“Not far off,” he muttered. “I’m a strongblood. We’re half human, half-something else that casters – or witches, made using vampire blood. It just means that we’re afforded some of the traits that vampires have, but not all the perks. Magic’s cruel joke, if you can have a sense of humor about that stuff.”
“And you work for them?”
“The strongbloods were a gift from the casters, centuries back. The vampires have owned us ever since.”
“Owned?”
“Yes, as in slave,” he stated dryly.
She narrowed her eyes. “Slavery’s illegal.”
This made him laugh, a loud, rowdy laugh that turned into a chuckle when he was done. “Vampires don’t give a shit about human laws. They do what they want, when they want, and they send strongbloods to clean up any mess that jeopardizes their privacy.”
“Or to kidnap people,” she added.
“Yes, that too.”
“So this Magnus,” she continued. “He wants to drink my blood?”
Reykon gave her a genuine look, touched by sadness. “I don’t know what he wants with you. I’d rather not like to think about it, either.”
She mulled over what he’d said, her brain spinning, looking for any flaw. “So you’re a slave, and Magnus doesn’t care about laws, locked up in his high castle. How do you go into the world? How’d you get a driver’s license?”
He scoffed. “We’re isolated, not Amish. They have people for that.”
“Who?”
“Human servants, people that work for them. There’s a system.”
“There are regular humans that offer to help vampires feed off their own people?” she asked.
“In exchange for perks, yeah.”
“What perks?”
“Some people feel powerful, working for vampires. I don’t know. Some people are promised immortality, but that rarely happens… Some people are lured in by the wealth. And then there are people that just like being bitten. There are always humans that will flock to vampires, no matter where you go.”
She let out a frustrated breath. Her head was swimming, and the fact that he had an answer for every obscure question didn’t sit well with her. She switched the subject.
“Do you know my so-called ‘sister’?”
“Yes,” he said. “As well as anybody can know her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Lucidia Draxos.”
“Draxos? What is that, Russian?”
He smiled. “Not quite. There are five families of strongbloods, Draxos, Thraxos – that’s mine – Lexos, Hyxos, and Strexos. There were named after some human warriors that casters adopted. I don’t really know all the history. Anyway, I’ve worked with your sister on a couple of missions. She’s… well, she’s something.”
“Something?”
“Cold. Strong. Intimidating. I like her, professionally.”
Robin scowled. “And she works for this ‘Magnus’?”
“No. Vampires are separated by covens. But we call them the Great Houses. House Demonte is headed by Magnus. Your sister works for Darian Xander, head vampire of House Xander.”
“And how many vampire ‘houses’ are there?”
“Jeez,” he said, looking up to calculate. “I think twenty-five. More, less. Some of the smaller ones change every few years. But there are ten bigger ones, and only three that really hold all of the power: Xander, Demonte, and Prior.”
“Right,” she muttered.
“You believe me?” he asked.
“Do I believe you that vampires and witches are real? Or that I’m adopted and my half-sister is some magical slave warrior? Which part are we talking about?”
He sighed, turning the radio up more and pressed the gas pedal, taking them closer to the Utah border.
Lucidia
The grand hall hosted more constituents than normal; now, twenty plus vampires occupied the couches, floor pillows, and lounges. Humans in various stages of delirium were littered around like empty pop cans. The whole room smelled like rose water and clammy fear-sweat.
Lucidia moved forward. Another strongblood, Mikkel, stood at the end of the carpet, and Lucidia waited a respectable distance behind. Darian looked up from his conversation with Mikkel, glancing at her with a spark in his eye, and then returned back to the discussion.
When Mikkel was done, he turned around and walked past Lucidia, offering her a searing glance of acknowledgement. He was competitive, and still hurt from when she’d kicked his ass one night in an alcohol fueled hand-to-hand combat session, with fifteen other strongbloods watching.
She walked past him and to the front of the carpet, kneeling.
“Rise,” Darian commanded.
She stood and faced him. “The missions are complete.”
“As always,” he mused. “I truly appreciate your service, Lucidia.”
“Thank you, Master Darian.”
He stepped back, hands outstretched, boasting a humorous grin. “I am in a generous mood, it seems. I wish to repay you for your undying devotion and many sacrifices. What is it you desire?”
Every one of Darian’s various ‘moods’ had their own dangers.
This one, though, seemed convenient, even though Lucidia hated the way his skin fit over his teeth when he smiled like that. Even the color of it, like translucent marble. Stony. Dead. Complete with those blood-red, burning eyes. But despite his snake-like charm and false endearment, she did have one request biting at her tongue.
Lucidia considered only a moment before answering. “Thank you, Master Darian. If you would permit me, I have a personal matter to resolve.”
This intrigued him. He folded his hands over each other. “What personal matter?”
“It’s personal,” she said bluntly.
He hummed in the back of his throat. “You are in luck. I would very much like to know you on a more personal level. Wait for me, in my office.”
Damn, she thought. She gave a tense nod and turned to the right, following the deep purple carpet to the side door. It led to a private corridor, with thick wrought iron and glass windows and ornate wood paneling across the entire twenty-foot ceiling. LED torches, modeled after old-fashioned wood and tar ones, sat in sconces. A few years ago, the vampires had finally been persuaded to adopt electric, after many lung problems in their human servants, due to the ventilation problems. Not to mention the repainting necessary to cover half an inch of soot.
At the end of the passage, a large mahogany door loomed. A brutish vampire guard opened the door for her without a word.
Darian’s office was all dark, and over-the-top in
