The Vampire Queen's Servant(24)

Jacob wryly noticed it was not a direct yes or no, but something to help him sleep at night. Or day, as the case might be. Regardless, he'd no doubt she'd calculated her answer that way.

"You have the largest Region. But you're not part of the Council. Thomas said that was your choice."

She nodded. "I have three hundred vampires in my area. I helped form the Council and the rules that govern our world, but I'm the last queen of the Far East clan. While that doesn't mean a great deal anymore, symbolically it means enough to tip the scales of power adversely if I sat on the Council. You'll get to meet them later this year. All the overlords and Masters meet once every five years to pay them our respects. What else did Thomas tell you about the vampires in my Region?"

Though her voice was flat, her eyes were still intently focused. He knew what she was asking as if it had been whispered in his ear. "That there are thirty-nine fugitives you've granted asylum."

She studied him for a moment more. "There are fifty now. When a vampire is accepted into my Region, I mark him or her so I know their whereabouts at all times. That's what I'll be doing with Brian. With the fugitives, it also gives them a limited ability to let me know if they're in distress and who is causing that distress. I may not get there in time, but I will hunt down the perpetrator and make him regret his actions. As long as my reputation holds, they are safe here."

A sixth of the vampires in her Region were fugitives and yet no overlord or Region Master dared challenge her asylum for them. Jacob was starting to pick up on the reason for her reticence about her illness. I cannot ever show weakness before my enemies, Jacob. It is the first rule of my world.

"Any new territory disputes I should be aware of?"

"None right now. When Rex died, I had to prove I could defend my Region alone. That process is never quite over, but I've had several decisive and somewhat brutal victories recently." When she tilted her head, considering some dust on the light fixture, he saw the hint of red deep in her irises, like crimson silt at the bottom of an emerald sea. "It's been quiet," she commented.

It stirred a memory Thomas had given him. Of a time when several vampires, including one of her own overlords, had trapped her in an alley. Or so they'd thought. Three bodies had been left behind, and hers had not been one of them. In fact, after making a brief stop to freshen up, she'd met Rex as planned for a theater production of Peter Pan and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the play.

"You've had a pretty big jump in fugitive numbers since Thomas left. So the conflict between the made and born vampires is getting worse?"

"You're paying attention," she observed. "Yes." She spread out her hands, the long nails making it a graceful motion, though it conveyed tension. "As Thomas probably told you, the number of born vampires has dwindled over the past several centuries. To balance that, the Council has allowed more vampires to be made. Unfortunately, these vampires often lack the perspective a born vampire has. They tend to be more resistant to our laws. It's not a popular opinion, but I believe that made vampires have genetic weaknesses, specifically poorer impulse control and a greater level of bloodlust, not a good combination."

"Almost as though making a vampire is incestuous."

"You also catch on quickly." The compliment warmed him, but she didn't raise her attention from the cookbook she was studying again. "There are some, including myself, who have suggested it would be best to stop making vampires altogether until we can better understand why." She snorted. "We are shouted down. It is apparently better to let rabid dogs loose on the populace than to be perceived as politically incorrect. Most of the Region Masters and not enough of the overlords understand the world works best if humans believe we're the product of overactive imaginations in filmmaking. Sometimes it seems the more 'civilized' we get, the more immature and childish we are. We think we are somehow owed whatever we wish, rather than needing to impose limits on our own behavior. The truth becomes relative to our own experience only."

There were shadows in her eyes now, telling him the subject had taken a personal and perhaps painful turn for her. "At least there are strict rules on siring a vampire," she continued. "If you make a vampire without consent, your life is forfeit. The fledgling is spared, but fledglings often die without the sire to watch over them in the first decade. Vampires are not generally nurturing to children not their own. Of course, there is no restriction on trying to create a born vampire." She allowed herself a tight smile. "Otherwise known as trying to conceive a child."

