Shadow Rising (16 page)

“Not this time,” Damien replied. “I was there shortly afterward. His missing head put a damper on my appointment to talk with him.”

“How very sad for you,” Diana replied flatly, then turned her attention back to Ariane. “I would help if I could, but it’s been months since I’ve seen or heard from him. And honestly, we’re friends, but on his terms. He’s very reserved. I only found out he was handling a lot of the finances with Manon because he slipped and said something about going there as he was leaving me one night. Beyond our chess games, I knew little of him.”

“Chess?” Damien asked. “Is that a euphemism, I hope?”

Diana bared her fangs.

“We need to see M—the Empusa,” Ariane said, only barely catching herself. That certainly stopped Damien and Diana from arguing, but from their expressions, it might not have been the best thing to blurt out.

“Subtle, kitten,” Damien muttered, looking away.

Diana’s eyebrows lifted as she looked between them. “Oh? I see. I’ve been used as a pretense.”

“No, not at all!” Ariane said quickly. “I wanted to see you too. You were so helpful before that I thought you might have seen or heard something else. But things have gotten a little more… complicated… since I last saw you. This is your dynasty’s territory. I think your leader should know what’s going on. And maybe… I was hoping… she could help.”

She held her breath as Diana mulled this over. Damien was silent, and Ariane was grateful for it. She guessed
that even he knew nothing he said would be anything but a hindrance.

Finally, Diana relented with a soft, irritated sigh. “Well. I can’t say you were wrong to come. Even though I must tell you that whatever Damien has promised you where my mistress is concerned is at least half lie, likely more.” She shot Damien a hard look. “You know she doesn’t involve herself much in worldly affairs anymore. Especially not at the request of a Shade.”

Ariane’s hopes deflated considerably, though Damien seemed only more determined.

“We’ll see what she says when I actually make the request, then.”

Diana’s composure wavered. “Damn it, Damien,” she hissed, her voice dropping. “She’s not well, and you know it! And she’s in no shape to see you, or anyone tonight!”

The look on Diana’s face, contorted for the briefest instant into a mask of fury and despair, told Ariane that the rumblings she’d heard since coming to Charlotte were true. Somehow, the ancient leader of the Empusae, the child of Hecate, was dying.

Diana rounded on Ariane. “Not a word of this to anyone,” she said, her tone slightly softened but no less urgent. “Please. We all know there are rumors. If they were confirmed…”

She trailed off, but Ariane understood. She nodded. “Of course,” she said gently, knowing that the reality had to be worse than the rumors. And if the leaders of the other dynasties knew for certain how weak the center of the Empusae had become, there would be no mercy in seeking to claim what remained of the dynasty for their own.

“It’s only a matter of time,” Damien said quietly, his voice devoid of any compassion. “You’d do better to be searching for a replacement, rather than pinning your hopes on a miracle.”

Diana collected herself then, straightening, schooling her features back into simple, unreadable beauty.

“The Empusae’s affairs are not your concern, Damien.” Her lips thinned. “You will, of course, continue to be paid well for your work on our behalf and for your… discretion.” She inclined her head toward Ariane again, and for the first time Ariane could see the weariness shadowing Diana’s eyes.

“Why don’t you come in for a drink? You came all the way out here, and while I’m not as skilled as my mistress, if you tell me what’s going on, I may be able to offer something. Besides,” she continued with a soft smile, “I’d like to show you our court, Ariane. It’s not often I get to show off for a Grigori. Sam refused to come inside without an invite from the Empusa, and I never wanted to trouble her for the invitation. Good thing we have a chess table outside.”

“I’d love that,” Ariane said.

“Wonderful,” Diana said, and sounded as though she meant it. “We can join my other guest in the conservatory. It seems the gods decided I needed company tonight. Come on.”

She beckoned as she glided forward, leading them into the west wing of the house. Damien walked beside her as they followed, uncharacteristically silent. Finally, he spoke just loudly enough for her to hear.

“I don’t like this.”

Ariane turned her head to look at him, curious. He was frowning at the floor, his brow furrowed.

