Blood Sin (40 page)

I’m a three-hundred-year-old vampire, not a fucking teenager.
“Get his feet,” he snapped as Dmitriu struggled with his captors every step of the way. But they’d managed to get him in here when he was far stronger; the outcome was never in doubt.

They flung Dmitriu to his knees before Dante, who wordlessly passed Travis the sword. “I could fall on this myself,” he warned. “Remember, I’m trusting you.”

“Of course,” said Travis ironically. There had never been the remotest trust between either of them. Just plain self-interest and the need of the sword.

And it would be a sweet thing to own, he acknowledged, admiring the grace and beauty of it in his hands. If he cut Dante’s head off with it now, would it bring him enough strength, enough invulnerability to defeat Saloman with it too?

“The sword is Saloman’s,” Dmitriu said quietly. Was the bastard reading his mind? One of Travis’s vampires had him by the hair, controlling his head, while the other two held him to the ground on his knees.

Travis tapped the sword meaningfully with one finger. “Possession,” he pointed out to Dmitriu, and raised it with some satisfaction, aiming the point at Dante’s chest.

“Keep it there,” Dante reminded him, “while he drinks my blood and I take his. Do it quickly! Before Saloman breaks in the door.”

But it turned out to be the humans trying to break in the door, and only, it transpired, to create a diversion. For, with a sudden crash that drowned out the banging, Saloman walked straight through the wall next to Josh in a cloud of thick, choking dust and falling stones.

“Adam?” Dante said hoarsely and inexplicably. He clutched his head in both hands. “Oh, shit. Adam Simon.”

“I am Saloman,” said the Ancient in tones that chilled Travis to his very bones. “Give me my sword.”

Travis cried out as the sword tore free of his hand, ripping at the resisting muscle and bone and sinew. The sword flew through the air in a large, clear arc, only to land squarely in Saloman’s grasping fist.

And then all hell broke loose. Three humans tumbled in through the door—how the hell had they managed to get in?—and were rushing at him with stakes. Using his arm to deflect the nearest, Travis sidestepped and lashed out with his feet. His minion, Al, rushing at Saloman, skidded to a halt and swung back as if to help him. It was his undoing, for the Awakener, who’d entered behind Saloman, staked him through the back and turned him to dust.

Travis had nothing left to lose. He launched himself forward as one of Dante’s idiots fired his gun at Saloman. It didn’t even slow the Ancient up. He disarmed his assailant with a flick of the sword that also cut off the man’s finger, and then, through his scream, flew at the second human, knocking him cold with one kick.

Travis lost him after that, since the Awakener came at him with her lethal stake. She was good, too—agile and quick enough to dodge his blows without letting down her guard. No wonder she’d managed to kill Severin. And when Travis spun around her to bamboozle her into making a mistake, she did her best to follow. Still, Travis could have gotten her then, killed her and taken the power of the Awakener—no small prize in this or any other fight—except that suddenly the female hunter was there too, stake already plunging for the kill.

And now it was Travis caught catastrophically off guard. There was nowhere to go, no way to avoid it. In the weird speed of thought that accompanies such monumental events, he had time to think,
Shit. Now who’ll look after my fools in America?

And then, even before the stake point pierced the skin over his heart, the stake was ripped away. The hunter stared at him, as if she thought he’d done it himself. But it was Saloman, not even looking at Travis as he pointed the sword straight at Dante’s throat, who held the stake by the sharp end. Blood spilled through the Ancient’s fingers from the wound in his palm.

“Saloman!” the Awakener cried out with such peculiar anguish that Travis couldn’t tell whether her concern was for the hunter or for the injured vampire.

Travis backed off in confusion. It didn’t make sense. His enemy had just thrust his hand under the stake to save him.

Saloman spared the Awakener a glance, and Travis was sure some brief communication flashed between them. By rights, Saloman should have killed her months ago to gain the special strength of his Awakener, and yet here she still was, fighting by his side as she’d done in New York. Something weird was going on there.

Amid a spatter of blood, Saloman flung the stake to the ground, to be picked up by Dmitriu. Sitting on the floor, the starving vampire smiled and took aim for a throw at Travis’s heart.

“Enough!” Saloman said thunderously, much as Travis had heard him say before. “It is finished!”

