“Sounds like an awesome plan.” Shayna finished pulling up her hair into a ponytail. Spending the afternoon with Koda hadn’t given her much time to get ready for dinner with Misha. A little tidbit she failed to share with Koda. “Hey, Ceel. Does Aric think the murders are related to this weredude?”
“He didn’t say. But I can’t see how. The men were drained of their blood. The were was shot and somehow booby-trapped.” What he did tell me was not to leave the house unescorted and not to do anything dangerous.
So I didn’t. Sort of.
I left the house with my sisters as backup . . . and so I wouldn’t be alone in a master vampire’s estate. Misha and I had made plans for dinner earlier in the week. Dinner and the diamond earrings he’d given me previously were the only thank-yous I’d allowed. Yes, I’d saved his life. Yes, I’d inadvertently returned his soul. But I didn’t want him feeling like he owed me. And I sure as hell didn’t ever want to owe him.
Taran tuned the satellite radio to a classic rock station as we pulled into the mile-long drive leading up to Misha’s front gates. We chuckled when “Werewolves of London” was the first song to play. We stopped laughing when an über-size vampire tackled another in front of our car.
Taran slammed on the brakes. It didn’t help. Our velocity was so fast that we ran over them like beached whales. The car rattled and our bodies bounced off the seats. “Son of a bitch! Are they dead?”
I jerked my head backward. The bigger of the two Plymouth-size giants grabbed the other by the throat and drove his protruding five-inch nails into the other’s heart. I recognized him as Hank, one of Misha’s bodyguard’s, before blood and ash splattered across the back window and plastered our view. Taran flipped on the rear wipers. Hank waved a nasty hand at me. “Hey, Celia. The master is expecting you.”
Emme buried her face in her hands. “Do you think we’ve come at a bad time?”
“They’re fighting for dominance,” I muttered. It wasn’t easy being BFF with the undead.
Taran scowled. “What?”
“In killing the other master, Misha took his power and inherited the evil bastard’s minions.” I pushed my long hair out of my eyes. “Misha’s vamps want to stay top dogs and the others want to move up in position. The fighting has been going on all week. Misha assured me it would stop during dinner.”
Taran rolled her eyes and started forward again. Shayna’s gaze remained glued to the rear windshield. “Dude! That’s, like, totally barbaric.”
I’d come to accept that the rules among preternaturals had existed for centuries and for their kind’s own well-being. As outsiders, my family and I couldn’t say or do anything to change that. Still, that didn’t mean I liked or encouraged their behavior. “I know. But it’s the way of the vampires. They could just concede and accept their new ranks, except vampires are all about prestige and status. Those higher up remain closer to Misha. No way are any of them going to back down.”
The wrought-iron gates opened before Taran could hit the intercom system. The cameras hidden within the gargoyle heads lining the stone wall must have alerted Misha’s keep of our arrival. Since he’d named himself as our protector, we’d been elevated to our own status within the vampire world. In other words, mess with us, mess with Misha. And no sane vampire messed with Misha. As a rare vampire with a soul, he essentially juggled life and death, granting him unrivaled power.
Taran crossed over the stone bridge and circled the enormous fountain to park in front of the three-story mansion. When we first caught a gander at Chateau Misha, Shayna tried to convince us we’d inadvertently wandered onto a posh ski resort and spa. Misha’s home could only be described as a colossal mountain Craftsman surrounded by well-manicured botanical masterpieces. The essence of calm and tranquility surrounded the thirty-thousand-square-foot house overlooking Lake Tahoe.
Usually.
A cluster of vampires spread out in an arch near the man-made river filled with carp the size of alley cats. Two vampires in Catholic schoolgirl uniforms circled each other, their clothes ripped to shreds, their pigtails askew, their fangs out. A few yards away, beneath a white fir tree, two other vampires attacked each other like rabid rats while the fist-pumping crowd chanted, “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”
In the middle of the chaos stood our werewolf buddy, Bren, taking bets and playing referee. “Hey, Mary Catherine! I told you, no axes allowed! Put the axe down. Down, Mary Catherine. Down!” He shook his head like a frustrated camp counselor. “Fuckin’ vampires.”