Part 2 (1/2)
”But you don't travel with bodyguards now.”
”No . . . but I did for a long time. It takes a while to establish a reputation, Miranda. Right now you're being tested in the eyes of our kind. They want to see how you handle yourself, how tough you are. The longer we stay in power, the fewer fools will try to take us down.”
She wriggled as close as she could, not caring that she was probably getting his clothes as filthy as hers. ”Thank you for not saying 'I told you so.' ”
He shrugged. ”I understand that you value your independence. I don't want you to lose it. But now you see that we have to be careful. The more you're in the public eye, the harder it will be to keep your two lives from colliding. I want you to live the life you want to live for as long as you can, but you have to be realistic. Plus . . .” His voice darkened, and despite the words the sound caused a low current of electricity through her body. ”Lone nutjob or not, I intend to find whoever hurt you and tear the skin from her bones with my bare hands.”
She looked up at him and said wryly, ”You're such a ball of suns.h.i.+ne, baby.”
As she'd hoped, he laughed and kissed her.
Miranda settled back against him and closed her eyes, the vibration of the car beneath her and the heartbeat at her ear lulling her as much as the thought of what she had to look forward to: a steamy, hot shower; a Snickers bar; and most important, a long morning spent in the arms of her Prime.
Two.
Midafternoon, while the human world bustled around in its frenetic race, was a time of peace at the Haven. The halls were dark and silent, except for the footsteps of the half-dozen diurnal guards. There were no training sessions in the Elite quarter, no patrols checking in and out, and the sensor network powered down partway to conserve energy. Throughout the complex of buildings and the mansion that made up the Haven, 126 vampires slept.
Today, it was 125.
David lay on his back with one arm up under his head and the other wrapped securely around his Queen, who slumbered with her head on his chest and her hair spilled out over his bare skin. His hand moved in absent circles on her back, and though she often tossed and turned throughout the afternoon, today she was tranquil. Indeed the radiating heat from the fireplace, the weight of the comforter, and the pull of Miranda's exhaustion should have drawn him along into dreams himself, but his mind simply refused to be still.
He'd had many sleepless days during his tenure as Prime. There was always something to worry about, the night-to-night welfare of his territory an endless equation to solve . . . and the last three months had added a new variable.
She could have been killed.
The memory of seeing her blood running down from the stake wound made him clench his hand into a fist so hard it shook.
He had never feared for his own life, and he didn't now, but having Miranda complicated matters-he could no longer discount the ever-present threat of a.s.sa.s.sination. As he had pointed out to her, more than one life was at stake. If he died, she died. That was reason enough to be more careful.
Eventually Miranda grunted and rolled away from him, and he gave up trying to sleep. He got out of bed, pulled on his robe, and sat down at the computer to run a few quick checks.
Situation normal. The city was quiet; it was rare to have any sort of vampire activity during daylight, and then it was confined to the indoors and there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it. He knew there were about two dozen vampires living belowground in the sewers and old tunnel systems, but unless they made a nuisance of themselves he saw no reason to bother with them. They were followed on the sensor network like everyone else; in Austin-and eventually every metropolitan area of the South-there was no such thing as privacy for vampires. If they didn't like it, they could leave. The Shadow World's denizens weren't known for their good behavior toward humans, and it was his job both to keep their people safe and to keep his people safe from discovery.
So far it was working. The vampire population of the South had actually increased since the network had gone up, and vampire-on-human crime had dropped. Other Primes who opposed his ideas had prophesied a ma.s.s exodus of vampires unwilling to be followed around, but they'd been proven wrong . . . and nothing pleased David more than proving the Council wrong.
The Haven's various computer systems were all running happily. There was nothing to worry over. Out of curiosity he did a diagnostic of the solar panels that supplied the entire complex with power; there had been a few glitches with the subsystem that charged the cars, but he'd debugged them and so far this week there'd been no additional problems.
Yawning, he checked his e-mail, then opened his schedule to have a look at the week's events. There at least something interesting was happening.
When a new Prime claimed the Signet or took a Queen, his allies and those wanting to curry favor paid state visits as soon as they could. Pairs from all over the world as well as powerful vampires from his own territory came to offer their congratulations and get to know the new administration. Of the twenty-six other Primes, nineteen had made overtures toward visiting, and four had already come and gone. They arrived in style, stayed a few days, and went home to spread the latest gossip among their Court.
Faith had dubbed the whole tradition the Magnificent b.a.s.t.a.r.d Parade.
