I felt my stomach twist into a knot and my heartbeat speed up. I tried to slow my suddenly accelerated breathing, knowing what was coming if I couldn’t get a grip, but all I could think about was Claire. I thought of the past month, of the useless leads and the sleepless nights, of calling in every favor I had and promising more to entirely the wrong types for information that had turned out to be useless. I thought of Kyle’s smarmy face as he told me a worst-case scenario that still had me wanting to scream, and then a familiar rushing sound filled my ears and I blacked out.
It happens that way sometimes, although mostly these days I keep it under better control. But that night was like old times, when I’d gone on rampages that sometimes left dozens dead, and I was never able to remember more than flashes later. It was the real nature of a dhampir and the reason no one ever trusted us, especially the vamps, who were our favorite prey. It was one of so very many reasons I hoped Claire had been a lot smarter than Kyle had said.
I came around eventually, which rather surprised me. One of these centuries, I fully expect to die in the middle of some berserker rage and never even know when it happens. I’ve come close more times than I can recall, waking up broken and bleeding, surrounded by bodies in places I didn’t recognize and sometimes days later than my last memory. This was better than most. There was something sharp pinning my shoulder to the wall, and the burn of familiar pain helped me concentrate enough to pull the rest of the way out of the trance.
I knew when I’d succeeded by the fact that my shoulder suddenly felt like it had caught fire. As an added bonus, I was the proud owner of an aching jaw, a pounding headache and a severe urge to vomit. The redhead was holding the rapier that had me skewered like a butterfly on a pin, rendering my left arm temporarily useless, and my host was using both hands to hold my right. I was glad to see that they looked more than a little beaten up. The redhead’s pretty white sweater was stained with blood that didn’t smell like mine, and the brunet had a long gash down one side of his face that had barely missed his right eye. It wasn’t deep, though, and it started to close over as I watched. Damn.
“My lord, I do not mean to interfere, but perhaps restraints…?” The voice had a faint French accent, which explained why I hadn’t known him. The redhead was a Senate member, but from the European version, not the North American. And I hadn’t been to Europe since a very memorable visit during the Great War. He was looking a little spooked, which would have pleased me under other circumstances. At the moment, however, I was distracted by my host moving one hand up to grip me around the throat.
“I would put you over my knee if I thought it would do any good,” he told me grimly.
The other vamp looked like he’d just been slapped. I laughed. “He thinks you’re being kinky,” I said, pausing to spit out a tooth that had come loose. No worry. I’d grow a replacement soon enough, and at least it was a back one this time. I grinned at the French vamp, who looked vaguely ill at the thought of anyone doing anything with me, except maybe planting a stake in my ribs. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”
The brunet sighed and released me, pausing to yank out the rapier as he did so. I didn’t wince. At the moment, the pain almost felt good, a reminder that, once again, I’d beaten the odds and lived. Not that I’d been in serious danger this time. He wouldn’t kill me when he needed my help. Well, at least not until I turned him down.
“I was planning introductions, had you given me the opportunity,” I was told acerbically.
The redhead’s expression was now bordering on revulsion. There must be a brain inside that pretty head, because he appeared to be putting things together, but not willing to believe what his instincts were telling him. I decided to help him out. I turned to my host, who was looking down at me with an annoyance he wasn’t bothering to hide. I threw my good arm around his neck and gave him a robust kiss on the cheek. “Hello, Daddy!”
Fifteen minutes later I was lying on the floor howling, and it wasn’t from pain. I hadn’t laughed that hard in years, to the point that I almost couldn’t breathe and my ribs actually hurt. Of course, that could have been from one of the new bruises I was sporting—between the bar fight and blacking out, I was a little under the weather—but at the moment I didn’t care. I wiped my streaming eyes and tried to sit up.
Mircea, better known as Daddy dearest when he bothered to acknowledge the connection, was sitting on the sofa with folded arms, waiting me out. The French guy had poured himself a drink—stiff even by my standards—and taken it to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the darkened cityscape. He had his back to us. I wasn’t sure whom he was trying to block out, the abomination or the one who made her.
I crawled into an armchair and valiantly fought to restrain myself. It was difficult, with what I’d just been told. I don’t have a chance to do this often, so I savored the moment. “Would it be out of line to say I told you so?” I asked, with almost a straight face.
“I have never known you to be concerned with proprieties,” was the caustic reply.
“Du-te dracului,” I said automatically, before realizing how ironic telling him to go to the devil was under the circumstances.