“You can let the wind carry that over the desert now,” she said. “That younger Danny can rest in peace, such that she is.” He nodded. “And what about you?”
Her lips twisted, and she tangled the fingers of her other hand with his empty one. Bringing it to her face, she rested her face in his palm, holding there for a long moment, leaning into his touch. “I’ve got one more monster to handle.”
“You’re not going to—”
“Not tonight.” She lifted her chin, and he saw that streak of cold purpose glimmer in her gaze. “No stomach for it, and it’s the wrong time. But I expect it’s going to come to that. Ian was what I’d expect from most of my kind. Ruskin . . .” She paused.
“Ruskin is a true monster.”
As she began to rise, they helped each other up. In the small confines of the bathroom, she was nearly pressed against him. He had a sudden urge to slide his arms around her, hold her close, but she slipped by him, turned at the door, the lady of the manor returned.
“Let’s go get this fucking evening over with, shall we?”
The courtyard was an area enclosed with a low stone wall, a frame built over it with screen curtains draped on the sides to keep the flies from interfering with refreshments. Aapti was there already, her face drawn but composed. She wore a dark, less formal garment now, a skirt low on her hips and the stretched bodice from dinner that still showed the treasures she had to offer. She sat on one of the walls, a decanter of brandy next to her, ready to serve her Master if called.
The British vampire had simply removed his jacket, already being suitably attired. Danny’s tight breeches and snug long-sleeved shirt would have been an indecent outfit, but she’d obviously dressed in anticipation of the exercise, how she would need to move or bend. Interestingly, she left her feet bare. The courtyard was carpeted in flat stone tile.
When Dev took a position in the opposite corner from Aapti, he sat down on his haunches, his bootheels flat on the ground, his back curved and body balanced without the support of the wall behind him, the way he’d often gathered with the aborigines. It was a tranquil pose, and he definitely needed tranquillity.
As she warmed up, a knot of tension was forming. He couldn’t help but have a man’s prejudice, worried for her, thinking of a female as more fragile and vulnerable when going toe-to-toe against a man’s strength and skill at arms.
“Sabers?” Lord Charles nodded to the two weapons she’d brought out. Danny nodded, tossed one to him, which he caught by the hilt and examined the blade. “Your mother’s weapons?”
“One set of them. She had others, but these were the ones I most preferred. Three strikes?”
“Versus collegiate rules?”
Danny’s lips twisted. “Lord Charles, we were doing this when dueling was rampant. I like the simpler rules.” He acknowledged it with a bow and humorless smile. “We’ll speak of Ian’s death and the debt you owe me after our bout. When I defeat you, I will have the upper hand. It is more advantageous to me.”
“Lord Charles, whether you win or lose this match, you will never have the upper hand on me.”
“We shall see.” He flashed teeth. “En garde.”
Dev tried to keep himself relaxed, at least outwardly. And he had to admit his sheila had well-developed skills. As the two circled, feinted, parried, riposted, clashed, ducked and spun, running the gamut from competitive form to straight-out fighting, the stockmen who’d completed their tasks or were idle had circled to the outside of the courtyard to watch. While they stayed at a respectful distance, the vampires didn’t seem to mind as the men became more involved in the match, commenting and calling out. Dev was sure part of it was they were absorbed by their new Mistress, who was a hell of a lot better to look at than Ian or Ruskin. She was bloody mesmerizing. He had to force himself to focus past that to note the way she compensated for Lord Charles’s greater reach and height with quickness and superior flexibility. The first blood was hers, a slice that went over his guard and nicked his shoulder, leaving a bloom of blood on the white fabric.
They backed off, circled again. Charles was no longer looking relaxed and urbane, the polished aristocrat. He’d shifted to that aura of unnatural stillness, and Dev knew before the second strike came that he had her on this one. She parried in, and on the riposte, he lunged forward unexpectedly and jabbed her thigh, the blade scraping off, but tearing the fabric as she spun away. She’d put up her blond hair to keep it out of her way, holding it in place with sticks. Dev narrowed his eyes, wondering if they’d come from Chiyoko’s belongings. For some reason, he was almost sure they had.
When Charles gave him a disdainful glance, he also realized he’d come to his feet on that nick, his hand on his knife hilt. “Your servant doesn’t know the difference between play and threat among vampires, my lady.” Danny gave a short laugh, humorless, as she backed, regrouped, and began to circle again, performing a couple graceful sweeps with the blade to loosen her arm up further. “Neither do vampires. And he’s not my servant.” Charles snorted. “More semantics, my lady.” He engaged again. Clash of steel, turn, the torchlight catching the blades and making them flash. Sparks when the blades hit, edge to edge, slid off, both vampires retreating and then Danny starting with the lunge again.
