Page 5 of Blood & Bedlam

“I don’t remember asking you a fuckin’ thing. Now let her go.” I straighten, tugging a little harder, trying to make myself take up as much space as possible. Draw attention. I feel something move around me, and I realize too late that one of his buddies is behind my back. I shift, pulling Makenna hard. She stumbles with a dreamy sigh.

“Love, it’s fine. They’re hot. Let’s gooo.” Her voice has an odd cadence to it now, and I know right then and there that I have to get her out of here. God knows what that asshole slipped in her drink.

“Babe, we’re going. Bye, boys,” I say sternly, loudly, but a tall, broad man steps in front of me, eyes rimmed red, teeth too sharp in the darkness. I open my mouth to tell him to back the fuck up, but then his finger caresses over my cheek. It’s as cold as ice as I hear his voice washes over me.

“You want to leave with us, don’t you?”

No. No. No.

The words beat over and over in my head, but my lips don’t seem connected to my brain. I nod, and he spins me, taking me gently by the arm and leading me through the ball. My brain seems disconnected from my body, as a dense fog settles over me. I can feel my heart beat rapidly in my chest, but the rest of my body doesn’t respond to the fight or flight. Panic sluices down my spine as I worry what fresh new hell of a date-rape drug this is.

“Smile, amor,” he purrs in my ear. The corners of my lips lift automatically, like I’m a puppet on his string, bile and fear swirling in my gut. We pass the security at the door, but instead of calling out for them to help us, I just smile and let these fuckers usher us into waiting black cars at the curb. The sharp scratch of his nail over my skin blooms red, and I watch with a smile on my face and horror in my eyes as he collects it on his fingertip. Brings it to his lips.

“Bellissima,” he whispers.

Then everything goes hazy.

Vladimir

CHAPTER 2

The Council has been in session for six hours, and we’ve accomplished absolutely nothing, per usual. The shifters take issue with a clause in the bylaw the witches look to amend. The demigods want less sanctions over their territories … It goes on and on, and I’m tired.

“This is an outrage, Edwina!” the alpha hisses, his teeth sharpening to bared fangs as he points across the round table to the High Priestess of the Crescent Coven.

“Keep your dogs on a leash, Remund, or we will neuter them.” Her eyes narrow to slits as she studies the shifter, notes the murder in his eyes. Her words draw the ire of the other two seated shifters, who lob threats and insults that spur her own witches to action, and on and on it goes as ego and power builds to a breaking point. I steeple my fingers together, waiting for it to run its course.

I bet retirement is sounding pretty fantastic right now … That’s what happens when exes have to be colleagues.

I can’t stop the corner of my lips from turning up just slightly as Camille’s voice floats through our bloodlink. She’s just as annoyed as I am with this. As the heir, she knows she needs to be present, but that doesn’t stop her from groaning through that familial, telepathic connection the girls and I share. It’s a useful way to communicate in mixed company, but I’m grateful it’s not mind reading.

Can we wrap this up? We have other business, Papa, Fleur interjects, and I slide my gaze to my right hand, who looks stoic and deadly in her seat of power. I nod, giving her all the permission she needs to call order.

“Silence.” She stands, red nail tips resting on the stone table. The command washes over them all, catching the words in their throat like hostages as she stares each of them down. Over the years, her Dark Gift has manifested beautifully, the blood in their veins obedient to her with little more than a word.

I watch Remund’s chest rise and fall rapidly as he rails against her hold, see the moment of relent in his eyes when he throws his chair back and sits with a huff. The rest of the gathered Council does the same, dropping slowly as Fleur nods to her sister. The Otherworlders are powerful in their own right, but most of them are young, just childlings compared to us.

“Now that we’ve all had a chance to take a breath, I think that we can all agree that a little bit of compromise is in order. High Priestess Edwina, you will lift the curse laid on half of the disputed land. Alpha, your shifters will keep to your side of that land, and in the middle, the diner will remain neutral territory. I will remind you that Maman LeLee’s is now, and has always been, neutral territory. If either shifter or witch breaks this peace, Maman LeLee has the authority to punish as she sees fit, and then we will decide the fate of the transgressors, should there be anything left when she’s done. Do we have an accord?” Cami instructs, diplomatic and even keeled in her assessment as she speaks. A burst of pride radiates through me—she’s going to make an excellent Dracul.

Fleur eyes them all down, a slight tick in her jaw as she relents their gag. Blood rushes back to their faces as some massage their cheeks in discomfort. Edwina and Remund stare daggers at each other.

“I will not ask again,” Cami warns.

Slowly, they each dip their heads. Finally, the matter is settled.

“Fantastic. Next order is Hallow’s Eve. As many of you know, we have an influx of Otherworlders in the city, starting tonight. Rangers will be patrolling, but I want to remind you that travel sanctions are off from sundown to sunup. Keep feeding off the streets, limiting them to private dwellings from sanctioned or willing feeders. Remind any guests visiting from your factions that there are laws in this city regarding consensual feeding, and any violation of them will result in a tribunal with the full weight of the House of Clan Dracul. Do we understand?” Fleur announces, taking the reins.

Murmurs of assent rumble around the table. Fleur sits once more, satisfied.

“Meeting adjourned,” Claire says, dismissing the Shadow Council as she extinguishes the flame dancing in the chalice at the end of the altar with a wave of her hand. The others collect their tokens from the stone table before filtering out, muttering as they go. When the door shuts, I’m left with only my daughters. Finally.

“The Italian delegation has arrived, Papa,” Cami informs me.

“They chose to travel on Hallow’s Eve just to be assholes,” Fleur grumbles. I bark a laugh at her candor.

“Somebody is sleeping in the sunlight over this,” Cami mumbles. I lift an eyebrow in question.

“Kendra is that adamant that you attend the masquerade?” I ask. Fleur loosens her tie dramatically. Her dark hair is cropped short now, her suit fitted and distinguished as she toys with the gold band around her finger.