Beyond the Night (13 page)

He'd shocked her silent.

“A convenient sex-hungry Iscariot,” he amplified. “To mate with a Tepes. It makes perfect sense. He's going to impregnate her as a backup plan before you give birth.”

“By the damned,” Senna muttered. “
Is
there any truth to the idea that a vampire of commingled blood can rule both the clans?”

Dominick shrugged. “It's been the tradition of our clan forever, because the myth is that the Eternal Ruler will unite the clans and bring peace into time beyond time.”

“But no one will be satisfied with that. Somewhere, someone will make a grab for power and then what?”

Dominick shrugged. “Then the war and the hunt begins again.”

T
he Season had begun. Senna was resting, but she read the paper avidly for details about the horse races, the flower shows, and especially the first of the Queen's garden parties, which was covered in detail down to the menu and the clothes.

“They write nothing of the murders in the warehouse district,” she said to Mirya, as she rocked gently and sipped tea. “Only about the Queen's upcoming Jubilee. I wonder if the Queen ever had an inkling what happened in the garden.”

“They only want to print tales of horrible bloody death,” Mirya said.

“It's true. They call on the Keepers to be more vigilant, and they are keeping a tally of all the deaths, according to this report,” Senna added. “They insinuate that perhaps there are those among them who had a taste for blood and death. They hint that maybe vampires are on the loose and walking among us again.” Senna looked up at Dominick. “As they are.”

“Perfect,” Dominick murmured, taking the paper from her and rifling through the editorial pages of the
Gazette
. “Nothing puts a vampire on the run faster than the accusation of murder and the threat to root him out wherever he's hiding.”

“Yes, I can see you're scared,” Senna said sleepily from Mirya's bed, where she lay curled up and cozy while Dominick read and Mirya prepared yet another bowl of that noxious mixture she called food.

“The authorities taking note of the unusual number of deaths will force Charles to move up his timetable. It means he can't afford to wait and see if Dnitra becomes pregnant. It means he's looking for you, Senna, and the threat is more extreme now. People are watching, people are reporting whatever seems strange to them. Charles will eventually deduce that Mirya is hiding you, because who else is there?”

“And then I will die,” Mirya said dourly.

“And Dnitra?” Senna asked.

“She's hunting for me. Though that won't stop her from having sex with Charles, or anyone else for that matter.”

“She
is
very beautiful.”

Mirya spat, “She is ugly. Her soul, her thoughts, her desires, her body. She waits but occupies herself as she will. She feasts on sex and blood, and she waits for Dominick. Or Charles.”

Senna shuddered. She eased up against the wall, and Mirya handed her the bowl, saying, “Her purpose is to return him to the Iscariot so he can spawn a nation of strong, virile male children. With
her
. She is destined to carry that next generation.”

Senna stared at Mirya. “How do you know this?”

“I know.”

Senna turned to Dominick.

“It's possible,” he said reluctantly. “But it has nothing to do with the problem at hand.”

She curled her hands around her belly, taking small comfort in the movements of the child. She had no future. But the child . . . all the ifs crowded out anything positive she could think of.

She ought to just take the child and run, which seemed just as good a plan as any other in that moment.

“Charles will have sex with Dnitra, get her pregnant, and do it while he's still pursuing you and our child,” Dominick added after another long pause.

“I'll just hand the baby over,” Senna said. “That will solve the problem and leave you free to take Dnitra back to . . . wherever she came from—and you can then get to work making dozens of vampire babies.”

Dominick sent her a long, level look.

“You will be the father of generations. And they'll be beautiful because Dnitra is beautiful and willing and always available.”

“Senna, stop it!” Dominick grabbed her arms without thinking, and the sparks exploded, showering them with needle-sharp stings.

He dropped his singed hands abruptly. “Devil's bones—I can't touch you? Ever? How do you think it feels not to be able to touch you, to feel our child.” He levered himself up and started pacing. “I don't give a damn about Dnitra.”

“And yet, you were the one she was with.”

“
You
are the one I'm with.”

Senna turned her face away. She didn't want to see his expression, she didn't want to hear how much more he cared for her than that Other. Vampires didn't care, in any event. She knew one day the last shred of her still-functioning humanity would diminish into a memory. But for now she could still feel pain in her heart about the Other. She could love her child. She could care about Dominick, she could even love him, but it was likely that she would eventually forget what that meant.

“You're the one I'm with,” Dominick reiterated. “Despite the Countess's wishes and everything she did to manipulate things her way, even from the grave. But we are now beyond the point where she can touch us. I promise you, we'll defeat Charles, we'll have our child, and we will be together. And I
will
keep you and the child safe.”

“Can a vampire be trusted?” Senna asked rhetorically. She looked at Mirya, who was watching all the emotions war within her. “Can he, Mirya?”

“Vampires are vampires,” Mirya muttered cryptically.

“So he can't.”

“A vampire is a vampire.”

Could he care about me—or is his sole function to procreate for his clan?

