There was a folded note lying on top of whatever other items were in this box, with the wordsMy Beloved Wife written on it.
Instantly the letters blurred, because my eyes welled with tears that almost burned to get out.
Something in me knew if I read what was in that note, my delicate emotional control would disintegrate and I’d go insane. I shut the box and slid it under the bed. Busy, I had to keep busy. With warped resolve I dressed in the first pair of pants and top I found, not even seeing if they matched, and nearly ran out of the room.
Doc picked his head up as I entered the basement. He’d been twirling his two six-shooter guns. Most vampires were into knives, swords, or other archaic weapons, but Doc had a fixation for guns. He was never without them.
“Reaper,” he acknowledged me.
“How old are you?”
If he was surprised by my sudden question, he didn’t show it. Although I’d been around Doc off and on for a week, we hadn’t spoken at length.
“A hundred and sixty, living years included.” He had a pleasant Southern drawl that made each word sound more polite. Briefly I wondered if his colors had been blue or gray.
He held out one of his guns. “Want to give her a whirl?”
I’d run as if chased about forty miles in the woods, done two hours of solitary swordplay and more thinking than could ever be good for me. Guns? Why not?
“Your guns are female?” Asked as I took the piece. It required cocking to load. Mine were semi-automatic or fully, depending on what the situation warranted.
“Because, Cat, it’s the feminine persuasion that’s always the deadliest.”
Dark humor. Under other circumstances, I could appreciate that. I twirled the gun on my fingers, cocking and aiming it in a blur of motion. Knives might be my favorite weapon, but that didn’t mean I was an amateur with firearms.
“Very good,” he noted. “That wall has only dirt on the other side of it. How’s your shooting?”
In reply I unloaded the barrel into the designated area in a succession of six shots that echoed like only one. Doc smiled at the triangle outlined in holes. I didn’t return it, not knowing if my face could form that expression anymore.
“Give me more bullets and I’ll write my name,” I said without real interest. “What about you?”
He took the gun and reloaded it. Then he spun both weapons in his hands with a speed my eyes couldn’t follow, bouncing them off the ground and catching them, clanging them together in midair, and whipping them around his back and through his legs. All the while they went off, making the spectacle more dramatic by the bursts of loud fire. He had them back in my hands before the noise from the shots faded away.
“How’s that?”
I looked at the wall thirty yards away and got the joke. Doc had taken my triangle and turned it into an A, following up with a C and T with his fresh holes. Considering he’d done it during that dazzling display of tricks, it was very impressive.
“You’d be a hit with my team,” I finally replied. “My guys would think that was the coolest thing ever.”
“The law and I have a long, tangled history,” he said with dry amusement. “So I’m happier far away from it.”
“How did Bones come about changing you?”
Doc’s features sobered. “He didn’t. He’s my grandsire. Annette changed me.”
Oh. Now I glanced at him in an objective feminine way, noting the leanness of his frame, his attractively drawn face, hazel eyes, and slicked-back brown hair. Yeah, he looked like Annette’s type.
“Figures.”
“It wasn’t what you’re imagining. Back in the eighteen hundreds, I came upon four men cornering a woman behind a saloon. I shot two of them and the other two ran off. I didn’t know I wasn’t protecting the woman-I’d just denied her a hearty meal. Still, Annette didn’t forget my misguided chivalry. When I was dying years later, she found me and offered me an alternative. So I took it.”
It was something so like what Bones would have done, I turned away, blinking.Never forget a kindness. Apparently Annette believed that as well.
“You’re not one of Bones’s and you’re a Master, so you’re not under Annette’s line anymore,” I reasoned out loud. “So, then why are you here?”
He gave me a solemn look out of pale brown eyes. “The same reason you are. Because I don’t forget my debts.”
TWENTY-THREE
IT WAS DECEMBER 27,AND WE WERE ASSEMBLED in an opera house, of all things. I was dressed all in black, which suited my mood. I would have been fine wearing a garbage bag, but vampires dressed up for occasions and I had a part to play. Black leather boots completed the effect. The only color on me was the thin silver chain around my waist where several daggers of the same metal dangled. It was an unspoken threat and promise of protection combined.
Mencheres and I were center stage. Even though everyone in the theater knew why they were there, for formality’s sake, he repeated the news of Bones’s death. I refused to let any emotion appear on my face as those devastating words were spoken again, slicing into me with the same pain I’d felt upon first hearing them.
“…and as was his decree, the Mastership of his line passes to his wife, Cat.” Mencheres held out his hand and I accepted it. “From this night forward, all who belong to you are mine, as all of mine are yours. To seal this alliance, blood is required. Catherine, you who are also known as the Red Reaper, do you offer your blood as proof of your word?”
I repeated the required words I never thought would be crossing my lips. Then I drew a knife across my palm in a deep cut. Mencheres took the same blade and sliced his own palm, clasping his hand over mine.
“My blood is also proof of my word. If I betray our alliance, it will be my penalty.”
Our joined hands were raised for effect, mine tingling as it healed on contact with his blood, and then we let go. It was done.
Or not quite.
“I refuse to call the half-breed my leader, and I challenge for freedom from her line.”
“Thomas, you insolent sod!” Spade strode forward from his place at the perimeter of the stage. “If Crispin were here, he’d rip out your spine and flog you with it. But as his best friend, I’ll perform that task myself.”
In truth, I wasn’t surprised. At any formal gathering, a vampire could request or challenge for their independence. If the Master wanted to be benevolent or it had been agreed on beforehand, they would grant it without a fight. But if not…
“Don’t even think of it, Spade,” I said. “Bones would appreciate your intentions and so do I, but that man challenged me and I’ll answer it.”
“Cat.” Spade gripped my shoulders, lowering his voice. “You haven’t slept in days, you barely eat or drink, and all you do is train. If not me, let Mencheres answer this. He’ll make such an example of this sod that anyone else considering such a thing will find it markedly less appealing.”
“You’re right.” Spade relaxed, but Bones would have known better. “This creep does need to be made an example of, but by me. If I can’t do this, then this line will be torn apart from the inside out. Thomas!”
I pushed Spade back and went to the edge of the stage. “Your challenge is accepted. If you want your freedom…” I cracked my knuckles and rolled my head on my shoulders. “Come and get it.”
Thomas walked toward the stage, one clean jump taking him onto the elevated platform. The rest of the vampires cleared a path, Mencheres cutting Spade’s further protest short with a wave of his hands. I almost smiled as I watched. This was the closest thing to therapy I could do.
“How do you want to die?” I asked, boring my gaze into his. “Because you will, you know. So pick your poison.
