Midnight's Daughter(71)

“You need two men,” Caedmon said. “One is already here, and the other—” He thumped himself on the chest theatrically. “I can be him.”

I stared. It was hard to imagine anyone who looked less like Mircea. “You? Not on the darkest of nights! I doubt you could fool a myopic servant, much less his own brother!”

“You forget my people’s ability at glamourie. I assure you, I can.”

I shook my head. “And you forget the vampire sense of smell. Drac could tell the difference from across the room—from across several rooms! He’d never buy it.”

“But I will not be across the room, little one. He will never see me so close—”

I was about to ask how he expected to manage that when I heard something. It was faint, but this house had settled long ago; there was no reason for the stairs to creak unless someone was on them. Judging by the way his hand tightened on my leg, Caedmon had heard it, too. So much for questions about his hearing—it was at least as good as mine.

Or maybe better. “Louis-Cesare,” he mouthed. I don’t know how he knew, but I didn’t question it. The last thing I needed was for Louis-Cesare to think I was in collusion with the Fey. He was suspicious enough as it was. Caedmon seemed to reach the same conclusion, because he tossed the coverlet on the floor, threw a leg over me and started kissing my neck.

I pushed at him, but it got me exactly nowhere. I was getting extremely tired of strong manly types. Whatever happened to the ninety-pound weaklings? The kind I could maybe still beat up? “What are you doing?”

“Providing me with an excuse to be here,” he murmured in my ear. Then he bit it.

“Caedmon!”

“Dorina!” Louis-Cesare’s muffled voice came through the thick wood. I stared at it, wondering why I suddenly felt guilty.

Caedmon took the opportunity of my distraction to cop a feel. I didn’t bother to repress a squeal, since I knew his excuse wouldn’t work. I had a reputation for being very cautious about my lovers—with good reason. I’d had more than one try to kill me. No way was Radu going to believe I’d invited someone I’d just met for a rendezvous.

The Fey had started working his way downward. Warm lips slid along my collarbone, putting the long line of his neck directly under my nose. I did the only thing I could under the circumstances. I bit it.

Caedmon leaned into the feel of my teeth in his flesh as if to a caress. It startled me enough that I jerked back, ripping my fangs through his skin instead of sliding them out as I’d planned. Blood dripped down the perfection of his chest in a dark stain, and he groaned loudly. I don’t think it was from pain.

The door to the hall burst its hinges and Louis-Cesare stood there, pale and deadly, with eyes like liquid mercury. Someone grabbed me around the waist. It wasn’t Louis-Cesare, because he had moved like quicksilver, getting an arm around the Fey’s injured throat in a stranglehold. Caedmon didn’t appear to have noticed. His eyes were on me, and an odd little smile played about his lips. “If you wanted it rough, my dear, you had only to say.”

“Let me go,” I ordered Geoffrey. My only answer was having the coverlet, which he’d snatched from the floor, thrown over me. “I mean it! Put me down this minute!” I felt myself being carried into the hallway, but the damned blood loss ensured that there was little I could do about it. “Goddamnit, when I get my strength back—” I heard what sounded like a war starting up behind me, but I couldn’t see anything for the damned sheet. I decided on a different tactic. “If you let them kill each other, Radu will stake you!”

“The master’s son is quite able to take care of himself. And I very much doubt he will kill an honored guest. Sadly, none of us are permitted to do so.” The tone was Geoffrey’s usual imperturbable one. But he let my head bounce off a half-dozen walls, vase-topped plinths and wall fixtures on the way to wherever we were going.





Chapter Seventeen


“You should have eaten your dinner, Dory,” Radu reproached me. “Chef was quite upset. That is a very complex spell, you know, and he thought you didn’t like it. And that was on top of The Pear Incident.” His tone gave it capitals. “He’ll sulk for a week. You’ll be lucky to get a peanut butter sandwich tomorrow.”

“That actually sounds pretty good.” At least I wouldn’t have to hunt it down before I could eat it.

Whatever Radu was about to say was cut off by a loud crash and a curse from above our heads. The sounds of carnage had been going on for the last five minutes. I thought it a shame—if they trashed the place, Radu would probably redecorate. I glanced around, fearful for the tasteful original touches that remained. I wasn’t scoping a way out, but Geoffrey tensed from his position by the door. He’d given me the velvet bedspread, which I’d draped togalike around me, but he obviously wasn’t going to let me rejoin the fun.

“Since you brought up food—,” I began. If I was trapped in the living room with Radu, I figured I might as well eat something. I needed to get my strength back. Among other things, I had a butler to beat up.

Radu sighed. “Sit,” he commanded. “I’ll have something brought. If Chef hears that you were prowling around his space tomorrow, I shudder to think of the consequences.”

“If he’s one of Mircea’s stable, surely you can order him to—”