Laws of the Blood 1: The Hunt (2 page)

Selim took a sip of after-dinner coffee at the thought and then went on. “What do you want?”

Everyone looked to Don Tomas to speak again. He sat very still and looked at Selim. His silence said that he accepted the role of host but refused to be a leader in any way.

Since no one rushed to speak or even think very loudly, Selim went on. “There’s a ritual going on here,” he reminded them. He gestured at the silver dagger. “Symbolism, remember? I ask the formal question. You tell me that you want a Hunt. I ask why. You explain. You name a body count. I name one. You don’t like it.
Eventually we all go home.” He looked around, coldly eyeing them one by one, making sure every gaze was on the dagger rather than on him before he went on. The angry, outraged tension in the room was enough to raise a heat haze and sear the skin right off him. Selim ate it up, but he didn’t smile.
He,
at least, still took the formalities seriously. Had to, actually.

“Shall we start over?”

When he looked back at Don Tomas, the
hidalgo
met his gaze. There was humor and a hint of apology in those burning, dark eyes. “We need to Hunt. We ask permission of the Strigoi Council. We ask the consent of the Nighthawk, the Enforcer of the Law, Tytan, Bubo, Defender, Protector, The Hunter of the City of
Nuestra Señora la Reina de Los Angeles.”

“That’s you,” Alice Fraser added. She turned her fascinating smile on Selim. “Does that make you feel better, darling?”

Kamaraju sighed. “This is all so last-century, Hunter.”

“We know the drill,” Michael Tancredi interjected. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” He sounded matter-of-fact, but his gaze kept sliding back to Selim’s silver dagger.

Finally, Alice said, “Please put that thing away. It’s so barbaric.”

“It was made by barbarians,” Selim pointed out. “It’s good to have the reminder.”

“Is that what the Council thinks?” Kamaraju questioned harshly. “That we need constant reminders?” Of all those present, Kamaraju was the least able to hide his nerves, his needs, his contempt for Laws he hid behind when it suited him.

“There’s no need to be so defensive, Kama,” Alice admonished. Her tone was firm but not judgmental. Alice made you
want
to do what she told you. Selim supposed that was why there was a waiting list to get fostered in her nest.

Kamaraju proved to be as amenable to her charm as
anyone else. He gave Selim an apologetic nod, even if he didn’t go so far as to say anything.

Selim slipped the dagger back into its arm sheath. He folded his long-fingered, elegant hands on the table before him, empty in sight of all of them. This gesture was even more of a threat than showing the dagger, but Kamaraju chose to ignore the meaning of it. He resented authority of any kind but was too much of a coward to challenge it openly. Though the dagger represented the authority of the Strigoi Council, his hands were Selim’s real weapon; it was his right to use them as he chose.

Selim smiled brightly at the community elders. “Let’s get this PTA meeting over, shall we? Yes,” he answered Kamaraju, “the Council does think we need constant reminders of who and what we are. Fortunately, you have laid-back little me to deal with rather than some stuffy old by-the-Covenant Euro-trash type. We’re all all-American vamps here.” Looking at Don Tomas as he spoke, Selim asked, “How many?”

“Twenty,” Michael answered. “At least twenty.”

“We have a list,” Kamaraju added.

“It’s been twelve years,” Alice pointed out. “That’s a long time, Hunter. A lot of built-up frustration.”

“Only twelve years?” Selim questioned. “It’s been twenty years since a formal Hunt in New York. Longer than that in New Orleans. And Moscow—”

“Moscow—or anywhere else—doesn’t have a tight-assed—albeit laid-back—control freak in charge of things, either,” Alice interrupted, as sweet and calm as ever. “We do.”

“We need twenty, Selim. Believe me,” Mike went on earnestly. “Twenty is a minimum to cover everything on the agenda. We have the names. All you have to do is give your approval.”

