Reluctant Partnerships (11 page)

“And until you know who the
extorris
is?” Auguste demanded. Denis thought he heard a change in the other vampire’s tone. Auguste might still be making demands, but he had gone from being hostile to wanting Denis’s assurances. If Auguste had backed down, Denis was probably safe from a fight to hold onto his position.

“Until we know the identity of the
extorris
, I will defend all members of my Cour equally,” Denis said. “I will not have my Cour persecuted, but neither will I have innocent vampires endangered by the actions of someone who has stepped outside our laws. If you were not the one responsible for the involuntary turning, I will protect you with every ounce of authority in my position and every bit of cunning and strength I possess. We are not facing this alone. Already, l’ANS is drafting legislation to address the crime that was committed and to protect the rest of us from being tarred with the same brush. The same political force that ended l’émeutte des Sorciers and brought about the equality legislation that has improved things for all of us is working to make sure we don’t lose ground because of this now. We owe it to ourselves and to them to do nothing that would impede that process.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

“First, by giving all assistance we can to the authorities,” Denis said, meeting the eyes of every vampire in the room as he spoke. “Secondly, by showing a unified front in condemning the actions of the
extorris
in any setting where it comes up.”

“We have survived for centuries because we have always defended our own,” Auguste protested.

“We have,” Denis agreed, fully aware of his youth in comparison to the others in the room, not merely because he had been turned at nineteen, but because his turning outside Amiens at the height of World War I made him by far the youngest vampire in the room. “That mentality protected us for years. I don’t have the experience that some of you do, but I wasn’t turned yesterday either. I’m fully aware of our history. I’m also aware of what has changed in the past two years and why. We have rights we could never have imagined possessing because a few vampires dared to break our kind’s tradition of isolation and self-interest only, but if we handle this situation poorly, we could lose those rights as quickly as we gained them. Six months ago, you trusted me to challenge Renaud because you believed my leadership would better serve the Cour in these changing times. These events prove once again how important it is to be proactive in dealing with our new situation. If we wait for them to come to us, if we wait to defend ourselves after public opinion has turned against us, we will lose ground. Every one of you is thinking about le Jeu des Cours, but this isn’t about status within the Cour any longer. This is about our status in society as a whole. We are masters at turning things to our advantage. We have played this game among ourselves for centuries. The time has come to turn those skills outward to our advantage rather than fighting among ourselves.”

The room erupted in a rumble of mutters. Denis let them talk among themselves. Their lives were so steeped in le Jeu des Cours that the idea of setting it aside, even in the face of a common danger, would take some adjustment for many of the vampires.

“So what exactly do you propose?” Camille Faurie asked when the whispers died out.

“The man who did this, whether he is in this room or out doing who knows what, has forfeited the right to our protection,” Denis said. “Turning a human into a vampire is no crime, but Pascale Auboussu had no desire to be turned and no help once she was turned. When the detective found her, she was about to throw herself off a bridge. If the fall had not destroyed her, daylight undoubtedly would have. The vampire who created her and left her violated our most basic tenet of not harming another vampire. Do we at least agree on that matter?”

The others nodded with varying degrees of enthusiasm, but no one dissented.

“Then all I propose is separating ourselves from him,” Denis said, “not only privately in our internal declaration of him as
extorris
but publicly. We need to denounce what he did every time we hear it mentioned. In my role as chef de la Cour, I will handle a public statement, but it isn’t what I say on the news or in print that will sway people. It’s hearing that average vampires are as horrified at what happened as they are.”

“We’ve never talked about Cour business with mortals,” Auguste reminded Denis.

“I’m not suggesting you bring it up,” Denis said. “I’d be perfectly happy if no one not directly involved ever heard about what happened, but I don’t expect that to be the case. I expect word to get out, and when it does, people will talk about how horrible it is. If you hear someone say something like that, agree with them. Make it clear you’re a vampire and that you’re as unhappy about it as they are. If you get the chance to mention that most vampires aren’t like that one or that we’re doing all we can to find him and bring him to justice, that’s even better, but that isn’t necessary. That’s my job, and I’ll do it. Are we in agreement?”

Denis let the silence stretch after his final question, standing with loose-limbed grace as he waited for the assent of his Cour or the next challenge. He had made his position clear. A challenge, if it came now, would be a physical one.

“Your plan could backfire on us,” Camille said finally. “If we draw attention to our vampire natures and public opinion swings against us, the crazies will know exactly who we are and where to find us.”

“I know that,” Denis said, “and if it happens, it may mean leaving Autun for some period of time, but the risk of silence is greater. As long as we have protection under the law, we can fight back against the crazies, as you call them. If we lose that protection, we have nothing but our own wits.”

“We have survived by those wits for centuries,” Auguste said.

“We have, but never as openly or comfortably as we have in the past two years,” Denis said. “Do you really want to go back?”

“No,” Auguste said after a moment.

“No,” Camille agreed.

“Then help me—help
us
keep our new rights by helping people see we aren’t monsters,” Denis entreated. “We all have stories to tell of how we were turned, of people we have turned rather than watch them die. Share those stories when you can. I think it would surprise people if they realized a vampire came to me as I lay dying on a battlefield and offered to speed my passing if that was my wish or to give me a different kind of existence. When mortals had left me to die alone, a vampire offered kindness, companionship, and most importantly help, and all around me on the battlefield, other vampires did the same.”

“That is how people should be turned,” Camille said, her voice so soft Denis could barely hear her. He kept his face neutral, but inside he crowed with delight. He had won.

“Then tell people that,” he said just as softly. “They think we are damned. Let them see this other side of us. We won’t convince everyone, but if we can sway the majority, the others can go jump in a lake for all I care.”

