Bound by the Vampire Queen

“Then you know it would be best if you advise your Master that we are on our way.”

“But—” Vincent shifted, as if he intended to courteously block her way. In that blink, he found himself staring down the line of one of those arrows as Jacob leveled the wrist gauntlet at his chest.

“Move out of my lady's way, Vincent.” Glancing at Daegan, the vampire's dark, unfathomable gaze unchanging at Jacob's threat, Vincent swal owed. “Yes, my lady,” he said, stepping aside with another bow.

“You are a good servant, Vincent. Thank you.” She proceeded past him and into the front foyer, turning without hesitation toward a wide hal way.

Several second-marked human staff came to the doorway of their offices as they passed, retreating just as quickly when Jacob, Gideon and Daegan turned their targeted attention upon them, obviously assessing each for their threat level.

When they reached the large double doors of the Council chambers, they were closed. Jacob moved in front of his lady. At her nod, he turned the latch and pushed the doors open. Before she could step past him, he put himself in front of her. The Council members were seated and staring from behind their half crescent table. Their servants were standing and assembled in a similar shape across the room, none poised with a crossbow. It only took a second to establish the security of the room, and in that second, he'd stepped aside, bowing and gesturing her forward in an attitude of deference and respect that couldn't be faulted. Except by her.

Very presumptuous, Sir Vagabond. If it weren't for the fact I might have ruined this manicure, I would have knocked you out of my way and stomped you with my heels.

You don't push me around when it comes to your safety, my lady. You never will. And from a practical standpoint, I can heal from most things with your blood. If you die, we're both screwed.

She didn't react to his words outwardly, but the current of dangerous warmth was both approval and promise of a Mistress's retribution for the impertinence. He'd be happy to take anything she wanted to dish out after this was over. Now, all his concentration was on this. Warriors of like mind, he could tel Daegan and Gideon were focused on every move and reaction. Per the agreed plan, Daegan took the vampires and Gideon and Jacob divided the servants and entry points into two quadrants for surveil ance.

Lord Belizar was in the center position as head of the Council, Lord Uthe to his right. Barbra, the only made vampire on the Council, was at the far end of the table. Mason, as the newest member of Council, held the other end. At the sight of them, a flicker went through the amber eyes, and something remarkably like a smile played around his serious mouth, but then it was gone and he appeared as dispassionate as Lyssa could be in her most guarded moments.

The other five members of the Council fil ed in the chairs leading up to Belizar's head position. Council sessions often didn't involve their servants, but they might be here for courier purposes, to step and fetch during the meeting.

Or, it could be a reinforcement of older, more restrictive ways, when servants had been required to stand and attend interminably long Council sessions to prove that suffering tedium was an expected part of their role. The servants' positioning was opposite to their respective vampire, so Jessica was diagonal y across the room from Mason. Like everyone else, she'd looked toward the door upon their entry, though otherwise she was stil and attentive. She looked lovely and well put together, wearing soft slacks that clung to her hips and a thin blouse that accentuated the high curves of her breasts. Her chestnut hair was clipped back on her shoulders, curls soft around her face.

Only the paleness of her face hinted that her first visit to Council might be overloading her nerves, though Jacob expected a lot more was happening below the surface. She was probably a wreck, but determined not to show it. That assessment also took no more than a blink, and then he was back to his post, keeping a ful eye on the other servants, a partial eye on the reaction of the Council.

Whatever admonition Belizar might have been about to make, about waiting until Lyssa was summoned, was bitten back. Jacob knew he was far from clueless, and probably realized in a blink that things weren't going to go as they'd mapped them out. However, when he saw Daegan at her side, along with Gideon and Anwyn, a different sort of tension entered the Council chambers. Careful y, Belizar tented his fingers on the table before him.

“What is this?” he asked.

“I am answering your missive, my lord.” Lyssa locked gazes with him. “But I am not here as a cowering lackey hoping for your mercy, waiting for judgment. I am here as the Queen of the Far East Clan, the last royal line, the oldest vampire among our kind.”

“From what we have learned, Lady Lyssa, you may stil have vampire blood, but all your power is Fae magic. You have no authority here. However, as we indicated in our letter, your son would stil be considered vampire offspring. At least, we assume he is. He will need to be tested.”

“Jacob.”

He stepped to her side. Placing an elegant hand on his shoulder, she removed one shoe, then the other, and handed them both to him. “Hold these for me.”

