Demon Lord 4: White Jade Reaper (17 page)

The humbled vamp surged to his feet.  Trembling with rage, he came at me—but the other vamp guard got in the way.  He said, “No, not until the Mistress gives the command.”

Chief returned, his eyes scanning us, taking note of the tension.  He looked at me.  “Didn’t I say no games?” 

I gave him my best, most-practiced look of utter innocence.  “What?  You’re saying I started this?” My voice grew colder and dead.  “They forced me to show them just how far down the food chain all of you are from me.”

He could tell there was no lie in my words.  A quick second of doubt showed in his eyes about bringing me inside.  He vanquished the moment of fear, remembering he was a predator, too, and motioned for us to advance. 

The lady in silver went first.  Pink-Boots went next.  I

followed with Onyx a step behind.  The two vamp guards brought up the rear.  My dragon senses went on overdrive as our group threaded the crowd.  I wasn’t hearing much breathing from them, just what was needed for speech.  No heartbeats.  The wine glasses they held smelled of blood, not alcohol.  Except for when they were moving on purpose, they could have been statues.  They were all vampires.  Rich vampires that might have paid well for the bloodsucking version of immortality.  They were new; not yet good at hiding the fact their muscles felt no fatigue.

The crowd respectfully thinned where a throne stood on a dais, its back to a wall.  The glorified chair was carved from ebony in an Imperial, Old World style.  The back and seat cushions were red velvet, held in place with brass studs.  The throne should have dwarfed the woman on the seat, but her aura of power remained undiminished.  This was Dominika Volkov, Mistress of Santa Fe, Goth pale, with searing red lips, smoky cat-eyes, and black braided hair coiling around her head like a crown. She wore a black gown with see-through lace panels that teased without abandoning all modesty.  On the arms of the throne, her hands were slim and long-fingered with expensive manicures, black polish with red tips like they’d been recently used to slash open someone’s throat. 

There was a distance to her expression, to her gaze, as if all this didn’t touch her, as if nothing had warmed her in ages though she only looked twenty-five.  There were glossy bits of obsidian sewn into the fabric so that it twinkled as she drew a deep breath, releasing it as a long, slow sigh. 

I’d seen this before on some of the Old Ones who’d been bored for too long and just want death to come.  The mental disconnect in this situation was that she was very young as vampires go to be having this kind of crisis. 

I felt the impulse to widen her hazel eyes and shock her out of her icy distraction.  I wanted to rip aside her dress and pound myself into her until she could scream my name in delirium, heated with incandescent passion. 

Really, it would be a public service.  Everyone needs a good fuck now and then.

Chief stopped us well away from her.  He grabbed Pink-Boots, pulling him ahead, saying, “I believe this creature has some things he needs to explain to you.”  Pink swallowed audibly, trying to clear the terror choking him as he dangling from the grip on his collar. 

Speaking of being fucked…

SEVENTEEN

“Managing a willful woman is much like catching

bullets in your teeth; dangerous if you fail.”

                                   —Caine Deathwalker

Chief flung Pink-Boots to the floor in front of the dais.  He sprawled and recovered himself slowly, kneeling, putting hands on his knees.  He gave a bow of respect and straightened, but kept his eyes down, his head bent.  There was no desperation in his posture though I knew he must be feeling it.  A predator, he knew better than to show weakness and fear; that would only incite additional cruelty. 

His voice emerged calm and polished.  “I have returned with the one you wanted, Mistress, and await your pleasure.”

I grinned.  Nothing about him suggested he had anything to explain. 

“He returns alone,” Chief said.  “The two soldiers we sent with him are dead.  This coward returns without a scratch.”

Pink-Boots shrugged.  “Soldiers die, it goes with the job.  We didn’t have enough men for the task.  Getting myself damaged—to accomplish nothing—would have been stupid.”

That touched something in her, for her gaze came back from infinity, settling on the kneeling vamp.  “Yury, are you saying I made a mistake in sending only three of you?”

There’s no good answer to that question
. 

He lifted his head, meeting her eyes.  “No one is at fault.  None of us knew what we were dealing with.”

Dominika stared at him, weighing his answer.  Finally, a hint of warmth entered her voice.  “Is that so?”  Her glance roved freely, settling on Onyx and me.  I made a point of watching her chin, not her eyes. 
Let her think I’m a weak human, afraid of having my mind rolled. 
The dragon in me laughed at the thought that a vampire could ever resonate their hypnotic thoughts to match draconian patterns; the frequencies were just too far apart even in a half human version like myself.

I slanted a look at Onyx.  He matched her stare for stare.

Chief passed Yury, stepping up on the dais without being summoned.  “Mistress,” he pointed at Onyx, “that is not human.  The form is only a convenience.”

Her voice developed a curious lilt.  “Fey?”

“Dark fey, demon...”   Chief shrugged.  “Elder God for all I know.”

