Black Arts: A Jane Yellowrock Novel (23 page)

“Leo can heal this,” he said. “I’ll get him if you want.”

“I’d rather die,” I mumbled against the cloth. Eli chuckled, the sound sympathetic. The blood throbbed in my mouth. I was feeling that same throb of misery work through my whole body as the adrenaline stopped pumping and the fight-or-flight chemicals began to break down, making me nauseated. The door opened. I nearly fell as Eli moved. He was holding a weapon in each hand, both mine, grabbed up from the bench.

Edmund entered. He stood to the side of the door, his hands clasped before him as the door closed, his posture one of submission. “My master suggested that your wounds might need attention. I am to offer myself.”

I caught the cloth as it fell away from my lips. “Tell me, Ed. Would you offer yourself if Leo hadn’t sent you?”

The former blood-master smiled, the movement of his lips slow and measured. “Oh yes. As just reward for that.” He cocked his head toward the sparring room. “It was a thing of beauty to behold.”

“Especially the part where she beat the shit outta Leo?” Eli challenged.

“Especially that,” Ed said, “though not quite so crudely phrased.”

I laughed but stopped as the movement of my lips shocked me with pain. Fresh blood welled and fell down my chin. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks,” I said.

Edmund sat beside me, one finger pressing one of Eli’s naked blades away, and deliberately nicking his finger on the tip. Blood brimmed on the fingertip, and Ed touched it to my lips. The pain was instantly gone and I shivered with relief. He moved the finger across my lips, gently, rubbing slowly. Vamp blood merged with mine, and the healing moved lower down, warming me, making me want, as vamp blood always did. I opened my eyes and stared into Edmund’s. He was watching me intently, his pupils wide, his own lips parted as his finger traced my lips. The vamp wasn’t inhumanly beautiful. He had been an average-looking Joe in his human life, his best feature his hair, which he had worn pulled back in a tail the first time I saw him. Now it fell around his face and shoulders, an ash brown so fine it looked luminous.

Overhead the music changed to “Sloe Gin,” the guitar grinding sad, the kind of drunk-in-a-hotel-with-a-bottle-of-whisky-and-a-gun sad. Someone liked Bonamassa.

Edmund slid his hand up my arms to my cradle my face. He bit his lip and said, “I can heal the bruising. If you’ll let me.”

I knew he meant kiss me, mixing his blood deeper with mine, sharing breath. I hesitated, and Ed shook his head, amused. “I am under orders not to attempt to bind you or seduce you.”

“Yeah, that’d be smart. Three’s a crowd,” Eli said, “and I got these. Two big silver ones.”

If I hadn’t been hurting, I’d have groaned at the double entendre. Instead I lifted my hand in acquiescence and Edmund bent his head, easing my face to the side and letting his chilly lips meet mine. Despite his promise, the heat of seduction was part of vampire blood sharing. His heat swirled into me, rushing from his cool mouth through my lips, down to my bruised hands and sore wrists, circling my ribs and tightening my breasts. Pooling in my middle. Moving down my body. Pain vanished where the heat reached. I sighed into his mouth and he took my life force into his lungs, our breath mixing, becoming one thing, one breath, one life—as much as undead can share life. When I breathed in, our commingled breath fed me. And suddenly the pain was gone. Just gone. And there was only the warmth of his lips, flesh to flesh. Nothing of passion or need. Just healing.

Edmund eased back. My lids lifted and I opened my eyes, as I whispered, “Thank you.”

“No.” His eyes, fully human, and a light, hickory-nut brown, held mine. “My thanks to you. I have never tasted blood such as yours.”

The sound track had moved to “Black Night,” the guitar licks complex and amazing. Edmund stood and stared down at me. “My master suggested you might enjoy a shower before joining him in his study. A maid will bring you a change of clothes and clean out a locker here for you, to use at any time you might wish.”

“A shower might be smart,” I said. “Walking around a vamp house smelling of blood and fighting sounds pretty stupid.” I stood, feeling stronger, though I knew I’d be stiff in the morning. Even my skinwalker metabolism wasn’t proof against a vamp beating.

“How’s Bruiser?” I asked, and then clarified, “George Dumas.”

“He is well. The priestess saw to his shoulder joint. His Onorio blood will do the rest.” Edmund’s mouth turned down and he looked grim. “Things are changing in New Orleans.” With that bland, vague warning, Edmund Hartley left the locker room.

