Night's Honor (Elder Races #7)(9)

Beyond the safety railings of the Golden Gate Bridge, the black waters of the bay glittered with reflected illumination. When she finished crossing the bridge, she looked for a late-night restaurant and a gas station.

Very soon, she found a 1950s-style diner located across from a gas station. After pumping twenty dollars of fuel into her tank, she crossed the street and entered the restaurant.

The place gleamed with chrome and bright colors. She took a seat, ordered coffee and watched out the window until pale streaks of color broke through the black cloudy night.

She felt hollow and light, her nerves jumping from too much caffeine and not enough choices.

Even after spending hours trying to think of another alternative, she knew she couldn’t afford to turn down this opportunity. Just the fact that she had landed the position—or at least the possibility of a permanent position—was like winning some kind of infernal lottery.

What would it be like to give blood to a Vampyre?

A Vampyre’s bite was supposed to induce euphoria for the human, but the very thought repelled her. That sense of euphoria was nature’s way of lulling the victim into compliance, even to the point of death.

Vampyres were predators that fed on humans and viewed humankind as prey. Only the sheer numbers of humankind, along with all the other Elder Races, served to keep Vampyres in check and forced them to create laws that governed their own kind. There was nothing sexy or enticing at the thought of being considered food. She shuddered at the thought.

Finally she paid for her cup of coffee, thanked her patient waitress and left all of her change on the table for an inadequate tip. Her eyes were dry and scratchy, and her body ached. Stretching, she climbed into her car and headed for Rodeo Beach, just a few miles away.

Along with the money she couldn’t access in her bank accounts, she had left behind comfortable, good quality furniture and what few mementos she owned in a spacious, stylish apartment. Now, for any practical purposes, everything she owned was in her car, a jumble of hastily packed clothes, and odds and ends.

One thing she had grabbed as she left home was a thick, soft throw blanket, since she knew she would be sleeping in her car. After pulling into the parking lot near the beach, she retrieved the throw and headed down the path to look for a likely spot to relax.

By the water, the world was wild and windswept. She could just see the tip of Evenfall, the palace of the Nightkind King, which was one of California’s great architectural oddities. The massive Normandy-style castle sprawled prominently along the southwestern coast of the peninsula. The blues of the ocean stretched into infinity, while the green shoreline curved up to gently rolling hills that had been molded over time.

The threat of imminent rain had fled along with the night, leaving behind an uncertain, moody morning. A fresh, piercing wind blew away the cobwebs that had gathered in her head. After living in the desert for two years, the view seemed impossibly lush. If it weren’t for the persistent fear that dogged her footsteps, she could have been very happy in that moment.

Wrapping the blanket around her torso tightly, she walked until she found a spot where the beach had eroded a niche into a higher point of land, and she settled with her back against the bluff, looking out over the water. The spot afforded some protection from the wind along with some privacy, and gradually, she relaxed.

Maybe being an attendant wouldn’t be so bad. Normally, humans could only donate blood every eight weeks. Because a Vampyre’s bite stimulated more than just the immune system, their attendants could donate more often, every four to five weeks, or even more frequently.

Still, it wouldn’t happen every day, or even every week. If Xavier was as principled about not having sex with those under his authority, he must be adept at controlling himself, despite the euphoria his attendants must experience.

Unless he had lied.

She sagged, feeling stupid that the possibility hadn’t occurred to her sooner.

Either he had lied, or he had told the truth. She would find out soon enough. All she knew was, despite everything, if she had to do the last two weeks over again, she would still do the same thing.

I guess that says something, she thought. Even if it costs me my life.

Tired of dealing with the constant fear, she wrapped the blanket tighter around her torso and pulled a corner over her head to block out the sun and wind. Her heavy eyelids drifted closed, and a veil of darkness descended as she fell into an uneasy doze.

In her apartment, the spring night was so warm, she had propped open all her windows and her front door. As she turned away from setting her dining table for supper, a creature slit open the screen at the front door and crawled inside. Neither a cat nor a dog but a demonic combination of both, its slanted eyes glowed with evil intent.

Terror pulsed. She grabbed her carving knife even as the creature slinked toward her, its sleek body menacing and boneless. It leaped, daggerlike claws spread—she grabbed it by the throat and fought to stab it. . . .

And it melted away into nothing.

Dread tasted acrid and repulsive, like somebody’s ashes. She backed in a circle, knife out, her frightened gaze darted everywhere. Invisible hands settled at her waist. She screamed and whirled, and Malphas stood in front of her.

The Djinn’s presence was so Powerful a corona of energy surrounded him. She had no magic other than a spark of telepathy, but even she could sense his Power burning in her mind’s eye.

Djinn were creatures of pure spirit, so Malphas had no fixed form, but the physical shape he chose to take was angelic. He looked like a slimly built man wearing an elegant suit, with golden hair, seraphic blue eyes and a beautiful, deadly face.