Blood Rebellion (Blood Destiny #7) (24 page)

"So, you were anxious for the bite, is that it?" Smoke drifted from Kifirin's nostrils.

"Yes. Gabron hired us right away and we came with the first new employees. Shala wasted no time in enticing Gabron into our bed. We would both please him in exchange for the bite. Shala spoke of her old dream, too, from the beginning. She wanted her own place and a stable of vampires who would bite her whenever she wanted. Gabron would only bite once every two weeks or so. Of course, we convinced others to do this for us in between, although it was against house rules. When Gabron left his ring behind after going to bed with us, Shala fretted and complained, blaming her misfortunes on Gabron's mate—the Queen. She had his ring, however, and devised her plan with my help."

"What were your suggestions to her? Did you try to stop her at any time?"

"I did not try to stop her. I thought this would work out in my best interest as well. I was the one to suggest that she join the tour to the palace and then hide herself until she could get the Queen alone, if she could. Her plan was to offer the ring to the Queen so she would come close enough for the staking."

"So, you were eliminating a rival, is that it?"

"We thought so. The Queen was taking up much of Gabron's time and attention. We had to turn it back to us so he would perhaps offer us a position with him at the palace."

"Shala said before that you both wanted to be concubines to him."

"Or mates, perhaps, if he would agree. He would be mourning his Queen. We could offer comfort."

"All while living in her palace, which I built for her."

"You built this?" Elthine's lower lip trembled.

"I built every city that exists upon this planet, with the exception of the Gambling city and the brothels, which others have built. I built it for the Queen. I did not build it for you or for Gabron or any other vampire that walks upon this world. Had you known what I truly am, you would never have allowed a thought of conspiracy to take root in your mind. Gabron should have recognized the signs of bite addiction in you long ago. Yet he did not. There are two known cures for bite addiction. The first is compulsion and then the recipient must never be bitten again. The second cure is death. You committed treason by conspiring against my Queen. What do you think your sentence is going to be?"

"B-bite addiction? I have never heard that."

"This happens when the humanoid is bitten too often by many vampires. How many times did you lie, just to get another bite? Anemia is the first sign, and then the vampire's saliva begins to work its way into the body's system. It is not the same as receiving vampire blood—that would have killed you in a matter of months. Normally, vampire saliva will heal the fang marks from a bite. Too many times too close together and from more than one vampire results in bite addiction. It affects your brain after a time. Inhibits reasoning. Damages normal thought processes. That is what bite addiction is. You are afflicted with this, as is your coconspirator."

"Then we had no control—"

"I will not accept this as an excuse. You broke house rules long ago to get where you are at this moment. You will receive no sympathy from me, so do not expect it. Who wishes to carry out the death sentence?"

Flavio stood. Gavin stepped forward, Tony right beside him. "We have been given permission," Drake and Drew joined Gavin and Tony. Erland Morphis folded in with Wylend Arden. Reemagar and Connegar folded in. Gardevik came. Rolfe brought Giff in and set her down near the door. He joined Gavin and the others.

"Have mercy," Elthine wept and dropped to the floor.

"I will grant mercy, this time," Kifirin stood. "I will allow the Larentii to do this. I will not be merciful to the one who comes next." Kifirin nodded to Connegar and Reemagar. Reemagar stepped forward and held out his hand. Light formed around it and Elthine's particles separated and floated peacefully away, the final, tiny motes of light winking out within seconds. The High Council watched as this happened. If any of them had not known of the power of the Larentii, they were getting their first vision of it now.

"Bring the other," Kifirin commanded. Shala was brought forward—Drake and Drew had gone to get her.

"I have heard the testimony from the other two and have passed judgment. I grow weary of listening to irrationality," Kifirin growled at Shala.

"Gabron loves me. He will not allow me to die." Shala adjusted her plain cotton shift—she'd struggled in Drake and Drew's grip and was now setting herself to rights.