Vampires did not use birth control. Becoming pregnant with a vampire child was rare, and treasured. Lyssa had never conceived, but Thomas had sometimes sensed she would have liked to have been a mother. While the monk had been thankful it had not occurred with Rex, and based on what Jacob knew of his lady's husband at this point, he had to agree, he thought he heard a wistful note in her voice. He wondered if she'd ever hoped…

Bran came and pushed against her leg, earning an ear rub. As she leaned over to do so, her clipped hair fell over her left shoulder, brushing the top of the dog's head. "In short, we live by ancient rules," she said in a crisper voice. "Our natures unleashed would result in a full-scale war with the human race. We may be far superior to humans, but your numbers are far vaster, and your grasp of technology more advanced. We must strike a harmonious balance."

"It sounds very civilized."

"Does it?" She considered that. "Then I've left a great deal out."

He bit back a smile, though his mind was still turning over her words, interpreting the personal nuances behind them. Trying to figure out how her mind worked. To cover his ruminations, he bent his head back over the open catalog. "How about this? It's a non-bake version of a fruit cake. It has marshmallows, raisins, graham crackers—"

"That sounds far too mundane."

Jacob pointed to a paragraph. "Except it says that it smells like freshly made candy."

Coming around the corner of the island, she laid a hand on his shoulder. When she leaned forward to look, her breast brushed the side of his arm. It wasn't the first time she'd touched him since she'd joined him in the kitchen. Possessive touches, as if he was hers to absently stroke as she was doing now, her hand shifting to his neck to play with the hair he'd queued back. Even without being told, he knew the liberty was not two-sided. Her demeanor, those touches aside, was all business. Even now she was segueing on other things Thomas had taught him about preparing for guests, while offering him points of etiquette specific to these guests and throwing in domestic instructions.

As he listened, a part of his mind wondered if he dared to test it, see if it was just a surface façade. Give in to the desire to run his hand down her back and feel the slight bump of her bra strap under the plush sweater. Play with the tips of her hair with his fingers. Risk a rebuff, or the tempting possibility of not being rebuffed.

In the end, he remained still. For one thing, the information she was giving him was critical to running her house. The way he handled it would determine if he could be the human servant Thomas said he could be with his last dying breath. Based on the things she'd told him thus far, her responsibilities were considerable. It underscored why Thomas had been concerned about her having someone who could watch her back during daylight hours. She was a protector herself, his Mistress.

Even more important, a quiet wonder flitted through her concentrated expression each time she touched him this way. He instinctively kept his head bent over the task of writing now as she stared at his profile and traced the hair at his temple, the curve of his ear. If he chose not to remain passive, he suspected he would take that joy away from her. While he might succeed in replacing it with a different, more volatile pleasure, his Mistress's desire at this moment appeared to be having him quietly submit to her caresses. Surprisingly, he found he could curb his own sexual desire, assuaging it with the pleasure of watching her rediscover the intimacy of casually touching a man who called himself hers, giving her that right.

"You've made four dessert selections so far," she observed. "While vampires don't eat, we do like a balanced olfactory diet. I think you have a sweet tooth, Jacob."

"A whole mouth of them," he agreed. "We'll have a total of four vampires and their servants. I'm thinking we can do a sampler for each of them."

"Hmm. Not a bad idea at all. But remember we'll only have four place settings. Servants don't eat with us. They stand behind the chairs of their Masters and Mistresses."

"Through the whole meal?"

Her green eyes glittered. "The more obedient servants hardly blink. They're like statues."

He had a variety of responses to that, but he managed to swallow them and look down at the catalogs again. "Here's what I have in mind for salads and the soup…"

She examined his choices, approved most. As he watched her, another idea captured his imagination, something which thankfully distracted him from his annoyance at the picture she'd painted. His purpose wasn't to be an activist to revamp vampire society. Instead, he'd taken his oath to serve every need of the vampire queen who was one of the most powerful figureheads in it. "Have you ever smelled fresh candy, my lady?"