“Because some on the council interceded. I do not know why, or even entirely who, only that Belle voted for them to live, but they were masterless and sent to roam as they would with the hand of any master that met them turned against them. If they could slay their fountain of blood and survive, then most considered them too dangerous to survive.”
“How do you feel?”
“What are you offering, ma petite? ”
“Remember what happened with Primo?”
“You will feed Truth, and he will be bound to me and to you, is that it?”
“Yeah.”
“They are not the brutes of the Dragon’s line, but they are warriors that have survived centuries with every hand turned against them. I met them once when their master came to the courts. They were men of honor.”
“What does he say?” Wicked asked.
I held up a hand. “He’s thinking about it.”
“No one will risk it,” Truth said in that horribly strained voice.
Jean-Claude breathed through my mind, shivered over my skin. I moved my hand back from the wounded vampire, so the effect didn’t spread. I opened the marks between us wide, and he filled me. He spilled through my body, over my skin. His power hit mine, and it was like flame laid into some huge waiting bonfire. It spilled my head back, bowed my spine, and spilled out from my skin. It went out and out and out, and I could feel every vampire in the hallway. Feel them like individual lights in the dark, as if with closed eyes I would know them all.
“Back, my children,” Malcolm’s voice came distant, as if he were talking through the roaring in my head, “we must leave this place to her black magic.”
I opened my eyes and knew instantly that my eyes had bled to brown fire edged with black.
“What’s about to happen?” Smith asked.
I looked up at him, and he let out a surprised yelp. He licked his lips and stared at me, pale and frightened.
“If you don’t want to watch, then go back to Zerbrowski.”
Smith shook his head. “I’ll stay.”
“You won’t like it,” I said.
He was fighting not to hug himself, and I remembered that he could sense the energy of shapeshifters. Nothing like being a little psychic in the middle of a metaphysical event. “I don’t like it now, but I’ve got your back, at least against anything that a gun will stop.” That last made me think he might be more sensitive than I’d thought. He knew there were dangerous things in the hallway now, but nothing that guns could help with. That was almost too smart. I’d have to be careful around Smith with the metaphysics; he might figure out more than I wanted him to know.
I turned back to the two vampires. “I am Jean-Claude’s human servant. We truly are blood of my blood to each other.”
“What do you propose?” Wicked asked.
“The knife comes out, then I let Truth feed, and we blood-oath him to Jean-Claude.”
“He would truly take us?”
“He said yes.”
Wicked looked down at his brother. “Do you agree to this? To being bound to another master?”
“Felt her power, her call,” he had another of those gasping fits, “if this is servant, then the master must be more.”
“Is that a yes?” I asked.
Wicked nodded. “But if you take my brother, you have to take me, too.”
I simply knew that Jean-Claude was okay with that. There was no need to ask. “Agreed, though whether I can feed you both tonight is a different question.”
“We have fed already this night. For Truth it will need to be a true feeding, but for me a taste will do.”
“Okay,” I said. I thought, will this work, and Jean-Claude’s answer was almost certain. He was almost certain that it would work.
“Would it work better to blood-oath him, then take the knife out?” I asked.
“Perhaps, ma petite, but the silver may also interfere with the process. We are hoping to bring him back to health, and this will not happen with the silver still in his body.”
I blinked and looked at Wicked. With the eyes gone all vampire, his bone structure was very clear, and I realized that he was very manly-man handsome. Very masculine, and when I looked at his brother, I could trace that same bone structure underneath all the facial hair. How had I not seen the resemblance before?
“We need to take the knife out first, then he feeds.” I looked down at my wrists. My left was still healing from Primo and the zombie last night. I was not offering up my right wrist. Never injure your gun hand if you can avoid it. I touched my neck. Requiem’s bite was still there, though almost healed. Damian’s bite was faintest. I wasn’t taking my top off, so breast was out. Neck it was. I was going to end up looking like a vampire junkie, always carrying a fresh bite mark. Oh, well.
“Sorry, I’m going over all the injuries. Right side of the neck for feeding.”
“He cannot sit up.”
“I’ll lay down.” I gave my gun to Smith.
His eyes widened. “What’s this for?”
“I’m going to let Truth feed on my neck. I’d rather not have to worry about whether he can touch my gun or not.”
“You don’t trust us,” Wicked said.
“I don’t trust anybody.” I started to lie down on top of Truth, but the knife was very much in the way.
Jean-Claude said inside my head, “The knife first, ma petite. ”
I knelt back and looked at the brother. “Do you want to do it, or do I do it?”
He seemed to understand without extra talk-nice for a change. “I will do it.” He took his free hand, because the other was still wrapped around his brother’s hand. He gripped the hilt of the blade and hesitated.
“It’s time, brother,” Truth said.
I moved my hair to one side so the right side of my neck stretched clean. Once the knife was out, we had a minute, maybe, to make him live, or let him die. Wicked stayed immobile, hand on his brother and the hilt.
“Do you want me to do it?” I asked.
He shook his head, but still didn’t move.
“Either you do it, or I do it… Wicked. We’re running out of time.”
“Do it,” Truth whispered, “do it.”
Wicked’s arm tensed. “Forgive me, brother,” he said, and pulled the blade out in one harsh jerk.
Blood welled up from the wound, thick, red. His body spasmed. I did what I said I’d do. How do you lay your body on top of a wounded man? The same way you do any man, if you don’t want to roll off. I laid myself on top of him, legs on either side of his body, while he spasmed under me, and fought for his life.
I laid my neck in front of his face, and he couldn’t control his body enough to feed. “Oh, shit!” I looked up and met his brother’s eyes. “Help me.”
“How?”
“Hold him up enough so he can feed.”
Wicked didn’t argue, he just moved around behind his brother, and raised his head and shoulders just enough off the ground. The spasming was growing less, but that wasn’t good, that wasn’t good at all.
Jean-Claude breathed through my body, “Kiss him.”
“What? ”I said out loud.
“What is it? ”Wicked asked.
“Give him enough energy to feed.”
“How?”
He was just in my head, not words, not exactly images, I just suddenly understood, because he understood. The vampires had a kiss of life long before we humans had artificial respiration. Once I’d thought you had to be asourdre de sang, or the person who made a vamp, to share energy like this, but I’d proven that it wasn’t true. If Jean-Claude hadn’t been so certain that it would work, I would have argued. I’d only done something similar to this once, and that had been with Asher, who was our sweetie, and who had fed on me before.
This vampire was a stranger to me, and not one of our line, but Jean-Claude’s certainty filled me, as if it were my own.
I looked into Truth’s face, and his eyes were beginning to glaze, as his body went still. I called power, or maybe Jean-Claude did, or we both did. It was hard to tell where one magic ended and the other began. I leaned over the vampire’s face.
“What are you doing?” Wicked asked.
There was no time to explain. I pressed my lips to the other vampire’s mouth. His lips were so still against mine. I kissed him, and felt his death. Felt that spark flickering like a match in the wind. I breathed power into his mouth. I forced it inside him the way you force air into the dying. I breathed into his mouth and thought, Wake. Wake to us, Truth, wake to our magic. Jean-Claude used me to thrust power like a sword down the line of his body. It was sharp and painful even to me. It brought Truth gasping, sitting up off the floor, yelling. Yelling something in a language I’d never known.