Belizar's brow creased. “My lady, this is—” The Council chamber erupted. Lyssa was no longer next to Jacob. In a movement too fast to fol ow, she'd cleared the table, seized Belizar by the front of his suit and slammed him up against the stone wal behind his chair. The impact was so hard the stone cracked like a gunshot. The head of the Council snarled. Lyssa dropped him with an answering show of fang and a deft leap that put her on top of the table, in front of his chair, her feet on the stack of papers there. Her jade eyes had gone completely crimson.

“If there's a question about my vampire powers, I will prove them here and now.”

With the exception of Mason, the Council members had evacuated their chairs, experienced enough fighters to know that being hemmed in by that monolithic table wasn't a good strategic position. Gideon, Jacob and Daegan shifted, closing in tighter on Anwyn and Kane, turning outward to provide coverage on all sides.

Though Jacob thought the servants should be celebrating the fact the tedium had been disrupted, he kept both wrist gauntlets leveled in their direction, bringing the few who'd started forward to an abrupt halt. Gideon matched his stance with his own weaponry.

Jessica slipped around the wal created by Gideon, Jacob and Daegan to go to Mason's side, obviously at his mental direction. She stood at his chair, a hand on the ornately carved headrest.

Light as a cat, Lyssa pivoted and landed in the open area before the table again. She spread out her hands, an invitation. “You send me a passive-aggressive missive, suggesting I will have no choice but to turn my son over the tender care of this Council, if that is your will . And that I will submit to your judgment about my status as a vampire. So I am here to answer that missive, to prove to you that I am vampire and I am more than capable of caring for my son. But mostly I'm here to deliver my own message. I've had enough.”

Her expression changed, eyes becoming hard ruby glass. “I am not here to be judged. This structure is my creation, and since I brought it into the world, I have the right to remove it. I did not fight the Territory Wars and go through utter hell to establish this Council, only to see it destroy itself from within.” Belizar had straightened, his eyes narrowed upon her, rage simmering off him, but he'd not yet made his move. It was too early for Jacob to take that as a good sign.

“We are a species like no other,” she continued, sweeping her gaze over the Council members. “We cannot be democratic in nature. We are too brutal, too driven by our predator natures for that. However, the vision I had for this Council was one of fairness, one where prejudices and old fears and hatreds would not stagnate it. I thought things might change in light of what has occurred in the past few years, that you would realize our direction must be adjusted, but I was wrong. If I have to take hold of the helm once again to make sure the vision I had—and continue to have—for this Council, happens, I will do so. If, in order to do that, I must prove I'm stil capable of staking every one of you where you stand, with my vampire powers alone, I'm happy to do that.”

“With your vampire powers alone?” Belizar took a step forward, crimson shimmering through his gaze as well. He scoffed. “You are too tainted by the Fae sludge in your veins.”

“And you are blinded by your prejudices, stumbling into wal s such that you can't move forward.” She shifted her glance to Uthe. “Lord Uthe, you have ever been a fair force on this Council. Would you say that, if I defeat Lord Belizar, strength to strength, with no evidence of Fae magic, that I will adequately prove my point? Or do I need to kil every vampire in this room?”

Uthe met Belizar's gaze. Lyssa noted the Russian vampire's eyes had gone ful flame. He'd been council head for a while, his Cossack background making him a powerful and—up until now—justifiable figurehead. Uthe provided the balance of brains needed for leadership, when Belizar would listen to him, which had regrettably become less and less.

The rage swel ing up in Belizar was beyond polite, icy missives, and she was fiercely glad to see it.

She'd fully intended to take this moment back to their bloody roots, brute strength against brute strength, and apparently she was going to succeed, at least in that.

Letting out another snarl, Belizar stripped out of his coat, providing Uthe's answer. Rol ing up his shirt sleeves, he yanked off his tie, an appropriate move since she would choke him with it. Though vampires didn't need to breathe, extreme pressure on the windpipe was uncomfortable and distracting. He cocked a brow at her outfit. “That might be a little constricting, Lady Lyssa.”

“I appreciate your concern, my lord, but it's become a world of amazing new fabrics. They stretch and cling at once. Do you want to fight or discuss personal fashion choice?”

He sneered. “I see you've co-opted our assassin for your own use.”

“Daegan is a free agent,” she retorted. “He chooses his own all iances. I'd say he chose well this time. But he will not interfere in this. This is might-is-right combat terms, what our kind respects above all others. I think there's room for more enlightened thinking than that, but unfortunately the Council's recent decisions seem to have forgotten that. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">