Blacker than Black (25 page)

He pauses, licks his lips, shifts his chin down. An opening for me to comment or question, but I find no impetus or ability to do either. They operate within his territory, with his knowledge, awareness. Does inaction equate to complicity, approval, support? That would imply there’s no neutral ground. No gray.

“Would that I could rid my metro of that diner. My territory of their presence. Unfortunately, I did not have the upper hand at the time I forged that arrangement. I had to make concessions I’d prefer I hadn’t. But it keeps the rest of the city, and my territory, safe from their predatory encroachment.”

“It does? How, precisely? Because their presence in the metro influences everything. The energy of the humans, the ambiance of the city itself. Where did you think they were getting the humans from to serve in the diner? They sure aren’t paying to have them trucked in from elsewhere. And I can guarantee they aren’t just waiting until Nightwalkers venture across the boundaries and into that block.”

Ugh. I take that back. Trucking in delicacy for your patrons? It’s possible they do just that. But there’s no denying they pull a steady stream of humans—Nightwalkers—right off the boulevard.

Garthelle tenses, straightening a fraction. As though I’ve presented something new. Surely he knew they were pulling humans from his territory. How could he not?

I’m not sure any of this would matter to Blue. The blame lies with the Monsieur of York because he’s a vamp—not just because it’s his territory, his metro, and his responsibility. The rest of it is moot. I’m still not sure why the delineation suddenly matters to me. That it makes a difference why the diner still stands, still operates.

Guess the
lyche
is growing on me. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. I want to believe that he has the best interests of the metro’s residents at heart, be they
lyche
or human. We have to coexist. Most places, humans don’t have it this good. I want to believe it isn’t just coincidence. Or pure negligence.

It certainly isn’t convenient for one of his nature to restrict themselves voluntarily to a feline diet. I don’t know the ethos of the Modere, but it would seem to suggest something more than simply not taking what’s not freely given, as Alyn defined it.

I don’t even know how to describe it. This isn’t something I’ve encountered before.

“I hadn’t given much thought to that, I’ll admit.” Garthelle startles me when he starts talking again. Thought he’d said all he intended to, or wasn’t willing to debate the nuances of
lyche
political diplomacy. “As a general rule of thumb, we have a strong mutual respect for territory, property. The boundaries of ownership.”

My latte’s almost gone, beginning to cool and congeal. I hate it when it gets that way, slide the cup away. “So you ignore whatever Alpha does, so long as it doesn’t blatantly spill out of the boundaries of their territory.”

Garthelle inclines his head.

“What of the goons, then? The ones who came to the flat to snatch me? That’s an undeniable contradictory action.”

“Agreed. But there’s no evidence it wasn’t a tactic to sour relations between myself and the current Alpha ambassador. There’s no proof they are who they said they are.” He presses his lips into a tense line, gaze flicking down and away. He turns to stare out the window, studying the meager but steady flow of humanity and activity on the stretch of sidewalk and street outside.

No proof they weren’t either. And a string of suspicious behavior, all pointing back toward Alpha?

Is he being deliberately obtuse?

Jhez is still not happy with me.

She’s in the kitchen when I wake up late in the afternoon. I stumble into the living room of our shiny new flat and hear a blade chopping against the marble cutting board. I consider crawling back into bed and leaving the confrontation for later. Cowardly of me. Indecisive, I run both hands through my hair and chafe at my face.

The aroma of brewing coffee decides it for me. It dragged me out of bed, actually. So obviously she wants to talk. Otherwise she would have waited to start the coffee until she was ready. Huffing a breath, I force myself to venture across the living room and peek into the kitchen.

Her back is to me. She’s at the far end of the counter, her spine visible through the thin material of her shirt as she hunches over whatever concoction she’s working on. The source of lovely coffee smells is crouched on the counter between us. Two mugs, plain white diner pieces with no chips or glaring attempts at early-morning humor, wait beside the ambrosia dispenser. My fuzzy brain calculates the odds that I won’t make a sound while retrieving some, even as I shuffle onto the linoleum. Braving the den of the lioness. It’s worth it.

Besides, there’s always a possibility that I’ll manage to escape unscathed even if she does notice me. How invasive or disruptive can the sound of a metal spoon clinking against porcelain actually be?

Very, apparently.

“Do you really think you can keep playing him this way?” Her tone makes the question sound like the tail end of a long conversation I totally missed.

The spoonful of sugar hovers over the black depths of my coffee mug for a moment. I finish creating the perfect blend of milk and sugar, then cradle the mug in both hands as I turn to prop my hips against the edge of the counter.

Steam rolls up and caresses my face, the aroma making my mouth water. I blow on it for a moment, using it as an excuse to take a few deep, measured breaths. My pulse races, and I take a cautious sip, let my eyes drift shut. At least if she turns and glares at me, it will be moderately ineffectual. “Playing him how?”

“You know he’s not pleased with that concoction Blue gave you. I’m not saying I disagree with that alternative. But it’s not a long-term solution. That crap has side effects—”

“Yes. Like not being able to feel him, you mean?”

Silence. The knife slaps down onto the cutting board. Jhez’s feet scuff against the linoleum. “One useful aspect. How many other side effects will there be, though? It’s not healthy. And it’s not safe. For all you know, it will be worse when you stop taking them. Because you’ll have to at some point, right? Otherwise you won’t know when—or if—the pull wears off.”

I keep my eyes closed as I take another sip of coffee. It’s too early in the day for me to come up with a witty retort. She does this on purpose, forcing me to have serious discussions when she knows my brain isn’t out of first gear yet.

Then again, who wouldn’t take advantage of that fact?

