Death's Rival

going off the reservation, hoping to take me out first. Seems to me that I’m lucky to be alive.”

I heard background noises and then Leo said into the phone, “Unfortunately, my Enforcer, we have no evidence of that. When my George suggested that very scenario to de Allyon’s messenger, he asked for proof. We had none to offer, except for the human police reports, which are not sufficient in a Mithran court. Only a Mithran eyewitness would be acceptable to others of my kind.”

“Right,” I said, and though I knew he could hear the sarcasm, he went on, unperturbed.

“Therefore, the demand for blood-feud remains. I have petitioned to the Outclan Council of Mithrans for a ruling on the matter, and they have put it on the agenda for when they meet again in the new year.”

“Meantime we’re all in the crosshairs,” I said.

“Precisely. My George will send you the information we have on the methodologies of blood-feuds.”

I heard background noises again, thinking over the “my Enforcer” and “my George” phrases as the cell was passed around. Leo was staking claims—pun intended—as I had done with my use of the words “my Eli” last night.

George said, “You need to know that de Allyon offered another way out of this. Leo could turn himself and you over and de Allyon would let all the others live. Leo turned him down.”

Yeah. I bet he did. “Wait.” The winter chill of the room made goose bumps rise on my arms. “Let all the others live? Does the blood-feud mean he can kill everyone?”

Bruiser made a sound, very British, all nose and curled lip. “Historically, all of one side or the other died in a blood-feud, all the Mithrans, all the servants, all the slaves. Everyone.”

At last I understood, and lots of things fell into place, including Leo binding me—just after sunset, yesterday. “Well, crap.”

“I’ll send you all the information I have on the precedents and the histories. Most of it isn’t electronic. Most is in the form of letters and reports, so it’ll be photocopied and messengered over later today.

“My master will agree.”

I hated that “my master” crap and wanted to hurt Leo for trying to bind me to him, and for tying Bruiser to him so tightly, even if it did save his life. I felt something pull again in my mind, a compulsion to help Leo, a need to help him, and my anger at Leo flamed out. Leo needed a huge takedown or maybe some sensitivity training, delivered with the pointy end of a stake. I smiled grimly at the thought. My grandmother had been very adept with sharp pointy things. “Later,” I said, and ended the connection.

“What?”

I turned and found Eli in my bedroom, standing in the dark with his back to my wall, the door open beside him. I eyed the door. Then Eli. He was in boxers and a tee. His arms and legs were corded with muscle, his eyes dark in the shadows. He was holding a weapon in each hand, both semiautomatics. “When I lock my door, it’s to stay locked,” I said.

“Not when the house is under surveillance.”

“You mean the guy who appears to be sleeping in the alcove across the street? Small guy, dressed like he has money, but no place to crash?” It was a guess, but Leo’s Mercy Blade had used that doorway to watch my house before. So had Leo.

“You knew?”

“I’m not surprised. Next time, knock.”

“Next time, tell me when we’re being watched.”

I lifted my hand to show that I was prepared. I was holding one of the twin Walthers, the grip bloodred. Eli gave me one of his lopsided smiles. “You look good curled up in that bed, wearing a thin tank and not much else but a gun.” I didn’t reply except for a faint flush he couldn’t see in the dim room. He moved out of my room and pulled my door closed behind him. I flopped back on the bed. “Crap. Crap, crap, crap,” I whispered to the ceiling.

Seconds later the cell rang again. “What do you want, Bruiser?”

I could have kicked myself when I realized what I’d said, and there was a smile in his voice when he said, “Callan was sick, and Sabina has healed him.”

I ignored both my gaff and his tone. “Who is Callan?”

“One of the vampires in a cage at Katie’s. He says he served de Allyon only because his master kept him alive. He has asked to join Leo’s power base and it’s being considered. Leo would like you to speak to him before dawn, find out, if you can, what de Allyon’s plans are.”

“Yeah. Fine. I don’t need to sleep anyway,” I said crossly. I threw the covers away and hung up on Bruiser.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Free Dick Dot Come

I took the back way to Katie’s Ladies—over the back brick wall. Troll opened the door for me before I knocked, as if expecting me. “Little Janie,” he said, his voice like two rocks grinding together.

“Morning, Troll,” I said as I passed him. “Your scalp needs shaving.”

He rubbed his hand over the pale dome as he closed the door on the morning’s predawn light. “When I get time. George said you wanted to talk to the new guest.”

“Yeah. It’s all my idea. Where is he?”

“Upstairs with Christie.”

I stopped and looked back. “Not . . .”

“Not. Christie came home this morning and took a liking to the newcomer. He needed to be fed and she was willing, but that’s over with now.” He grinned at me. “You won’t walk in on anything.”

I shook my head and went through the twisting hallways to the back stairs and up. Walking in on something with Christie could be detrimental to my sexual well-being. Christie was the resident S&M practitioner, with a penchant for whips, chains, and pain, able to play the part of top or bottom in BDSM games. The fact that I now understood what that meant was kinda scary. Not my thing. I knocked on her door and entered when she called out.

The inside of Christie’s room was decorated like a gym, but without the charm. Bare mattress on a plain, steel bed, the four corners and headboard adorned with flex-straps and chains and cuffs. Bare white walls, bare wood floor, plastic rolled up in the corners. I didn’t want to know what that was used for. Steel shutters and padded blinds were over the windows, blocking out the coming dawn, the latest vamp fad.

Christie was lying on the mattress with a dark blond vamp curled around her. Both were dressed, but only barely, Christie in a sheer top that exposed steel chains through her nipple rings—ouch—and the vamp in black silk pajama shorts. Seemed that Corpse had a name after all. The vamp looked vastly different from the way he had looked the last time I saw him, covered in blood and burns. Now he was clean, his hair combed, and his face stretched in a contented, well-fed smile as I looked him over. His silver cross burns were healed, and that kind of burn usually took a long time to heal. I’d burned Leo with one once and really ticked him off.

“Christie. Callan,” I said.

Callan roused enough to lift his head from Christie’s shoulder and I could see the tiny pinpricks on her throat that marked the constricted vamp bite marks. “You’re my new master’s Enforcer,” he stated, his accent Southern, maybe a mill-town accent from the piedmont of South Carolina. He climbed slowly from the bed, moving like a feral animal, all smooth muscle and grace. Callan stood in front of me and slung the hair back from his face, holding my gaze, letting me look my fill. He was pretty. Dang pretty. And he knew it. Like a lot of vamps, he’d been turned for his looks, no doubt about that. He had a boxer’s shoulders, a cyclist’s thighs, and a painter’s long, slender fingers, with an angel’s face on top. But something about him made me think he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier—maybe the fact that he was posing. He held the pose a moment longer and then dropped slowly to one knee, like an old-fashioned bow, but with a dancer’s sense of balance. He bent forward, curling his spine so his hands and his hair fell forward to the floor, exposing his back, which was a swimmer’s back, tapering to a tiny waist.

“Get up,” I said. Before he could rise, I asked, “How did your former master infect you with the disease?” I