“Twelve.”
Vamp court had been just a week ago. My mouth went dry. “Twelve vampires in seven days.” I blew out a shaky breath. “All yours?”
“Yes.”
“Have you discovered the witch who cast the curse?”
“No. I am not certain a curse was cast.”
I took a drink from my cup, trying not to think about an army of vampires stalking through the streets and thick forests of Tahoe. Ski season was over, but summer was quickly approaching. That meant thousands of tourists shopping, golfing, swimming, rock climbing, camping, and hiking. Not to mention the year-round residents.
I paused, realizing what Misha said made no sense. “What do you mean, you don’t think a curse was cast? Isn’t that how the bloodlust pendulum swings?”
“The blood of my vampires is linked to mine. Had a curse been cast, I would have felt it here.”
Misha placed my palm over his heart. Hard muscle tensed beneath the smoothness of his silk shirt. His steady heart beat rhythmically. Bump, bump. Bump, bump. Mine was more of a pitter, patter, thump, crash, thunk.
It had been a long time since I’d touched anyone. And touching Misha made me uncomfortable.
Misha must have felt my trepidation, because he released my hand before I could snatch it away. His head tilted with amused interest, but he spared me further humiliation by continuing. “Witch magic is playing a part, yes, but how remains obscure. I suspect a rival master is the key behind the attack against my family.”
“Why a master and not just a witch?”
Misha motioned to one of his goons, who handed him a large manila folder. “Celia, there is tremendous upheaval in the vampire world. Masters are seeking any excuse to challenge one another to the death.”
I leaned on my palm. “Okay…but why?”
“A master’s death at the hand of another master transfers all power to the victor.” He flashed a cheerless grin. “My kind seeks power and wealth obsessively, sometimes at any cost.”
I nodded. “You are a bunch of greedy bastards.”
Misha paused at my brutal honesty before chuckling. “The victors in Europe, Asia, Africa, and Australia have emerged. Through a mutual agreement, they have decided to stay in their respective regions, unwilling to go to war. Yet the leaders of the Americas have yet to be determined.” He placed six photos in front of me and pointed to the first four. “Antoinette Malika, Zhahara Nadim, Sofia Rocio, and Roberto Suarez.”
The judges from court. I nibbled on my bottom lip, a sense of unease building deep within me. “All masters in the area?”
Misha nodded. “All the masters on the West Coast have settled near Tahoe. They are energized by the magic of the lake.”
I rubbed at my arms, knowing what he meant. Tahoe both enlivened and settled my beast. My eyes focused on each photo, only to widen at the picture of a fair-skinned vampire with crew-cut blond hair and dark brown eyes. “Petro. Petro…is a master?” I picked up the photo and examined it carefully. Petro remained vampire pretty, yes, but something about him seemed so nerdy. It was probably due to his awkwardness. And the damn bow tie didn’t help either. I placed the picture back on the table, shaking my head. “He didn’t feel strong to me.”
Misha stroked his chin. “You are correct. My brother is not as strong as he should be.”
That got my attention. “You’re brothers?” When Petro had said they were of the same family, I presumed he meant Misha had sired him.
“We share the same master.” Misha focused on his picture, hints of sadness and shame finding their way into his strong voice. “Petro is not like the others of our station. The only power he appears to possess is the ability to create the undead.” He flicked the edges irritably with his fingers. “The grand master considered ending his existence decades ago, embarrassed by his…inelegance. Petro’s keen intelligence is the only thing that spared him.”
Feelings of not belonging poked irritably in my gut. I could relate. So could my sisters. But that didn’t mean I’d make Misha aware. “Which grand master?”
Misha pointed to the last picture. “Uri Heinrich. He turned me and Petro vampire.”
Uri smiled pleasantly in the photo. His short dark hair and well-trimmed beard made him appear dashing, despite the honest-to-God olive green opera cape he wore. Yet a sense of power danced around his photo. If a mere picture did this, his presence would likely knock me out of my sneakers. “Why would your own master try to kill you now? He could have easily stolen your power upon your creation.”
Misha leaned back, hurt reflecting from his ominous gray eyes. “It is possible I have lost the grand master’s favor.” His gaze traveled to each of the pictures, falling lastly upon Uri’s. “In the last century, I have gained the potency it took my rivals several centuries to achieve. The wealth I acquired for the grand master and his fondness for me may not spare me from his desire to attain a greater power.” He tapped the photo. “And yet if he chooses to strike, I do not believe it would be now. The grand master is patient. He would likely wait until the others and I finish ourselves off so that he may take the champion’s collective power.”