Blood Bond (An Anna Strong, Vampire Novel)(22)

Chael senses a change, too. He can't see me in the mirror, but he is acutely aware of the transformation taking place in the seat right behind him. It makes him nervous enough to pull the car over.

Once the car is stopped, I'm out of it, at the driver's door in a heartbeat. I fling the door open, grab Chael by the neck and pull him out, moving too fast to give him a chance to fight back. His vampire nature flashes, then retreats. He acts like a dog showing his stomach to an alpha, submissively waiting for whatever I choose to do.

I choose to shake him until his teeth rattle. What game are you playing?

None. I am doing as you asked. Taking you to King Steffan.

His mind is open, his thoughts as passive as his body.

I shake him again. There must be more. All this talk of making history and of King Steffan's unseating. Do you expect me to fight him?

At this, a smile, thin, unnerving. No. Not you.

Then who? I shove him away, stand ready to defend myself if he unleashes his beast.

He tugs at the hem of his jacket, straightens his tie, smoothes his hair back with both hands. You are still too impulsive, Anna Strong, he says through gritted teeth and tight jaw. Has it ever occurred to you to ask first before you resort to violence?

Not when it comes to you. Now answer the question. Who do you think is going to attack King Steffan tonight?

Chael shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, locks his eyes with mine. Ever heard of a vampire named Vlad?                       
       
           



       CHAPTER 21




CHAEL'S WORDS SNAP THE HUMAN ANNA BACK IN A HEARTBEAT.

I stare at Chael. "Vlad is a mythical creature." I speak the words aloud as if by doing so they will carry more conviction.

We are all mythical creatures, is Chael's heated but mocking reply. Or have you forgotten?

Frey is standing beside me. I was so caught up with Chael, I hadn't heard or seen him climb from the car. But he has obviously been there long enough to catch the gist of our conversation. His voice at my elbow makes me jump.

"Vlad the Impaler? Not possible."

"Oh, then, shifter," Chael says, his voice dripping sarcasm. "You must be sure to tell Vlad that he does not exist. Your opinion will be valuable to him."

Frey lunges at Chael, moving almost as fast as the panther, catching him off guard and connecting with a solid right to Chael's jaw. Chael lands on his butt, but when he jumps to his feet, the vampire has surfaced. I step between them then, knowing unless Frey shifts, he is no match for an enraged Chael. Much as I'd love to see the arrogant Chael brought down by the panther, this is neither the time nor place.

"Enough." The roar of my voice, of vampire's voice, brings both men to a halt. Their heads snap around.

Frey's blood is still running high, the panther lurks behind his eyes. The growl that erupts from his chest is more animal than human. Chael's eyes flash yellow slits, the vampire full-blown.

"Heel your pet," Chael snarls.

Frey lunges again. I step between them again, stop Frey with a look and an upturned hand.

A rumbling, hostile murmur of protest spews from his gut but he backs away.

I touch his cheek. "Not now."

Panther gradually retreats from his eyes. He shakes his head as if to clear it and takes another step back.

I whirl on Chael. You should tread lightly. I stopped Frey this time, but I may not always be able to. Or want to.

Chael has turned away, going through his grooming routine again, straightening his jacket, smoothing his black lacquered hair. His thoughts are shielded. A good thing. I imagine they are filled with images of Frey, torn and bleeding, his neck at Chael's mouth.

He has never seen panther in action. I glance at Frey. He is leaning back against the car but his eyes are locked on Chael. Similar scenes are most likely playing in his head, too. But in his, it is Chael's throat torn and bleeding before he severs it completely with a snap of powerful jaws.

The showdown will come. I'm sure of it. Just not tonight.

I take Frey's hand. "We need to go."

Frey straightens, pushing himself from the car. "What about this Vlad nonsense? You should make Chael tell you what the hell is going on."

Chael glares at Frey. "You will soon know what is going on. You should pray Vlad doesn't take umbrage at your attitude and snap your neck like kindling."

Frey's back stiffens. Once more, I intervene. "Enough, Chael. Get back into the car."

Chael moves, slowly, grudgingly, taking his place in the driver's seat. Once Frey and I are seated, too, he steers the car onto the road.

The silence in the car is suffocating.

Great. This is going to be some party. I may end up acting as a referee between Frey and Chael the entire evening. I hope Steffan has lots of champagne.

