Night's Honor (14 page)

There was nothing else he could do but hold steady in the storm. He sent out his people to gather as much information as he could, while his gut told him that they stood on the brink of some event.

The tension within the demesne was too high. Something must occur to release it, some event that destroyed the peace. Someone's temper would flare. Loyalties that were already tenuous would snap.

The two likeliest candidates for trouble were Justine and Darius. If they weren't the actual instigators, still, either one would be quick to try to seize power at the slightest provocation.

Both were very old Vampyres, much older than he. While Justine had come from Britannia, Darius had been turned only a few hundred years after Julian, during the decline of the Roman Empire.

Like all Vampyres, they retained the core identities they'd had while they were human. Darius had always been overly fond of the gladiator arena, and Justine's beautiful face hid a vicious wolverine.

Neither of them had ever truly embraced the idea of the Nightkind demesne. They had no interest in protecting or preserving areas for other creatures of the night, or banding together to create a cohesive political unit. They certainly had no interest in any idea or cause that was greater than themselves.

They were wholly self-involved, quick to violence and eager for self-gain. He would have long since killed them both, if he could have gotten away with it.

He tapped his fingers on the leather-covered arm of his chair. Perhaps the opportunity to do so would still come. He could hope.

A quiet tap at the door interrupted his increasingly dark thoughts. He said, “Come in, Raoul.”

The other man entered, carrying a crystal goblet. The rich, heady scent of blood filled his nostrils as Raoul crossed the room.

Tess's blood.

Out of nowhere, ravenous desire struck, and his fangs descended. He clenched against it, watching as Raoul approached to offer the fresh blood to him.

For a moment he didn't trust himself to take it. Then he forced his hands out and very carefully received the goblet with its precious contents. It was warm from her body heat.

“How did she do?” he asked.

“Perfectly well,” Raoul said. “Her issue isn't with giving blood; it's with you taking it. She said it was all quite straightforward and clinical, like giving blood at the Red Cross.”

“Thank you,” he managed to say. When the other man made as if to linger, Xavier told him, “Good night.”

Hesitating only for a moment, Raoul inclined his head. “Good night.”

As Xavier waited for Raoul to exit the room and leave him in privacy, his hands started to shake. Bloody hell.

He was not an animal. He was not.

He was a thinking and feeling, rational and ethical creature. He would not be ruled by this storm of feeling, whatever it was. Moving with care, he set aside the goblet and gripped the arms of his chair.

A direct blood offering was a powerful act. Drinking from the vein was intoxicating for the Vampyre, and those who offered up their blood were always in such a vulnerable position. Prone to euphoria and quick to lose control, they ran the risk of offering up everything to the one who drank from them, and some unscrupulous Vampyres did not resist.

Xavier would not,
did not
behave in such a manner. Not ever. He always took blood from the vein in the wrist, never the neck or anywhere else. Those other places were too intimate. Over the course of his long life, many humans had been desperate to give him everything—blood, body and soul—but he had never fallen into that oubliette of meaningless animal carnality.

Take, eat. This is my body, which was broken for you.

This is my blood, which is shed for you. . . .

People broke faith and committed atrocities in the name of God. He had watched it happen time and again over the centuries. Once he had gone to war over it. He had walked away so long ago from his vows and the Catholic Church, but the profundity of those words from scripture had never left him.

Blood was life. It was sacred.

There was no deeper covenant than a blood covenant.

No matter how much or little material wealth one attained in this world, the only things one truly owned were one's soul, one's body. The blood in the goblet was the most powerful thing Tess could ever give to him.

And he wanted the blood more than he had ever wanted anything, this most difficult, hard-won offering, because the intensity of her struggle was what gave the gift such sweet, sweet savor.

When he felt he had regained a measure of control, he picked up the goblet again. It was cooling and losing its potency. Once it had been removed from the donor's body and turned completely cool, it lost all nutritive qualities for a Vampyre.

The only way to preserve blood in a way that was nourishing for Vampyres was the alchemical process used to make bloodwine, and even then, bloodwine did not nourish as fresh blood did.

