Pritkin was getting on my nerves. “No, I don’t. And they weren’t my servants.”
“You told me you watched Françoise burn to death.” Louis-César was apparently a single-minded kind of guy.
I decided to go with his comment, since Pritkin didn’t believe anything I said anyway. “What happened to the mage? Did you kill him?”
“You see; she doesn’t even try to deny it!” Pritkin came striding across the room. I’d have figured out he was pissed off even if I hadn’t been able to see him, since my new toy jumped against my wrist with an almost electric tickle. I managed not to yelp, but I stuffed my hand farther into the pocket of the robe so the bracelet didn’t show. Something told me Pritkin wouldn’t be happy to see it.
Tomas had moved to stand between us. It unnerved me that I hadn’t seen him do it, but I was grateful to have a barrier between me and the mage. The guys at Tony’s had always believed that war mages were dangerous, bloodthirsty and crazy. Considering that the people saying this were multiple murderers who worked for a homicidal vampire, I tended to take their opinion seriously.
“Why would I deny it? Possessing him saved your life.” I hadn’t expected a thank-you, but it would’ve been nice if he’d stopped glaring at me.
“I would prefer to die than be saved by the dark arts!”
“We’ll keep that in mind next time,” Tomas said. I giggled. I wasn’t trying to antagonize anyone, but I was dizzy from hunger and exhausted. At the moment, it really was funny. Only Pritkin didn’t seem to think so.
Mircea stood up as someone rapped on the door. “Ah, breakfast. Tempers will doubtless be better after we have dined.” A young man wheeled in a cart that had me salivating from the smell alone.
A few minutes later, I was halfway through a tray of pancakes, sausage, hash browns and fresh fruit. It had been served on a nice silver platter with real china dishes, linen napkins and genuine maple syrup, mellowing my mood towards the Senate considerably. I’d just poured myself more tea when Pritkin made a sound of disgust. I couldn’t imagine what his problem was; he had a tray, too.
“It doesn’t bother you at all, does it?” he demanded. I noticed that not only was he not eating, but he was staring at me the way I had probably looked at the wererats at the casino. Like I was something he couldn’t quite figure out but knew he didn’t like. My mouth was full so I raised an eyebrow at him. He gestured wildly. “Look at them!”
I forked up some sausage and glanced around. The vampires were feeding, but they weren’t having pancakes. They can eat solid food, as Tony proved often enough, but they can’t obtain nourishment from it. There’s only one thing that will give them that, and they were taking full advantage. Louis-César had apparently already eaten, or maybe it was true about what they said of the Senate, that its members were so powerful that they had to feed only about once a week. Rafe, Mircea and Tomas had joined me for breakfast, however, and they were, of course, dining on the satyr-were hybrids from Dante’s.
I’d seen similar scenes so often growing up that it had hardly registered. Any prisoners taken alive were always used for food. One of the few things considered truly depraved in vamp circles is to waste blood, even that of shape-shifters. Blood is precious; blood is life. I had grown up with that mantra; apparently, Pritkin had not.
The only thing that sort of threw me was the sight of Tomas feeding from the neck of a handsome young were who looked vaguely familiar. He had chocolate brown eyes that matched the dark fur that started halfway down his hips and framed his heavy sex. He’d been stripped and bound hand and foot with thick silver chains. That was standard operating procedure since humiliation was part of the punishment, but I thought it might be less than effective in this case. I didn’t know how he felt about the chains—weres aren’t fond of silver—but satyrs actually prefer to be nude. They believe wearing clothing suggests they have something to hide, that some part of their bodies isn’t perfect. This one didn’t have anything to be ashamed of, and his body was reacting to the feeding in the usual manner, making him even more impressive. It must have been an involuntary response, though; his face was so distorted with fear that it took me a minute to identify him as the waiter who had greeted me at the satyr bar.
The scene bothered me, and it wasn’t because I had met the were or because he was obviously terrified. Better that he learn his lesson now and avoid trying the Senate’s patience in future; they weren’t known for giving third chances. I finally decided that my brain was objecting to the sight of fangs extending from Tomas’ lips, and to seeing him swallow the satyr’s blood like it was his favorite vintage. It seemed I was still having trouble putting “Tomas” and “vampire” in the same category.
Despite my unease, I didn’t look away. It was considered a sign of weakness to show emotion when witnessing a punishment, and rude to ignore it since the whole point of having it in public is for it to be seen. I did, however, refocus my attention on Mircea. Watching him enjoy his meal bothered me less than watching Tomas, and he was in my line of sight anyway.
“I thought you didn’t like were blood,” I said, trying for what passed for normal conversation at the courts. Mircea had been present when Tony had the alpha executed, but had declined the honor of draining him. “You told me once that they’re bitter.”
“It is an acquired taste,” Mircea responded, letting the black were draped over his knees fall to the floor. “But I cannot be choosy. I will need my strength tonight.”
I poured more tea and eyed Pritkin’s untouched plate lustfully. “Are you going to eat that?” I couldn’t help it; I was starving for some reason, probably thanks to Billy Joe. The mage ignored me, staring at the unconscious were in horror. Mircea slid the mage’s plate across to me and I dug in gratefully.
“Did Antonio have any more trouble with that pack, after their leader was killed?” he
asked, as if he knew what I’d been thinking.
I poured syrup over the mage’s untouched hotcakes and slathered on some butter. “I don’t think so. At least, I never heard of any more problems. Tony didn’t always tell me everything, though.”
Mircea gave me a sardonic look. “That makes two of us, dulceat?. Bogãtia stricã pe om.”
“You know I don’t understand Romanian, Mircea.”
“Prosperity, like want, ruins many.”
I shook my head. No way would Tony risk angering the Senate and the Circle for profit alone. “I’m thinking it’s more power Tony wants. He has money.”
“You are wise beyond your years. Do your ghosts teach you such things?”
I almost blew hot tea all over Tomas. “Ha! Not likely.” The only things Billy had ever taught me were some illegal card tricks and a few dirty limericks.
“Do you hear yourself?” Pritkin was looking at me with revulsion. “That thing just committed murder and you didn’t even blink! Are you enslaving the spirits of the dead, as you did your ghost servant and the dark witches? Is that why you sit there and say nothing?”
I almost decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. But I was feeling much better since polishing off the pancakes, and Pritkin really needed a reality check. “First of all, the were isn’t dead; he only passed out. Second, I don’t ‘enslave’ spirits; as far as I know, that isn’t even possible. And third, weres don’t leave ghosts. Neither do vamps. I don’t know why, but they don’t.”