Stupidly I was hoping Camille was talking about Brigit, and the mystery would end with my friend popping out of a closet somewhere shouting surprise, which would be something Brigit might find amusing. Brigit and I did look remarkably alike at a quick glance—long blonde hair, petite figures, similar facial features—and it was because of those similarities she had been killed.
My own mother hadn’t been able to tell us apart in the heat of the moment, and Brigit had paid the ultimate cost for Mercy’s mistake.
I swallowed the knot building in my throat and tried to shake off any thoughts of Brigit. I sought comfort from Holden by squeezing his hand a little harder, and he squeezed back in two short pulses before running his thumb over my skin.
“Lead the way,” I instructed Ingrid, trying to keep an authoritative tone in my voice.
We all wedged into an elevator, and in spite of the generous space I still felt like I was back in the coffin. My heart thumped, and I don’t think I’d ever been more grateful to be stuck in a small space with mostly humans. Holden would hear it, but he was accustomed to my pulse by now. The humans, as far as I was aware, couldn’t sense my heartbeat in spite of their vampire connections.
I needed to get myself in check before I met with the Tribunal to discuss Sig’s grand-spawn or whatever it was called when you go further down the lineage. If I concentrated hard enough and breathed deeply enough, I could slow my heartbeat right down. Not to a complete stop, of course, but the vampire blood meant I was able to get close. It wouldn’t fool anyone into thinking I was a vampire, but it would make my pounding pulse less of an issue.
The Tribunal here would already be aware of the fact I wasn’t a full-blooded vampire, but they also knew I’d been accepted by the East Coast Tribunal—voted in by the elders no less—and my position on the throne wasn’t in question. It wasn’t up to these vampires to decide if I belonged. I’d killed Daria, and by the rules of succession that made me the rightful leader in her place.
It wasn’t their approval I was seeking as much as a limited acceptance among them. If I was going to stay here, I wanted to keep things as cordial as possible, and I found it was sometimes difficult for vampires to play nice when they think of you as a human instead of one of them.
Since I couldn’t explain I wasn’t at all human and they were misunderstanding my werewolf pulse, the next easiest thing to do was to keep calm and focus on slowing my heartbeat down.
I snuggled myself into Holden’s side and rested my face against the cool curve of his neck, breathing his scent. It lacked the punchy thrill of lime I’d have gotten from Desmond, but there was still something soothing about it. It also pained me to admit that selling the story of him as my consort had been a clever decision. Otherwise it might have looked strange for me to stick my face in his personal bubble and start sniffing him.
Instead, I just appeared to be possessive of my man, and maybe inappropriately horny. Which currently wasn’t an issue at all, but I didn’t feel the need to explain that to strangers.
“You good?” he whispered, so quietly I might have missed it entirely in a larger space.
“Mmhmm.” I took another deep breath, letting my mind drift to thoughts of his hands running over my body and the way his cool skin could make mine so hot. When I opened my eyes and lifted my gaze to the bow of his mouth, I thought about the intoxicating taste of his kisses and the perfect agony of his bite.
I licked my lips. Maybe this wasn’t the best mental trail to wander down since it didn’t seem to be slowing my heartbeat in the least. He must have had an idea of what I was thinking because he released my hand and snaked an arm around my waist, pulling me hard against his side.
“Plenty of time to think about that later.” His eyes were darkening, losing their warm brown color in favor of a much deeper hue, working its way towards black.
Oops, he was getting hungry, and I was pretty convinced it wasn’t blood he wanted. He must have been able to smell my building arousal.
That was a douse of cold water on me if there’d ever been one. I wrenched myself out of his grasp without making a show of it, and instead of focusing on him I did the same mental exercise I used to calm down my wolf. Green forests, night sky, the thrill of a run, those thoughts would mellow me out faster than imagining a tumble in the sheets with a sexy vampire.
The elevator doors opened a moment later, revealing a dank, poorly lit corridor that reeked of moldy water. Some things didn’t change no matter what side of the country you were on, but at least they’d had the decency to add an elevator instead of relying on slippery stone steps.
Some of the tunnel walls had been patched with fresh concrete or stucco, and a few sections were supported with metal rebar. “What’s with the construction work?” I tried to sound disinterested, as I assumed most Tribunal leaders wouldn’t spend much time focusing on the chamber walls.
“The ground is often compromised by earthquakes,” Barton said. “We’ve moved as much of the night-to-night operations upstairs as we can, but tradition dictates certain things must take place underground.”
“You should have seen the mess we had to deal with in ’94 after the Northridge quake,” Camille added. “The cells were…well, it took us awhile to do the recovery.”
“Why not go somewhere with less activity?” I asked.
“We started in San Francisco during the Gold Rush,” Barton told me. “But after the big quake there in 1906 it seemed like a good time to move on. We reestablished the council here, and that’s where we’ve been ever since.” He sounded like a bored tour guide telling the story, but I found the whole thing fascinating. I started imagining Gold Rush vampires, saloon girls and miners, and by the time we reached the Tribunal chamber I was so involved in the fantasy all my nerves were gone.
Ingrid opened the door and went in ahead of me, bowing deeply in front of the three raised wooden thrones that were identical to those we used at home. “Good evening Tribunal Leader Eilidh, Tribunal Leader Arturo and Tribunal Leader Galen.” She bowed to each of them in turn. Given the order she addressed them in, Galen was the leader in their midst, so I’d have to watch my sass around him. He was the Sig here.
Ingrid continued, “It is my pleasure to introduce Tribunal Leader Secret McQueen, acting in the stead of my master, Tribunal Leader Sigvard the Bold.”
I caught the snort of derision before it managed to escape me.
“My master has requested I impress upon you all that Tribunal Leader Secret is to be treated with the same respect Sigvard himself would warrant.”
Was it just my imagination or did Ingrid give them all a warning glare? Impressive. Sig must have been feared here as much as he was back home, otherwise I doubted Ingrid would get away with that kind of display. Part of me wondered if she might be older than some of the vampires in front of us. They reeked of power, but that was part and parcel of joining the Tribunal. I was only twenty-three and I radiated authority to the vampires as well.
But Ingrid was over seven hundred years old, and Arturo felt six hundred at best. Sig was the oldest vampire I’d ever met at over two thousand years of age, and I’d bet money these three combined might equal him.
For some reason that put me more at ease.
Seeing how the three leaders were dressed, however, brought my self-awareness right back around. Why hadn’t I taken a minute or two to change after getting out of the coffin? At least I’d put on new clothes before leaving New York and wasn’t still in Mercedes’s ill-fitting jeans. But my favorite black leather pants and a red silk tank top under my jacket hardly screamed authority figure. My hair hung around my shoulders in wild curls.