Amelie said nothing. She’d always been a bit of an ice queen, but now she was unreadable, all pale, perfect skin and cool, assessing eyes. There was no telling what she felt, if she felt anything at all.
Michael inclined his head. “Founder.”
“I see you’ve been recently injured,” she said. “How?”
“It’s nothing.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s my problem. I’ll handle it.”
Amelie sat back in her chair and cast a glance upward at Oliver. “See to it that Henrik understands I do not condone this kind of behavior within these walls. Michael, you’d do well to answer my questions when I ask them next time.”
“Since you already knew the answer, I don’t see the point.” He was almost as good at hiding emotions as Amelie. “If you really cared about stopping him and the others like him, you’d publicly acknowledge our marriage and put a stop to it.”
“You didn’t obtain permission from me, and it’s my right as your blood sire to give or withhold it,” she said. “I don’t have to acknowledge anything you do without my blessing. And we’ve traveled this road before, to no good purpose. What brings you here, then?”
Claire cleared her throat and took a step forward. “I—”
Oliver interrupted her. “Greet the Founder properly, or you’ll not utter another word.”
Amelie could have quelled that; she could have just waved it away as she normally would have…but she didn’t. She waited, her gaze on Claire’s face, until Claire swallowed hard and bent her head forward just a little. “Founder,” she said.
“You may speak, Claire.”
Gee, thanks, Claire wanted to say with a liberal dose of sarcasm, but she managed to choke it back. Shane would have said it, which was why she hadn’t let him come along on this little venture. “Thank you,” she said, and tried to make herself sound truly grateful. “I came to talk to you about the identification cards.”
Amelie’s face did show emotion after all—anger. “I have heard all of the arguments that I am prepared to endure,” she said. “The measure ensures that all Morganville residents have proper care in case of emergency, that their Protectors are properly identified, that they can be found in case they go missing. Whatever resentments you have come from a false sense that you are free to do as you will. You are not, Claire. No one is in this world.”
“I thought you took Sam’s goals seriously. You told me you’d make humans equal partners in Morganville, that we had rights just like vampires. You told me that!”
“I did,” Amelie said. “And yet I find that where humans are allowed a little freedom, they will take more, until their very freedom destroys our way of life. If it comes to a choice, I must choose the survival of my own. Yours are certainly far too numerous as it stands. What is the count now, seven billion? You’ll excuse me if I believe we might be at a slight numerical disadvantage.”
“Is that why you’re allowing hunting again?”
Oliver laughed. “A tempting side benefit, but no. Hunting is buried as deep in the vampire nature as the need to reproduce is in humans. It is not simply a thing we can turn off. For some, hunting allows them to control a dark and violent side that would be much more damaging. Think of a dammed-up river, with a flaw in the structure. Sooner or later, that torrent of water will break free, and the damage it does will be considerably worse than a slow and controlled release.”
“You’re talking about water! I’m talking about people’s lives!”
“Enough,” Amelie said flatly. “This is not a human concern. You and your friends need have no fear; the law does not touch you. The things you’ve done in Morganville have ensured my personal patronage for you, as you can see on your cards. And any vampire is free to refuse to hunt. Michael has done it. No doubt many will do so.”
Somehow, relying on the goodwill of individual vampires wasn’t what Claire could see as a positive solution, but it was pretty clear that Amelie wasn’t interested in her opinions. “Then the humans need to know,” Claire said. “They need to understand that going without a Protector means they’re being hunted again. Let them at least have a chance to defend themselves!”
“Tell them if you wish,” Oliver said, and smiled. “If it makes you feel safer to be prepared, tell them to go armed. Tell them to stay in groups. Tell them whatever you wish. It will not make any difference but to make the hunt more challenging.”
“This is your doing, isn’t it?” He just watched her without replying. Claire turned her attention back to Amelie. “You’re going to let him destroy everything,” Claire said, and locked her gaze on the Founder’s. That was dangerous; Amelie had power, a lot of it, and even when she wasn’t trying to project it, there was something truly frightening about looking deep into her eyes. “You’re really going to let him turn this town into his own personal hunting preserve.”
“You’re always free to leave town, Claire,” Amelie said. “I’ve said so before, and I’ve given you more than generous terms. I urge you to take the opportunity before you make me regret having given you so much…consideration. Remember, I can always withdraw Protection.”
“Maybe I will leave! And what are you going to do then? Because I don’t think Myrnin really likes any of your new ideas, and you can’t control him, can you? But anyway, they’re not really your ideas.” Claire transferred her stare to Oliver. “Are they?”
Oliver went from standing still as a statue—if statues could smirk—to rushing at her full speed, a blur she instinctively flinched away from.
Michael got in the way, and shoved Oliver violently off course, into a side table, destroying a probably priceless antique vase. Oliver rolled to his feet, hardly slowed at all by the fall, and came at him.
“Enough,” Amelie said, and Oliver just…froze. So did Michael. Claire felt a crushing sense of pressure in the room and realized that Amelie had just made them stop. It must have hurt, because even Oliver’s face contorted in pain for a second. “I’ve had quite enough peasant-style brawling in my presence. Michael, your loyalty is misguided, and I’ve had enough of your thinking that your personal choices outweigh your duty to me. You owe me your life. If a choice is to be made, be very careful how you make it. A vampire alone is vulnerable to many things.”
“I know,” Michael said. “You can quit trying to threaten me. I’m not giving up the people I love, no matter what you do. And in the words of my best friend, bite me. Come on, Claire. We’re not getting any favors from her.”
She reached out to him, but in the next instant, his blue eyes went wide and desperately blank, and he went straight to his knees—driven there by the force of Amelie’s fury. It felt like a storm, lashing over Claire as an afterthought, and she found herself on her knees next to him, reaching for his hand and holding it with shaking strength. He was trying not to crush hers, but it still hurt.
Amelie rose from behind her desk, took an elegant silver-coated letter opener from her desk, and walked to look down on Michael. As she turned the knife in her hand, thin wisps of smoke escaped; she wasn’t invulnerable to the silver, just stronger than most.
“Don’t test me,” she whispered. “I have survived my father. Survived the draug. I will survive you. Learn your place, or die where you kneel, right now.”
Michael somehow managed to laugh and turn his face up toward her. For the first time, Claire thought, he really looked like one of them.
Like a vampire.
“I know who I am, and I’m not one of you,” he said. “Screw you.”
She drove the letter opener down, and Claire had time to gasp in horror; she had a terrible, vivid flashback to the time she’d seen someone else stab Michael—in the earliest days of their friendship. He’d survived that. Not this. Not with silver. No, I can’t tell Eve this. No, please…