He would not disrespect Tess's offering by allowing it to be wasted, but neither could he bring himself to drink it.

After a few more moments of internal struggle, he growled, frustrated with himself, and launched out of his chair to stride through the spacious, silent house, out the back door and along the path to the attendants' house, all the while carrying the goblet carefully so that he didn't spill a single drop.

The night had turned opaque, the moon wreathed with filmy clouds. Most of his attendants stayed up well into the night, and the house was lit in various places. He could hear music playing in one part, while in the den, the TV was playing.

If he had walked in the front door, he would have been made welcome, but he didn't. He usually avoided the attendants' house, except when he had climbed into Tess's room to confront her. That house was their space, so that they had time away from the demands of their patron. Instead of entering, he prowled around to stand underneath her window.

Her room was darkened with the curtains drawn, but he could sense her inside, moving around quietly. Her heartbeat had turned languid; she must be preparing for bed. He cocked his head, listening intently. The closet door opened and shut, and there was the sound of running water. He held the goblet with such tense care his fingers began to ache.

When she had turned the faucet off, he said telepathically,
Tess, come to your window
.

Startled, frozen silence. Then the languid pace of her heart exploded into a furious rhythm.

For a moment, when she didn't move, he thought she might disobey and end their tenuous relationship. Then he heard the soft rustle of cloth, and the creak of floorboards. When she appeared in the darkened window, she looked shadowy, like the half-hidden, opaque moon, her skin pale like pearls and hair lustrous with darkness.

She looked down at him but said nothing.

He held the goblet up to show it to her.
Are you sure you want to give this to me?

Because it mattered. It mattered what she said. While the struggle made the offering sweet, it was the act of the gift itself that was the vital part of the covenant.

She didn't respond for long moments. He stood motionless as he waited, until finally she moved to put her hand to the windowpane.

Yes.

He inclined his head to her, brought the goblet to his lips and drank.

Pure, undiluted power slid down his throat. Like the delicate skin at her wrist, it was warm and perfumed with her scent.

Such precious, beautiful life.

NINE

A
fter Raoul had taken her blood, Tess strode back to the attendants' house and her room, cranky and unsettled.

Thank God that was over, at least for now. She had met with the monster again and walked away unscathed. Plus, she had finally given blood, and without the supportive properties of a Vampyre's bite to boost her system, the subject of her donating again wouldn't come up for another two months.

Except, she was really starting to have a tough time with the whole “monster” concept. While she certainly hadn't been comfortable in Xavier's presence, their conversation that evening hadn't totally sucked—so to speak.

He had been irritable, amused, patient and insightful. He had listened to what she said, and he had been respectful of her input and wishes. It was getting more and more difficult to think of him merely as a blood-sucking fiend.

She was still afraid of him. She never quite forgot what history had said that he had done, and what he himself had admitted to doing. He had a powerful presence, and that wasn't simply from the weight of his intelligence. He carried a gravitas that went far beyond the illusion of youth in his face. His eyes were old.

Tonight she almost . . . liked him.

Then she thought about what it might be like to be bitten, and her whole body tightened in revulsion. It was like trying to imagine letting a snake bite her. Or a spider. Vampyres were like spiders with human faces.

She felt too hollow to wait until breakfast to eat, so she stopped by the kitchen, where Diego and Angelica were fixing sandwiches. They nodded to her when she appeared, seemingly friendly enough, but as she rummaged through the refrigerator, she noticed that they had stopped talking.

Her mouth tightened. She was tired of the invisible barrier that separated her from the others. Instead of heating up some leftovers from the evening meal, which had been her original intent, she changed her mind, grabbed a banana from the bowl of fruit on the counter and headed up the stairs to her room.

Tiredness dragged at her body. According to Xavier, her days were going to get even longer. It was time to go to bed.

She didn't even bother to turn on the bedroom light. She could see well enough by the light of the moon. It took her less than a minute to eat the banana. It might not have been the starchy lasagna that she'd been craving, but it filled the gnawing hole in her stomach.