Selim admired the cold-blooded efficiency of the group, even admired that they’d worked together to come up with a list. He was almost tempted to sit back and let them do what they wanted. Almost, and even almost didn’t last that long. As Alice pointed out, he
was a tight-assed control freak. “Twenty is far too many,” he told them.

“We have three births alone,” Michael protested.

Selim had long ago perfected the art of canting a sarcastic eyebrow; he practiced it now. “Three fledglings? I don’t think so.”

“But—” Kamaraju began.

“No one’s died recently,” Selim went on. “Or moved away. I would have noticed. There isn’t enough territory available to support the addition of three vampires to the community.”

“You do know about the human population statistics?” Michael asked with equal sarcasm.

“I’m aware of them.”

“How many millions more do you want in the game preserve before you’ll let us at them?”

“I don’t stop you from feeding.”

“You regulate it.”

“That’s my job. I don’t stop you from taking companions.”

“You do a wonderful job of managing the city,” Alice flattered him. “But, Selim, what about our population? Birth control is all very well and good, but . . .”

“But what? Birth rate isn’t the question here. Not entirely. It’s a matter of maturity.”

“Whose maturity?” Kamaraju questioned. “Mine?”

“Yours,” Selim agreed. “Remember Jager? He’s a little problem
you
started that I’m going to have to finish soon.”

Kamaraju didn’t try to defend Jager. Didn’t look like he was interested in saving the lad’s life. Good. “Lisa’s different,” Kamaraju said. “And I promised her—”

“No way is that kid ready,” Selim cut in.

Kamaraju pounded the table. “That is
not
your decision! I promised!”

“Oh, come on,” Selim teased. “Won’t you miss her when she’s gone? If you’re bored, take an extra lover,” Selim went on. “But do not presume to tell me that a
two-year-old companion is ready to change. It isn’t going to happen.”

“We still need twenty,” Michael put in before Kamaraju could protest further.

“What about the other births?” Alice asked. “Perhaps Lisa isn’t ready, but the other two . . . My own Angela?”

“Two,” Selim told her. “Angela and Hallie. But at least one of them has to foster somewhere else.” He looked coldly around the group as he continued. “Seattle lost quite a few when Istvan vacationed there last month. There are always half-empty nests looking for fledglings after he’s passed through. Give Marthe in Seattle one, and you can have your two babies.”

“You son of a bitch!”

Selim merely smiled at Michael Tancredi’s angry snarl. Michael didn’t want to know the nasty truths of their existence or remember the harshness of the Laws. Michael sold cars for a living. He believed in negotiations, in deals. He liked to think of himself as a member of some sort of vampire chamber of commerce. His appetites were small, his interests more on the other side of the glass wall than on the inside. He thought he could control the need by making a Hunt seem like some sort of civic activity, make it into a formalized initiation and show of ethnic solidarity. Vampire boosterism. Like a kind of St. Patrick’s Day parade with human victims being herded through the streets on their way to being slaughtered.

“Maybe we could have a barbecue afterward,” Selim murmured.

“What?” Alice asked.

Selim waved her question away. He concentrated, really
concentrated
the way only a Hunter could, on Michael Tancredi. Michael had no choice but to
listen,
his whole being completely attuned to Selim’s unwavering attention. “You want me to let you kill twenty humans. It isn’t possible. It isn’t going to happen. You have a list. Business rivals the four of you would like to get rid
of, perhaps? Personal enemies?” Michael couldn’t help but nod in answer to Selim’s questions. Selim released his hold on the other’s mind and looked around in disgust. “Just how stupid are you?” he demanded angrily. “When did you get to be such amateurs?”

Of the four of them, Don Tomas was the only one who reacted, and that was to hide a smile behind his hand. Selim was gratified to know that at least Tom hadn’t thought they could get away with it.

Kamaraju looked furious, Alice subdued, Michael frightened. Nobody argued.

“Six,” Selim told them. “You get six of my choosing, and you share with the strigs. On the day and time I set. Any questions?” he asked politely.

