Fury's Kiss (22 page)

The last thing I’d seen, other than the bird he’d shot me as a thank-you, was him pelting for the Senate’s dubious protection as fast as his legs could carry him. It had been a smart move. Not that the Senate was any kinder than his old boss, but they’d had a reason to keep Ray alive and Cheung hadn’t. At least not then. And, as the old saying goes, life means hope—and schemes and intrigue and wiggle room. Which I guessed Ray had used, since he was still here.

“Oh, yeah,” he confirmed. “I kept my part of the bargain. The way I figured it, if I didn’t talk, the boss’d kill me to make sure I never did, and if I did talk, he’d kill me for betraying him. Either way, it ended with me dead. And since the Senate had me…well, they won that round.”

“And then one of them decided to pick you up?” I
asked in disbelief. I was having a hard time seeing a senator—any senator—taking on a train wreck like Ray.

“Hell no,” he said bitterly. “They laughed in my face when I brought it up! Anyway, they said they had to send me back to my master. Cheung never emancipated me, so I was still his property, and if they weren’t going to execute me, they had to return me. That’s the law.”

And yes, it was. It was the sort of thing that often failed to get mentioned to all those hopeful humans lining up to join the eternity club: that the majority of its members never made it to the upper levels. That most of them stayed essentially slaves for life, and nobody cared much what a master did with his slaves—or, by vampire law, could do anything about it if they did.

“But they didn’t return you,” I said, wondering why I suddenly had a weird feeling.

“Damned right, they didn’t. But only because I figured a way out. Just like with the portal mess.” He sat back, scowling, setting the swing to rocking madly. “You know, when you’re a low-level master, you keep hoping that, one of these days, you’re gonna go up a rank. It’s like a short guy who keeps looking at basketball players and thinking, one of these days, that’ll be me. I might be five-two right now, but in a year, or two, or three, I’m Michael Jordan. Only in a year, or two or three, you’re still five-two. And one day, it dawns on you, that it’s all you’re ever gonna be.”

“Ray—”

“So, you learn to deal with it. You say, okay, maybe I won’t ever be a basketball star. But maybe I can be Bill Gates and make more money than all of them. Or maybe—”

“Ray—”

“—I’ll be somebody else, somebody important. ’Cause size isn’t everything and power isn’t everything, no matter how much the big guys think it is. And so I learned to use my head.”

I tried to break in again, but Ray was on a roll, the words flooding out of him now.

“That’s something the big guys don’t have to do—like
Zheng-zi. He’s got more power in his little finger than I got in my whole body, but it hurts as much as it helps. Look at tonight. He don’t bother to think, how am I gonna take down this chick who already kicked my butt a couple times. He don’t worry about it because he’s Zheng-freaking-zi and he don’t have to. He assumes he’ll just overpower you. But you’re like me; you use your head. And so who ended up in pieces and who didn’t? We got a lot in common, you and me.” He finally stopped, dead still, and stared at the ground. “Maybe that’s what made me think of it.”

“Think of what?”

“That the Senate couldn’t turn me over to Cheung, ’cause he wasn’t really my master anymore. ’Cause a master can sell a servant to somebody who needs their talents, or trade ’em for somebody they like more, or, hell, lose ’em in a freaking card game.” He looked up, and blue eyes met mine. “Or…he can give them away.”

“Give them away?” I repeated, feeling a little dizzy. But I was wrong; I wasn’t thinking clearly either, because he couldn’t be saying what I thought he was.

Ray didn’t answer. He just got up and picked up my now empty beer bottle. “You’re out. Shall I get another one of those for you…master?”

Twenty minutes or so later, I was sitting with my head in my hands, a second empty beer bottle by my side and a throbbing headache at my temples. I felt rather than heard someone come up behind me and I didn’t have to wonder who. My vagina had just gotten a heartbeat.

Big palms spread out large and warm on my shoulders and I dropped my head forward, because it seemed like something nice might happen if I did.

“Hard night?” Louis-Cesare murmured, thumbs going unerringly to the worst spots with just the right amount of pressure.