Dominika leaned forward on her throne, more of her interest thawing out.  Eyes still on Onyx, she waved Chief away.  “Shoo.” 

He looked puzzled.  “Mistress?”

“You’re standing on my dais.”

“Oh.”  He hopped back.

Dominika shifted her eyes to Yuri.  “Go find something to do until I want you.  Crawling is not a thing proud vampires should indulge in.”

He stood, bowed, and backed away.  “I shall remember.”  He left without telling anyone I had Dracula in my back pocket.  He was doing me a favor that he’d want repaid at some later date.

The vampire queen motioned Onyx closer.  “Come here.”

He moved without taking a step, sliding ahead on a slick of shadow to the edge of the dais.  Only there did he step up.  Silent, the shadow man moved closer to her.  Wrist bent down, he swung his hand up and a sword made of darkness flowed out of his fist, its tip at her throat. 

A pause hit the room, a hush falling hard.  Dominika’s chin inched up, clearing the way to her throat as if she were inviting death.  Her hazel eyes glowed, fully engaged with the reality before her.  Me, I was enjoying the show.  Purposely, I’d reined in my wild-assed charm and animal magnetism, staying hyper-still.  This martial arts trick, dampen my lifeforce, encouraged people to forget me.  I hadn’t tried this in a while, usually depending on my
Demon Wings
tattoo.  I was glad to see I still had the touch.  Chief gathered himself to leap at Onyx, forgetting I was standing right next to him. 

A flash of thought caused my Berretta to materialize in my hand.  A small swing of the weapon brought it into line with Chief’s foot.  My weapon bucked.  A cartridge casing spun into the air.  A bloody hole appeared in Chief’s foot, throwing off his leap.  It was just a lead slug, so the damage would heal quickly for the vampire.  Never-the-less, it was painful as hell.  As was the second round I put in his spine to get my point across.

Most of the vamps in the room were the filthy rich and pampered type that had other people get their hands dirty.  They hired security, or called a cop.  They didn’t fight street wars for territory.  They weren’t by any stretch actual soldiers.  None of these people had ever taken slugs and had their vampire bodies spit them out while regenerating.  Psychologically, risking their precious immortality wasn’t something they were wired to do gladly.  As soon as I’d started firing, those around me had stampeded away in desperate haste, impeding the vamp guards that had come in with me.   I had no trouble spinning and firing, targeting security.  I went for head shots.  Vamps could survive them, but the reconstruction took longer.

That finished, I moved to the dais, coming up behind Onyx.  He’d held Dominika’s eyes through the gunplay, his sword tip kissing the underside of her chin.  As I watched, he collapsed the sword, reabsorbing it into the darkness of his body.  His hand fell to his side.  He stepped close to her and reached out, a forefinger caressing her cheek.   “I give your life back to you because we are friends.  If I were your enemy, I’d show no mercy.”

  She rose from the throne and stood taller than both Onyx and me in her heels, with her hair piled high.  “For friends, you killed two of my people.”

“You sent them to interfere in my business,” I pointed out.  “Their deaths are on you.”

She tore her gaze away from Onyx and really looked at me for a change.  Her stare caught on the gun I held.  I flipped a wrist, a small tossing gesture, and the gun vanished.  The next time I summoned it, the magazine would have a fresh clip.

“You are full of tricks,” she said.  “Yury was right.  I did send too few.”

“Why send at all?” Onyx said.  “We’re passing through.  In a few days, we’d have been gone.”

Good boy, Onyx.

“Suddenly, there are a lot of strangers coming into my city.  I need to know why.  My rule is new.  There are those who’d prefer another Master of the City in my place.  My duty is to protect what is mine.”

“Let us conclude our business, and we will go in peace,” I said, “touching nothing of yours.”

Staring past us, she made a warning-off sign.

I made a quarter turn and saw fresh guards spilling into the room, shoving the party-vamps out of the way. At the Mistress’ gesture, the newcomers slowed to a stop, milling in confusion.  She called out in a piercing tone, “Those who wish to withdraw may do so.”

These are a lot of new vamps.  They look uncomfortable in their new skin, and they keep forgetting to breathe.  I don’t think they even know how to be vampires yet.  Weird.

The guests were quick to escape.

Onyx and I held our ground next to the vampire princess.

The new security helped the fallen vamps to stand.  They formed a wall between us and the door.

Dominika called to them.  “Go, make sure that no one calls the police to report gunfire.  Failing that, if the police come, send them away believing it was just a false report.  We handle our own affairs.”

Chief had collected himself to respond, pointing out several men, sending them off, as even more vamp soldiers came into the room, weapons drawn.

Arms folded under her breasts, Dominika looked at me.  “We have not been formally introduced.  Who are you, what are you, and what is this business of yours that brings you among us?”

