The Rise of the Dark Lord Page 16

  Okay.

  Yeah.

  Another time, another me, I could so get lost in this guy.

  “Your sire is loyal to you, but even he prefers shadows, Mathilda,” he said softly.

  “I’m not sure that gives me anything to go on, Fane,” I replied.

  “We are not a people of the light.”

  “Can I read into that, that in speaking for your kind, you’d prefer to remain hidden?”

  His red eyes glowed redder.

  “Hidden is not the word I’d use. However, the hunt is much less exciting when the hunted know they are prey.”

  “So, right, you’d like to keep things quiet about vampires. I hear you.”

  “You hear well. Though, I will say, I will personally tear out the throat of anyone who would harm you.”

  Yowza.

  How did I earn that honor?

  Nope.

  No.

  I didn’t care.

  One could say I’d had my lifetime fill of brutality.

  As such, there would be no throat tearing.

  Not in my name.

  “Well, uh, we can hope that’s not nec—”

  “Hear that well, Mathilda. I will…personally…tear…the throat out…of anyone…who would harm you.”

  I stared into his glowing eyes.

  “It goes without saying,” he whispered, “that those who have already done so may be breathing, but they are still very dead.”

  Uuuuuuummmmmm…

  So, I heard him.

  Anyone against me would answer to him.

  I just needed to be sure about that second part.

  “Maybe you need to be kinda specific here, Fane.”

  “You…are…vampir.”

  I swallowed, because the way he said that was a lot like how Ash fucked.

  Very, very…

  Claiming.

  “Fane.” I was now whispering.

  “I have a price on their heads, Mathilda. Agatha Darling. Endora Eccles. Jeremy Bligh. And that fucking faerie who’s bound to Darling. They harmed you. And they will pay with their lives. Though the faerie cannot die, so he will pay through an eternity of our kind making him wish that he could.”

  “Jeremy Bligh is already dead.”

  “Jeremy Bligh likely wishes he was dead, for magic can go a long way to lengthening life, but when a human’s skin is melted off, there’s no growing it back.”

  Yikes!

  But, um…

  This was news.

  “So he’s, like—?”

  “They found some not-voluntary skin donors. I am told that the doctor they used and the results, however…”

  He lifted a shoulder.

  I made a gaggy face.

  He grinned at me.

  “So if you know this…?”

  “They’ve been tracked. Thus far, even if we’ve gotten close, they’ve eluded capture. But from recent reports, I suspect we will have much better results soon.”

  “Okay, then, uh, Fane, can I just ask that you not get overexcited in this whole vengeance for the daughter of one of your own thing and—”

  I didn’t finish because he held up a large hand, palm toward me.

  “You are mine, Mathilda, as sure as you are Wilding’s.”

  That wasn’t exactly true.

  Before I could get into the specifics of how it wasn’t, or, say, speak at all, he kept going.

  “And I protect what is mine. I avenge what is mine. And I can assure you, Mathilda, there is not a single vampire breathing who doesn’t agree with me.”

  “Dad?”

  “Of course.”

  I sounded strangled when I asked, “Gabe?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “They haven’t mentioned that they’re down with hunting and torturing then killing my enemies,” I told him.

  “They wouldn’t. You are female. You’re to be protected from these things.”

  I opened my mouth and he lifted his big hand again.

  I tried not to get ticked as I shut my mouth.

  “They do not want names, Mathilda,” he said so softly, when I replied, I was in his zone, and I was talking softly too.

  “Who?”

  “Those who serve us. I do hope you and Wilding enjoy spice in your life and play many games with each other to heighten desire and offer greater intensity when release is found. But I suspect from your response to our disciples, you are not of a certain bent. However, even if it is not your bent, I would assume, due to your purpose here, you can come to understand, it is ours. We are their Masters, Mathilda. They come to us through their wish to serve. This is our way and it is their way. They are not coerced. They are not glamoured. They offer their servitude freely because it feeds and gratifies them as much as making them serve feeds and gratifies us.”

  All righty then.

  Message received loud and clear.

  His gaze moved to my neck and he murmured, “Though, for just a sip, I would consider serving you.”

  “Fane, let’s stay focused.”

  His face got lazy again and his eyes came to mine.

  But his next words were serious.

  “My brethren fear they’ve offended you. But Wilding nor Seymour gave them leave to speak directly to you. It is old-fashioned, but it is our way. You do not see it as respect, but it is. True, it is respect to Wilding and Seymour, specifically Wilding. But in this of all places, where the art of seduction and the act of copulation are revered, it is important to bow to the old ways. To communicate male to male that their female is safe from our proclivities, and not communicate with the female until we’re certain the male understands that. Or the other way around, we are given leave to seduce the female. Wilding needs to give them leave to look upon you and speak to you. And then all will be well.”

  Well, that explained that.

  “I’ll have a word with Ash. Now, Agatha and Endora—”

  He shook his head. “There is no escaping their sentence.”

