Touch The Dark cp-1 Read online

  Pritkin was getting on my nerves. "No, I don't. And they weren't my servants."

  "You told me you watched Franchise burn to death." Louis-César was apparently a single-minded kind of guy.

  I decided to go with his comment, since Pritkin didn't believe anything I said anyway. "What happened to the mage? Did you kill him?"

  "You see; she doesn't even try to deny it!" Pritkin came striding across the room. I'd have figured out he was pissed off even if I hadn't been able to see him, since my new toy jumped against my wrist with an almost electric tickle. I managed not to yelp, but I stuffed my hand farther into the pocket of the robe so the bracelet didn't show. Something told me Pritkin wouldn't be happy to see it.

  Tomas had moved to stand between us. It unnerved me that I hadn't seen him do it, but I was grateful to have a barrier between me and the mage. The guys at Tony's had always believed that war mages were dangerous, bloodthirsty and crazy. Considering that the people saying this were multiple murderers who worked for a homicidal vampire, I tended to take their opinion seriously.

  "Why would I deny it? Possessing him saved your life." I hadn't expected a thank-you, but it would've been nice if he'd stopped glaring at me.

  "I would prefer to die than be saved by the dark arts!"

  "We'll keep that in mind next time," Tomas said. I giggled. I wasn't trying to antagonize anyone, but I was dizzy from hunger and exhausted. At the moment, it really was funny. Only Pritkin didn't seem to think so.

  Mircea stood up as someone rapped on the door. "Ah, breakfast. Tempers will doubtless be better after we have dined." A young man wheeled in a cart that had me salivating from the smell alone.

  A few minutes later, I was halfway through a tray of pancakes, sausage, hash browns and fresh fruit. It had been served on a nice silver platter with real china dishes, linen napkins and genuine maple syrup, mellowing my mood towards the Senate considerably. I'd just poured myself more tea when Pritkin made a sound of disgust. I couldn't imagine what his problem was; he had a tray, too.

  "It doesn't bother you at all, does it?" he demanded. I noticed that not only was he not eating, but he was staring at me the way I had probably looked at the wererats at the casino. Like I was something he couldn't quite figure out but knew he didn't like. My mouth was full so I raised an eyebrow at him. He gestured wildly. "Look at them!"

  I forked up some sausage and glanced around. The vampires were feeding, but they weren't having pancakes. They can eat solid food, as Tony proved often enough, but they can't obtain nourishment from it. There's only one thing that will give them that, and they were taking full advantage. Louis-César had apparently already eaten, or maybe it was true about what they said of the Senate, that its members were so powerful that they had to feed only about once a week. Rafe, Mircea and Tomas had joined me for breakfast, however, and they were, of course, dining on the satyr-were hybrids from Dante's.

  I'd seen similar scenes so often growing up that it had hardly registered. Any prisoners taken alive were always used for food. One of the few things considered truly depraved in vamp circles is to waste blood, even that of shape-shifters. Blood is precious; blood is life. I had grown up with that mantra; apparently, Pritkin had not.

  The only thing that sort of threw me was the sight of Tomas feeding from the neck of a handsome young were who looked vaguely familiar. He had chocolate brown eyes that matched the dark fur that started halfway down his hips and framed his heavy sex. He'd been stripped and bound hand and foot with thick silver chains. That was standard operating procedure since humiliation was part of the punishment, but I thought it might be less than effective in this case. I didn't know how he felt about the chains—weres aren't fond of silver—but satyrs actually prefer to be nude. They believe wearing clothing suggests they have something to hide, that some part of their bodies isn't perfect. This one didn't have anything to be ashamed of, and his body was reacting to the feeding in the usual manner, making him even more impressive. It must have been an involuntary response, though; his face was so distorted with fear that it took me a minute to identify him as the waiter who had greeted me at the satyr bar.

  The scene bothered me, and it wasn't because I had met the were or because he was obviously terrified. Better that he learn his lesson now and avoid trying the Senate's patience in future; they weren't known for giving third chances. I finally decided that my brain was objecting to the sight of fangs extending from Tomas' lips, and to seeing him swallow the satyr's blood like it was his favorite vintage. It seemed I was still having trouble putting «Tomas» and «vampire» in the same category.

