Daniel nodded. “I inherited it. Grew up here. Haven’t really lived here since I was a kid, though. It’s been in my family since the Civil War, one of the few plantations spared when General Sherman took Atlanta.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Daniel supposed it was. He’d never thought about the house much before. He’d been too busy with his work. His research. His life.
Funny how he had to die to see that he hadn’t really been living at all. He’d been holed up in his lab day and night, obsessed with the quest for synthetic blood. He’d told himself there would be time for the rest later. Even when Sue Ellen came along, she’d always been second to his work. It was a wonder she’d agreed to marry him. A wonder he’d thought to ask. But then, he hadn’t really asked, as he remembered.
He’d forgotten that until now.
They’d been talking over pizza in bed after an evening of so-so sex, and she’d asked him if he thought maybe he would ask her to marry him someday. “Yeah, sure,” he’d said. “Maybe someday.”
The next thing he knew, she was telling his lab assistant and the security guard and everyone else they ran into that they were engaged. He’d felt sort of obligated to get her a ring.
Why not? She was good-looking and a nice-enough girl. Who else was going to put up with his weird work habits and obsession with blood? It was what people did, right? Grew up, earned medical degrees and Ph.D.s in microbiology. Got married. Had kids.
Looking back, he could see what a mistake he’d made. How he’d taken the easy way. He felt like a fool for it now, looking at that big front porch and seeing himself old and gray in a rocking chair with Déadre, not Sue Ellen. Déadre’s kids and grandkids puttering about, but what was done was done. That future wasn’t to be. He’d made a commitment to Sue Ellen. He couldn’t abandon her now. He had to put her soul to rest, and once he did, he couldn’t go on living himself. It just wouldn’t be right.
Wrenching his thoughts firmly back to the here and now, Daniel turned to Déadre. “Looks like Garth’s having a party.”
Two or three dozen cars lined the circle drive in front of the plantation house, among them several long white limousines and a couple of hearses.
“Not a party.” She flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips nervously. “High council.”
“High council?”
“It’s the end of the month, isn’t it? Time to settle affairs, collect offerings, and mete out punishments.”
“What punishments?”
“You really don’t know much about being a vampire, do you?”
“Apparently not.”
The more her fingers twined in her lap, the more his own nerves jumped to life. He had a bad feeling about this.
“At the end of every month, the vampires of a clan—in this case, the clan Atlanta—are called before the High Matron to pay homage. Some bring gifts. Some share the wealth they’ve stolen from their victims.”
“You think Garth gave my formula to this High Matron?”
“Undoubtedly. Whatever he has belongs to her. He belongs to her. He is her Enforcer.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes. “What, exactly, does he enforce?”
“The rationing, mostly.” She rubbed her scarred shoulder. “We aren’t supposed to take mortal blood without permission. They say it’s because too many suspicious neck wounds gets the mortals riled up, makes them talk about witch hunts, but I’ve always thought it was because the less blood we have, the weaker we are.”
“And the more powerful they are. The more control they have.”
“The landowners starving the peasants so they won’t revolt. The bigger the offering we bring, the more blood they give us permission to take.”
“Son of a bitch. So that’s where he gets his money.” He put his hand over hers on her shoulder. “Did he do that to you? Give you that scar?”
“I—I took blood when it wasn’t my turn.” Her gaze jumped to his beseechingly. “I was so thirsty. I can’t go as long as some of the older vampires. I only took a little. I didn’t kill the man.”
“I know. You wouldn’t.”
She swallowed, lowered her face. “Garth knocked me down and held me there with his foot on my shoulder.”
Daniel’s throat closed. “The metal cross embedded in the sole of his boot.” So that’s what it was for.
“He’s so old, as long as there’s leather between it and his foot, and as long as he can’t see it, it doesn’t bother him.”
“But he uses it to keep the rest of you in line.”
“The rest of us. He’ll use it on you, too, if you interfere with him.”
He reached into the cooler behind the seat and pulled out two plastic Coke bottles he’d washed out and refilled with his wünderblud. One bottle, he opened and handed to her. The other he kept for himself, then knocked his container against hers in mock toast. “From now on, you can have all the blood you want.”
Turning his gaze toward the brightly lit house, he drank deep, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Garth LaGrange is never going to put a hand, or a foot, on you again.”
She followed his lead and downed her blood with gusto. When she finished the bottle, her eyes were fever bright. In medical terms, he’d say she was feeling no pain.
She slid her hand over to his lap, and he felt the building arousal in her, and in himself. It would be hard not to feel it, since it was currently threatening to bust the seam on his pants. If they were anywhere else, they’d be going at it like minks already.
“Killing Garth can wait one more night, can’t it? He’ll be more vulnerable when he’s alone. And tonight…” Her tongue curled in his ear. “We have better things to do.”
Come to think of it, what did it matter where they were? No one knew they were here. No one could see them.
He took her hand and started to pull her closer, but the headlights of another car sliding past them down the long drive had him blinking and throwing his hand up over his face.
“A late guest?” he said.
“Not likely. No one would dare be late to Council.” Raising her head, Déadre watched the car pull up to the walk and stop. Four people got out, two of them huddled together and wearing dark hoods, the other two flanking them on either side.
Daniel’s expression darkened. “You didn’t tell me this was a costume party.”
“It’s not.” She shook her head. “I guess now would be a good time to tell you that sometimes, when the High Matron is feeling particularly generous, they invite guests to the High Council. Mortal guests.” She had to pinch her lips together to keep them from trembling. “Most of the time they don’t survive.”
8
DANIEL’S face twisted. “They kidnap innocent people and bring them here…to feed on?”
She shrugged, but there wasn’t a hint of carelessness in the gesture. “The vampire equivalent to a gang bang. Everyone who’s been good gets to take a turn.”
“That’s sick.”
“I told you it was a miserable existence.”
He slung the satchel he’d packed full of deadly goodies over his shoulder and reached for the door handle. “We’ve got to help them.”
“There are thirty or forty vampires in there. Are you going to fight them all?”
“If I have to.” He swung the door open and jumped out of the truck.
Swearing under her breath, she followed, beseeching whatever deity would listen to her—if any would listen to her—to save her from fools and do-gooders. More importantly, save him.
“Wait.” She caught up to him at the edge of the trees, tugged on his sleeve. “They won’t get to the…refreshments until after the ceremony. They’ll stash them somewhere until they’ve finished their business.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere with only one way in or out so they can’t escape. Near the assembly—that would be in the largest open area, probably, so there’d be room for everyone.”
Daniel took her hand and skirted along a hedgerow, careful to stick to the shadows. “Sounds like the ballroom.”