Fury's Kiss (67 page)

The new senators had been inducted while I slept, I guessed. I recognized the old crew, the ones too wily or too strong or just too damned hard to kill for the war to have removed them. There was Marlowe, looking like a guy on his way to a fancy dress ball, in full-on Elizabethan regalia. Or maybe Stuart era; I always got the styles mixed up. But the velvets and laces didn’t make him look any less deadly, maybe because of the searing look he was sending me.

It wasn’t his usual glare; I didn’t know what it was. I looked blearily back for a minute, then decided I didn’t care. Because right next to him was Louis-Cesare.

He was in a tux as fine as Ray’s, probably because the same guy had made it. It was a break with tradition, assuming he was on the Senate again—which is what it looked like to me, ban or no. He was in one of the crimson-backed chairs everybody was using, the ones that looked more like thrones. There were twelve of them on the balcony, six on either side of the consul’s massive no-doubt-about-it throne.

He was also looking a little…antsy. His hands kept clenching and unclenching on the carved arms of his chair, like he was hyped up on caffeine or something. Only it couldn’t be, because caffeine had no effect on vampires. I didn’t know what did affect vampires, but it looked like a lot of them had had it. Not on the Senate, but in the crowd, which was looking less than perfectly composed. The crowd was actually looking kind of like fans in a football stadium right before the deciding points are scored—jumpy, anxious, breathless.

It would have made me nervous if I hadn’t been about to fall over.

The consul wasn’t on her throne yet, and two of the other chairs were empty. But all the other senators seemed to be in place. And I guessed Cheung and Zheng had made it, because they were both there, and both looking smug as hell.

The former gave me a small nod, which was probably all he could manage in his getup, which I guessed was medieval Chinese pirate chic. Or something. Tooled leathers and bright silks and a gleaming sword, anyway. Zheng, on the other hand, opted for a modern tux. And he was the one to break tradition and shoot me a grin.

Nobody else seemed so inclined. Which was fine, since Jack, the euphemistically named Persuader, creeped me out even with a poker face. He was sitting on Cheung’s left, next to a pretty Asian woman I didn’t know, but who looked like she smelled something bad. Possibly Jack, considering he was wearing some rotting velvet thing that looked like he’d stolen it off one of the corpses he played with. Or possibly me, considering she was giving me a death glare.

I gave a discreet sniff.

Nope, must be Jack.

The other senators were unknown to me—except for Anthony’s diversion: Halcyone, Ray had called her. I guessed they were either new or just lofty types who didn’t talk to dhampirs. But somebody was about to be in serious trouble, because the spare chairs were still empty, and Herself had just walked out onto the balcony.

The already-simmering excitement ramped up a notch, with an audible murmur running through a group that didn’t need to talk aloud. And I had to admit that she was worth it, a glittering column of pleated gold lamé that should have looked tacky as hell but somehow didn’t. But despite the bling, I barely noticed.

Because Mircea walked out at her side.

Radu was with him, a hand on his arm, despite the fact that nobody else had a servant on the balcony. And
nobody said anything about his being there, which was just as well, ’cause Radu wasn’t taking any shit. The beautiful mask was back, in all its breathtaking perfection. But the expression…the expression said,
I don’t care who you are, touch my brother and I rip your face off
.

And one look at Mircea told me why.

He settled onto the Senate seat to the consul’s right, looking more than a little delicate. It was nothing I could put a name to—the sleek hair, the expensive tux, the family-crest cuff links were all the same and were all perfect. But his face was drawn and his eyes were pained as he looked down at me, and there was a strange expression on his face: defiance and fierce pride and something that looked like wonder, all jumbled up.

And suddenly, I wanted to stab Lawrence all over again.

I killed him for you
, I thought, staring upward.

“
I know.
”

The consul took her seat last, which seemed backward to me, but what do I know about high court protocol? Or much of anything else, like what the hell I was doing here. I really wished they’d hurry up and tell me about whatever-it-was, because I really, really needed to sit down. Or kneel. Or just fall on my face on the shiny, shiny marble.