"Yet you considered staking him, did you not?" Kifirin's eyes narrowed. Shala patted her long blonde hair into place. She regretted that she hadn't been allowed a hairdresser or better clothing for this appearance.

"When he refused to give the bite," Shala pulled her shoulders back so her breasts would be more prominent.

"Your charms have no effect upon me," Kifirin glared at her.

"I can give you the best sex you have ever had," Shala boasted. She attempted to walk forward, to entice Kifirin. She hadn't failed to notice that he was the most attractive male she'd ever seen. An invisible shield prevented her from approaching Kifirin's seat at the front of the meeting hall. She stood still and pouted at him instead.

"I am done with this one. High Demon," Kifirin nodded toward Garde, "I give her to you."

"Ooh," Shala looked at the male approaching her. He was pretty enough. He would do nicely. Except that he changed. Grew taller, darker, more
demonic
. Gardevik Rath, in full Thifilathi, swept up the female in a huge, clawed hand before she could shriek and twisted her head from her body. Both parts were thrown violently and splattered against the wall where Gabron sat. The High Demon skipped from the room, leaving near-chaos behind.

* * *

"I swear I didn't realize they were bite-addicted." Gabron was pacing before Karzac. Karzac had deliberately stayed away from the trials—it was bad enough that Lissa was missing; Grace was now six months pregnant. Women belonging to the Saa Thalarr couldn't use any power past the first trimester or they could lose or damage the child. Any pregnant Saa Thalarr was carefully watched and monitored. Karzac had left Grace in the capable hands of Mack and Justin, two of her mates, so he could have this meeting with Gabron. He now studied the old vampire with a critical eye. Gabron was old as a vampire, but Karzac was older. Six thousand years older.

"And you failed to pay attention," Karzac sipped a cup of tea in the palace kitchen. He'd spent most of his time with Grace, watching over her while Lissa was gone. Kifirin said Lissa was fine—Karzac had to rely on that information, else he might have given way to his temper.

"I didn't fail to pay attention when Gardevik threw the body in my direction," Gabron sighed.

"Accept responsibility and go on," Karzac said.

"She won't take me back."

"Now we get to the truth," Karzac sighed. "How badly do you want her to take you back, or is this merely a point of pride?"

"I don't deserve to be taken back."

"Many certainly feel that way. I would wait for Lissa's opinion on the matter," Karzac emptied his teacup. "Meanwhile, I'd be thinking of ways that might convince her you're worth taking back." Karzac folded away.

* * *

The old myths that vampires can't walk on consecrated ground or into a church, or that they burn if holy water is dumped on them are exactly that—myths. Who came up with that, anyway? Somebody who wanted to convince themselves that there was a way to keep vampires away from them? Granted, garlic was a little strong and offended a vampire's nose because it was so sensitive, but if a vampire was truly hungry, you might have to cover your whole body with the stuff to chase them away.

One of those little pamphlets they give away at funerals was pressed into my hand as I walked into the large, gothic-style church in Dallas. I'd bent time to get back to this point. I looked at the folded paper in my hand—a photograph of an older Winkler than the one I'd known stared back at me. I gently ran a thumb over his image. An usher directed me to a pew at the back of the church and I sat. I was dressed in a black suit—I'd discovered that with power, many things are possible, including clothing yourself in the latest fashion wherever and whenever you might be.

I couldn't see Winkler's children from where I sat, though I craned my neck to find them. Someone played somber organ music and it made me wonder what Winkler might have thought about that. He liked jazz and classic rock and roll. He'd been one hundred forty-two when he'd died. Still young for a werewolf, if you weren't Packmaster. Winkler was gone fifty-three years after I'd seen him last.

The church was packed with werewolves, local celebrities, media and the curious. It made me wonder how many of those present had truly loved him. Winkler had been a powerful man—and an important one. Now he was gone. He'd given his position as Dallas Packmaster to one of his children in the only way he could.