Travis looked around him. His vampires were all gone. One of Dante’s bodyguards lay dead against the wall; another was out cold with his leg at a grotesque angle. With his free, wounded hand, Saloman gave Dante a casual shove that sent him flying back into the wall next to Josh. A bloody handprint now spoiled the senator’s bright shirt. It was indeed over.

As the Awakener and the female hunter ran to free Josh, the men advanced upon Dante.

Saloman ignored all of them. Lifting the sword, he slid it into the scabbard Travis hadn’t even noticed he was wearing. It was a curiously satisfied gesture, although there was nothing satisfied about his person as he swung around and marched toward Travis.

Ah. That’s why I’ve been saved. I suppose it’s an honor to be killed by Saloman.

But Saloman stalked right past him, turning his back to kneel by Dmitriu. Under Travis’s bemused gaze, Saloman took the starving vampire in his arms. “You’ve done well, Dmitriu,” he said softly. “Forgive the time I took.”

“What time?” Dmitriu said weakly. “What’s three days beside three hundred years?”

Three hundred years—the length of Saloman’s death-sleep before he was awakened. Rumor said Dmitriu had sent the Awakener to him.

Travis shifted, from pure curiosity, so that he could see the Ancient smile. “I have another debt to pay,” Saloman said, and drew Dmitriu’s head down to his neck.

Dmitriu gasped, made some inarticulate protest that faded to silence when Saloman stroked his hair once. With a sob, Dmitriu fell on the Ancient’s neck.

Piercing an Ancient’s skin was not easy, so Travis had heard, but Dmitriu seemed to manage it. In fascination, Travis watched him feed, almost felt every swallow of the powerful, reviving blood, and suddenly he knew an upsurge of longing, not just to taste the sweetness, the sheer strength of that blood, but to know the strong arms that held him, the love that bound them. Friendship.

Slowly, Travis raised his gaze from Dmitriu’s blissful face and found Saloman watching him.

Saloman’s lips twitched. Inside Travis’s head he said,
Anyone can make a mistake
.

Josh clung to Elizabeth, hugging her with trembling arms. “Am I dreaming? Are you in my mind again?”

Elizabeth hugged him back. “You’re not dreaming,” she assured him gently. “And I’m afraid the head stuff was real. You and I are telepathic, at least to some extent. Saloman helped us use that to find you.” She drew back a little, scanning his face. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“My ego mostly,” Josh said ruefully. “I was petrified at first; then Dmitriu told me I was safe until he turned Dante, which he would never do. But they gave me food and drink, let me pee in the back tunnel, and didn’t beat me. Shit, does that mean I was well treated?”

“For a kidnap victim, probably,” Elizabeth said, smiling. “For a vampire’s victim, definitely!”

“What the hell is he doing?” István asked, curious. Crouched over Dante, the hunter had been distracted by Saloman and Dmitriu on the other side of the room. Elizabeth felt her insides clench in a sudden rush of emotion, some of which she recognized as lust. Held to Saloman’s throat, Dmitriu drank his blood.

“Dmitriu was kept chained and starved of blood,” she said calmly. “To make him more eager to exchange blood with Dante. He needs blood badly. Saloman is giving him his.”

“Shit,” said Mihaela in awe. “I didn’t know they did that.”

Elizabeth didn’t point out the trust and loyalty—traits that were regarded as peculiarly human—that went with the act. She let them speak for themselves.

“That Dmitriu,” Josh said slowly, “is not a bad fellow. He suffered, but he never gave in. I don’t think he even came close.”

“He’s a fool!” Dante burst out beside them. “He’d have had my undying gratitude—”

“What in God’s name would he want with that?” Elizabeth said contemptuously. “When he has Saloman’s?”

It was too much. Mihaela was staring at her and she had to look at Josh to avoid the question in her friend’s eyes. She said quickly, “These are the hunters I was telling you about. Mihaela, Konrad, and István.”

“I guess I owe all of you rather more than thanks,” Josh said, with a winning smile. Already he was bouncing back, and that did Elizabeth’s heart good.

“Nonsense,” Mihaela said robustly. “Believe it or not, this is our job.”

A movement across the room caught Elizabeth’s attention, and she saw that Saloman and Dmitriu had risen to their feet and were advancing across the room. The hunters fell back, instinctively adopting a mutually defensive position. Elizabeth held her ground, for Saloman drew the sword from his scabbard once more and pointed it at Dante as he walked.

