Laws of the Blood 1: The Hunt (31 page)

“Leave him alone! He’s just a baby.”

He nodded. “I know.” His voice was a strangled whisper.

Siri’s hands gripped hard around the smooth wood back of the nearest chair. Fighting through Yevgeny’s dark control made her dizzy. Through the swirling dizziness in her head, she could hear music playing. It was the song that had been playing in the toy store before Yevgeny showed up, but fainter now. Faint and fading. It had something to do with controlling her, didn’t it? Had he used the music in some sort of spell to capture her? A spell? She was psychic and understood how to use her gift very well, but the notion of using incantations and whatnot was foreign to her. There was something unfair about using that stuff.

“You need a vampire to become a vampire, not a helpless child.” She pointed at the silver curve of the blade and at Sebastian. Yevgeny didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. She remembered now what he’d told her
about needing a
dhamphir
when he’d worked an honest-to-god spell around her. When he’d forced
her
to help him with the use of ancient, arcane words.

Yevgeny’s gaze settled on her again, a blazing blue fire. “This is a do-it-yourself way. Very secret. There’s an incantation all vampires use at the birth of their companions. You don’t know about that, do you? That the change isn’t just a blood transfer?”

Siri shook her head. “I had no idea. They never tell us anything, do they? How did you find out this secret?” She wanted to keep him talking while she fought to clear the darkness out of her head. She’d figured out how. If she could just turn off the record—That was it, visualize it!

Sebastian was crying loudly, but Yevgeny was holding him close, comfortingly. He was still holding the ritual knife, though. “I’ve always been good at finding information. I was with the KGB, you know. Long ago.” He stroked Sebastian’s hair. “When I had sons. When I’m a vampire, I will make sons of my own. Have a household. Not be alone all the time. Nothing worse than being a companion no one wants. She said she did it for me.” He laughed.

There was so much pain in the sound that Siri wanted to cover her ears. She gripped the chair tighter. It helped keep her balance, sliding it in front of her as she moved closer to Yevgeny. The real feel of the wood in her hands and the concrete floor beneath her feet helped keep a part of her consciousness grounded in the present—here in a coffeehouse in Claremont where a child was about to die. The rest of her awareness went spinning inward, searching through black clouds and shadows for the off switch to the music that wouldn’t go away on its own.
Magic, humph!
She told herself sternly.
I just have to think my way out of this. If I can remember what the song is, I can turn it off.

“This can’t work,” she assured Yevgeny. She hated to bring it up, but added, “Even if you drink Sebastian’s blood, you’ll need—”

“A mortal to kill,” he interrupted her. His head came up, catching her gaze with his once more. “That’s where you come in. I’m sorry, Siri. I would have used the slave, but he ran away.” He sighed heavily, ruffled Sebastian’s hair. “Time to die, little one.”

In his dreams there was music, plus a hand on his dick. The music was what brought him as close to awake as it was possible for him to become. Or, maybe it was the hand circling and cradling his penis. He couldn’t rule out the possibility, or, rather, impossibility of the hot aching pulse of an erection being what brought his focus out of the far-from-peaceful darkness.

Damn it, Val!

I know, hon, but we need to talk. I thought that if I went dreamwalking inside you, you might get a bit testy.

You think?
He took a sharp breath as a surge of heat raced up from his groin, and he felt both the breath and the desire. Didn’t dream it,
felt
it. His eyes were closed, he had no awareness of where he was, just of sensation, and that he wasn’t alone.
This isn’t real, is it? What I’m feeling? It’s not possible.

A month ago I would have agreed with you. I think it’s me. I’m changing somehow. I can feel the bed beneath me. Can you?

Selim tried.
No. I’ve got a hard-on. How are you doing that?

Got my hand in your shorts before I went to sleep. I don’t know if you’re actually feeling what you think you are, or if you’re feeling what I want you to. Mostly, I was just trying to get your attention.

Don’t. It’s—

Forbidden. I know. Screw that. It’s not doing any harm, now, is it?
He found that he couldn’t answer. A powerful surge of desire flared from the tip of his penis, down through the length of it, up his spine; ecstasy exploded in his head and flowed back down through blood and bone and flesh. He shuddered with the release,
though not a muscle moved. Through it all, music played faintly, far away.

Now, don’t you feel better?

Is it possible for you to share a bed with anyone without sex being involved?

It’s good for stress. You need to relax, not take everything so seriously. My script, for example. You are far too concerned with ramifications and whatnot over it.

Whatnots?
Indignation burned through him. He imagined his claws unsheathing to their full length, imagined striking the woman he was trapped in bed with. All he could manage to do was think.
Someone has to be concerned. How many will I have to kill?

None.

You would say that.

Her laughter bubbled through him, gold, sparkling, warming as champagne. Bubbles of sound burst in his brain, refreshing and faintly mocking.

Darling, you’re acting like anyone in this town actually has an attention span. You’re worried about copies of the script being all over town. Forget about that. It’s just another horror movie script. Nobody but us knows it tells the truth.
She sighed. Deep, deep disappointment, heartache, and aching capitulation flowed from her into him, a sad, syrupy river. Her heart was bleeding; he could feel it. He thought nothing. Offered nothing. Eventually, she thought,
So much for Valentine. I’ll never feast on the flesh in this town again over this, but I’ll do it. For you, sweetheart.

What is—it?

I’ll walk on the production deal, withdraw the script from circulation.

Why don’t I believe that?