The service was long, flowery and boring. Winkler would have hated it. Hated it with a capital H. The burial was supposed to be private, with only family and close friends. My interpretation of that was
werewolves only
. That's why I rode with the casket as mist.

A separate service was held graveside and I recognized the place when we arrived. Wilburn Ranch had changed little since I'd seen it last. Randall Wilburn was there but his human wife had died years earlier. Daryl Harper had come, as the current Grand Master instead of Weldon's Second. Weldon had disappeared to join the Saa Thalarr, leaving Daryl to fight for his right to hold the Grand Master's position.

I stood back from the others at the gravesite, shielding myself to keep them from seeing or scenting me. Several werewolves spoke, standing behind the casket—it sat next to the open grave, which lay near two tombstones. Winkler's parents were buried there. Daryl, as the highest-ranking werewolf present, spoke last. He talked about Winkler's life and his contributions to both humans and werewolves. And then he talked about Winkler's exploits. Then the weirdest thing of all happened.

"Winkler once hired a vampire to work for him," Daryl began, as if pulling up a favorite memory. "A female vampire, and those are extremely rare. I won't go into the reasons why he hired her, but he did. She worked as a bodyguard for him and he even loaned her to my father once, to protect him during a spring summit. That vampire saved my father's life and held the peace between vampires and werewolves. You can thank William Winkler, now, for helping to preserve the peace you have with the vampires. The little vampire died, I'm sad to say. But my father made her a member of the Pack and that stands to this day. If she were here, I think she'd tell you that she loved Winkler.

"She is here and she did love Winkler." I walked through rows of standing werewolves as fast as I could. Daryl was shocked, I could tell, when I stood across from Winkler's grave, gazing steadily at him.

"Lissa?" That's all he managed to say.

Chapter 11
 

"You knew my dad." It was a statement and not a question. William Winkler Junior stood beside me as we stared at the wolf inside the open casket. Daryl managed to get all the others away for a private moment. Winkler's daughter was still having a hard time with all this and hated her brother at the moment. She'd left with the others—they'd gone to Randall Wilburn's home to sit down and cool off. It was June in Texas and hot outside.

"I knew your dad." I reached out to stroke the fur around Winkler's ears. He'd died in wolf form—he wouldn't change back. "I've seen him fight. He was something to see." I struggled to come to grips with the fact that a few of the wolves remembered me when the vampires didn't. Maybe it didn't matter with them while it did with the vamps.

"I hope he didn't suffer," Winkler Jr. brushed tears away as he stared at his father's wolf.

"Honey, look at me." He looked a little like his father. Same dark eyes and black hair. Nearly as tall as his daddy, too. He turned those familiar, dark eyes to my face. "Your dad struggled with this, too," I told him. "It ate at him the whole time—his father made him do the same thing so the Pack would come to him instead of going to the Second. Trust me, I knew Phil. Phil didn't need to be in charge of the Pack and he didn't need to be mated to your Aunt Whitney. Phil wasn't the best person in the world. Your Grandfather forced Winkler to challenge and then pretty much threw the fight. Your dad gave this as a gift to you and as a gift to his Pack. Don't sully that gift by carrying this load of guilt around with you your whole life, like he did."

"I understand your words and I hope I can see things that way someday," he told me. "Right now, I feel like shit."

"Yeah. I know," I said. "But you have a Pack to run. Don't let this get in the way of doing your job. You're in charge, now. Your dad knew his job and he did it well. I hope he taught you what he knew." I brushed the fur on Winkler's face one last time before pulling my hand away.

"How are you here? Out in the sun, I mean," Winkler's son asked. "They call me Wayne, by the way, just so we wouldn't get confused." He closed the lid on the casket with a sigh.

"Strange things have happened since I was last here," I said. "And you wouldn't believe most of it if I told you."

Wayne raised his hand and two werewolves who'd waited patiently in the distance came forward. They'd be lowering the casket. Wayne took my arm and we walked toward the Wilburn's house on the hill.