I look a little rough
, I thought, staring at my reflection in the floor.

Damn, what did they polish it with to get it to look like—

Someone cleared her throat, and I looked up, blinking. And saw the consul staring down at me. At least, I guessed so, since there didn’t seem to be anybody else around.

Suddenly, it got very, very quiet.

I licked my lips, wondering if I was in trouble. I couldn’t actually remember doing anything…well,
so
bad. Of course, the way my head felt, God only knew what I’d forgotten. I wondered if I’d accidentally offed any good guys. Like maybe somebody the consul was
fond of. Because she was looking a little…fierce…and not in the usual supermodel kind of way. But in the I-might-hang-the-lot-of-you kind of way, and that probably wasn’t a great—

“
STOP.
”

The sound echoed through my head like a spoken voice. Like the consul’s voice, only I didn’t think she did that mental stuff. Unless it was with another high-ranking vamp and, of course, that let me out. But maybe somebody was giving her a boost, or maybe I was just hallucinating. And really, I wouldn’t put it past me right—

“
Dorina, please.
”

That was Mircea. Looking half amused, half appalled, which was weird. Because his expression never gave that much away. But then, he didn’t usually get his brain
Roto
-
Rootered
either, so—

“
You’re projecting.
”

I stopped, blinking. Was I? Huh.

I didn’t know I could do—

“I find myself in an unprecedented situation,” the consul said grimly, speaking aloud. “Before me stands a dhampir, one long regarded by our kind as little better than a revenant. Powerful, but incapable of being controlled by a master’s voice, and subject to rages that threatened the lives of countless of our Children. Such creatures were hated, mocked and often put down on sight.”

I bit my lip. Shit. Whatever I did must have been a real—

“But last night,”
the Consul forged ahead, glaring at me, “this outcast fought and almost died in our defense, while many of our supposed supporters stood aside and did nothing. She came here to warn us of our enemies’ plans, despite the risk to herself in doing so. She found a way into their stronghold, which none of our people managed. She helped a small group of our
loyal
”—the stress on the word was vicious—“servants to close the breach our enemies had created through our defenses. And then she killed,
in mental combat
, the traitor who had made much of this possible.”

A rustling had gone around the room at the “mental combat” comment; I wasn’t sure why. But Ming-de, seated with the other consuls in solitary splendor to the left of the balcony, suddenly sat forward. The long, jeweled nail covers she wore made a small sound on the marble balustrade as she looked over at me.

And smiled.

A chill ran up my spine hard enough to make me flinch.

Luckily, nobody noticed because the consul was speaking again.

“It has occurred to us that the traditional understanding of the dhampir being may have been…flawed. It has been suggested that, perhaps, instead of being half human and half vampire, as was always believed, they are instead two creatures in one: a fully human consciousness residing alongside a fully vampire one.”

And okay, that got the attention of the crowd. It didn’t get mine, at least not as much as it deserved, because I suddenly felt metal-tipped nails gliding gently, gently through my hair, and over my skull. And then
through
it, as if they could stroke the brain matter itself. I felt like shuddering, but didn’t get the chance before a slash of crimson splattered across my vision, and the nails were rapidly withdrawn.

I blinked, and put a hand to my forehead, expecting to find myself bleeding profusely. But there was nothing there. Nothing except clammy skin and sweaty hair, which went pretty well with the tiny tremors my body had started making.

Okay, they really need to hurry this shit up
, I thought. Because I wasn’t going to—

“And now I find myself faced with a dilemma,” the consul said quickly. “On the one hand, I have a creature whom I have been assured is the equivalent of a first-level master, who was sired by a trusted counselor, and who has useful connections to our allies among the fey. On the other, I have a number of first-level masters who did nothing while she fought and bled and almost died for us. And between them,”—she made an elegant gesture
with a long brown hand—“I have the last Senate seat.”

I’d heard the phrase “You could have heard a pin drop” many times. But I’d never really understood what it meant. Until now.