  “But—”

  “Mathilda, if they did this to a male vampire, the response would be the same. Perhaps their end would be less tortuous, but it would be the same end. However, they didn’t do it to one of ours who was male. They did it to one of ours who was female. And thus their end will be prolonged and tortuous.”

  “First, I don’t think they knew I was half-vampire.”

  “We do not care.”

  “Second, I get you’re all BDSM up in this joint, but that’s just plain old sexist.”

  “Do you know,” he said, his voice suddenly so cold, it felt like frozen fingers grazing my skin, and due to that, I shivered, “what happened in times past when the daughter of a vampir was taken by the angry hordes?”

  Uh-oh.

  “I can guess,” I whispered.

  “I should hope not,” he bit out. “I should hope your mind is not that depraved. Our sons were vampir, they could protect themselves. Our daughters, if not born with the taste for blood, were quarry. The Vengeance of a Vampire was earned, Mathilda. We cannot falter in making certain that message remains clear. And that message is, you do not…touch…our women.”

  I bit my lip and gave him big eyes.

  “And for your information,” he carried on just as coldly, “if a single disciple in this castle, or any of them who have served and still live, I do not care if they’re in their second century and teetering on the edge of death, if any of them were harmed, it would earn our Vengeance.”

  “I get you, Fane,” I said calmingly.

  “So, you do as you wish in your war, Mathilda. We do not care. But if you are hurt, the Vampyre Dominion will fly, as one, to avenge their own. Do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Would you like wine?” he asked.

  More like tequila.

  I nodded again.

  He slithered off the bed and offered a hand to me, hair and robes again drifting.

  “We will go to the lounge,” he muttered. “I will ask Wilding
be brought to us. We will enjoy the rest of the evening in each other’s company, us three.”

  I took his hand and we did just that.

  Well, we did, after he re-clasped my bracelet on my wrist.

  So that was the first week we spent in Castle Noapte.

  Things got a little, uh…murky after that.

  This mostly had to do with the vibe of the place.

  Well, that and they had really good wine, the disciple I called Bunny (because she had a cute nose) was a fantastic cook, once they were “given leave” to talk to me, I found the vamps were great company…

  And Fane had put thoughts into my head.

  So I tried out some stuff with Ash, Ash was into it, and we kinda had an ongoing orgy à deux punctuated by a lot of hanging with the vamps, oftentimes playing poker (Ash, by the by, was criminally good at poker (card sharp?)), sometimes bingeing Netflix.

  Wadim taught me how to play backgammon.

  Dimitri failed at teaching me how to play chess.

  I sat for Asa while he did my portrait in charcoals.

  I kicked Bill’s ass a dozen times at checkers.

  Fane introduced me to his erotica collection, and it was impressive.

  We stood on the parapet with the disciples (and Fane, he didn’t engage in such “antics”) and watched the boys dive bombing stuff as bats.

  Etcetera.

  (Aidan had left after my first talk with Fane. He had a life, for one, and although disciples were offered to him, he declined. But for another, the knowledge that Bligh, who used to be a watcher, and was now on the run, was alive, Aidan had to report, then the dudes at the Institute needed to figure out what to do about Bligh—and the fact they now knew he had a price on his head).

  As an aside, my birthday was during this time, and seeing as my man was awesome, he’d come prepared.

  And the theme of wearing a Wilding man’s regard continued when he bestowed on me a crazy-cool set of gold hoop earrings embedded with little diamonds.

  Now, just to say, this was upping the ante to what I was going to do for Ash in a few months for his birthday because I had a feeling a coupon book of blowjobs or more shirts to fit his growing body were not gonna cut it.

  Hmm.

  Then Ash got a phone call and we were reminded that next up was the League of Werewolves and after that, the Banshee Nation.

  In other words, again it was time for the fun to end.

  We left in the dark, not only because our days had become nights so we could hang with the vamps, but so they could stand with us by our car and say good-bye.

  I gave them all hugs but lingered over Fane.

  What could I say?

  We’d all gotten close, but Fane and I had formed a bond that was part knowing he had my back, part that he was just a super-cool dude and I liked him.

  “If you catch them—” I began.

  “We will see to our business.”

  “I was going to ask you to tell me so I can come back and talk you out of—”

  “Matty.”

  I shut up.

  He grinned down at me, hair flowing, eyes glowing, fangs gleaming.

  “I sense you learned you liked to be spanked while staying in my home,” he noted.

  “Fane!” I snapped,

  Though he was not wrong.

  “I wonder if I could learn the same from you.”

  Goddess, he was such a flirt.

  “Stop being bad.”

  “It’s worth pondering,” he noted.

  “Don’t let Ash know you’re pondering this,” I advised.

  “You aren’t the only witch in the world, sweet Mathilda.”

  It was then, I grinned at him.

  He winked.

  Ash got fed up with our taboo-naughty-brother/sister-type teasing, broke us up, gave Fane a handshake and dragged me to the car.

  We had a driver so I could cuddle up to Ash in the backseat.

  My arms were around him, but my eyes were out the window, aimed at the receding castle which would soon be swallowed by forest and mist so that only those who knew it was there could find it.