  Despite my unease, I didn't look away. It was considered a sign of weakness to show emotion when witnessing a punishment, and rude to ignore it since the whole point of having it in public is for it to be seen. I did, however, refocus my attention on Mircea. Watching him enjoy his meal bothered me less than watching Tomas, and he was in my line of sight anyway.

  "I thought you didn't like were blood," I said, trying for what passed for normal conversation at the courts. Mircea had been present when Tony had the alpha executed, but had declined the honor of draining him. "You told me once that they're bitter."

  "It is an acquired taste," Mircea responded, letting the black were draped over his knees fall to the floor. "But I cannot be choosy. I will need my strength tonight."

  I poured more tea and eyed Pritkin's untouched plate lustfully. "Are you going to eat that?" I couldn't help it; I was starving for some reason, probably thanks to Billy Joe. The mage ignored me, staring at the unconscious were in horror. Mircea slid the mage's plate across to me and I dug in gratefully.

  "Did Antonio have any more trouble with that pack, after their leader was killed?" he asked, as if he knew what I'd been thinking.

  I poured syrup over the mage's untouched hotcakes and slathered on some butter. "I don't think so. At least, I never heard of any more problems. Tony didn't always tell me everything, though."

  Mircea gave me a sardonic look. "That makes two of us, dulceaţă. Bogatia strica pe om."

  "You know I don't understand Romanian, Mircea."

  "Prosperity, like want, ruins many."

  I shook my head. No way would Tony risk angering the Senate and the Circle for profit alone. "I'm thinking it's more power Tony wants. He has money."

  "You are wise beyond your years. Do your ghosts teach you such things?"

  I almost blew hot tea all over Tomas. "Ha! Not likely." The only things Billy had ever taught me were some illegal card tricks and a few dirty limericks.

  "Do you hear yourself?" Pritkin was looking at me with revulsion. "That thing just committed murder and you didn't even blink! Are you enslaving the spirits of the dead, as you did your ghost servant and the dark witches? Is that why you sit there and say nothing?"

  I almost decided it wasn't worth the trouble. But I was feeling much better since polishing off the pancakes, and Pritkin really needed a reality check. "First of all, the were isn't dead; he only passed out. Second, I don't 'enslave' spirits; as far as I know, that isn't even possible. And third, weres don't leave ghosts. Neither do vamps. I don't know why, but they don't."

  "Because their souls have already gone to Hell?" he asked, with apparent unconcern for the looks Mircea and Rafe sent him. The others didn't react; Tomas because he was eating, and Louis-César because he was apparently suffering from a severe migraine.

  "When I saw how you acted in the Senate, I wondered if you have a death wish. I'm beginning to think you really do."

  "Then you admit they would as soon kill me as not."

  I glanced at Mircea, who was looking like he was contemplating having dessert. "Sooner, at the rate you're going." I figured I'd better explain before the mage had a conniption. "This guy was part of a group that tried to kill us a few hours ago. But the vamps aren't going to kill him, at least not this time. A warning is given for the first offense, along with an object lesson to make it memorable. If the lesson is impressive enough, most pe
ople don't have to be told twice."

  Pritkin looked disgusted. "So they're not monsters and murderous beasts, only misunderstood; is that it?"

  Mircea was trying not to laugh. He wasn't trying very hard. I felt my own lips quirk as I caught his eye. "Are you a murderous beast, Mircea?"

  "Of a certainty, dulceaţă," he replied cheerfully.

  Mircea winked at me before trading his cowed victim for another that had just been brought in. This one was human, part of Tony's daytime muscle, I assumed. He must have been one of those hired for brawn instead of brains, because his hazel eyes were bright with outrage he didn't bother to hide. Apparently he'd already mouthed off to someone, since in addition to the chains he wore on his ankles and wrists, he had a gag stuffed in his mouth. I glanced at Pritkin and saw his jaw tighten. If he objected to weres being given the usual punishment for defiance, what was he going to think about a human undergoing it?

