Damned by Blood

Chapter Two

Alya buzzed her assistant. “Tina, push back my mani -pedi by half an hour.” She came around her desk to stand in front of the miscreant du jour.

“So, Frank. You tried to drain your friend…” She turned toward her first lieutenant, Dominick.

“Jason. Jason Biggs,” Dominick offered. “We’re rehydrating the poor sod.”

Frank, a broad built vamp lacking both a chin and any discernible fashion sense, shifted his glance between the guards on either side of him. Both young men looked like they’d be right at home in a skate park, but Alya suspected Frank already understood they’d snap his neck without hesitation.

Shuffling in his ankle shackles, he grimaced as if she already had her fist up his ass. Someone had used a Sharpie to scrawl “Lecter” across his forehead.

“Your Majesty—”

“Alya, Frank. I’m a prince, not a queen. This isn’t Windsor Castle.”

“I’ve never hurt no one—”

“Until you took a fancy to Jason Biggs’ blood.”

“We were fighting.”

“So?”

“It just got out of control. I mean I got out of control, I guess. I just…bit down…and I couldn’t stop.”

Alya leaned forward and whispered, “How’d you like it?”

Frank shook his head. “It was weird. Too weird.”

She turned to Dominick. His eyes twinkled with amusement. This Frank was no shining example of a vamp, but she believed he hadn’t attacked Jason meaning to drain him, and he didn’t have a taste for vamp blood. So far, so good. That meant she didn’t have to kill him. But she was sure Dominick had brought him to her for another reason. Finding out why would be half the fun. Needing some alone time with Frank, she dismissed the guards and turned to Dom.

“Dominick, you sorry Irish bastard. Why didn’t you kill him on the spot? Why is he here? Why is my mani-pedi delayed?” She thrust her hand at him. “Look at the chips!”

Dominick squinted at her nails. “Frightful chips indeed, sir. Well now, you see young Frank here, while not being the sharpest tool in the box, can fairly lay the claim of never doing anyone harm. Until recent events, I should say. Mostly he just trolls around Santa Monica pier, snacking on those even less fortunate than himself.”

“Admirable. And what else?”

“I’ve been noticing that he spends his spare hours in Jimmy Smith’s pool hall. Frank is tight with Jimmy himself.”

Alya grinned. They’d been trying to get a line on Jimmy Smith and his gambling operations for a long time. It was time Jimmy started giving them a bigger cut. “Do you mean you’ve caught me a rat? Good kitty.”

On cue, Frank let out a high-pitched squeal. “I’m no rat.”

Alya caressed Frank’s stubbled cheek. “Darling, draining another vamp is a mortal offense. You leave me no choice. Rat or die.”

“Jimmy will kill me. Slow. I won’t rat. I’d rather die now.”

Alya let her hand trail from his cheek, down his neck and chest. Rotating her hips like a pole dancer, she lowered herself into a crouch at his feet. From under her lashes, she watched his reaction. She smelled his fear—and his arousal.

“Last chance, Frank.”

“Last chance for what?”

She grabbed his ankle hobble and gave it a hard tug, pulling his feet out from under him. His head hit the floor with a loud, all-too-hollow conk. Picking up his legs, she dragged him along by his hobble like a huge, wondrously ugly rolling bag. As she passed the sofa, one of her feeders, Matthew, glanced up from the New York Times Review of Books, barely mustering interest in the scene. They became jaded so fast.

Her destination was a winch in the ceiling near the windows. The big, east-facing windows.

The office was rigged with various restraining devices, more for her pleasure in feeding than this sort of work, but handy enough in a pinch. Frank was just starting to fight back. But it didn’t matter. She pulled down the winch, hooked the hobble to it and hoisted him up like a side of beef. He dangled upside down, groaning, his fingers scraping the carpet.

“Alya?” Matthew said.

“Yes, love?”

“Why is it okay for vamps to suck on us but not other vamps?”

“What a good question. Frank, can you tell Matthew why?”

Frank only made sad noises, so she wound him up and let go. While he spun, she answered Matthew herself. “It’s simple. You’re our natural prey. It’s right that we feed from you. When we feed from each other, it’s cannibalism.”

“But you’ve done it, right?”

“Yes—but for good reason.” She went to sit next to Matthew. Pliant as a friendly cat, he put his head in her lap. While she talked, she stroked his silky chestnut hair away from his neck. “You see, the blood is the voice of the soul. When we drink, we hear the souls of our victims.”

“You can hear my soul?”

“When we’re little vamps we’re taught not to listen to our dinners. It’s too confusing.” Fleeting memories of Marrakech crossed her mind. The garden with the fountain. The orange tree in blossom. Her mother bringing her a servant to practice upon, saying, You must only sip, child, as a bee sips honey. Never take too much.

“But when you drink another vamp, you can’t cut off the stories in the blood. They’re too strong— you have to listen. It’s so confusing it’s dangerous. Just not a smart thing to do.” She traced her finger along his neck and up and around his ear, enjoying the way he shivered in response. “But in formal combat among princes it’s traditional for the winner to drain the loser to the dregs. This is so the knowledge of that leader isn’t lost from the race—only transferred. That’s the only reason I’d ever drink vamp blood.”

Frank said, “I’m going to puke. Seriously.”