“I seem to have acquired a vampire servant,” I mumbled into the tabletop. “Who made a Frankenportal system all over the city. That somebody’s using as a dumping ground for dead smugglers.”

He had been working his way up the back of my neck, making gooseflesh rise all over my arms. But at that he stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

I sighed.

“You have a vampire servant?” he asked, apparently deciding to break it down.

“Ray,” I confirmed, without lifting my head. Because I was kind of hoping he’d start up again. “You know how Cheung said we could take him, for all he cared, and he never wanted to see him again?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, Ray remembered it verbatim. And convinced
the Senate that it meant Cheung had given him away. To me.”

“But…you are not a vampire.”

“Yeah, I mentioned that. But Ray checked on it and there’s nothing in the rule books about what species the giftee has to be.”

“Possibly due to it being understood.”

“Mm-hmm,” I said, because he’d started the massage again, and it felt really, really good. Sinfully good. “But understood isn’t stated, which means the Senate can interpret the rule however they like.”

“And they chose to interpret it in Raymond’s favor due to his knowledge of the portal system.”

“Which they thought they might possibly need again. Yeah.” Sticking me on unpaid babysitting duty so Cheung couldn’t reclaim his property.

Typical.

Louis-Cesare was silent for a moment. “Where is Raymond now?”

I shrugged. “Marlowe dragged him off a few minutes ago.”

“But he just released him this morning.”

“Yeah, but that was before bodies started showing up in people’s basements. The Senate wants Ray to help them trace the currents and figure out where they were dumped into the system. They’re hoping for an eyewitness.”

“That seems…unlikely.”

“Uh-huh.” Not least of which because I didn’t think Ray really remembered all his tunnels. He didn’t strike me as an organized kind of guy. He struck me as the kind of guy who’d make a good stoner if he didn’t like money and bitching so much.

Louis-Cesare didn’t ask any more questions, which was fine with me since I didn’t feel like talking. Not with his knuckles pushing gobs of fiery pain up each side of my neck. Up and out, leaving behind a streak of absence-of-pain that was better than pleasure.

And he groaned right along with me.

It should have pissed me off, because it almost
certainly meant he was picking up on my feelings, if not more. But I was having trouble getting worked up about it. Maybe because it was dark and the fey were singing something soft and sweet on the far side of the yard and the scent of weed was drifting on the air, probably from the same source. Or because the muscles along my spine were slowly liquefying as more pain I hadn’t even known I had was ruthlessly hunted down and pushed out.

I stayed put.

That was even true when a hand made its way up through my hair and over to my hurt cheek. I froze in anticipation of more pain, but the touch was so light, there wasn’t any. And he didn’t move his fingers, so there was no friction. They were cooler than my skin tonight, maybe because he hadn’t fed recently, or because the wound was hotter than my normal body temperature. Either way, they felt good.

They stayed in place for a long moment, as though he was gathering information by touch. And for all I knew, he could do that now. Then, without moving them, he bent his head over my shoulder and kissed the side of my neck.

“No,” I whispered, with no conviction whatsoever.

I wasn’t too surprised when he ignored me.

He kissed another spot, and then another, none of them too close to the swelling, all of them desperately sensitive and long ignored, because there were a lot of things you could do for yourself, but you couldn’t nibble your own neck. None of it was designed to be arousing—soft lips, no tongue, sticking close to some comfort boundary he’d intuited—but it was anyway. It was also odd, for some reason I couldn’t quite name, until it suddenly hit me.

People didn’t just come up and
touch
a dhampir.

Sure, enemies grabbed me in combat, and Claire touched me in emergencies. But casual, friendly contact had always been in short supply. Even my former lovers had been cautious, and not just the vampire ones. Humans could feel it, too—that there was something strange about me, something different, something off. And they tended to keep their distance.

The only creature who had just never seemed to notice was Stinky. His long, stick-like fingers and toes allowed him to climb people as easily as trees, furniture and anything else that didn’t run off fast enough. And he liked human contact—even mine. Maybe especially mine, because he regularly crawled into my lap or invaded my bed, with the unconscious arrogance of children and puppies everywhere.