She noticed another curiosity. Beside and a little behind Dmitriu walked Travis. He should have fled through the open and unguarded door, but it seemed he was too intrigued. Saloman had saved his life when Mihaela would have killed him.

Clever bastard. Clever, clever bastard.

Thank you,
Saloman said, apparently pleased with the compliment.

I suppose he’s eating out of your hand now?

I have hopes that he will be very soon.

Another bloodless coup?

There was a faint pause. Then Saloman said,
If you don’t count the three who died today. They would no doubt disagree, but I believe America is worth it.

And the humans who died?

They died for Dante, not for me, and certainly not for America.
Saloman came to a halt, the sword point at Dante’s shoulder. “For Dmitriu’s pain,” he said aloud, “a little back.” And he pushed the sword into Dante’s flesh.

The senator cried out in surprise, but his eyes had begun to gleam again, and not with fear, or even pain.

Saloman smiled. “Of course, this is what you want, what all this ridiculous mayhem has been about. To have the sword pierce you while you die and are reborn an immortal.”

Unbelievably, Dante’s smile was back. He leaned forward into the sword with a wince of pain. Elizabeth felt sick. “Do it, Saloman,” he said eagerly. “I’ll be your most powerful slave.”

“That’s almost as ridiculous,” Saloman mused, “as your first idea. What in the world makes you think the sword will give you any power?” He withdrew the blade as he spoke and held it up for Dmitriu to sniff. Dmitriu wrinkled his nose, and although Saloman couldn’t have seen it, he smiled.

Blood oozed from Dante’s shoulder, spreading another scarlet stain over his once crisp yellow shirt. Staring up at Saloman, he said intensely, “The sword
is
power. Everyone knows that, and the combination of Saloman and the sword is truly irresistible. I get that. I accept that. You can’t blame me for trying, but now that I’ve met you, now that I know who you are, Adam Simon, and what you’re capable of . . . I can face reality. You are the prince, and I, turned by you and the sword together, your most useful subject.”

Saloman appeared to consider him while the hunters, Dmitriu, and Travis all looked from one to the other to see what would happen next. Elizabeth tensed as the hunters took surreptitious hold of their stakes. They wouldn’t allow the creation of a new vampire under their very noses.

Saloman said, “That really
is
the most abject, pathetic piece of self-centered twaddle I have ever heard in my life.”

Dante’s eyes flashed. His hand moved to his wound as if it suddenly pained him.

“Shall I tell you the secret of the sword?” Saloman said conversationally. “Shall I tell Travis and my friends the vampire hunters too? Or perhaps I should simply show you. Sword,” he commanded, “smite down my enemies.”

Dante cringed; the hunters tensed; Travis took a circumspect step backward. But the sword stayed perfectly still in Saloman’s loose grip. Elizabeth, who knew the reason, because he’d told her last night, watched every expression on his cold, arrogant face, watching for what he didn’t say more than listening to what he did.

“Well, that doesn’t work,” Saloman observed. His gaze refocused on Dante. “It never did. None of it did. I enchanted the sword to make it easier to find if I was ever parted from it, because yes, the sword is valuable to me. What do you say? Sentimental value? Because it was given to me by my cousin Luk, whom I later killed.”

Saloman spread his sardonic smile among the hunters. “The rest, I’m afraid, is unfounded legend, bunkum, rubbish spread about by people too ashamed to admit they’d been bested without magic. There
is
no magic, except what I put there—a conjuring trick to frighten thieves and murderers.” His glance took in Josh and Elizabeth. “No offense,” he added blandly.

“What are you saying?” Dante said hoarsely. “That the sword has no power?”

“None whatsoever.”

“I don’t believe you!”

Saloman laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Yes, you do. You just don’t want to. All that for nothing.” Now his glance embraced all of them: Josh, Travis, and the hunters. “It’s worth nothing to any of you, with the possible exception of Josh. And there, on the sentimental value, I beat him by a few thousand years. You’ve been wasting your time, gentlemen. On which note, Senator, pray to whatever maker you believe in and prepare to die. Without rebirth.”

He lowered the sword, holding it poised over Dante’s heart. Justice. Execution. The greater good of the world. For all of those reasons, Saloman would kill Dante in cold blood and never see the crime.