Senna couldn't get the idea out of her head. Or the fantastical image of the Other spread out naked on the floor, accommodating every male Iscariot who wanted to impregnate her.

Mirya only seemed to confirm it. Dominick could be nothing more than he was. His ever-diminishing humanity didn't make him any less compassionate or loving or any of the other things she had loved about him, or that she might want in a mate.

She didn't know why she should be so upset. She'd willingly given herself to him, she'd willingly given him her blood, she'd willingly died for him, without any consideration of what that actually meant or the consequences to her. Now she knew it meant loss. A big, hurtful, heart-crushing loss. She would lose him, she would lose the child, and she would lose herself in the vampiric maw of the eternal pursuit of blood and death.

She made a stifled sound and silently began to cry.

Dominick hated that he couldn't hold her. She looked so fragile, curled up on Mirya's bed, so forlorn.

“I need to find out what Charles is doing,” he said, his voice harsh with frustration.

“And
her,
” Senna whispered miserably.

“I hope I find them together,” Dominick muttered. “I'll kill them both.” But that would require some preparation. A silver dagger to immobilize Dnitra, a stake to pierce Charles's craven heart. An ax to whack off their heads and make sure the job was finished.

Next time he'd crush them. Before Charles could get to his child, to Senna. Charles had no idea of the depth of Dominick's revulsion, his hate.

He couldn't punish Peter for giving Senna the vampire kiss; he couldn't punish the Countess. So Charles would bear the brunt of his vengeance. Charles would feel his wrath and die for their sins.

He knew he was losing perspective. He could feel his humanity drifting away in fits and starts. He knew he loved the child and he knew he loved Senna.

At least, he used to know, but now everything he'd ever known or cared about had started to imperceptibly ebb away, and a vampiric disposition had surreptitiously crept into his thoughts, his heart, his soul, his very being.

It was as if, when he let down his guard, the vampire in him came slithering out.

He couldn't let it show. For Senna's sake. For the child's.

For himself.

Damn Dnitra for complicating things. He
would
kill her if he ever had the chance. And kill Iosefescu's manipulations with her.

But in the meantime, he'd destroy Charles and Lady Augustine.

The town house was dark, no sign of any servants or Puckett. Lifeless as a body drained of blood.

Which meant Charles and Lady Augustine were abroad in the city—or they'd found someplace new to roost.

Charles's alliance with Lady Augustine had to be as tenuous as a thread of silk. He didn't need her now. Her attempt to injure and impersonate the Queen had failed. Charles wouldn't try that again; he didn't need to with Dnitra on the side, ready and able to be the mother of a vampire nation, and Senna close to term.

Lady Augustine was now expendable. She would fight Charles for her life. To survive. To go forward with the plan to replace the Queen.

If he were Charles, how would he dispose of Lady Augustine?

Feed her to the wolves.

It wasn't that far-fetched. Lady Augustine, torn limb from limb—a definitive death from which no vampire could regenerate.

London Zoo.
The thought transported him just beyond the stone gatehouse of the entrance and into a commotion of visitors running as one body deeper into the park.

He felt a crackling comprehension—he had been compelled to come here to find chaos, tears, shouting, rescuers, barriers.

“Dear heaven—it's an old lady—somehow got in with the tigers—hurry . . .”

“Stay back, stay back—”

Those in charge had entered the fray and slowly pushed the crowd farther away from the tiger panorama, while detectives from Scotland Yard muscled their way into the fenced area.

He didn't have to witness it; he knew Lady Augustine lay bleeding in chewed-up pieces in the tiger backdrop, her heart devoured, and her limbs scattered over the landscape.

And now if he returned to Lombard Street, Charles would be hot on his tail.

He heard Charles laughing in his ear, buzzing around his head, whispering,
Give me Senna. Give me the child.

Charles had him in his sights. There was nowhere to hide, especially not Mirya's hovel.

Dominick's house in Belgravia was a possibility—and perhaps where Charles and Lady Augustine had removed to plot their next move before Charles consigned her to this hideous death.

Charles would follow him there, but at least he wouldn't be revealing Mirya's whereabouts.

It was his best option. He transported himself there in the blink of an eye.

The house looked slightly neglected—overgrown shrubs, wilted flowers, mold forming on the stoop steps.

He entered cautiously, hit by the scent of a disused home—the stale smell of food, blood, foul air, rot.

He took the steps two at a time and pushed into his bedroom.
Senna.
Senna had been here, alone, bloody, unaware of the lust that would consume her, facing an bottomless abyss she could never have imagined.

Let Charles come get him here.

He crawled into the coffin bed and waited.

Perched on the rooftop of Dominick's house, Charles waited.

And Dominick waited.

Charles still kept guard by dawn—he'd made no attempt to shield from Dominick that he was on the roof.

Charles wanted Dominick to take the first action, and Dominick knew it. They were too evenly matched on every level except one: Charles didn't care about anything or anyone.