I faced her with a show of confidence, setting my back to her men, though I could hear clothing rustling as they eased closer despite the order they’d received to stand down.  Vampires forget that they aren’t the only preternatural species with heightened hearing.

Still not meeting her eyes, I gave the Mistress a relaxed bow in the European fashion.  “I am Caine Deathwalker, the Red Moon Demon, heir to Lauphram’s demon clan in L.A.”  I flicked a few fingers toward Onyx.  “This is my bodyguard.”  I didn’t mention he was a shadow man, a rare creature considered mythical by most preternaturals. 

It’s better if they assumed he’s a demon, earlier theatrics aside
.

Dominika cocked her head as she spoke to me.  “You smell human, mostly.  Not demon.  I did not know the demon clans accepted half-breeds.”

“They accept what I tell them to,” I said.  “Hey, you got anything around this place to drink that isn’t blood?”

A strong voice, slightly accented with Russian, swept the room.  “Yes, don’t be rude to our guests.  We did invite them after all.”  It was a voice accustomed to power, pulling at the senses, demanding attention.  A shimmer went through my soul as the raw magic in me
thrummed
in sympathetic vibration.  Normally, I needed to use my
Dragon Sight
tattoo to detect magic.  His power shouted, a lion’s roar.

Magic user, and a high class at that.

I turned to see a lean man who stood six-four.  A black mane of hair and a trim beard following his jaw line served to frame blunt features and deep-set eyes.   He had the usual white complexion of the undead, and followed the Goth practice of overkill with an uncompromising black motif: high gloss boots, linen suit, and turtleneck shirt.  Standing there like doom itself, his hands were locked together over his stomach, clutched so as to keep them occupied.

The guards let him slip past.  None of them seemed anxious to get too close.  He walked with a bit of jerkiness to his step that might be from an old injury.   He came up to the dais and stopped, concerned eyes searching Dominika.  “Princess?  It is well with you?”

“As always.”

Hmmm.  Not really an answer.

She linked arms with Onyx and dragged him past the newcomer.  The smile on her face looked determined.  “Come along, you need to get to know me better.”

All of us watched them leave.

The dark man turned back to me.  “I know who you are, though we have not yet been introduced.  I am Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin,” he smiled, a twitch really, “whom men have called ‘The Doom of Russia.’”

Hiding the shock that hit home, I made the obvious comment.  “You’re supposed to be dead and dismembered ages ago.”

“The dead part is accurate.  Come with me.” 

He turned toward the door, waving away the guards.  They hurried off, delighted to be out of the dark man’s presence.  I knew why: Rasputin had a reputation as a mad monk, by which I mean bat-shit crazy.  On top of that, his occult powers of mesmerism and near indestructibleness were legendary
before
becoming a vampire.  I’d known Dracula had founded a new cursed line, all other vampires being born that way, or being made by the older line.  I had to wonder which branch Rasputin sprang from.  Either way, he might now be the equal of
True-Blood
royalty like my friend Gloria. 
There’s a lot I want to know that only he can tell me, but I needed to be careful getting it. 

I made a point of warming up several tattoos with raw magic.  If things turned suddenly violent, I’d have little enough time to react.

I followed across the room, back to the stairs, and down to the first floor.  The man moved in a dark cloud, with an air of gloomy introspection.  He seemed to have forgotten I was even there.  Instead of going back to the main part of the gallery, he led me away to where a standing screen hid a white-painted door with a glass handle.  We went through, into a hallway.  There were restrooms and a door that might have been a janitor’s closet.  Past these, the hall ended in another door that led us into the Russian café.  The voices of diners and the clinking of glassware and silverware made a cheery greeting, as did a host of smells: shrimp in a butter-brandy sauce being set alight, mushroom caps with snails and garlic, baked scallops wrapped in bacon…  The floor was hardwood, the walls marble-tiled, and the wooden furniture was red lacquered.  Booths were red leatherette with white table cloths, cloth napkins, and unlit candles.  There was a bar along one side wall.

A public place.  This was good.  It meant he wasn’t taking me to a private killing field, or maybe a dungeon.  With high ranking vamps, you never know.  We wound up settling a private booth.  The speed with which the waiter arrived to offer drinks and take our order showed my host was well known. 

I took the menu offered me.  “I’ll have a Midori Green Russian.”  I looked forward to the sweet green melon flavor of the drink.  It had been a while since I’d ordered one.

Rasputin shook his head, indicating he wanted nothing, and the waiter withdrew.

“I like to bring guests here,” Rasputin said.  “I can’t enjoy the food anymore, but I can savor others’ pleasure.  And the smells remind me of home, so comforting...”

I got right to the point.  “I assume we’re here to put our cards on the table?”

He nodded.  “I will match you truth for truth, and the moment I decide I am being lied to, I will kill you.”

I lifted an eyebrow.  “In a busy restaurant?”

“No one will see or hear anything I don’t want them to.  I’ll even allow you the first question.”