Midnight's Daughter(10)
“I’m risking a lot here,” I told them in what had to be the understatement of at least my last century. “I don’t think it’s asking too much to know why I can’t have decent backup.”
I never saw it coming. Despite the fact that I’ve survived longer than anyone would have bet by being unbelievably paranoid and very good at defense, I didn’t see a thing. I also didn’t hear, smell or otherwise have a clue what was happening. One second I was facing off with Mircea, and the next I was facedown on the ground, being pinned very effectively by the hard body pressing into mine.
My reaction was immediate and unthinking. When you’ve been in literally more fights than you can count, often against opponents much bigger than you who have no compunction at all about fighting dirty, you learn a few things. I used them all and then some, yet the face-to-the-carpet thing didn’t change. I was stunned almost into disbelief. This simply wasn’t happening. I would have believed that Mircea was helping out, except that he had moved off to lean against the bar. I could see the toes of his perfectly shined shoes and the knife-edge pleat of his trouser cuffs, meaning that I was, incredible as it seemed, being held by only one vamp.
Son of a bitch.
“We can continue this as long as necessary,” an infuriatingly calm voice said near my left ear, “but we are wasting time. Agree to my mastery and we can begin to plan how to overcome our prey.”
“Bullshit!” I tried unseating him again, but no luck. The * was strong, but no way would any single vamp have pinned me if I’d been expecting it. I tried to ignore the little voice reminding me that one of the first lessons I had ever learned was to always expect it.
“You cannot seriously believe you could lead a mission of this magnitude,” he continued. “You know your place, dhampir. Stay in it and you may be of some use to the family. Fail to do so and I will be pleased to remove this stain on my lord’s honor. Permanently.”
“You will do no such thing.” Mircea’s less-than-pleased voice startled both of us. “I want your word, Louis-Cesare, that you will neither harm nor allow harm to come to my daughter if you can prevent it.”
“My lord, you know what she is!” The voice above me sounded startled, as if he hadn’t thought twice about threatening Daddy’s little girl in his presence. Apparently, he didn’t understand Mircea’s family obsession. Which was odd, considering that, as Radu’s get, he was part of our dysfunctional clan.
“Your word.”
It sounded like Frenchie was choking, but he got it out. “You have it.”
I bit back a smile and took advantage of his distraction. I relaxed all my muscles as if I had fainted, which, considering that most of the air was being pushed out of my lungs, wasn’t far from the truth. The best I’d hoped for was that he would let up on the pressure enough for me to get a little room to maneuver, so it was a real shock when he suddenly pulled away altogether. “I do not question your judgment, my lord,” I heard from far above my head, telling me that the idiot had actually stood up, “but obviously this… woman… is not up to the task. May I suggest—”
I never found out what he had in mind, because I seized the opportunity he had so foolishly provided. Two seconds later, pretty boy was finding out what the rug smelled like as I ground his head into the pile. “I DO question your judgment,” I told Mircea, “at expecting me to work with anybody this stupid.” I paused to let Frenchie experience more of the pleasures of rug burn.
“I thought you two would get on,” Mircea murmured.
“Hey, still talking here. If you want me to do this, I do it my way. If you aren’t available ’cause your manicurist can’t switch appointments or whatever, fine. I’ll put a team together. I have a couple names in mind already—all you need to do is get them out of jail for me—and I’m sure Marlowe can come up with a few more. I heard there was some sort of dueling whiz over from Europe to help the Consul with a challenge. Someone like that might be able to keep Drac busy long enough for me to deal with him.”
“I quite agree,” Mircea said, pouring himself a drink.
“Then get busy and see about finding him,” I said testily. I wanted things arranged before I let the sneaky creature beneath me off the floor.
“I don’t need to find him,” I was told calmly. “I already know where he is.”
Good, at least one problem was out of the way. “Somewhere nearby, I hope.”
Mircea downed a generous measure of scotch in a single gulp. I grinned—most unmannerly. But the pleasure quickly faded at his next words. “Oh, yes. You’re sitting on him.”
Chapter Three
“Watch your step.” I pushed open the kitchen door and skirted around the hole in front of the threshold. A Loray demon’s head had leaked enough acid to eat through the worn wooden boards of the floor, leaving a burnt-edged gap that visitors had to hop over in order to enter. Claire had demanded to know why “that grisly thing” had been left there, and hadn’t seemed to understand my explanation about rare-poison extraction.
I made it as far as the fridge before a hand clamped over my mouth. I struggled, but the body behind me might as well have been carved from sun-warmed stone; I couldn’t budge him. Frenchie had his head tilted as if listening for something, but although I strained, the only threatening sound was the ancient fridge’s death rattle. As it had sounded like that since I moved in, I wasn’t too concerned. Louis-Cesare abruptly released me and drew his rapier. Before I could warn him about the house, he’d slipped through the door leading to the hall.