Because you think I’m crazier than I am. Writing it freed my creativity. That will have to be enough. I will have to accept being able to write again as victory. With victory comes the end of my bloodless Hunt. I’ll let telling the truth on film go for your sake, my dear.

She’d been planning on putting his life before
thousands, perhaps millions of people. He shuddered at the very notion, and not only because of the broken Laws or her violation of his mind to get her story. She was who she was. She had some right to delve inside him. She was who she was: ancient, powerful, kind, loving. Unstoppable. At least, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to kill her. He wouldn’t know how to start.

Your heart is in the right place,
Selim told her.

She chuckled.
At least for now. You’re wondering what I’m really planning, aren’t you?

Of course.

Her laughter returned, crystal clear, with dark, depressed undertones.
Rewrite it and do the thing as an indie after all. No way do I give up making movies just because of a bunch of nervous vampires. I’ll do the script revisions everybody’s been begging me for anyway. No real strigoi will recognize it when I’m done, I promise you that. Should have gone that route in the first place, I suppose.

Her distaste for this solution covered him like a heavy blanket. He didn’t understand and didn’t think it was wise to ask. He’d learned far more about the film business than he wanted in one night’s time. He didn’t trust her. He was going to have to watch her very carefully, monitor every move she made. That was better than having to kill her.

No Hunts in this movie,
he told her.
Not a hint of how or why we have to Hunt.

No, dear. Of course not. But we do need to talk about Hunting.

Let me rest, Valentia.
He didn’t trust her. He didn’t entirely believe her. It had to be more complicated than she thought, didn’t it? He was too tired to think about it any more right now. And there was something else fighting for his attention.
Damn it, I just want to get some sleep!

Not until we discuss that poor boy.

What poor boy?

The one sleeping on the couch. Am I right in
assuming that you fed him last night? You did, didn’t you? You do know what that means? That you’re now responsible for him.

How would you know—

I agree he deserves the right to take out Kama, and he has the gift, but you can’t possibly provide him with all he needs. Not you.

Selim would have answered, but the faraway music swelled up from the depths of his mind, and he stopped listening to her. It happened swiftly, like diving down into deep, black water. He didn’t fall into total darkness. He was enveloped in seething black smoke underlit with lightning flares of blue white and fire red. All through the smoke drifted the music, a monotone voice sang to him, words he couldn’t understand. It was puzzling, troubling. There was emotion in the lightning flashes. The light and emotion formed into human shapes laced through with flame. A third cried for its mommy and daddy. One of the flame beings—the scarlet fire—needed his help. He tried to make out faces in the light, to push past the smoke to reach the crackling red flares. He had to break through the blackness, find the concentration to dreamwalk, get to her. Siri needed—

Valentine shook him, a spectral hand on a nonexistent shoulder. Do you hear music? Wake up, boy. Talk to me. No. Don’t talk. Listen.

He opened his eyes and stepped into a long, narrow room full of small tables and cluttered with chairs. Fans whirred slowly and silently in a hammered tin ceiling high overhead, but no air moved. All the lights were on, but the place was dark. Shades were drawn over the windows. A Closed sign hung on the door, and it was locked. The people in this room were isolated, caught in a high, horrible drama. He wasn’t really there, neither was Val, though she held his hand in hers. He didn’t feel her touch, just knew it was there. He took a step forward, focusing as hard as he could on the burning, shadowy trio in the center of the room.

Selim forced the fiery mental image to coalesce into
its mortal form. No, not quite mortal. The man with the silver knife was tall, broad, with sun-yellow hair and a gold fuzz of beard stubble on his hollow cheeks. Mad-as-a-hatter blue eyes stared out at the child stretched out on the table in front of him. He was holding the boy down easily with one big hand. He reminded Selim of a grizzly bear. Here was a Hunter in the making, but unformed, unfinished. Power pulsed around him, shot off in uncontrolled electric arcs and waves. The not-mortal spoke, and every word rang with power, shone with it, directed his will into the others.

What is he?

Yevgeny,
was Valentine’s soft, fearful, pained response.
Lady of Snakes, what have I done?

That was Yevgeny? And Siri was with him. Selim couldn’t stop the jealous snarl, even though it was obvious Siri was not voluntarily in this empty place with this—Yevgeny.
Your Yevgeny?

Mine. For the last fifty years.

A companion? Impossible.

Look what I’ve done to him. My poor baby.

The baby in trouble was the one on the table, still and pale as death, surrounded by an opalescent cloud of energy. Sebastian. Siri was trapped by energy nets as well, but she was fighting them, working her way out of the spell. Pride and fear for her mixed within Selim. He had to help her. Had to get to her. But he was fast asleep, somewhere in the center of Los Angeles. Yevgeny raised the knife up, the tip of the blade poised over Sebastian’s heart.

“Please don’t do this!” Siri shouted. The madman kept weaving his spell.

Selim listened and watched.
I know this!
He glared at Valentine.

She nodded through silent, wracking sobs.

You did this!

Another nod.

It’s in the script. Just like when I—the Enforcer
character stops Istvan from sacrificing Sebastian in a ceremony to gain power.

It’s a real ceremony. He read the script.
She gulped on tears and wiped the back of her hand over her face.

This is my fault.

Damn right it’s your fault. Stop him!

How?

He’s your companion!

He can’t hear me. Won’t hear me.

Try.

I am!

Music swirled around Selim, the sound an irritating, plaintive, distracting noise.
What is that song!?