I let my eyes drift to the road, to the soft spring greenery on either side. We are still climbing. To the top, I'm sure.

Where else would a king have his castle?

* * *

WHEN WE FINALLY REACH THE END OF THE PUBLIC road, we are faced with a guardhouse and tall, iron gates. A watchman, a vampire, comes to the car, glances inside, then presses a remote. The gates swing open.

Chael drives on, up and up, the driveway bordered by a brilliant display of spring color. Lavender and Lavendula, almond trees in full bloom, roses. I roll the window down to breathe in the fragrance.

This may be the last peaceful moment I have tonight.

When the house comes into view it's a surprise, though not an entirely unexpected one. I've come to know that old-soul vampires do not stick with the stereotypes most often associated with them. Steffan's castle is not a stone fortress, but a modern one built of steel and glass.

The turnaround in front of the house is filled with cars-I'd guess close to fifty. Chael pulls up to a valet stand.

"I thought you said one or two of the old guard would be here," I mumble to him as he comes around to open my door.

He shrugs and waits for me to alight, turning away quickly when it's Frey's turn. I smile as a guttural sound like a dog's soft snarl rasps in Frey's throat.

A valet has already whisked the car away; a doorman stands on the porch. Both vampires. The double front door is gigantic, solid mahogany, at least twenty feet high and as wide across with opaque leaded-glass inserts. The glass displays a mosaic of a spider's web, intricate, ornate, done in gold leaf.

No spider.

How appropriate. A work of art that also delivers a warning. The spider is inside.

You are very perceptive. Steffan's amused voice from the top of the porch stairs has infiltrated my thoughts. And very beautiful. Welcome to my home.

He waits for us in the doorway, light spilling out from a tiled entryway. He is resplendent in an artfully tailored black tuxedo, the cummerbund and tie exactly the same shade as a lilac rose boutonniere. Frey takes my arm and we move to the door, Chael following behind. When we are face-to-face, Steffan holds out a hand to Frey.

"Welcome. You are a very lucky man to have landed this woman," he says. "Also, a very special one if Anna has chosen you as consort above all others."

I sense Frey bristle a little at the title "consort"-one that keeps coming up among the vampires we meet. But Steffan's tone is not condescending and his greeting is warm. Quite a contrast from Chael and his constant, grating derision.

Frey responds by returning the handshake and a smiling "thank you." He gestures to the house. "And you are lucky to have such a beautiful home."

Steffan offers an arm to me and leads us into the interior of the house. Frey is at Steffan's left. Chael follows behind. I notice Steffan has not greeted him and I feel Chael's aggravation at the affront. It means I must be even more alert to Chael's conduct tonight.

There may be more than one drama played out on this elegant stage.

From the great room in front of us, the soft strains of an orchestra serve as backdrop to a hum of conversation. Some of it is vocal, some of it is telepathic, all of it swirls on the air like pollen in a gentle breeze. Steffan pauses to let us appreciate a sight that I'm sure has never failed to impress.

It is a large room, so large there are two huge chandeliers, one at each end, dripping four-foot ropes of crystal and pearl. Under the diffused light of a thousand candles, the gathering mills in relaxed comfort. There must be one hundred vampires here, along with two dozen or so mortals partnered with vampires, and a half dozen otherworldly guests.

Frey looks around, too. He nods toward a group of five men standing together near the orchestra. "Shifters."

Their eyes turn to us in the doorway as if sensing, too, another shifter in their presence and it is to Frey that they bend their heads in acknowledgment.

We continue to drink in the scene. Every female dressed in the finest couture, every male in a custom suit or tuxedo. The jewels glittering on earlobes and necks and fingers could bankroll a small country. There are liveried servants with trays of champagne-filled glasses or thick, crystal goblets of something dark and viscous. And red.

I raise my eyebrow at Steffan, who has been following my thoughts. "Volunteered blood only," he assures me.

Do I believe him? I think of Avery and his treachery and a shudder racks my soul.

Steffan reads it. He glances at Frey, acknowledging openly that he knows as a shifter Frey can pick up on his thoughts if he allows it. He does.

I knew Avery, he begins. As you can see, he and I were neighbors. I was shocked to learn of his death. Angry. We who you call old-soul vampires, who have had hundreds of years, look on it as an affront when one of our own is snuffed out. Especially by one so new and ignorant of the way. But you killed him in defense of your own life. Something none of us could overlook. There was no vendetta waged, no call for your head.