“That so, huh.” She sat at the table across from him, meeting his eyes with an unexpected directness—as if she were challenging him. Did he detect a hint of superiority?
Strange. He held all the cards. “How was your bath?”
“Water pressure was good. Always a bonus.” Steam rose from her wet hair and the fire blazed, yet she rubbed her arms for warmth. Must be thirsty.
He frowned. She’d taken her fill from him just a day ago, and older vampires could go long stretches without feeding. “Did you lose blood over the day? Feeding another, perhaps?” He’d never considered that she might have a mate or a child—because these things had never mattered with his interrogation subjects before.
Now he found himself wondering if she’d rocked a babe to sleep with a warm bottle of her blood. A mother would do anything to get back to her offspring.
Mothers made sacrifices. His own certainly had.
And a child would mean a mate.
“I’ve never fed someone else.” So no child. Why should that relieve him so much?
He pressed a rune carved into the table, and the dishes began to disappear. Another rune materialized a wine service.
She jerked back and stared like a rustic. Did she live magick-free? Primitive.
“You don’t get out of the mortal realm much, do you?” He poured a goblet, offering it to her.
“Wine’s not really my scene.”
“I could sweeten it with my blood.” A statement he’d never thought to say.
She tilted her head, as if unfamiliar with the concept.
“I have a vampire ally who lives on blood wine and mead.”
“Vampire?”
Why would that mention make her heart speed up? Most of her kind could regulate their heartbeats. Perhaps she was younger than he’d thought.
Then how had she traced with such control? He’d find out all her secrets soon.
“Isn’t mead from way back when?” she asked.
Rune had to check a grin. “Blace is a very, very old vampire.” The oldest.
“Does he ever visit you here?”
“No. Never.” Rune had hidden knowledge of this place from even his allies.
“Oh.” She looked disappointed.
What was her interest in another vampire? “Perhaps if you and I can become friends, I’ll introduce you to him.”
“And what would it take for us to become friends?”
“We’d need to establish some measure of trust between us. Sharing information about ourselves.”
“That sounds okay. I’m curious about a lot. Like those symbols everywhere. What are they?”
He could give a little to get a little. “Runes. My mother’s people were Runic demons. They had the power to harness and intensify magicks with these symbols. I happen to have fey magicks innate within me.”
“So if I carved those symbols, they wouldn’t wash my dishes?”
“No. Magick must fuel them.” Strong magick. He’d been into his seventies before he could depend on his powers.
“How many runes are there? How’d you learn them?”
“Before she died, my mother taught me as many as she could remember. But there were thousands more.” Each consisted of fairly basic shapes layered or connected in various, intricate ways.
He’d memorized every one, had been able to draw them in such meticulous detail that she’d started calling him Rune. He didn’t even remember his given name. She’d also taught him reading and languages. By the age of nine, he’d mastered both Fey and Demonish.
“There were thousands more? Where’d all the symbols go?”
“Runic demons have gone extinct.” Old fury seethed. By the time he’d gotten free of Magh and had gone to search for any Runics, they’d been stamped out. He would never know his people.
A thought arose, like a balm in his mind. The Møriør are my people.
Josephine asked, “Couldn’t you use runes to neutralize your poison?”
Theoretically, the runes could do anything. “If I knew the correct symbols and combinations.”
“Tell me more about them.”
Now he knew she was stalling. Most people’s eyes glazed over when he started talking about this subject—one he alone loved.
“You have some on your body, don’t you?”
“I do.” As she’d soon see. “A few are protection symbols, and a couple help with tracing.”
“Why would you need help?”
Landing on a moving target like Tenebrous was challenging for any being. Plus . . . “I didn’t grow up with that talent.” Magh’s demons had taught him to teleport—by repeatedly throwing him off a mountain into rapids. In time, he’d figured out how to avoid the fall. “I use some runes for communication.” Whenever someone drew Rune’s contact symbols, the tattooed band around his right wrist would light up. A blue glow meant the Møriør needed him back at the castle; white meant his nymph spies were alerting him about Nïx’s return to Val Hall. “The link can stretch as far as the Elserealms.”
“The whatta who?”
“Else, as in uncanny and strange. Those dimensions are exceedingly so. My official home is Perdishian Castle in Tenebrous. It’s the capital of the Elserealms and the base of my alliance.” Not a secret.
“What does it look like? Is your place there better than this one?”