T
HE
meeting finally adjourned, Denis walked through the empty streets toward home. He needed to feed. Not desperately yet—he could wait until tomorrow night—but soon. Letting himself into the dark cottage he called home, he switched on a lamp and collapsed onto the nearest chair, heedless of his suit now that he was alone with no one to impress.

The meeting had gone better than he had feared it would. He had half expected to have to fight for his position before the night was over, but logic had won the day. He would have to talk to Bellaiche and see when they should schedule a press conference. They did not want to create panic instead of appeasing it, but Denis still thought a preemptive strike would serve them better than defensive action later.

That could wait until tomorrow night, though. He doubted Bellaiche had managed to meet with his own Cour yet, and until that occurred, the rogue vampire was only
extorris
in Autun, which was not much of a statement. Denis had no illusions as to his status among the other chefs de la Cour. Autun was too small, Denis was too young, and his leadership was too new for him to have any pull with the other chefs. Jean, on the other hand, as the chef de la Cour of the capital, as a vampire over a millennium old, as one of the heroes of l’émeutte des Sorciers and one of the activists for equal rights, would be able to bring others around if this spread beyond le Morvan and they needed the help of the Congrès des chefs.

Denis sighed and rubbed his belly, hunger beginning to make itself felt. A quick glance at the clock showed he had two hours until dawn. He could go to Dommartin. During the week, Sang Froid kept business hours at an auxiliary location for the vampires at l’Institut, but that would only give him a short time to feed given the distance there and back. It was that or wait until tomorrow night, though. He could wait. He was not a newly turned vampire in need of constant blood.

He missed Noël. He missed the companionship, the ease of always having someone to feed from when he needed it. Not for the first time since Noël’s death, he considered the advantages of finding another regular source of blood even if he did not invite that person into his home and his heart as he had with Noël. He was no monk. At times, he had found release in the arms of those he fed from since Noël’s death, but none of them had touched him the way Noël had. Next to Noël’s, their blood tasted flat, and that was why Denis rarely went back for more. His lover had spoiled him for everyone else. The strength of his character and his love had carried through their feeding, giving Denis a sense of well-being and satiation that he had not felt since the last time he had fed from Noël before his death. If he fed more often, perhaps he could recapture some of that sense of wellness, but he could work up no enthusiasm for that undertaking.

That did not stop him from dreaming, though. He had no particular interest in a partnership such as the ones he saw among the vampires and wizards he had met at l’Institut, but he did envy those vampires the companionship they had found with their partners. Other vampires had told him to give it time before he looked for a new companion. They assured him it was possible to find another intimate, even another love eventually, but everyone he had asked warned against rushing into something before he was ready. Looking at the picture of Noël on the table next to him, he knew he was not ready.

Chapter 7

D
AVID
groaned as Angelique settled against him, having driven him to a mind-shattering orgasm as she fed and rode him to oblivion. He wanted to hold her, but the ties around his wrists made that impossible. Whispering a spell he could not have done a year ago, he released the ties and wrapped his arms around her slender shoulders.

“You’re getting better at that,” Angelique murmured. “I’ll have to find something more complicated to tie you up with before long.”

“I’m not about to say no to anything you suggest,” David said, thinking of all the ways he and Angelique had made love since the end of the war. He had never imagined some of the delights she had shown him. “But you know you don’t need to. I enjoy what you do to me far too much to actually try to get away.” He shifted on the bed, rubbing one hand over his smarting backside. “Although you could have picked a day when I didn’t have meetings all morning. Sitting down is going to be a bitch.”

Angelique grinned and kissed her wizard as she smacked his cooling arse one more time. He moaned and undulated against her so beautifully she was tempted to give him a few more swats, but it was nearly time for him to get ready for work. “I didn’t want you to forget about me during the day.”

“Like that’s going to happen,” David said with a laugh. “I didn’t need a spanking—thank you, by the way, it was wonderful—to make me think about you.”

“Yes, but this way you’ll think about me every time you shift on your chair,” Angelique said, nipping lightly at his lips, her fangs scoring the tender flesh lightly. “Have a good day at work, and I’ll reward you for your suffering when you get home.”

A myriad of possibilities raced through David’s mind as he wondered what the reward would be. A fresh batch of henna to restore the decorations that had faded since the last time he painted her? Or maybe she’d greet him in her choli and sheer harem pants and play concubine to his sultan? Or perhaps it would be their other favorite fantasy, him a French noble slated for the guillotine and her a woman with the power to save him if he agreed to grant her sexual favors? Whichever reward she had in mind, one of those or something else, he was sure to enjoy it. “One of these days I’m going to make a fool of myself in front of my boss because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, cupping her breast and squeezing gently. “If I lose my job because of it, you have to promise to support me.”

Angelique leaned into the tender touch. “Sang Froid does well enough to support both of us.”

David knew the truth of that simply from the little luxuries that appeared all around them. Angelique had fussed over the fit of his suits for work when he first moved in with her, insisting on helping him find proper clothes. He had insisted on paying for those himself out of the money he had saved while fighting in the Milice, but his independence did not stop her from showering him with other luxuries. When he had complained last week about his watch not working, she had surprised him that evening with a far nicer watch than the one he had broken. When he protested, she had kissed him and reminded him that her money was hers to spend as she chose, even if that meant she spent it on him. A year ago, he might have argued, his sense of how a relationship should work warring with her independence. It was a battle he had lost gladly, his own antiquated notions no match for her determination. Their lives together had been much more pleasant since then.

“Don’t forget Orlando is expecting you before you go to work this morning,” Angelique said, stretching languidly with all the grace and sensuality of a cat waking from a nap. David was tempted to roll her beneath him and go another round, but he did not want to be late for work, and he had promised Angelique he would bring Orlando by to speak with her newest protégée.