“Eligible” made me uneasy in an awkward, high-school kind of way. But “servant” was one of those “stand-up-and-take-notice” words. Preceded by “my,” it demanded attention. I sidestepped out of reach. “What did you just say?”
He sighed. “Do you not know?”
“I am not your servant.”
“My mark is upon you…within you. Your words of denial can change nothing.” He eased a step closer.
“What am I, then? Just a servant to use? A one-mark beholder?” I put my hand up, palm out. “And don’t take that as a request for a second stain. I don’t want the ‘honor’ of being an offerling.”
“Interesting. You seem to know nothing about vampires, and then you show that you understand unexpected things. Beholders are not so lovely as you.” He eased another step closer.
I retreated a step. “Stay away from me!”
In a flash, his vise-like hands held me. “Yet offerlings are not so difficult!” I struggled, though I knew escape was hopeless. When I realized he was not squeezing tighter, not fighting back, not moving at all, simply restraining—no, he was just holding me—I stopped. In my ear he whispered, “Bliss does not have to be a difficult thing to find, Persephone.”
“I don’t want your damned stain upon me. I never wanted it.”
He thrust me back, incredulous. “You asked for it!”
“The hell I did!”
“You asked for a guarantee!”
My mind raced, trying to fathom what that meant. “What part of ‘I want a guarantee’ means ‘I want to bear your everlasting stain’?”
Matter-of-factly, he replied, “My mark is the only means by which I could guarantee the safety you requested.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “At the time, I did not know you were so ignorant of our ways.”
“Liar! You just said a minute ago that you were surprised at how much I know!”
“All your arguments are pointless. My blood now marks your home and you. It tells every vampire who might happen past that I have laid claim to this place and nothing can be done against you without my consent. To ignore this is to cross me, and all who cross me know great torment before they cease to exist.”
“I wanted protection from you!” I growled, irritated that my words still didn’t convey what I meant. “Protection from the threat that you personally are to me.” Miserably, I added, “Besides, I don’t think I need protection from any other vampires.”
“There are many eager for a place in the echelons of the vampire hierarchy. Many have been rejected. There are a few who appraise my every step in pursuit of some means to avenge their wounded pride. Had I come here and neither ruined your domicile nor laid claim to it, someone would have taken an interest in seeing what was here that had briefly held my interest, and then labored at discovering how it could be exploited. Would you care to know how many of my casual acquaintances have expired within a fortnight of a meeting with me?”
“No.” I sat before the fire, rubbing my arms. Turning my back to him may have been unwise, but I didn’t care—I wanted to feel warm. The quarter-logs were blazing earnestly, and the heat felt good, but it couldn’t reach the chill set into my bones. By association I knew wærewolves well enough to write a column about them. But vampires—the filthy, rotten things—the less I knew about them, the better. Yet it was my ignorance that had gotten me into this. I knew so very little. If I was supposed to walk between worlds, I needed to get a handbook or something.
“Are your thoughts always this troubled, Persephone?”
“You’re not giving me any cause to have happy thoughts.”
Softly he said, “You wouldn’t need them to fly in my Neverland.”
I hadn’t expected him to know literature. I mean, I know vampires are supposed to be knowledgeable. Their extended life spans give them every opportunity to become snotty, overeducated know-it-alls. I just hadn’t expected him to speak of it softly, to share those words as if sharing a secret.
I asked over my shoulder, “Can you read my mind?”
He smiled in a small and unassuming way. “No, Persephone. With the first mark, a master becomes empathetic to his servant. Exact subjects remain hidden, but with familiarity they may become more obvious. Admitting this to you is surely dangerous, but I want you to trust me. We could have a bountiful future. You could become everything your name implies—the Queen of the Underworld.”
Chapter 30
When I thought that you had betrayed me,” Menessos said, “my anger bested me. But now, now that I know it was the whelp—I mean, now that I know it was Johnny who betrayed us both, I am determined to prove to you that I am infinitely more worthy of your trust than he.” He added softly, “And I sincerely hope that you will find yourself liking me.”
Focusing on the blaze before me because I didn’t want to see his expression, I asked, “You never really answered me about Johnny.”
Fabric rustled, and easy footsteps brought him beside me, where he sat, imitating my position before the fire. A glance told me the flames lent color to his skin, color that suited him well. I could almost have thought him human.
“I hope you can acknowledge his mistake and understand that a punishment is in order. Consider it a lesson in how unreliable and capricious wæres can be. Placing trust, or responsibility, in them is an incautious decision with an often disastrous result.”
I thought of Nana’s predilection, “Witches and wæres weren’t meant to mingle.” The last few days had chiseled the sharp edge off that belief for her. I wondered what it would take to change the vampire’s mind. “Trusting you was an incautious decision.”
Menessos seemed offended. “Have I not done everything I said I would?”
I snorted. “That and more! You made the wærewolves change, all of them, during the spell. Not just Theo.”
He held up a finger. “Ah, I said they would not be harmed, and they were not. I never said they would not transform. Perhaps you told them they would not, but I made no such assurances.”
I glared at him. “If there hadn’t been enough power to change them fully—”
“Persephone, I owned that book a long, long time and I know it well. And I know that if I had let the wærewolf transform without her alpha also in wolf form to guide her and communicate with her, she would have been disoriented and lashed out. I do not make oaths lightly, or without thinking them through to the end.”
I faced the fire again. Part of me wanted to demand how he had known her alpha was among them, but another part of me was aware that I was simply arguing because that kept the vampire comfortably at arm’s length. Peripherally, I was aware that Menessos had arched his neck to glance down at his chest. “Admittedly, I had not considered this possibility.”
“What?”
He shifted his torso and opened his shirt. There, inches above his heart, was a deep gash, coated with drying blood, dark and thick. A sickening flap of wasted skin with a piece of muscle still attached lay on his chest, exposing the depth of the cruel stroke that had made it.
“Samson endeavored to use the stake to strike me down. He had learned of this weapon through rumors, so his information was questionable and lacking. For instance, he was unaware that if he carried the true stake on his person, he would not be able to tread within a hundred yards of me or any of my people without us knowing it. Unaware of this limitation, he boldly brought the fake to our meeting place under his coat. He was able to enter with it because we felt nothing of the pain that heralded the true weapon.” He stared at the burning logs, words coming faster, posture rigid and hands fisted. “In order to deliver the details of how he had destroyed it privately, I required him to be in close proximity to me…and he used the short distance to his gain. He distracted me and struck. I raged and slew him. Too quickly. But it was done. My temper has never been mild.” He paused, unclenching his hands and relaxing his position. “I reasoned that you had deceived me. I came here immediately.” He paused. “This is why the wærewolf has not yet been punished enough.”