“Dory.” He gripped me back. “You are Dorina. And she is you. You may feel separate at the moment, because you have been cut off for so long from the other side of yourself. But you are one person.”
“But Mircea said—”
“He made the argument he did because it was the only one most vampires might accept. Our kind are notoriously xenophobic; they needed to see you as one of them.”
Yeah, like that was likely.
“And because the consul told him to.”
“What?” Now I was really lost.
His mouth screwed up in a scowl, but I didn’t think it was for me. “You were right—your abilities are rare, and highly prized. The consul wanted them on her side, before you were snapped up by a rival. She also wanted your connections to the Blarestri, whom it appears we now need badly. And she wanted a Senate firmly under her control, something much less certain with some of the other leading candidates.”
“But…a Senate seat…” It was not just crazy. It was completely impossible.
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“If it makes you feel any better, it is for the duration of the war only. As is mine. Then my century-long ban will go back into effect, and you…Well, you may do as you like. Of course, you can do that now, if you insist. I cannot recall anyone turning down a Senate seat, but it should technically be possible.…”
I lay there, no longer fighting, since my head was spinning too much. And because I wasn’t going to win anyway. And because I kind of liked the feeling of sensual captivity, at least by this particular jailer.
Soft hair and warm lips trailed downward, and I stared up, at a fat cherub on the frieze around the ceiling who was smirking at me. He knew I didn’t belong here. Knew it couldn’t last.
But I wanted it to. I curled my fingers in Louis-Cesare’s hair, clenching them unconsciously, because I didn’t want to let go. And maybe you don’t have to, some insidious voice insisted. If you are on the Senate—crazy, stupid, absurd—you would be equals. And no one told senators no and can’t and shouldn’t except the consul. And does she really care who her people are sleeping with…?
I could have him, I thought, and it seemed more unreal than anything else that had happened lately. I could have him—
Yeah, for how long? another, slightly saner voice asked. Remember Christine. Remember how he really thinks of you. As some kind of replacement for her, as someone he can save—
“Is that what you think?” I looked down to see Louis-Cesare resting between my thighs, but with a massive scowl on his face. “Is it?”
“How did you—?” I asked, confused.
“You’re projecting,” he said angrily. “Mircea said it is a result of having half your mind flooded with this new power all at once. Or new to it—” He shoved the explanation away. “It will come under your control in time.”
“Good to know.” Or I could foresee a lot of trouble ahead.
Like right now, for instance.
“Did you mean that?” he demanded again.
“I—it’s what I heard—”
“From whom?”
“I don’t—”
“Verrell,” he hissed, and I winced.
“Stop that!”
“He is—” Louis-Cesare cursed harshly in French, before getting himself under control. “He is a good chef. He is not my confidant!”
He got up abruptly and began pacing, giving me a hell of a view, but I didn’t enjoy it. It looked like I’d really managed to step in it this time. There was anger written in every line of his body.
“I have existed four hundred years. I have lived”—he spun back around—“I have lived very damned few! Tucked away in the country like a dirty little secret; imprisoned when I didn’t thoughtfully die of some plague before coming of age. Years locked away, before escaping with Radu—who promptly left me before I could learn how to live this new life of mine. Having to figure it out for myself, and once I finally did, once I began to build a family, once I began to think that finally, perhaps the future would be brighter—Christine. Just another sort of prison!”
“And now me.” Because I sure as hell hadn’t made his life any easier.