Dev noted that Charles’s men and even Danny’s had fallen silent. One more strike to go. After seeing her dispatch one of his overlords . . .
bloody hell, win or lose this bout, if Charles was still standing, he’d almost have to exact something dear to her, to punish her, put her in her place. And Danny knew that.
Charles’s men had shifted from observation to watchfulness. Quite a few of them had wooden knives in their belts. Charles likely wasn’t planning to kill her, but he didn’t trust her, either. He wasn’t taking any chances that she might be working her way down her “to do” list, and he was number two tonight.
My lady, in case you’ve rethought your plans, now is not the time. His men are prepared.
He tried to make the thought quiet, unobtrusive, and realized how absurd that was, since he had no idea what difference the volume of thoughts made in the recipient’s head. Her glance shifted to him, briefly, and Charles had her. Using a surge of hard-to-follow speed, he thrust inside her guard, knocked it out wide and shoved her back, stumbling.
Dev started forward, and three of Charles’s men came over the wall, holding him in place with a battery of pistols and drawn knives, skirting the circling vampires deftly. “Let it play out, mate,” one of them said, keeping the pistol leveled at Dev’s midsection.
While she was still stumbling back, Charles plowed his boot in her chest, knocking her to the ground and pinning her there on her back. When he pressed forward, a blade shot out of the sole, the tip jamming against the base of her throat. He held the saber at ready.
“You son of a bitch,” Dev swore. He plunged forward, the hell with the weapons trained on him. Three who had circled to the rear jumped him, bearing him to the ground with liberal fists. At least one gun butt rapped him so smartly he saw stars. He ended up with his back against the stone wall, held by the rough hands of the three stockmen, the other three with their weapons trained on him. It was a gratifying number, if he was in the mood to be flattered.
Stop, Dev. Wait. Her voice was sharp and urgent enough to get through. She and Charles were still in the same position, staring at each other as Charles apparently waited for his men to get the situation under control.
“Yield, my lady?” he asked. His breath came up short, telling Dev that vampires could exert themselves, and his lady had done a damn good job of that. However, Ruskin’s deadly gaze was still fastened on hers, his grip on the sword sure and steady. He could take her head with little effort. The stillness of his eyes suggested he wanted her to defy him, give him the chance. “You may voice your objections to the Council about my mastery of this territory, but you cannot find fault in my fencing skills.” She stared up at him, ignoring the blood trickling down her throat. “You were lucky tonight, but I will say your skills have improved since last we crossed swords.”
“So you will swear loyalty to me?” He let the tip drift down, follow the curve of one breast. “Give me your blood?” She tilted her head, an indifferent look. “Not likely, Lord Charles. As a full-blood vampire, I’m not required to do that.”
“Even”—he pressed the tip of the blade against her—“if I insist? There is no Council here right now, Lady Daniela. Protesting after the fact is just whinging, as we both well know.”
“With my lineage, I’m far more useful to you alive, if you can win my affections.” She glanced down at the blade. “Stop being a bore, Charles. You won the fencing match. Take your bragging rights and help me up.” Dev watched, his heart in his throat. Though he suspected she didn’t know, any more than anyone else, if he’d choose to kill her, she showed no fear.
Charles sighed. “You’re being stubborn. It’s a small thing. I could exact a far higher price for your infraction, and you know it.”
“It’s not a small thing at all. Which is why you want it so badly.”
“Your breeding is a matter of circumstance,” he sneered, his lip curling back. “Something your back alley thief of a mother stole from Fate and gave to you as if it came from the Queen’s blood herself.”
“Well, my mother would have been capable of stealing the Queen’s jewels right from her head. Why not her blood as well?” The cool frustration in Charles’s eyes died away, replaced by a tight smile that Dev found more chilling. Swinging his boot off her and twitching the saber aside in a harrowing move, he nevertheless offered her a hand up.
When she rose, he retained his hold, his fingers pressing down as his expression darkened dangerously again. “I doubt your affections are even winnable, Lady D. So enough of your coquettishness. I know it for a sham, and won’t tolerate it.” A muscle in her jaw flexed as his grip increased, but she shrugged. “A woman uses her assets to survive in this world, Lord Charles. If it offers no advantage with you, I’m happy to discard it. I find it rather tedious myself.” Nodding to the table and chairs set up nearby with another bottle of brandy, she said, “If you’ll let go of my hand, we can have that drink now and discuss your terms.”