Brushing her teeth, she stripped off her clothes and let them fall to the floor, then reached in her closet for a soft T-shirt that she yanked over her head. Then she took a moment to run some fresh water into a water glass that she set on the nightstand by her bed.

Xavier's strong, rich voice filled her head.

Tess.

She froze in the middle of pulling her covers down. What the fuck?

Come to your window.

Panic bolted through her. They had just finished talking. She had met her duty as an attendant and given blood, damn it. What could he possibly want from her now?

When nothing else happened, her muscles unlocked and she started to think again. If he wanted to, he could have forced himself into any room in this house, but he hadn't. He could be standing in the middle of her bedroom, but he wasn't.

The panic eased up enough to allow for curiosity to bloom. She walked to the window and looked out.

He stood on the lawn just underneath her window, a graceful, solitary figure with such immense poise, just gazing at him did something to her.

Her heart rate picked up speed, and she wasn't at all sure it had anything to do with fear. His white shirt gleamed in the night, accentuating his lean male form.

He raised something to her. It was the goblet Raoul had used to put her blood in.

Are you sure you want to give this to me?

She put a hand to the glass as she stared at him. He hadn't just drunk it?

He understood. He wasn't just putting up with her phobia. He knew how difficult it was for her, and he respected it. Suddenly she knew that if she told him no, he wouldn't touch the contents in the goblet.

Those weren't the actions of a ravening monster. Those were the actions of a considerate man.

She relaxed slightly and told him,
Yes
.

It was impossible to really see his gaze, but still, she knew he watched her as he lifted the goblet to his lips and drank. She imagined his lips touching the goblet's cool rim, and it was almost as though he had touched his lips to her wrist again.

And it was all right. The respect and restraint he showed her made it all right.

When he finished, he bowed his head to her, turned and walked back to the house. She didn't leave the window until he disappeared from her sight. Then she climbed into bed and settled down to sleep with a sigh.

That night, her nightmare about Malphas returned.

•   •   •

W
hen she opened her eyes at dawn, a few minutes before her alarm went off, she thought, Raoul was right. Xavier was right.

I have to change the conversations in my head.

I have to do more than just confront my fear. I have to conquer it.

Each training session, she had gritted her teeth and determined to get through it. Now, for the first time, she considered Raoul as an opponent. While he might be too formidable for her to take down (yet?), he had given her an accessible goal.

She lay in bed thinking until her alarm chimed. Then, instead of going directly to her morning run, she went in search of Diego, who sat on the patio facing the ocean while he drank coffee. As she joined him, he nodded to her.

“No morning run today?” he asked.

It was peaceful on the patio; she would have to remember that and come out here to enjoy it more often. This early in the morning, the air was chilly, and she zipped up her hoodie.

“I have something else I need to do,” she said. “And I need your help in order to do it.”

“Oh yeah?” The glance he gave her contained marginal interest.

“I need you to get me into the weapons locker.” The weapons locker was a room off the garage that was locked with an electronic code. She wasn't sure who all knew the code, but she did know two things—Diego had access to the locker, and she didn't.

“I don't know, chica.” His expression had turned wary as he sipped his coffee. “I would need to hear a pretty good reason to do something like that.”

“I need a small gun and some duct tape,” she told him. The muscles in her thighs started to shiver from the cold. Much to her surprise, her body knew she was supposed to be running, and she felt twitchy and full of energy. “A nine-millimeter would do. I'm not asking for any bullets, I just want the gun. I'm going to use it as a prop. It's for my morning training session with Raoul.”

“No bullets, eh?” He mulled the idea over, black eyebrows raised. “What do you need the duct tape for?”

“Staging.”

A grin began to spread across his broad, handsome features. “Okay, chica, I'll bite. I've got some duct tape in the garage. But if I do this for you, I get to see what goes down.”

She shrugged. “I don't even know if it's going to work. Just make sure you're in the gym during my training session, and you'll see it.”