She waits. I give up and open my eyes. “Yes, I hate taking Blue’s hits. My other option is to have them shot into my vein for me. He’s my friend. He isn’t willing to stand by and watch a vampire pull on my strings like I’m some street corner marionette. Because he can, you know. He hasn’t thus far,
but he can if he wants to.
”

Well, he hasn’t except to demonstrate his point, like last night. Or . . . that’s the only incident I’m aware of. I’m still puzzled by why he blamed that one on me. That, and the one in the hallway back at
Dragulhaven
. My palm tingles against the porcelain of the mug, energy-memory of the feel of his warm skin beneath my touch.

I take a longer drag on my coffee, not caring that it’s still hot. It scalds my tongue a little, and I can’t really taste it. But right now I just wish I could mainline the stuff.

Jhez braces her hands on the edge of the counter and her knuckles stand out pale against her skin. Her lips thin into a tense line in the uncomfortable silence.

“What’s my alternative? To stop taking them and
trust
him to be ethical, levelheaded, and considerate? Let’s be realistic here.” Not that I don’t think he’s capable of it. It’s not a question of capability or capacity, but of motivation and impetus.
Lyche. Lyche
are not renowned for their self-restraint. I’m surprised Jhez is having this conversation with me.

“I don’t expect you to trust him.” She stares up at the ceiling and chews on her lower lip, then trains one of those intense gazes on me that I’ve forever been helpless to escape. “If he can do that to you, though,” she whispers, “perhaps with a little practice you could do the same to him. It must go both ways, this . . . whatever it is.” Jhez makes a motion with her hand that encompasses this thing she can’t put a name to. It frustrates her.

Obviously. The kitchen looks as if some slave has scoured every inch with meticulous precision.

There must be a window open somewhere, because a chill crawls over my skin and leaves goosebumps in its wake.

Her idea has a measure of merit, I guess. He did crank my dials that first evening, but it didn’t go further than that. Object lesson? I truly didn’t expect the level of restraint he demonstrated. He was so angry. I’m in a very troublesome ethical quandary here, though. Turning the tables on him doesn’t sit well with me at all. I can see the benefits of it. Gaia, Leonard’s already accused me of manipulating him a few times now. Problem is, I have no idea what I’m doing or how to control it. If I were careful, subtle even, he might not even notice that I was influencing or manipulating him.

What are the odds of that, though?

“I’ll think about it.” It’s my ass on the line, not hers. Yes, she works for him. But that’s a purely temporary arrangement. I may be stuck in this for the long haul, but I doubt she is. Whatever decision I make, it would behoove me to wait until my sister is safely beyond the
lyche’s
grasp.

Less leverage for him that way. He will have nothing to hold over me but my own existence. She won’t like that, but surely she shouldn’t expect me to attempt something so dangerous and unpredictable right now. When it would jeopardize both of us. When this whole thing might wear off and blow over in its own time.

It could also get worse.

Leonard alluded to the strong possibility of just that last night.

That damned draft blows over my skin from somewhere again, and I take another drink of coffee. Jhez is staring at me, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Not sure if she’s trying to peer into my brain and catch my thoughts, or trying to convince me to do it
now
and lose the whole drawn-out suspense thing.

I can tell this is going to be a bristling thicket of briers between us. She can be a mongoose when she sets her mind on something. It’s obvious she’s already decided this is the optimal course of action. Highly doubtful she’ll relent before I do.

So I retreat with my hard-earned java and head for the bathroom. Maybe a long hot shower will help?

Probably. Especially since I’m not the one footing the water bill anymore.

I chug the last of my coffee and crank the water, undressing one-handed. The temperature of the shower spray is a shock, the hot water hitting my skin meshing with memories of Garthelle amping the sensation of pain. I’m huddled on his black carpet again, breathing in the smells of leather and dragon’s blood, arms wrapped around myself as if trying to keep my innards from exploding out through my skin. I feel fragile. On the cusp of shattering. Closing my eyes, I shove my head under the water and focus on the sensation of it running over me, down my face and neck, over my chest.

Wet clumps of hair cling to my cheek. When I brush them away from my eyes, my nerve endings recall the faint touch of Garthelle’s fingertips as he tucked my hair back behind my ear so he could see my face.

A shudder wracks my body and I shift in the spray, trying to chase the chill off my skin.

He’s powerful, ruthless. There’s no way I can hope to control him. How could she even think me capable of it? Even if I could, I would have to stop taking Blue’s concoction to do so.

Which would leave me vulnerable. He’d be able to do the same thing to me, if he wanted. And he’s had years more practice at it.

His very survival depends on his ability to manipulate the minds of others. For how long, I don’t know. I have no idea how old he is. Cats. For the love of Gaia. Really? How did he go from
a la feline
to threats of
fin
tap so . . . easily?

Why does Jhez think I can do this?

Leonard’s face fills my vision, hovering over me on the couch. The look in his eyes.

Was it just simple
lyche
hunger? Or something more? Nostrils flaring, drawing in my scent. Arms trembling. From his grip on the back of the couch. An effort to keep from touching me?

The furniture had creaked audibly under the strain, after all. And he’d just fed. So it wasn’t purely a hunger for more energy. What then? I wish I understood what happened—what went wrong—when he fed from me.

I still think it’s his fault. This never happened before him. I grimace. Well, not at this caliber, at least.

I’m trying to negotiate my damp skin into my favorite pair of leather pants when I hear Jhez call from the living room. “The limo is downstairs waiting for us.”

Because I’m in a rush, I hardly notice I can’t sense a single vampire in the vicinity. It’s invigorating and refreshing and utterly frightening all at once. Standing with my hand on the top edge of the limo’s door, I stare at the opaque shades blocking my view of Muscle’s gaze. The fine hairs all over my arms rise.