  Maybe because the young man looked so rebellious, Mircea passed over the neck, the usual feeding point, with nothing more than a contemplative glance. The man was physically close to perfect, with tousled copper curls, classic features and well-defined muscles. But there was a small scar just below his left nipple that drew Mircea's attention. The vampire's long, white fingers ran across the slight blemish as if he was memorizing it—or, knowing Mircea, thinking of adding a matching one on the other side. The breast is another popular feeding point, and the man stiffened as if he knew that. I saw sweat bloom on his upper lip and he swallowed nervously. The nub hidden in the man's thick ginger body hair drew up temptingly under Mircea's touch, and his nerve broke. He jerked away, eyes wide, but got all of about a foot before a nod from Mircea caused Rafe to return him to the sofa.

  Their captive tensed from the feel of Rafe's body pressed up behind him, one arm circling his waist like a vise. He seemed more worried about him than about the way Mircea was eyeing his pulse points as if trying to decide between favorite items on a menu. The man looked up and met my eyes and his own widened in surprise, as if that was the first time he'd noticed that the room held other people. The flush that already colored his cheeks quickly ran halfway down his chest. It made me wonder how long he'd been with Tony's outfit; most of them hadn't blushed even when they were alive. But he forgot about me when Mircea's deceptively slender hands suddenly forced him to his knees. He hadn't realized that struggling only made it more fun for the vamps, and the muscles of his calves and upper legs bulged as he resisted. I saw the direction of Mircea's gaze and knew what was coming.

  The man was dragged onto the sofa and his knees pried apart. He seemed more concerned about being exposed in front of a group of strangers than about his imminent danger, but when a set of perfect, gleaming fangs appeared on Mircea's handsome face, he forgot to be embarrassed. He tried to roll off the couch, but his shackled ankles and arms allowed him little purchase. Mircea hauled him back to his knees to get a better angle but did not take him immediately. He drew it out, letting the man's panic rise as he discovered exactly how strong a vampire can be. He bucked uselessly against Mircea's hold, small whimpers escaping from behind the gag. Even I could see the femoral artery, bulging noticeably in his straining thigh.

  When his struggles finally lessened, either because of fatigue or because nothing else had happened, Mircea struck, sinking those fangs into the silky skin at the junction of the man's hip. A muffled scream came from behind the gag when the artery was pierced, and his eyes bulged when Mircea's lips sealed over the bite and he began to suck. The struggles renewed, but Rafe moved up to ensure that his master could feed without having to bother to restrain his meal.

  Pritkin flinched noticeably when Rafe suddenly bit into the straining jugular, but he was smart enough not to interfere. The vamps were well within their rights as long as the feeding stopped short of death. Looking at their captive's expression, I wondered whether anyone had told him that. Somehow I doubted it. But although it wasn't a pretty scene, I didn't like the revulsion on the mage's face. The man was an attempted murderer who was getting off pretty damned lightly. And Pritkin certainly had no room to talk. "How many did you kill tonight, Pritkin? Half a dozen? More? I didn't keep count."

  The mage bristled. "That was in self-defense, and to protect you from the results of your folly." He looked at the man, who had started to sob like a baby, with growing anger. He flushed and his hands clenched at his sides as the captive contorted his body wildly in an effort to get away from the burning pain every pull of their lips caused. "This is grotesque."

  I would have considered it far more grotesque if I'd been the one who ended up writhing in agony so the guy could bag a reward from Tony. But then, I'm practical like that. "They have to feed. Would you prefer it if they hunted at large like in the bad old days?"

  "Everyone knows they feed from anyone who can't defend themselves! The Circle was created to give humans a fighting chance against such things, and yet you, supposedly a human, sit there defending them! You disgust me more than they do." Pritkin wanted a fight. It was in the set of his jaw and his wide-legged stance. He wanted to hit someone but didn't dare, so verbal assault it would be. Too bad I wasn't feeling very diplomatic.

  "I'm as human as you are, and I saw you tonight, Pritkin. Until the Black Circle got involved, you were having a good time and you know it. Don't give me that self-defense crap. You're a predator. I grew up around enough to know."