  “Can we go back?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” Ash answered.

  He might not admit it out loud, but he dug the vamps too.

  And totally got off on spanking me.

  7 June

  Okay.

  It’s safe to say all hell has broken loose.

  I mean, hanging with the vamps was all kinds of good.

  Prolonged sexcapades with Ash were always good.

  But maybe I should have kept my head in the game.

  First up, faeries let loose maybe wasn’t a good thing.

  Okay, obviously it was a good thing seeing as they were free to be.

  Though, considering the fact news outlets were reporting that all over England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales, new and alarming sex cults were springing up claiming young women and men who were abandoning their homes and jobs and explaining to their families they had no intention to return…

  Uh…

  Not so much.

  Onward from that, I couldn’t get hold of Trae or Sar to find out how BecBec was doing and I knew why even before I called Mom to ask.

  They were forming their own Fae sex cult in my mother’s Carriage House.

  Huh.

  Second, Fane was more of a rapscallion than I thought.

  I knew this because, while he was entertaining Ash and me in his castle, he was also communicating to Cystien in the Realm.

  Something he did not share with me.

  And through these communications, they’d joined forces to track down Agatha, Endora, Bligh and Scary Faerie.

  I knew this because, once Ash and I left Castle Noapte, I heard “through the grapevine,” (that being Su’s grapevine, which was actually Gabe’s grapevine since he was the one who told Su) that Cystien had tracked down Scary Faerie, currently had him in the Realm and was torturing him to learn the whereabouts of the rest.

  Now, one could say I didn’t like Scary Faerie for a variety of reasons, top of which he’d been floating at Bligh’s side when Bligh shot Ash.

  But seeing as I’d now been involved in a number of unfun episodes involving torture—being the focus of it, as well as watching it happen to someone else (albeit briefly)—one could also say I wasn’t down with the concept.

  Like…

  Way not down.

  The problem with this was, even if I’d gotten in touch with both Fane and Cystien and shared my thoughts, one was a centuries-old, uber-powerful vampire and one was a millennia-old, uber-duber-extra-powerful faerie, so they weren’t inclined to listen to me.

  So they didn’t.

  Third, apparently the Modernists and Traditionalists were tired of waiting for me to pull my finger out because there’d been an escalation of skirmishes.

  Humans were witnessing these skirmishes.

  And those humans were beginning to connect the dots of what happened Hallowe’en night on Glastonbury Tor, young men and women going missing in sex cults all over Great Britain, and the increase of odd (what they didn’t know were magical, what they did know was that they were weird and alarming) scuffles.

  This had the result of Dad phoning to share that the peace talks that hadn’t even really started had completely broken down.

  The powers that be no longer wanted to sit down and chat.

  Now, they were demanding answers, explanations, assurances, and a bunch of other stuff which boiled down to them stating plain we were all to go right back into our closets…

  And stay there.

  Considering all this, the League of Werewolves told me to piss off.

  Like, right to my face.

  Obviously, Ash wasn’t a huge fan of this.

  And since he was sitting at my side when they did it, he did something about it.

  And okay, it’s hot, watching your boyfriend single-handedly beat the crap out of a band of werewolves who weren’t real nice to you.


  But during the Great Sir Sebastian Wilding Werewolf Smackdown, they tore his shirt, it was another one I’d given to him, and that totally sucked.

  After this, the Banshee Nation called off our meeting, saying they needed to talk among themselves some more, something they’d been doing since the Gathering.

  Now, these bitches screamed laments of people who were soon going to turn up dead.

  This was their gig.

  In total.

  They’d never really hid doing it. They’d been scaring the crap out of people for centuries.

  So how much could they have to talk about?

  Now, Prunella was demanding another Gathering in the UK (special guest star, me).

  The Federal Witches Agency wanted much the same thing in the US (again with me as special guest).

  The Russian supernatural authority (I’d tell you their name, but I couldn’t pronounce it) was demanding my attendance at their meeting in Moscow.

  There were rumors that wizards were going missing in China and the Fellowship of Wizards wanted me to do something about it.

  And there was some weird shit going down with voodoo priestesses in Haiti.

  All of this, of course, led me to a crisis of my Savior of the World conscience which resulted in me throwing a drama in Ash’s Indiana-Jones-at-home living room in London.

  This led me to wondering (again) what kind of unknown Boyfriend Superpowers Ash had, because through this drama, he listened. He nodded. He hmm’ed and mm’ed. He kept eye contact. He never once looked bored, or like he thought I’d lost my mind, or like he thought he’d lost his in being with me.

  And then when I’d petered out with my ass in one of his posh, masculine brown leather armchairs, my head resting on the back, my hand wrapped around a bottle of wine I was drinking straight from the neck (when I wasn’t babbling about how rubbish I was at saving the world), Ash’s face obscured my view of his ceiling when he bent over me.

  Whereupon, he asked, “Are you done, darling?”

  “Yup,” I answered.

  “Do you want Indian or Chinese for dinner?”

  “Totally Indian.”