Alya glanced over at him. Matthew was pleasantly warm and smelled of soap and coffee. If she had her druthers, she’d be feeding off his fine naked body that moment instead of jerking Frank around.

“If I were you, Frank, I wouldn’t be worried about puking. I’d be worried whether I’d be off that winch before dawn. The sun will come through that window bit by bit. You won’t go fast, that’s for certain. And we won’t be around to help you if you change your mind.”

“I’m not a goddamn rat!”

“Suit yourself. What else do you have for me, Dominick? Oh, wait. Matthew, will you lend poor Frank your iPod?”

Dominick took the iPod from Matthew and poked the buds into Frank’s ears.

Frank said, “I hate Emo.” Dominick smiled and adjusted the controls. Alya suspected he’d just hit “repeat” and raised the volume.

“Latest information out of New York says Faustin himself might go to Minnesota.”

Alya clapped her hands. “You bring me nothing but happiness, my wild Irish spring. I’m so glad to hear the Faustins are as predictable as I remembered.”

Maya, one of her favorite feeders, walked in, swinging a Chinese takeout container. Her red, white and blue polyester mini dress, gleaned from some thrift store bargain bin, clashed loudly and cheerfully with Alya’s Zen-minimal office. The smell of cooked meat drifting out of that takeout container made Alya’s nose twitch, but she let the girl have her food. Maya gave Dominick a flirtatious wink then leaned over to kiss Alya. Their tongues touched and Alya caught a hint of the delicate flavor of Maya’s blood.

“Long time no see,” Maya said, her voice breathy.

“You all fattened up?” Feeders had to have breaks between visits—otherwise they turned anemic. For that reason she had a large, precisely managed stable of them.

“I’m brimming with goodness.” She turned to Matthew. “Tina told me I was on today.”

Matthew stretched lazily, his shirt riding up to reveal a tempting expanse of lean belly. “You snooze you lose, M.”

Maya stuck her tongue out at him, dropped onto the opposite sofa and tucked into her Chinese. She may or may not have been aware that everyone could see her red knickers. “What’s all this I’ve been hearing about Minnesota? Why’s everyone mad at them?”

Alya said, “Where to begin? A consortium of crazy hicks from the North Woods has overthrown the city families—the decent vamps. These northern families have gone feral. They’re drinking beast blood— moose, deer, beaver, heaven knows what. And worse, they’re preaching that we should all eat that way.”

Dominick made a face at the thought of it, but Maya, being human, shrugged. “And that’s bad?”

“It’s bad, trust me. They’re leaving drained carcasses around for the authorities to find. That’s causing talk. And you know how much we like talk. And the Faustins especially don’t like talk.”

Through a mouthful of food Maya said, “So he’s just going to take over the state because he doesn’t like their dietary choices? What a fascist.”

Alya shrugged. The Faustins definitely had fascist tendencies, but in this case she understood. “I don’t blame him. If they’ve sunk to eating animals, they’re obviously not going to care about keeping up appearances. And if the rest of the families could be thrown over by these lunatics, they’re incapable of defending their own territory. It’s easier just to take over.”

It was convenient for the Faustins to involve themselves so actively in Minnesota. She’d been waiting for years for an opportunity to take New York, and finally her patience had paid off. Her intelligence told her the Faustins were in a particularly weak moment. If she could just get Mikhail out of Manhattan, she could take it. He’d never get it back.

The problem was Mikhail was a homebody. Not only did he never leave New York, he spent all his time on the streets with his ear to the ground. So she’d been skirmishing with his people in Minnesota, pretending she wanted it. It looked like she’d almost lured him out.

“Dom, I want you to put out a rumor that we’re going to hit the North Woods, the whole territory, not just Minnesota. Move some of your men up there, have them make themselves conspicuous. Say we’re going to take out their leader…who is he again?”

“Halverson.”

“Yes. Say we’re going after him. Say I’m coming kill him myself and make a formal claim. That will get Faustin on a plane right away—along with his lieutenants. Soon as he leaves for Minnesota, we’ll stroll into Manhattan.”

That idea made her very happy. New York City was a vampire’s paradise, and she hadn’t been able to set foot there for thirty years. She wanted it. Bad.

“What about pere Faustin?”

“Way past his prime. And the brothers are no match for me. Mikhail is the only one we have to worry about.”

“Your Majesty?”

Alya slid out from under Matthew and went to crouch by Frank’s head. His head resembled an eggplant. Remarkably so. She pulled off the earbuds. “Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Astonishing.”

“It’s not fair. You drink vamp blood, and no one kills you for it. And then what about those whatchyacall them? Bonded mates?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had feelings for Jason.”

“No! What I’m saying is why am I going to die for tapping that asshole when all this other shit going on and that’s okay?”

Dominick strolled over and looked down at Frank with folded arms. “Sure now, we haven’t sunk to citing medieval customs for our defense, have we? Though I must admit I’m impressed you know any medieval history at all.”

“Fair is fair, that’s all.”

“I don’t think this argument is going to save you, Frank.” She popped the earbuds back in and gave him another twirl.

The intercom buzzed. Alya went to her desk to answer it. “Ms. Adad, I have a call from security. Mikhail Faustin and his attorney, Joshua Silver, are downstairs.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, Ms. Adad. They say they’ve come to…parlay?”

Alya’s skin prickled. Never speak the Devil’s name.