Louis-Cesare wasn’t a child. Or a puppy. But he kept doing it anyway. And not just on intimate occasions like this morning. He touched the small of my back when I preceded him through a door. He touched my hand or my shoulder when we were talking. He randomly smoothed a hand down my hair just anytime he felt like it and then acted like nothing had happened.

And it threw me off balance every damned time. It wasn’t aggressive; it wasn’t painful; it wasn’t a challenge. It was just
there
, subtle and unconscious and quietly devastating because it also wasn’t unwanted.

The worst of it was that I’d found myself slowing down when we came near a door. Not for any good reason, just to make sure I got that touch. Or standing a little closer to make a random brush that much more likely. Or—and this was when I really knew I was in trouble—actually considering growing my hair out, just because I knew he’d like it. Even though the reason for keeping it short—denying the bad guys an easy handle—was significantly more important
to my fucking survival
.

So, we had a problem. And I didn’t think that the method I used with Stinky, that is, letting him get away with it, was a great idea here. Louis-Cesare wasn’t a neglected child or a puppy I’d found in a Dumpster. He was a master vampire and master vampires didn’t follow you home and hang out on your back porch.

Okay, except for Ray. But he was clearly demented and anyway, he was fifth-level and had a good reason. Whereas Louis-Cesare was first-level with his own family and his own court, probably every bit as lavish as Mircea’s since he’d been a senator, too, until a few weeks ago.
And that made our worlds about as far apart as they could possibly get.

I didn’t want him here.

I didn’t
need
him here.

I needed him gone. Out of my life before I got used to having him around. Before it hurt more than it was already going to when I finally womaned up and—

“You don’t relax easily,” he murmured.

“I’m a dhampir. This
is
relaxed,” I said. It was supposed to be harsh, a verbal hands-off, but instead it came out tired and kind of sleepy.

Louis-Cesare didn’t comment. He just cupped those big hands around my face, and slowed way,
way
down. Running parted lips over my cheek and jaw as if just being permitted to touch my skin was a privilege.

And okay, that wasn’t helping. And neither were the arms that wrapped around me, pulling me off the table and back against a warm body inside a fuzzy sweater. Or the mouth that found my ear and my cheek, which had deflated at some point I hadn’t noticed. Or the way his breath caught when he finally met my lips.

And then the back door banged open and a flood of yellow light hit us. And a familiar voice said, “Oh. Sorry.”

I looked up to see Claire, silhouetted in the light, not looking even a tiny bit sorry. Maybe because her hair was frazzled and her apron was drenched and she smelled like dish soap. And she had a big black plastic tub in her hand, the type we used for cleaning off the tables in the garden.

Which, I belatedly realized, hadn’t been done yet.

And she wasn’t going to get any help from the fey. Their warriors might lay down their lives for Claire, but they wouldn’t do dishes for her. Or peel potatoes, or carry out the trash, or help with any of the other household chores that had multiplied in number and difficulty with a dozen extra mouths to feed.

The twins were more easygoing, but trolls aren’t known for a light touch, and we preferred not to have to replace all the dishes. Again. So every night we traded
off, and it was my turn to clear the tables, only with everything that had happened, I’d managed to forget.

“Give me that,” I said, reaching for the tub as she tried to edge around us. And had it snatched away.

“You’re not doing it tonight,” she told me, pushing sweaty hair off her face.

“Why not? You got stuck with the dishes.”

“I’m not half dead!”

“Neither am I.” I was actually feeling a lot better now that I had some food inside me. Hunger was always a bigger problem than some pulled muscles or a bruised jaw. My metabolism could take care of those pretty fast on its own, even without vampire assistance. But it couldn’t feed itself. And healing took a lot of energy.

“You need to get some sleep,” she said crossly.

“I slept most of the day. And I’m not leaving you with all the cleaning up to do.”

“You are if I say so,” she told me. Because Claire never met a person she didn’t try to boss around.

And most of the time, it worked. But not tonight. “It’s tables or dishes, Claire. One or the other.”

She sighed suddenly, and gave up. Too tired to argue, probably. “Tables, then. No need for both of us to get soaked.”

But Louis-Cesare didn’t like that idea. “I will do it, if you will rest,” he told me.