Midnight Bites (The Morganville Vampires)(138)

If he hadn’t been gifted with vampire speed, he would have been gutted. He closed with her after avoiding the slash, gripped her hand, and took the knife away. “Eve? Eve!” He shook her, hard, but she didn’t wake up. She didn’t resist.

When he let go, she drifted back into the bedroom, got in bed, and went promptly back to sleep, leaving him with the cold knife in his hand.

God.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. And the next morning, she remembered none of it. What if she’d gone to Claire’s room? Or Shane’s? What would she have done?

He had to find out. Quickly.

? ? ?

Amelie refused to see him. She was, according to her assistant, very busy, and unavailable for the foreseeable future. Michael had the strong, and unsettling, feeling that she’d put him on the no-admittance list to emphasize how deeply angry she still was about his refusal to push Eve away. She’d allowed the wedding, but that didn’t mean she was pleased about it.

Oliver, on the other hand, was right where Michael expected to find him: behind the bar at Common Grounds, pulling espresso shots for an impatient, texting college student who obviously had not the slightest idea he was disrespecting one of the oldest, most dangerous vampires in the world. Oliver appeared to shrug it off, but there was a chill light in his eyes that made Michael wonder about that student’s future longevity.

Michael put a five-dollar bill on the counter, ordered a drink—the vampire standard, Red Bull and blood—and as Oliver mixed it and capped it, he said, “Rozhkov.”

There was just the slightest hesitation in Oliver’s smooth, practiced movements, but it was enough to let Michael know he’d hit the jackpot. Oliver put the cup on the counter between them and said, “In my office. Terrell, take the wheel.” He stripped off his tie-dyed Common Grounds barista apron and hung it on a peg as he flipped up the pass-through on the bar.

Oliver’s office was dark—just enough low light to be comfortable for vampires, not enough for humans to make out details. Michael sat in the guest chair as Oliver took the desk side; it was just a plain task chair, nothing special, yet Oliver always made it seem like a throne. He had the presence of a ruler. Like Amelie.

“Rozhkov,” Michael repeated. “Tell me about him.”

“What business is it of yours?”

“It’s not. It’s Eve’s.”

Oliver sat back, eyelids coming down to hood his gaze; he steepled his fingers together and was quiet for a moment before he said, “Tell me why.”

“Eve’s sleepwalking. Last night, she did it with a knife. Rozhkov took blood from her, and I think he’s doing this.”

“Why in God’s holy name did you allow that to happen, Michael?”

“I didn’t allow anything,” Michael said. “Eve did. He said he was family, and he was sick, and she could help.”

“Family.” Oliver’s voice sounded heavy on the word. He fell silent again, gaze gone far into the past, and then finally blinked and straightened again to put his hands flat on the desk. “Yes. I thought we’d restrained him better than this.”

“You—knew about this?”

“Not about Eve. Rozhkov has a certain—mental instability. He believes that if he eliminates all human members of his family, he will become the most powerful vampire on earth. It’s not true, of course. It’s nonsense. But he believes it. He’s been hunting down and destroying his family for generations.”

“You could have warned us about him!”

“Why would I?” Oliver’s look at him was irritated and impatient. “She is no more related to him than she is to me. Rozhkov killed his bloodline off long, long ago. But since his prophecy of great power failed to come true, he conceives these notions—delusions. If I’d known he had fixed himself on Eve, I would have warned you.”

“You said you thought you’d restrained him. What did you mean by that? He was walking around free.”

“He’s under the care of Dr. Goldman, who gives him drugs to lessen his abilities. You might have noticed that he seems . . . different.”

“I thought he was sick. He was drugged?”

“It should have been enough to free him from his delusions. Evidently not. How far has it gone?”

“She’s been sleepwalking. Last night, she almost stabbed me.”

Oliver looked away, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Then he has her,” he said. “She’s in his power. There’s no breaking that, Michael. It’s how he destroys—not by his own hand, but by taking control of his victims. He’s destroyed many families this way—silently, in the night, without bloodying his hands.”

Michael swallowed, though his mouth and throat felt dry and clenched with aching thirst. “How do we stop him?”

“How do you think?” Oliver shook his head. “No human platitudes, boy. This is vampire business. We’ve tried the soft approach to him; it’s time for the sword. Rozhkov is a threat to your wife. If you want to protect her, it’s your right to face him.”

Oliver’s look was long and measuring; he wanted to know, Michael realized, that he’d step up. That he could step up. “Do I really have to prove myself to you? Again?”

“No,” Oliver said, and leaned forward to busy himself with a folder of paperwork on his desk. “You see, I know very well that you loathe being a vampire, in your heart. You cope well enough; you let very few of us see your conflict. But in this particular case, you have to prove your convictions to yourself, or stand aside, because what you are fighting for is a great deal more than your childish feelings. Now leave.”