• • •

While Eli stood guard outside the door, I showered, using guest-sized samples of soap. Afterward, I slathered some lime-scented cream on my wet skin and dried off on the towels Eli had found. By the time I was done, the maid had delivered a change of clothes and taken my sweaty, bloody ones off to be laundered. I pulled on the undies, finding it mildly unnerving that Leo had my sizes on hand. It made sense, however. He paid for my formal wear, the fancy duds created by a wizened virago of a blood-servant who terrified me, but who made me look good in clothes that were made for soldiers—people who wear and carry weapons. So he might keep stuff here for nights like tonight. Or he might be having nefarious thoughts. I was betting on nefarious.

Beside the undies was a stack of black clothing—slim pants and a body-hugging, black silk, knit sweater. The sweater had a long turtleneck, which I didn’t usually care for, but the neck on this one was wide and rolling and fell around my collarbones. The pants were just plain stupid. Who needed a zipper on the side? It was hard to get zipped and made me twist like a pretzel before I got the zipper up and the tiny inside buttons done. But when I looked in the mirror, I could see how long, lean, and dangerous the slacks made me look, and the turtleneck did things for my boobs that were surprising. Yeah. I was still going with nefarious.

The black socks and slippers were so comfortable I might never want to take them off, but they’d be impossible to fight in. Back in the center area of the locker room, I dried and rebraided my hair, twisted it up into a bun, and stuck my stakes in to hold it in place. I also strapped on my shin sheaths and wrist sheaths. The blade that went on my thigh looked good strapped a bit higher than I usually wore it. I checked myself again and wished for lipstick. I looked stark and pale in all the black. I pulled my gold nugget necklace to the front and nestled it, and the mountain lion tooth I’d wired to it, into the folds. The glint of gold added a hint of color and brought out the amber of my eyes.

Beast wasn’t staring through my eyes now. No golden glow. She had hidden away since the fight. But she and I were gonna have a little talk later about how I was able to make use of Leo’s binding on her. Something was hinky here.

I composed my face and pushed out into the hallway. Eli was no longer alone. Wrassler stood with him, face expressionless, leaning against the wall; both guys seeming relaxed. “Are you here to throw me out or take me to Leo?” I asked. “Because I need to chat with the chief fanghead.”

“Yeah. He’s all excited about that,” Wrassler said, deadpan, pointing, indicating we should go to the elevator.

“Should I be worried?” I asked as we moved down the hallway.

Wrassler’s forehead lifted up into little rolls. “About what? You just wiped the floor with the second or third best fighter the Mithrans in the Americas have.”

“Who’s better?” Eli asked.

“Grégoire for sure. Maybe a couple others could beat Leo in a purely physical fight. But not if he drew on the power of the clans. Then only Grégoire would win. Maybe.”

I had felt Leo draw on the power of the clans before, the night Adrianna attacked me in the bathroom at a vamp party. It had been terrifying. Leo hadn’t done that tonight, so yeah, I had beat him, but really, if he’d used all his metaphysical weapons or his weapons of war, like if he had challenged me to a duel with swords or flintlock pistols, I probably wouldn’t have. Of course, if I’d brought my silver blades, and maybe a rocket launcher, Leo would have lost no matter what psycho mystical crap he might have pulled. It was all a matter of spin and possibilities and stuff that hadn’t happened. But physically? Hand to hand? I’d beat the MOC to the ground.
Oh yeah.
Satisfaction flitted through me mixed with delight. I wondered if Leo had been surprised about ending up on the floor, and looked forward to finding out.

The elevator closed on us. “How’s Bruiser?” I asked, wanting to confirm Edmund’s information.

“Healing,” Wrassler said shortly. His tone told me that he didn’t want to talk about it, but from the stiffness of his shoulders, I knew he wasn’t happy about something. “How often does Leo put on a show and beat up his people?” I asked.

Wrassler’s mouth thinned. “I’ve been here for years. Never saw or heard of it till tonight.”

“I see.” But I didn’t. Not really. Unless the show hadn’t been intended for me. Unless it was for someone else. Not Bruiser. He could have beaten up Bruiser anytime. So . . . someone else. Someone in the stands. Watching. And since he hadn’t drawn on the massed clan power, he had wanted that special someone to see his primo get beaten and then see him fight a skinwalker, win or lose. Even if he lost, it could work to his benefit. All without drawing on the power of the clans. He wanted someone to think he was a weaker master than he was. Maybe he also wanted that someone to think that Bruiser was out of favor. So he beat up his primo as part of some kind of vamp game? Interesting. Sick, but interesting.