  I broke off because the man on the sofa chose that moment to put on a show. The vamps must have felt it coming, because they sat back to watch as their victim was gripped by a fine shiver that spread along the length of him like tremors from an earthquake. A few seconds later, he arched his back at what seemed an impossible angle, so that only his bound hands and the back of his thighs were still in contact with the sofa. Then he climaxed powerfully, spasming helplessly again and again. His head was thrown back and his eyes wanted to close, but Rafe caught his gaze and held it, refusing his prisoner the slightest chance of distancing himself from what was happening. The man stared at him, wide-eyed and shaking, as he spilled over his own tanned skin and the polished wood of the floor.

  It seemed to go on forever, as if his body couldn't calm itself and he would keep erupting until his heart gave out. But finally he finished, slumping bonelessly forward so that his hair covered his flushed face. The vamps gave a slight shove, and his body fell heavily onto the floor between the sofa and coffee table. I realized that they'd been waiting for the sexual side effect of the feeding to hit him before they stopped, banking on the triple whammy of humiliation, pain and fear being enough to ensure that they never had to deal with him again. Judging by the shattered look on his face as he lay there, trembling, I was betting they had succeeded.

  The mage was resolutely not looking at the pathetic heap on the floor. I felt slightly guilty that I wasn't more upset about the man myself. I wasn't sure that I ought to be, but looking at Pritkin's set face made me wonder. It also made me defensive, although what I told him was the truth. "Vamps don't go around killing humans unless they try to kill them first. The Senate doesn't like it—too many chances someone will see and start dangerous rumors, or that a new vamp will fail to dispose of a body and cause an investigation. Unrestricted hunting hasn't been legal since 1583, when the European Senate made a deal with your Circle. Even Tony's guys don't do it."

  "I am relieved to hear it," Mircea commented, taking out a monogrammed handkerchief to wipe his mouth. Other than his lips, he didn't have a speck on him—practice, I supposed. Since he hadn't bothered to just absorb the excess blood, I figured he was pretty sated. The guy must have held on longer than he'd expected.

  "I know what their laws say." Pritkin looked around the room with a sneer: I was beginning to wonder if he had another expression. "But there are thousands of vampires spread all over the world. Most of them feed at least every other day. That is a lot of enemies. Or are you going to tell me that they live off the blood of animals? I know that's a lie!"

 
; "Don't put words in my mouth." I noticed that none of the vamps were bothering to defend themselves. Maybe they were tired of it, or didn't think Pritkin worth the trouble. Or maybe they doubted that he'd believe anything they had to say. They were probably right, but I didn't feel like giving him the last word. "Vamps don't waste blood, ever, so any living enemies are dealt with like this. But they are allowed a second chance, which from what I hear is more than your Circle gives rogue magic users. Only vamps get an automatic death sentence for defiance."

  Pritkin watched helplessly as the human tried to crawl away on his bound limbs, his eyes still wide with shock, but he was hobbled by his exhaustion and the tight restraints. Lack of blood made him clumsy, and he slipped twice on the sticky floor. He finally made it to the door by using an undulating wiggle, but it did him little good since he couldn't get the latch open. He tried using his mouth, but failed, and had to turn and face the room again to give his bound hands access to the door. I finally felt a twinge of pity for him, despite the fact that he'd probably have put a bullet in my brain earlier without a second thought. It was hard to think of him as a cold-blooded killer, with his flaccid sex drooping between his sticky thighs, and his neck and groin oozing thin lines of blood that he couldn't wipe away. I was really glad that he didn't meet anyone's eyes this time.

  Pritkin's face was angry when he turned to me. "You're telling me they punish their own people more than outsiders? You lie. Monsters understand nothing of mercy!"

  I shrugged. "Believe what you want, but it's true. You don't see any vamps here, do you? If any were taken prisoner, they'll have been staked by now." Assuming they responded well to questioning. If not, Jack was probably having a field day.

  "It isn't a matter of mercy, Mage Pritkin, I assure you," Rafe put in, his eyes on the man who was now all but clawing at the door with his bound hands. "We simply do not feel that your people are much of a threat." Pritkin made a sound of disgust and marched over to swing open the door. The man fell backwards into the hall, and several servants looked at him in surprise before hauling him away for his lecture. I doubted he needed it.