"You like her."
He threw the glare before he'd thought better of it. He'd all but agreed.
"She obviously likes you, too."
"Nei, she pities me." He spun the glass in his hand.
"That's not what I saw. Not even a little. She stood up to four warriors for you."
Henrik's mind resurrected the image of Kaira approaching him as he fought with everything he had to maintain a shred of his rational self. Holding her bloodied cheek, the neck of the johnny askew over the ruins of her lovely gown, wayward strands of blond hanging down from the remains of the stylish twist she'd worn the night before. Beautiful. Brave. Fierce. He'd been bone-crushingly terrified for her. "She has leukemia, Jakob. She needs her medicines, her doctors, her whole life around her." He gestured with his hands, spilling a drop of liquor on his shirt.
Jakob flew out of the chair and loomed over the desk, hands braced against the hardwood surface. "Jesus, if that's the case, you could heal her and you could both get what you need."
He poured another drink. "There are no guarantees, brother. You know that. None at all. Except that enough of this fine spirit will cure what ails you, even if only for a few hours." He raised the glass in salute and threw it back.
"This solves nothing." His brother grabbed the bottle and marched it back over to the bar.
The office phone rang before Henrik had time to protest. He stared at it a minute and decided whatever it was could wait. As it continued to ring, he clomped his boots to the floor and shoved out of the chair, throwing a glare at Jakob for good measure.
At the bar, he set out a row of shot glasses and filled each of them to the top, not worrying about the liquor spilling into the spaces between. The phone stopped ringing. He braced his hands against the edge of the marble surface and heaved a breath. "When you are king, you can decide what does and doesn't work. Until that time-" He tossed back the first of the shots. "-I will make that call." He slammed it down and reached for the next. The telephone unleashed its screech again-at least that's what it sounded like in his head. "Dra til helvete," he muttered. Go to hell.
Jakob rounded the corner of his desk.
"Don't answer it," Henrik mumbled.
He ignored him. "What?" Jakob answered. Henrik rolled his eyes. A lotta good being king did him. "What? Put him through." His brother held out the hand piece. "Kael MacQuillan for you."
Henrik crossed the room, a strange foreboding crawling into his belly. Or maybe that was just the akevitt. First light marked the end of a vampire's day, which made it an odd time for his royal counterpart in Northern Ireland to call. Unless somewhere in their world the shit was hitting the fan.
He pressed the receiver to his ear. "Kael, it's Henrik. How are you, brother?" he said in English.
"I'm well. Sorry to disturb you at this hour."
"I am always available to you. Are you well? Shayla? Everything okay at Dunluce?" Kael had mated with one of the Proffered three years before.
"Aye. Thank you. My family is well. It's not my news I've called to share." Anticipation hardened into a rock in his gut. "Yingjie Fēi is dead, along with half his inner circle of warriors."
Henrik sank into his chair. The Warrior King of the Eastern Vampires dead? "How?"
"Soul Eaters," Kael spat.
Henrik nodded. He read the intelligence reports religiously. The war had been escalating all over Eurasia for the past two years. "Jesus. He wasn't prepared for succession, either."
"No. China's a mess. Which is why I'm spreading the word on their behalf."
"I appreciate the call, Kael. I just wish it brought better news."
"Me, too, old friend. Me, too."
They said their goodbyes and Henrik returned the receiver to its cradle. He cut his gaze to Jakob. "Fēi's dead." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Sonofabitch."
His brother braced his hands on the edge of the desk, his head hanging. And among his grief for their fallen brethren, Henrik knew without question what else Jakob was thinking, what else weighed so heavily on his shoulders.
Now there were six. Just six vampire kings and warrior forces to fight a worldwide battle against a reckless enemy in an ancient and escalating war. Who knew how long it would take China to reestablish order and authority?
Six.
And, if Henrik died-which was a total certainty except for the when-there would be five.
Five.
An absolutely impossible situation-for the vampires and the humans, too.
Anger and regret flooded through him. He knew what he had to do, and he wouldn't make Jakob be the one to say it. "Gather the warriors in the council room. They need to be briefed. I'll meet you there." He made for the door and battened down all his emotional hatches. This had to be done. It was bigger than either of them, now. "I need to inform Miss Sorensen there's been a change in plans."
Chapter 9
Kaira sat in the chair, chin resting on her knees, and stared at the huge iron bed that dominated the center of the chamber to which Henrik had earlier moved her.
Right after he'd finished informing her she wasn't free to go after all.
That he would be feeding from her, and that, for a vampire, feeding usually entailed sex. So Jakob would remain in the room with them to keep it just about the blood. Unless she desired the sex, too.
Oh, if she wanted, she could drink from his vein in return. It could possibly cure her leukemia.
He'd been precisely that dry and mechanical about it, barely evincing an emotion on his face or looking her in the eye.
Afterward she'd had the chance to shower and change, though she'd put on an old, familiar outfit from the bag Jakob had retrieved from her hotel, not the white silk robe that had been laid out on the bed.
Hours later, there she sat, butterflies keeping her stomach in a constant state of flip-flop and anticipation of his return unleashing alternating waves of fear and desire. At least her fever and aches had abated.
She shook her head. He was going to feed from her. His mouth against her skin, his hard chest against her breasts, his hands holding her tight. Twice before, he'd drunk from her. Both times, she'd become aroused. And the memory of the incredible orgasm she'd had-just from kissing and touching, no less-made her core clench and tingle.
Overwhelmed didn't begin to cover it. If it was just his feeding or just curing her leukemia or just losing her virginity that was up for discussion here, she might be able to deal. Okay, that probably wasn't true either. Any of those, on their own, would still be a lot to consider. All together? She dropped her forehead against her knees.
How in the world did she find herself in this situation?
Sadness pricked at her eyes. Looked like she wasn't going to be allowed to have that dream of being a professional photographer fulfilled after all.
A flash flood of anger flowed in behind the sadness. And confusion, too. Because while she was pissed at how unfair it was to have her life stolen out from underneath her, a part of her she didn't understand felt like she was right where she was supposed to be. How crazy was that?
Across the room, a door clicked open. Kaira lifted her head as Henrik entered wearing a floor-length black robe, the trim and sleeves edged in a bold silver knotted pattern. He wore the hood drawn over his head, casting his face in shadow and preventing Kaira from seeing his expression or his eyes. Didn't keep her heart from leaping into her throat, though. Bare feet emerged from under the bottom of the robe as he crossed toward her, making her wonder if the rest of him was equally bare.
Oh, what did she care? She was mad at him, mad at this entire situation. She had no interest in knowing more about his big, broad, powerful body.
Also wearing some sort of a ceremonial robe, Jakob secured the door behind them, then stayed where he was.
Kaira remained in a ball in the chair.
Henrik moved to stand in front of her, finally allowing her to see his eyes under the top of the robe.
Despite herself, she gasped and pushed to her feet. "Your eyes changed again." Slowly, she reached up and pushed the hood off his hair. A soft blue, they weren't as bright as after the first time he'd fed from her. The thought that she was responsible for restoring the color to his eyes... It was as heady as it was scary. What else would change for him if he fed from her in earnest?