Everyone dropped to the floor, Samuel, Stefan, and Marsilia’s guards, leaving me standing, my little sheep aglow like an absurdly small blue neon sign, facing the Mistress of the nest. I thought at first that the others had fallen voluntarily, reacting to some secret sign I hadn’t seen. But Marsilia jerked her chin, a quick, inhuman motion, and screamed again. The bodies on the floor twisted a little, as if something hurt, but they could not move to alleviate it—and I finally realized that it was magic as well as fear that was stealing my breath. Marsilia was doing something to hurt them all.
“Stop it,” I said, with all the authority I could muster. My voice came out thin and shaky. Not impressive.
I cleared my throat and tried again. Surely if I could face down Bran after the time I ran his Porsche into a tree without either a driver’s license or permission to drive it, I could steady my voice so it didn’t squeak. “Enough. No one has harmed you.”
“No harm?” she hissed, tossing her head so her mane of hair fell away from her forehead to reveal a nasty-looking burn vaguely in the shape of my necklace.
“You were feeding upon Samuel without his permission,” I said firmly, as if I knew that her action had given me the right to defend him—I wasn’t certain it was true, but bluffing worked with the wolves. And vampires seemed to be big on manners.
She raised her chin but didn’t reply. She took a deep breath, and I realized she hadn’t been breathing since I’d driven her off Samuel. Her eyelids fluttered as she took in the smell of the room—I could smell it, too: fear, pain, blood, and something sweet and compelling brushed with the scents of those present.
“It has been a long time since I had such presented for me,” she said. “He was bleeding and half-caught already.” Her tone wasn’t apologetic, but I’d settle for mere explanations if it only got us all out of here alive.
Stefan managed to get out a single word. “Trap.”
She drew a quick circle in the air and dropped her hand out and away. In response, all the men on the floor went limp. Samuel, I noticed with relief, was still breathing.
“Explain, Stefan,” she said, and I took a deep, relieved breath at having her attention somewhere else.
“A trap for you, Mistress,” Stefan said, his voice hoarse like a man who has been screaming. “Bleed the wolf and present him to you as if he were gift-wrapped. They were good. I didn’t notice that he was under thrall until I saw the blood.”
“You may be right,” she said. She gave me an irritated look. “Put that thing away, please. You don’t need it now.”
“It’s all right, Mercy,” said Stefan, his voice still whisper-thin. He hadn’t raised himself off the floor, but lay with his eyes closed, as if he’d come to the end of his strength.
I hid the necklace again, and the room looked even dimmer in the remaining, more mundane, lighting.
“Tell me about this trap, Stefano,” she said briskly as she climbed from the back of the couch and into her seat. If her eyes dwelled a moment too long upon Samuel, who was still limp, at least their inhuman flames had died to flickers.
The vampires were all showing signs of life, but only Stefan was moving. He groaned as he sat up and rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. His movements were jerky, inhuman.
“Lilly was sent to us without her attendant. I thought she was sent to create an incident. If Samuel had killed her, it would be war between our seethe and the Marrok. But perhaps it was more than that. I thought we got him away before she marked him, but looking back, I believe he was in thrall from that moment on. They sent him down here bleeding like a rare steak and presented him to you. If you had killed Samuel—and I think it likely, half-starved as you’ve been keeping yourself—” I could hear the disapproval in his voice. “If you had killed Samuel . . .” He let his words trail off.
She licked her lips as if there was still a trace of blood left. I saw a flash of regret on her face as she stared at Samuel, as if she wished no one had stopped her.
“If I had killed him, there would have been war.” She looked away from Samuel and met my eyes—but nothing happened. She frowned at me, but seemed less surprised than I was. But maybe the little sheep who must have protected me from her magic was still at work. She tapped her long, manicured nails together, looking as if she were considering something.
“We would be badly outnumbered,” Stefan said, when she said no more. He gathered himself visibly before getting to his feet. “If war broke out, we would be forced to leave this country.”
She stilled, as if his words were of great significance. “To leave this cursed desert and return home”—she closed her eyes—“now that is a prize that many here might risk my wrath to gain.”
The other vampires were stirring by then. I moved between them and Samuel, trusting Stefan to keep his mistress off us. As they rose, they seemed to be more focused on Samuel than on Marsilia. Like most everyone else tonight, they ignored me as they slowly began closing in.
“Wake up, Sam.” I nudged him with the heel of my foot.
Stefan said something in liquid tones with the unmistakable cadence of Italian. Like they were in a peculiar game of “Swing the Statue,” the other vampires simply stopped moving, though it left some of them in awkward poses.
“What’s wrong with Samuel?”
I asked the question of Stefan, but it was Marsilia who answered. “He is bespelled by my bite,” she said. “Some do die of the Kiss, but it will probably do no permanent harm to a werewolf. If I were less, then he would not have succumbed.” She sounded pleased.
“Then how did Lilly manage?” asked Stefan. “It wasn’t a full Kiss, but he was in thrall.”
She crouched by my feet and touched Samuel’s neck. I didn’t like the way she just kept appearing places, especially when she did it near Samuel who couldn’t defend himself.
“That is a good question,” she murmured. “He is a dominant, this son of Bran?”
“Yes,” I answered. I knew that humans had trouble telling a dominant from a submissive wolf. I hadn’t thought the same would be true of a vampire.
“Then Lilly could not enthrall him. But . . . perhaps she could have been loaned the power.” She brought her fingers to her lips and licked Samuel’s blood off them. Her eyes were glowing again.
I reached into my shirt and started to draw out the sheep, but a pale hand wrapped around my wrist and jerked me against a body, all cold bone and sinew.
By the time I realized I’d been grabbed, I’d already thrown him. If I’d had time to think, I’d never have tried to throw a vampire the way I would a human, but it was a reflexive thing born of hundreds of hours in the dojo.
He landed right on top of Samuel because Marsilia had gotten out of the way. The creature twisted, and I thought he was coming at me again, but he was after Samuel instead. He struck at Samuel’s bleeding neck.
Marsilia jerked her vampire off, leaving torn skin where his fangs had already locked onto flesh. Without visible effort or emotion, she tossed him into the nearest wall. Plaster flew, but he bounced to his feet with a snarl that died as soon as he saw who had thrown him the second time.
“Out, my dears.” I noticed that the burn mark on her forehead was healing. “Out before we lose all honor, overcome by such sweetness as is laid out here before us like a tempting feast.”
I’d gotten my sheep out finally, but before it started glowing we were alone, Stefan, Samuel, and I.
Chapter 11
There was an elevator hidden behind one of the doors in the corridor. Stefan leaned wearily against the wall; he carried Samuel, who was bloodstained, limp, but still breathing.