The entire room, which must have held a couple thousand, at the least, went suddenly, deathly quiet. And nobody does quiet like a vampire. Not a breath was exhaled, except for my labored ones. Not a piece of clothing rustled, except for the almost inaudible
swish, swish
of my hem brushing the floor as I swayed slightly from side to side. Not a foot scraped the ground, except for my heels, as I fought to stay upright.

And to figure out what was going on, because clearly now, I was hallucinat—

“After careful consideration of the fact that we are at war, and that, in wartime, loyalty, ability and courage are more to be prized than all other factors—”

And that was as far as she got. The room erupted furiously, and the wash of sound and thought hit me like a fist, causing my already tenuous grip on the upright position to wobble. I saw Louis-Cesare rise from his chair, saw Mircea lean forward. But nobody knew how to grab attention like the consul, who cut through the bedlam with just seven words.

“Come and take your seat, Lady Dorina
.”

And okay, I thought. That’s it. If I was going to hallucinate, I might as well do it on my damned face.

So I did.

I woke to darkness puddling in the corners of a high ceiling, a low-banked fire chasing shadows along the wall, and a naked vampire in my bed.

One of these things is not like the others
, I thought vaguely, and swam slowly back to consciousness.

I was naked, too—of course—but for once, I didn’t mind. I did kind of mind the weird, fuzzy, strung-out feeling I was having, though. So I just lay there for a few minutes, too groggy to do much more than stare at the elaborate molding on the ceiling.

After a while, it got a little better, and I rolled over and watched the vampire instead. He was more interesting—a lot more, I decided, as the firelight danced over fascinating hills and valleys, hard muscle and soft creases, and picked out fiery glints in the dark mass of his hair. And in the brilliant blue eyes that slowly opened to blink at me.

An arm reached out and tugged me over, and I went grinning, sprawling on top of him bonelessly. And pleased to discover that, yes indeedy, he wasn’t wearing anything except a satiny comforter. Of course, that was kind of a problem, too, because silken sheets and satin bedding and sleek vampire turn out to be kind of slippery. I started to slide off the other side, but hands came up to grip my waist. I smiled sloppily at their owner.

He smiled back for a second, a brief, sardonic twist of his lips, until I decided to sit up. And then the smile faded, replaced with something else as his eyes slid down my body. That glance was warmer than the fireplace heat on my back, although I guess my body didn’t think so, judging by the way certain things perked right up.

He closed his eyes in what looked like pain.

I bent over him. “Howdy,” I said, feeling friendly.

Those sapphire eyes fluttered open again. No man should have lashes that long, I thought, or a bottom lip that tempting. It was just wrong. It deserved to be punished, to be bitten…really…hard.…

I finally noticed that it wasn’t getting any closer, despite my best efforts. Maybe because his hands had come up from my waist to my biceps, holding me in place. I tried pushing against them, which did no good at all. And for some reason I found that just really sexy.

Of course, that pretty much applied to everything right now.

“Dory.” He swallowed as I writhed around on top of him, sending his Adam’s apple bobbing deliciously. I had a sudden strong urge to bite it, too.

“Hmm?”

“We can’t.”

“Can’t what?” I was still watching that little bump, I
don’t know why. His pecs were works of art, the washboard stomach rising and falling gently under my ass was completely lickable, and then there were those lips. They were supermodel lips, Renaissance angel lips, and I fully intended to get around to them. But right now, they weren’t what I wanted.

“I’m going to bite you,” I warned him, and felt him groan.

“Do that again,” I said because it had resonated in interesting places.

“We can’t,” he repeated instead.

I suddenly realized what he was talking about, and laughed. “Wanna bet?” I challenged, and wiggled back a few inches.

Oh, yeah. No problem here.

“Don’t,” he said tightly, grasping my hips before I could manage to arrange things properly. Which was a bit of a disappointment, but then I realized that delicious throat was unprotected. I went in for the kill.

Well, not literally; I even made sure not to use fangs. And after the first bite, it was really more of a sucking motion, because I liked the way it vibrated under my mouth when I—

Hard fingers dug into my hips and that was more like it.