So far things had gone smoothly. The four Primes-and two Queens-had all been friends of his and had taken to Miranda immediately, though Tanaka of j.a.pan had observed to David privately that the others might not be so . . . open-minded, as he put it. Tanaka, an expert diplomat who managed to keep up good relations with all but about three Signets, hardly ever gave bad advice, and though David's first inclination was to insist that Miranda could handle herself . . . he did have a few misgivings.
The Signet system was thousands of years old. The youngest living Prime was over two hundred, and Miranda was one of a handful of Queens in history to take a Signet just after coming across. Primes weren't known for their forward thinking or progressive politics. In other words, most of them were s.e.xist pigs, and Miranda . . . well, she wasn't the type of woman to keep her mouth shut when angry. She spoke her mind, was smart and observant, and David knew that the very qualities he loved about her were going to get them in trouble if she didn't learn quickly that these old, hidebound men of privilege were not all going to like the fact that David treated her as an equal.
Primes and Queens were meant to function as two halves of a whole. History, however, had not been kind to women, and neither had vampire politics. Queens were powerful, yes, and certainly had a reputation of their own, but they usually took a backseat to their mates. For the most part the Queens were perfectly content with the way things were, as were their husbands, and because they were bound at the soul the Primes tended to give their Queens as much or as little responsibility as they wanted-but some were out-right subservient to their Primes; a mystical relations.h.i.+p didn't always mean a healthy one.
David was already considered something of a maverick for his love of technology and got plenty of stern looks and raised eyebrows thanks to his history with Prime Deven. He was used to it, and he knew when to ignore it. Miranda had not yet learned to pick her battles.
In the coming week she would have to. They were due a visit from Prime James Hart of the Northeast; his territory included New England as well as the most densely vampire-populated metropolitan area, New York. He had ruled a hundred years with no Queen, and five minutes after meeting him it was obvious why-but his s.e.xual appet.i.te was well-known, and it was rumored he kept a harem of vampire women whom he terrorized into obedience.
He was not a friend to David. In fact David had no idea why Hart was so keenly interested in coming to Texas so soon; generally a Prime's allies came first, and it took months for everyone to make the arrangements. Pairs were mostly anch.o.r.ed to their territories, and leaving even for a few days was a major undertaking. Allies made the effort as soon as possible as a show of support. Usually neutral parties or antagonistic a.s.s-kissers waited until the rush was over. David hadn't expected Hart to come at all, and that would have been just fine.
Obviously Hart wanted something. That alone was enough to make David uneasy about the visit. The thought of Hart and Miranda in the same room, while wickedly amusing to Faith, set his teeth on edge.
As he was closing his schedule-Hart was set to arrive on Tuesday-he looked over at his contact list and noticed that only one other person was online at this unG.o.dly hour.
”What are you doing up?” he typed.
”Painting my nails & watching p.o.r.n,” Deven answered promptly.
David grinned and replied, ”Right. What color/kind?”
A pause, then: ”Black/Midget.”
David snorted quietly. ”Couldn't sleep?”
”No. You know how it goes.”
David glanced over at the bed, where Miranda was still blessedly asleep. Yes, he knew how it went. At least once a week, sometimes more, she fought her way out of night-mares, and once she'd been so inconsolable that the only thing he could do was mentally knock her unconscious.
It bothered her that she wasn't ”over it” already. Her life was so different now, last year seeming so far away that she expected herself to have healed and moved on, and she refused to be seen as weak or needy no matter how much it hurt.
He had tried again and again to tell her that it wasn't that easy. Old scars persisted into immortality. She wasn't the first person he'd had to watch cope with a traumatic past.
”When are you coming to Austin?” he asked.
”Still working on it. Maybe next month?”
”Just let me know so I can stock the house with good whiskey and dancing boys.”
David imagined Deven in his private study at the Haven in Sacramento, a cozy room with leather couches and a small part of the Prime's impressive weapons collection on display. Even if he was in nothing but a bathrobe, Deven would have a knife on him somewhere and a sword within easy reach. He even kept a blade hanging on the back wall of his shower.
And all of that was after seven hundred years. David thought about telling Miranda that, but he had a feeling she'd find it more depressing than rea.s.suring.
”Have to go,” Deven said. ”Meeting.”
David wished he could communicate ”quizzical” over the Internet. ”At two in the afternoon?”
”Talk to you later. Kisses, sugarblood.”
David chuckled. Dev signed off before he could reply, but that wasn't unusual; the Prime of the West wasn't much for online communication, preferring to size people up face-to-face.
David stretched, closed his computer, and stood up, going over to put another log on the fire before he tried sleeping again. Then he returned to the bed and drew the curtains so that only the foot was exposed, allowing and keeping more heat in.