Vamps had layers of plans piled up like sheets of snow and ice, some in the works for centuries. So maybe I was seeing one or two layers in the fight tonight. I just didn’t know the context. Or why. Or who. Or what was to come next.

Eli and I entered Leo’s office, walking through the wide entrance, Eli taking in everything. His shoulders tightened ever so slightly and I knew he wanted to look behind the tapestries on the walls, to make sure no one was hiding there. But even he seemed to know that might be kinda rude, because he forced his shoulders back down.

Looking awfully good for a guy who had just been beaten to a pulp, Leo was studying a printout while another page clattered in a printer in the open armoire. The rest of the armoire was filled with files, papers, and sheaves, and it smelled of parchment and ink, a lot like Leo himself. Inside me, Beast yawned and stretched, watching Leo through my eyes, like a well-fed and satisfied cat, lazy and taking no action. Moving slowly, Leo pulled the printed page, added it to the ones in his stack, and turned them facedown. He shut the armoire door and spun his modern chair to face us. “Sit, please,” he said. We sat in two of the three chairs in front of the desk, and he said, “Report.”

I gave him an update on the security status of vamp HQ, in preparation of the
gather
, and finished with “We still have to go over the changes to parking area security, and we have two choices. We can let the limos drive to the front door and let off their passengers, then park on the street, or we can let them drive in back, park, and get out there and walk in. Parking on the street is safer for us and can be arranged with NOPD, but that means no privacy from the press and telescopic camera lenses. The second is way less formal and parking in the back means we could have a car bomb or other device in the backyard.”

Still moving slowly, Leo put his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers, tapping his lips with them as he thought. And I realized he was moving, not just slowly, but stiffly. I smiled, feeling my lips pull up in wicked glee. Leo was sore.
Go, me.

“Can you get access to a bomb-sniffing dog?” Leo asked.

Still smiling, I narrowed my eyes and Leo inclined his head. I had suggested a bomb-sniffing dog once already and been denied. “I am sure one can be borrowed from the Federal Aviation Administration or NOPD or some other local law enforcement.”

“Excellent. Then we will direct all vehicles to the back until the lot there is full. Any latecomers drive through, let off passengers, and then park elsewhere. Security from the other clans can patrol the outlying areas, freeing Derek and his crew and my own clan security crew to patrol inside the council house. There will be no need to involve NOPD.”

Behind him and to the side, the door opened and Adelaide entered, carrying a tray with a teapot, a coffee carafe, and cups. Del, a lawyer, doing waitress service? And then I saw the marks on her neck, tiny, nearly hidden by the high collar of her shirt, but there. I took a slow breath, and over the vamp scent of Leo and the strong odors of the beverages, I smelled human blood. My hands clenched. Leo had fed from her and was now, likely,
breaking her in
.

I stood and took the tray from Del and set it down, and as I rose, I took her wrist, stopping her from pulling away. She stared at my hand on her arm for a long moment before meeting my gaze. “I’m fine,” she said, no emotion in her voice.

“Reading my mind?”

“No. I know you. You’re worried about me. You’re worried about Leo using me.” Her eyes were a cornflower blue in the lamplight, matching the tiny flowers in her shirt. But she didn’t look worried or afraid or sad or abused. She looked . . . shuttered. Closed. Detached. Determined. I couldn’t read anything more specific. “Leo and I have come to an agreement,” she said.

“What kind of agreement?”

She looked pointedly at my hand and I released her wrist, sitting on the edge of my chair. “He has tasted me. He knows I don’t have an agenda regarding him. He knows his home, his office, and his body are safe from me. He is satisfied. And he will not demand a sexual relationship with me.”

“What makes you so special?” I asked. Leo always demanded to sleep with his people. He considered it a vamp perk.

“I threatened to sue,” she said in the same emotionless tone. She smoothed her skirt, giving me a chance to swallow my shock and the bark of laughter, which would probably have ticked Leo off. “After some discussion, he considered it likely that I would win,” Del went on, “and that such a lawsuit would bring unwanted attention.”