The expected explosion didn’t come from Kamaraju. It was dainty, delicate, hard-as-nails Alice Fraser who surged to her feet. “Six! Two for the children and only four for the rest of us? Are you out of your mind?”

Michael turned a glare on Don Tomas. “Leave him out of it. Then there’ll be more for us.”

Alice shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Michael. It’s Selim who’s—”

“If Selim says six, you know we won’t talk him out of it,” Michael went on angrily. “He’s a bloody selfish bastard.”

“Thank you.”

Michael ignored Selim as he went on. “If there’s only going to be six, we need to divide up the meat so we all get a fair share. Let the
hidalgo
go hungry this time. He deserves to.”

Selim knew this was bound to happen the moment he cut their rations. A group of hungry vampires was not a pretty sight; they were bound to turn on each other. Selim watched as Don Tomas rose out of his chair, eyes cold as stone. The Himalayas had probably looked like that, Selim thought, as the continents clashed and the mountains poured inexorably up out of the tumult, majestic and unstoppable. Only slower.

Michael Tancredi sprang out of his chair, pushing it
over in his haste. He was the size of a bull and looked like he’d just had a red cape waved in front of his face. The comparison stopped when he bared his fangs. No angry bull had ever looked that mean. It made Selim wonder where the reasonable car salesman of a few moments before had gotten to.

Alice backed out of the way. She stopped halfway between the table and the garden doorway, at a spot where she could fight, flee, or sit back down to the discussion. She flashed a glance at Selim that blamed him for starting this.

Kamaraju stayed where he was, though he looked like he was ready to duck under the table.

“You don’t need to Hunt,” Michael told Don Tomas. “You already had yours, didn’t you?”

“It’s been nearly five years,” Alice reminded Michael. “Let it go, Mike.” Tancredi turned his snarl on her. Selim watched Alice back up another step. She looked like she was going to hold her hands up defensively before her but managed to turn the gesture into a shrug. “Fine. Don’t.”

“He should never have bled and bedded the bitch. Look at what happened.”

“He didn’t know she was Rom.”

That was the problem with living in a melting pot culture. The seasoning was sometimes off. Cassandra hadn’t been any more aware of her ancestry than Don Tomas had been. The result had surprised everybody. The result was nearly five years old. A healthy, happy, sharp-toothed little
dhamphir
menace that had every vampire that knew about him spooked. Selim was, so to speak, little Sebastian Avella’s godfather. Cassandra was still living in the don’s nest. Selim knew he needed to do something about it, but seeing Michael’s open hostility reinforced his belief that Sebastian was safer being watched over by both parents.

“You are in my house,” Don Tomas spoke to Michael, his voice a low rasp. “You will not speak of my companion.”

“She’s not your companion anymore,” Michael shot back. “You killed for her, with her.” He made a downward, slashing motion with his hands.
“You
cut the cord. She’s one of us now.”

“Then she needs to Hunt as well, doesn’t she?” that hard, low voice questioned. “For the sake of the child.”

“He’s a sweet little
velociraptor,”
Selim murmured.

Alice gave him an amused look when she overheard him. As the tension continued between the glaring men, she added her own low comment to Selim. “Don’t you just love testosterone?”

“Not one of my favorite flavors.”

“Not only tight-assed but straight.”

“They go together.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she agreed and backed farther from the continuing confrontation.

“You don’t need the kill, Tomas,” Kamaraju spoke up. “Michael’s right. Cassie had hers.”

“And the others in my house?”

“Let them pay a penalty for your Hunting out of season.” Michael appealed to Selim. “That’s fair. There should be more for the rest of us.”

Selim sighed. He stood. Less than a heartbeat later, Michael Tancredi was sprawled out on his back, spread-eagled on the wide tabletop with his shirt ripped open. Selim’s claws dug warningly into the spot over his heart.

Selim looked down into the surprised, frightened eyes beneath him and said gently, “Apologize to our host.” He glanced momentarily at Kamaraju. “You, too.”

“Testosterone,” Alice said smugly from the doorway. “You just have to love it.”