoining door, which led into the small bedroom where their guest was currently sleeping. The room was normally empty. His predecessor, Auren, had kept a mistress there, as he had never taken a Queen.
It was an ideal place to house an injured woman. He could keep an eye on her and know that she was safe. The Haven was home to more than a hundred vampires at any given time, and though they were all in his employ and therefore carefully screened and monitored, he wasn’t about to bet her life on their character.
He eased the door open, finding exactly what he expected: darkness. She had slept for an entire day and all of that night even after he lifted the compulsion that kept her so far under that she wouldn’t even dream. She was sleeping naturally now.
He stood over the bed. She looked so small with her hair fanned out over the pillows. Her face was bruised, her lower lip cut, but he imagined that when she wasn’t emaciated and battered, or terrified and despairing as when he’d first seen her, she was beautiful.
“I still think this is a bad idea.” Faith sighed—she was used to her advice appearing to go in one ear and out the other, though he always listened.
They’d known each other a long time, he and Faith. She had come here with him from California when he had taken the Signet. Only she, of all the Elite, was familiar enough with him to voice her opinions freely, and did so practically every day. He was thankful for that—it was easy for someone in his position to believe himself invulnerable, above reproach, and that was what got them killed.
That was in fact what had gotten his predecessor killed fifteen years ago.
“Why are you shielding her?” she asked, frowning.
“This is why.” He dropped the energy barrier he’d been holding around the woman’s mind, and he knew Faith could sense the consequences—the woman moaned aloud, clapping her hands to her ears, trying to block out the emotions of everyone in the Haven . . . a hundred creatures whose histories were the fodder for nightmares anyway.
He restored the shield.
“Shit,” Faith said. “An empath?”
He nodded. “A mothering-strong empath, and a minor telepath, for starters. She picks up thoughts and memories attached to feelings. It’s tied in to her musical talent—she manipulated the crowd’s emotions as easily as you or I would wield a sword. As soon as the music stops, she loses control.”
“And she used it to kill those . . . men.”
“Yes.”
“I still think—”
He kept the edge out of his voice, but only just. “Faith, what do you think will happen to her if human doctors get their hands on her? Assuming she survives, she’s going to need training far more than medical care. She certainly doesn’t need more men jabbing at her and police officers dragging the details out of her. You know very well what happens to women like her.”
Faith looked away. She did know. “Cheap shot, Sire.”
“But on the mark.”
“You always are.” His second in command crossed her arms, staring down at the world of trouble in the bed before them. “How did you find her?”
“By chance,” he replied, smiling a little at the memory. “We were in line at the grocery together.”
“Meet-cute,” Faith said, smiling back at him in spite of the situation.
“Not so cute. She was terrified of me, but that’s normal. I saw right away that she was gifted and deteriorating quickly. She didn’t know that while she was receiving, she was also projecting. I saw flashes of her memories, including the bar where she plays, and went back there last night . . . morbid curiosity, I suppose. I intended to follow her afterward. . . .”
“But I called you,” Faith said, realization dawning on her face, along with guilt. “We needed you at the crime scene. God—if I hadn’t done that—”
“This is hardly your fault.”
“I know, but . . .” Faith shook her head. “So you looked for her after we finished at the scene, and found . . . them.”
“Yes.”