“Like what?” she whispered. They passed rooms where beautiful women played music, or painted, or were simply engaged in conversation. It occurred to Ariane that she had never been in a place so utterly feminine. But then, that made sense. The Empusae were the only dynasty that was comprised of only one sex, female to the very core.

“This. We should be out there working, not sitting inside clinking our glasses together and celebrating how wonderful we are. That’s such a bunch of highblood bullshit.”

Ariane gave a soft huff of laughter, as intrigued as she was insulted. “Oh? It seems classier than, say, blackmailing an entire dynasty.”

He snorted softly. “I’m not blackmailing them. Mormo—or whoever is actually running things right now—pays the House of Shadows well for our silence. You can take it up with Drake if it bothers you that much. I guarantee you’ll get nowhere.” He looked around, seeming to take in the serenity of the surroundings, then shook his head. “Pity. I didn’t know it had gotten that bad. If she’s really incapacitated this time, it won’t be long before they fall.”

“Don’t say that,” Ariane murmured.

Damien looked bemused. “Why not, kitten? It’s the truth. I thought you appreciated my honesty.”

She didn’t answer him, couldn’t look at him. Instead she watched Diana, following her lead. He would only laugh at her if he knew what the problem really was. She didn’t mind his honesty. What bothered her was his complete lack of empathy. Ariane had read about what happened when dynasties fell. It was an ugly process, usually
fraught with some vampires fighting and dying in a futile attempt to preserve their bloodline and the rest being assimilated into the conquering dynasty through what was known to be a painful and very humiliating process.

No doubt he knew that, had possibly seen things like it. And he felt… nothing.

Remember that when you’re imagining his hands on you
, Ariane told herself.
All you seem to do is feel, and he can’t feel anything anymore, if he ever could.

A sudden wave of sound came crashing through the hallway, scattering her dark thoughts to pieces. Ariane stopped in her tracks, eyes widening. She didn’t think she’d ever heard music like this, wild and impassioned as someone’s fingers danced over the keys of a piano. It required the kind of emotion that the Grigori were so good at containing. Some of her blood brothers and sisters could sing so sweetly it made humans weep, but that was borne of skill.

This was passion, something her kind had forgotten… something she wanted desperately to experience.

Diana paused in front of a pair of large glass doors to look in, and a soft smile touched her lips. She looked back over her shoulder, and whatever she saw on Ariane’s face had her beckoning.

“I knew if I left him here, he wouldn’t be able to resist. Come, you haven’t lived until you’ve heard Vlad play.”

“The Dracul is here?” Damien asked.

Ariane barely heard him, enchanted by what she was hearing. She walked to the doors, which were open just a crack, and looked in. In the center of the room sat an enormous black grand piano, gleaming in the candlelight. What transfixed her, though, was the man seated at it.

He was beautiful. There was no other way to describe him, though “beautiful” was probably too feminine a word. His hair was pale gold and swept away from his brow. His features were both strong and sensual, with a sharp nose and a mouth that looked like it would be just as capable of cruelty as seduction. She could tell he was tall even though he was seated, and his broad shoulders were showcased perfectly in a severe black suit.

All of that was arresting enough. But there was something about the way he looked as his fingers drew the music from the instrument, a hot intensity that would likely melt any human who attracted it, that stilled Ariane’s breath.

Lucifer himself seemed to have stepped from the pages of
Paradise Lost
to sit down and play a song.

As the final chord reverberated out into the hall, she heard Damien’s chuckle right before he slid by her and walked into the room.

“For God’s sake, Vlad. All you need is a sparkly jacket and a gaudy candelabra.”

Ariane looked to Diana, who was watching the scene unfold with a wry half smile.

“Is he trying to get killed?” Ariane asked.

“I wonder that sometimes,” Diana replied as the gorgeous pianist rose, grinning, to greet Damien. “But not tonight. For whatever reason, Vlad likes him.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“If nothing else, you and Vlad have now reminded me that there’s no accounting for taste. Come on, and let me introduce you to Vlad Dracul.”

chapter
ELEVEN

D
AMIEN RELAXED
into the plump leather chair and swirled the mixture of fresh blood and an excellent red wine in his glass. For the first time in weeks, he felt relaxed. He wouldn’t have thought it could happen here, sitting in the temple of a dying queen while a winged homicidal maniac lurked gods-knew-where out in the night. But he had learned to take his pleasure where he could and not question it.

