Death's Mistress (Dorina Basarab, #2)(49)

He scowled and pushed off the wall. “Go home, Dory.”

“Give me what I want, and I will!”

Radu appeared in the doorway. “I know this is a stupid question before I ask it, but is there any chance that we can discuss this like civilized people?”

Louis-Cesare glanced at him over his shoulder, then looked back at me, eyes narrowing.

He stepped back a pace and dangled the duffel off one long finger. “Come and get it.”

I stared. “Oh, no, you didn’t.”

“Oh, yeah. He did. You gonna take that?” Raymond piped up from the depths of the duffel.

“You really want to do this?” I demanded. “Because I’m not going to play nice. You know that, right?” The only answer I got was a flying tackle that caught me around the knees and sent me skidding on my back over hard wood.

I grinned. Well, all right, then.

“That’s what I thought,” Radu sighed.

I’d landed at the top of the stairs, with my knees up and Louis-Cesare on top of me. So of course I flipped him. He went over my head but didn’t fall far because security was on their way up again. He landed on a couple of guards, who grabbed him for the second it took for them to recognize him as a guest. It gave me a chance to jump back to my feet and topple over a grandfather clock.

It went chiming downward, only to be batted aside by Louis-Cesare in a blow that turned it into musical kindling. The same was true for a marble statue, a painting in a heavy gilt frame and a large potted plant. The junk in the stairwell caused a few vamps to lose their footing and slide backward, and the disorienting sphere I pulled out of my duffel and exploded in their midst had the rest staring around in bewilderment.

Except for Louis-Cesare, who in one inhumanly liquid movement topped the stairs and caught me in a tackle that sent me sliding backward again, this time on the carpet runner. It was tacked down, so it didn’t move, leaving me with a massive case of rug burn. “Ow,” I said distinctly.

“This wouldn’t be necessary if you would—” He smelled the blood and flipped me over, yanking up the T-shirt. “Dieu! I never know what to do with you!”

“How about telling me the truth?”

“Would you know it if I did?” His voice was sharp enough on the edges to cut steel.

“Try it.”

His hand smoothed along my back instead, soothing, calming, healing. “The truth is that your father has no stake in this anymore,” he told me, his breath in my ear because he was bent over me, shielding me from the stares of the guards. “He lost. It may be a state with which he is unfamiliar, but it is nonetheless—”

“For the last time, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I said, exasperated.

“Then why are you here?”

I felt like throwing his own words back at him, like telling him it was none of his damned business. But if I wanted answers, I was probably going to have to cough some up myself. And it wasn’t like there was any big secret.

“I’m freelancing on the smuggling task force. You know, the one you’re supposed to be helping with? And not because Mircea snapped his fingers. I happen to like the idea of the war ending early and the arms manufacturers dying poor.”

“And that’s all.”

“Yes! That’s all!”

Louis-Cesare frowned, and his hands stilled on my ass. “That is why you want the vampire? Because you suspect him of smuggling?”

“Well, it damn sure isn’t for the pleasure of his company!”

“Right back at you,” floated over from the duffel, which had landed by the wall.

“Why? What do you want with him?” I asked, thoroughly confused now.

“To buy back Christine!”

I blinked. Okay, that wouldn’t have been my first guess. Christine was Louis-Cesare’s former mistress, who had been kidnapped in order to blackmail him. A vampire who was accustomed to getting what he wanted had asked Louis-Cesare to stand in for him in a duel. One of his subordinates had challenged him, and if he lost the duel, he wouldn’t just lose his position, but his life.

That sort of substitution was allowable by vampire law, and Louis-Cesare had fought for other people in the past. But the man in question this time—Alejandro, head of the Latin American Senate—was known as a sadist who regularly did things that made even vampires blanch. The general consensus was that he wouldn’t be missed, and I guess Louis-Cesare agreed, because he told him to fight his own battles. So Alejandro had—by kidnapping Christine and vowing to return her only after his enemy was dead.

Unlike most vamps, Louis-Cesare seemed to have a problem with cold-blooded murder. He’d defeated Tomas, the challenger in question, but refused to kill him because the man’s only crime was trying to rid the world of a monster. So Alejandro had refused to release Christine. It was the sort of brutal politics vampire courts abound in, counting the lives that were ruined as insignificant as long as a sought-after goal was reached. I’d been burned by that sort of thing myself, and normally I’d have been sympathetic.

If it hadn’t all happened a century ago.

“That’s where you’ve been?” I demanded, squirming. He let me turn over, but didn’t get up. Which would have been nice if we didn’t have an audience of staring guards, and if I wasn’t close to livid. “We’re fighting a war and you’re off—God! She’s been missing for a century! What difference does a couple more years—”