Bite Club

lunged for her, she shoved the door open and ran out into the lobby, dodging the wooden desk.

The angry vamp came after her and skidded to a fast stop when he saw who was standing there in his path.

Amelie.

She wasn’t a tall woman, but she looked tall in her carefully tailored silk jacket and skirt and heels, with her pale hair piled on top of her head in a crown. The silk clothes were one shade paler than her skin, giving her a sleek, marble look that was enhanced by the stillness of her body.

“I also believe in an eye for an eye, John,” she said. “Quite strongly, in fact. It’s one of my founding principles. You’d do well to remember that.”

John gave Claire a fast, furious look, and bowed his head. “Yes, ma’am. I will.”

“I believe I employ you for a specific job, John. Guarding a very valuable, and possibly very dangerous, prisoner.”

“You do, ma’am.”

“Then perhaps it might be good for you to return to it and stop indulging your own petty little grudges.”

He silently crossed to the desk and sat down behind it. Claire let out a trembling breath. She would have said thank you, but she didn’t think Amelie wanted to hear that, not now.

“You did me good service, Claire,” Amelie said, turning to face her. “And now I need your word that you will forget what you heard here tonight.”

“You mean about—”

“I mean forget,” the vampire queen of Morganville said, and the force of her personality hit Claire like a wall of cold water. “I can’t compel you, but I can assure you that if you share the information you heard here, I will know. And we’ve already established how I view betrayals, I believe.”

This wasn’t Amelie, the one who’d sometimes unbent enough to smile…no, this was Queen Amelie, the Founder of Morganville, who never smiled. The daughter of Bishop. The one who’d survived ages and every enemy thrown at her through all those dangerous years.

And Claire never doubted for a second that she meant what she said.

“I won’t say anything,” she said. “But I need help getting home.”

“You’ll have it. Myrnin!” Amelie’s voice was sharp, brittle, and impatient. “Out here. Now.”

A section of the wall opened—one that Claire would never have guessed for a door—and Myrnin leaned out, eyebrows raised. “Then we’re finished here?”

“For now,” Amelie said. “Take her home. And—”

“Say nothing—yes, yes, I heard you the first seven hundred times,” Myrnin said, much too sharply. “I’m ancient. I’m not deaf.”

Amelie’s cold expression deepened, and her gray eyes took on an unpleasant reddish glitter. “Do you think I find this a joking matter?”

“Maybe you should,” he said. “And maybe you should have cut off the old man’s head when you had the chance. Absolutely no one would have argued with that choice. Merely walling him up, to increase his suffering and create an example—that was unmerciful, and, worse, it was sloppy. I believe that flapping sound you hear is pigeons, coming home to roost.”

If Amelie had looked any colder, Claire would have expected frost to form on the floor around her. “Really? Because I believe it’s the sound of my patience with your nonsense running out. Old friend. Do remember your limits.”

He crossed the room in a flash, standing toe-to-toe with her. He was taller than she was, and gangly, and raggedly just the opposite of her elegance…but there was something about him, something that made Claire catch her breath and hold it. “I am your friend,” he said quietly. “I’ve always been your friend, dear one. But on the subject of your father, you’ve never been very rational. Don’t let him drive you. Don’t play with him; he’ll always be crueler than you. Kill him when you find him. I’d have killed him for you just now, if I’d been able. But he’s fast and strong, and I couldn’t afford to let him bite me. He can assemble an army frighteningly fast. You have to find him, and when you do, you must execute him. Immediately.”

For a second, Claire thought that he’d reached her—that she was listening to the quiet pain in his voice. But then her pale, strong hand closed around Myrnin’s throat and squeezed. Spots of blood formed where her fingernails dug in. With a single jerk, she pulled him off balance and sent him crashing to his knees and held him there.

He didn’t try to struggle. Claire wasn’t sure he could; there was a thick, cold wave of menace coming from Amelie that froze Claire where she stood.

Amelie bent toward him very slowly and said, “My hateful father never had a better student than me, Myrnin. And I will kill him, but I’ll do it in my own time. Don’t tell me what to do, or I might find it necessary to remind you that I am the Founder of Morganville. Not you.”

“I never forget,” Myrnin said in a choked whisper. “Certainly not with your nails in my throat. They’re quite an excellent mnemonic device.”

She blinked and let him go. As she stepped away, she frowned down at her bloodstained fingernails.

Myrnin rose to his feet in a smooth, effortless motion, and whipped a black handkerchief out of the pocket of his shorts. She took it without a word, wiped away the blood, and gave it back. He cleaned the red from his neck. The wounds had already closed.

“That’s the second time I’ve spilled my blood for you tonight,” he said. “I believe I’ve made my point, and you’ve made yours, most graphically. So I’ll be taking my leave. Oh, and Claire. I’ll be taking Claire.”

Amelie nodded. There was a slight groove between her eyebrows—the ghost of a frown. As Myrnin and Claire—who’d finally dared to breathe again—headed for the outer door, Amelie said, “You’re right. My father’s escape has…unsettled me.”

“Couldn’t tell,” Myrnin said. “My advice is sound. Don’t punish him. Don’t make an example of him. When you find him, kill him quickly and quietly. It’s the only peace you can hope for. You can’t afford to allow him to become a power in this town again. Someone is working with him, helping him, or you’d have him by now. He wouldn’t dare to be out there, hunting. This is going to go bad, quickly. Act.”

She nodded slightly, still frowning.

And Myrnin grabbed Claire’s arm and propelled her fast, outside, down the steps, and into the dark. This time, he ordered one of Amelie’s cars.

Armored.

The fact that Myrnin had actually been scared enough to be careful with her…that said more about the danger than anything else.

SIX

The ladder was still in place when she got home. Myrnin, in typical Myrnin fashion, delivered her to the base of the ladder, and by the time she’d climbed three steps and looked back, he was gone. Of course. She pulled herself up the rest of the way, carefully, trying not to notice how the ladder shivered and rocked around as she shifted her weight.

Achieving the open window was a massive relief, and she wriggled through and landed with an unbalanced thump on the floor. It was still dark outside, but not for too much longer—another hour and a half, max, from her glance at the glowing digital clock on the bedside table.

God, this was terrible. Just when she’d thought things in Morganville might be stabilizing, just a little bit…now Bishop was on the loose again. He’d come so frighteningly close to bringing it all down once; he considered Amelie and everyone in town his rightful property. His playthings.

What he’d do this time now that he was actually angry….…. Myrnin was right. Claire wasn’t one to yell for anybody to die, but for Bishop, she’d make an exception. He needed killing, quickly.