The four of them—he, Ariane, Diana, and Vlad—sat comfortably in the oversized furniture in front of a darkened fireplace that he was sure was the picture of coziness in winter. As it was, it was still incredibly pleasant. The translucent curtains moved gently in the night breeze while the cicadas sang outside to accompany the rumble of the occasional passing motorboat. The piano now sat silent, though not forgotten, at least by Damien.

He had once been quite proficient. But never like Vlad. Some bastards really did manage to get it all.

“And that,” Vlad was saying, “is why Bram Stoker was and always will be a flaming, lying asshole.”

Ariane laughed, the lilting music of it making it impossible for Damien to focus on anyone but her. She seemed to have relaxed, too, with her feet tucked up beneath her on the couch, having slipped out of her shoes when she’d thought no one was paying attention. But he had.

Thank the gods the woman seemed to have no clue just how much he watched her. Or how long he’d been trying to catch a glimpse of the dagger he was certain she had tucked into some frothy bit of lace around her thigh. Except it wasn’t the dagger he was interested in.

She rested one elbow on the arm of the couch, curled up and happy like the kitten he liked comparing her to. Her hair was beginning to come loose, shining pale strands of it framing her face, making his fingers itch to pull out the pins and send the rest of it tumbling around her shoulders.

He was far too enamored of her hair. Much like every other part of her.

And it hadn’t escaped his notice that the Dracul seemed equally fascinated.

“So he wrote an entire book about killing you off just because you wouldn’t give him an interview?” she asked. “That’s taking spiteful to an entirely new level.”

Vlad chuckled. “Well, it was the lack of an interview, and then my instructions to all of my people that they were
not
to turn him, no matter how he begged. I’ve found that the ones who want it that badly are almost always complete disasters as vampires.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Ariane said, her smile as warm as the summer night. “I’ve never known a human to ask to become a Grigori.”

“It could be because you have so little contact with humans,” Vlad said. “Is it true that your people bring in rotating groups of blood donors, rather than leave the desert and hunt?”

Damien made a disgusted noise. “Careful, Ariane, he’s slipping into professor mode. If he starts this, you’ll be asleep long before sunrise out of self-defense.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Ariane replied. “I think the differences in all our bloodlines, in the traditions of our houses, are fascinating.” She returned her attention to Vlad. “How on earth did you know about the Chosen? No one knows about them!”

As Ariane, with Vlad’s gentle prodding, began to talk about the humans who came to stay for months on end, pampered beyond their wildest dreams in exchange for regular donations of their blood, Damien glanced at Diana. She sat on the opposite side of the couch from Ariane and had lapsed into being surprisingly pleasant, apart from a few barbs. But now, when she felt Damien’s eyes on her, she met his gaze, lifted one corner of her mouth in a knowing smirk, then returned her attention to Vlad and Ariane.

Damn her, she sensed Vlad’s interest, too, and she knew full well it was bothering him.

Damien considered saying something wildly inappropriate just to turn Ariane’s attention back to him, but he knew it would backfire. Vlad was too used to him for it to really work. He looked around the room, hoping for inspiration to hit him as Vlad launched into one of his many pet theories on everything that was utterly boring in the world.

“You know,” Vlad said, his faint Eastern European accent more pronounced now, as it always was when he
let his guard down a little, “I’ve never gotten a good look at the Grigori mark until tonight.”

Diana laughed. “I’m glad you never tried. I don’t think you’d be sitting here with us now if you had.”

He looked mildly chagrined. “I could take down a Grigori if I had to.”

“No,” Ariane said. “You couldn’t.”

“You should see the swords they train them with,” Damien muttered, irritated when no one even looked at him. This had turned into the Vlad Dracul show, complete with two rapt women and an utterly extraneous wingman: him. Vlad was one of the few people Damien could actually say he liked, but the animal magnetism thing with the opposite sex could be very annoying. Especially because Damien knew that a big part of the man would be perfectly content wrapped in a bathrobe, locked in his library poring over a bunch of dusty old books.