They walked together to the garage, and Diego keyed in the code for the weapons locker, selected a nine-millimeter and checked it himself to make sure it was unloaded before he handed it to her. She tucked it into the pocket of her hoodie and followed him into the clean, spacious garage.

A few of the attendants, like Angelica and Peter, didn't own a vehicle, but those who did parked their cars in the lot at the side of the main house. The garage building was reserved for Xavier's four vehicles—a gray Jaguar, a silver Mercedes, a black Lexus SUV and an Audi TT. She shook her head as she looked at them. “They're gorgeous.”

Diego looked at the cars too. “Yeah, they're nice, but some of the really wealthy patrons have fleets of thirty or more, filled with cars like Bentleys, Rolls-Royces and Lamborghinis. Xavier keeps a modest house by comparison.”

She remembered Xavier saying something similar and muttered, “It's more than luxurious enough for me.”

He threw her a lopsided grin. “Eh, you don't know any better. You haven't seen those other estates yet.”

He sounded like he might be envious, but she wasn't sure of what. If he were envious of anything, she would have thought it would be of the small fortune in horsepower they were contemplating, but instead he sounded almost disparaging of Xavier's lifestyle. He couldn't be envious of the other Vampyre households, could he?

“And you've seen them?”

“Sure, when I've been attending Xavier at some function or other. I'm not always stuck here, babysitting cars and cleaning pools.”

The tinge of envy in his voice had been replaced with restlessness or dissatisfaction. Maybe even a little resentment?

Finally, she had encountered something in this place that was less than idyllic. But instead of being reassured at finding a dose of reality, she found it jarring, and she studied him thoughtfully.

The estate had a cloistered atmosphere. While everybody got time off in rotation, they had to make an effort to actually leave, but she had found that she liked the peace and quiet. She enjoyed the surrounding forest and the ocean, and so far, cable TV and access to the Internet had met all of her modest needs. For the first time, though, she realized that others might not be as content with the lifestyle.

Diego walked over to the neat metal shelves set against one wall and rummaged through a few drawers, as he said, “Xavier has a six-bedroom house. Chica, that's almost like living in a double-wide compared to some places I've seen. But hey, we each get our own room, so that's saying something, right?”

He located a roll of duct tape and handed it to her. As she took it, she gave him a level look. “They're nice rooms. We ate grass-fed prime rib last night. I have a thousand dollar Visa card from last month that I can use for fun money, if I want.”

He seemed to realize that he had begun to sound churlish, because he backtracked with a quick smile. “Yeah, of course. It's all good. I'm just saying, you might think this is fancy, but it's not as fancy as it can get.”

“I hear you.” Eager to back out of a conversation that was going nowhere fast, she hefted the roll of duct tape at him as she backed up a few steps. “Thanks for helping out.”

“No problem.” He gave her an easy smile. “Can't wait to see what you've got planned.”

Now that she had gotten what she needed, she dismissed Diego from her thoughts and focused on her next steps. Hurrying to the gym, she was pleased to find it empty, and she studied the various angles and possibilities from the mat where she and Raoul usually worked. Everything had to be planned perfectly. She couldn't afford even a moment's hesitation, and even then, it might not work.

Once she had everything arranged to her liking, she jogged slowly back to the attendants' house, showered and made it downstairs in time for breakfast.

Afterward, she met Raoul in the gym as usual. Others were already there. Scott jumped rope, sweat trickling down the side of his face. Aaron and Brian sparred with each other. Diego had positioned himself over at the selection of free weights, pumping iron without appearing to look once in her direction.

As they walked to their usual mat, Raoul said, “I noticed you didn't open the gates for your morning run.”

If she'd ever had any doubt whether or not Raoul was keeping an eye on her through the discreet security cameras that dotted the property, his words banished it.

She shrugged. “I pulled a hamstring and thought it would be better to take the time to stretch this morning.”

Aside from one quick, keen glance, he didn't make any further comment. He didn't have to; they both knew that if Xavier were periodically taking blood from her vein, she would have healed from any hamstring injury overnight.