Midnight Bites (The Morganville Vampires)(132)

“He’s fine,” Michael said. “What do you want?”

Rozhkov’s pale gold eyebrows twitched just a bit, surprised by what he probably perceived as rudeness; he composed himself almost instantly into an expression of patience. It was irritating. “I wish to meet the girl.”

Claire. They always wanted to meet Claire, sooner or later; for a quiet, somewhat shy girl, she tended to have rock-star status in vampire circles. That was probably because she had the cachet of being the first human to manage to survive working with her bipolar vampire boss, Myrnin, in ages—or that she had Amelie’s good favor. Rare for the Founder of Morganville to take such an interest in a human.

“You don’t have to ask my permission,” Michael said. He was genuinely grouchy now. “Claire lives here. I don’t own her.”

“Ah. I see we are misunderstanding one another. I do not mean that one.” Rozhkov dismissed Claire with a tiny wave of his hand. “I mean the one blood-bound to you.”

Eve? Michael sat back. So many ways to respond to that, none of them adequate to the rush of anxiety he felt. Vampires didn’t come asking about Eve. They were almost unanimously content to ignore her and hope she would go away. Claire was accepted by them as a valuable resource; Eve had been seen as an oddity when he’d begun to date her, a temporary thing of no real importance. But since he’d married her, all hell had broken loose. The humans didn’t trust her. Neither did the vampires.

So having a vampire show up specifically to meet her was . . . unsettling.

“Let’s get a few things straight. She’s not my girl,” Michael said. “She’s not blood-bound, whatever that means to you. She’s my wife, but that doesn’t mean I own her.”

“I have heard you are married,” Rozhkov said. He didn’t seem moved at all. “Blessed by the sacraments of the church and by our Founder. To no one’s pleasure but yours, it would seem. It will all end badly.”

Michael took a second to remember why he shouldn’t punch the man right in the superior, thin smile. “Why do you want Eve?”

“That is my business, and not yours, since you so plainly do not—as you put it—own her.”

Shane coughed. It sounded like *. No way to tell if Rozhkov caught it at all.

“Eve’s not here,” Michael said. “Sorry. Want to leave your number?”

He got that faint, superior smile again. “No, I do not,” the man said, and rose from his sitting position. “I will try again. Informative to meet you, Michael Glass.”

“Same here.”

It was not quite dangerous, the look they exchanged, but enough to run a shiver down Michael’s spine, like the lightest brush of death-cold fingers. He held the stare. However young he was—human age, and vampire—he knew coming from Amelie’s bloodline gave him power . . . perceived and real. He had some abilities he’d never tried to use. They were there, like boxes on a shelf he’d never opened. He opened one now, and felt a new, strange sensation slide chilly through his nerves. He felt his body shift balance, just a little, and suddenly he could sense Rozhkov’s essence, like a thin shimmering cloud around him. Blues and pale yellows.

Rozhkov was weak. Something was wrong with him. Badly wrong. It lasted only a moment, and then the vision faded.

One thing was certain: Michael didn’t want Eve anywhere near him.

“Thanks for coming,” Michael said. It was insincere, and he knew Rozhkov could hear it. Rozhkov gave him a tiny, strange shrug in response.

“It is nothing,” he said. “I only attempt politeness out of some minor respect for your sire.”

That was . . . ominous. There was something extremely unsettling about Rozhkov’s confidence, too; Michael knew that many of the vamps treated him well not so much because of any status of his own, but because Amelie loomed over everything like a severe, sometimes benevolent shadow. Rozhkov didn’t seem to care that much about Amelie’s wishes.

“Get out,” Michael said. “And stay out. The house won’t let you in again.”

He felt the Glass House waking up around him; the place had a sentience to it, and loyalty, and it responded to him and Claire even more than Eve and Shane. It would defend him if Rozhkov was stupid enough to try to force the issue.

Which Rozhkov wasn’t. He walked straight to the front door, donned all his protective gear, and left without another word.

“Well, that was interesting,” Shane said. “What’s up with that guy?”

“He’s sick.”

That got Shane’s immediate attention. “Sick? Sick how?”

“I don’t know,” Michael said, “but if he’s five hundred years old, why is he wearing that much sun protection if he isn’t?”

Michael locked the door and exchanged a look with Shane.

“You going to tell me what he wanted now?”

“Eve,” Michael said. “He wanted Eve. And we have to make sure he doesn’t get her.”

? ? ?

“I don’t know,” Eve said as she painted a henna tattoo on Claire’s left arm. “I think I’m taking it as a compliment. You know, I’m not the one the vamps are always calling. That’d be you, CB. Makes me feel all special.”

“You’re special, all right,” Shane said. “Extra points if you think coming to the notice of some creepy ancient bloodsucker is a good thing. They give you shock treatments for that kind of special.”