Part 4 (1/2)
David set aside his toy and sat back, crossing his arms. ”I dropped a dead deer on his head.”
She blinked, sure she'd misheard. ”What?”
A nod. ”It was his state visit after Deven and Jonathan Paired. He waited nearly a year to come, then proceeded to abuse the Haven staff, belittle the Elite, and treat the Prime like a c.o.c.kroach. He didn't say anything to Jonathan because Jonathan would have cheerfully crushed his skull, but I heard him in the hallway calling Deven a degenerate f.a.ggot, and lo and behold this hideous old deer head that had been hanging on the wall for seventy years fell down. The antlers almost put his eye out.”
Miranda laughed so hard she nearly cried.
It was widely known that David was powerful; he had almost all of the higher abilities attributed to the most powerful of their kind, including the power to Mist, basically a form of teleportation that could be performed only by a Signet bearer. His telekinesis, however, wasn't common knowledge. It was entirely possible Hart had no idea there was any malicious aforethought in Bambi's suicidal leap.
Before she could compose herself completely there came a knock at the door, and Faith joined them, looking more agitated than Miranda had ever seen her.
The Queen sobered immediately. ”Faith, what happened?”
The Second shook her head, her mouth set in a tight line. ”Your guest is ready for you,” she said.
Queen and Prime exchanged a look. ”Faith, tell me,” David said. ”I want to know exactly how that b.a.s.t.a.r.d behaves while he's here.”
Faith's eyes were like two slivers of flint ready to spark off any available tinder. ”He brought his women,” she replied. ”Four of them. They're . . . the rumors are true, Sire.”
David closed his eyes and sighed. ”I was afraid of that.”
Miranda looked from him to Faith. ”What rumors?”
”Everyone knows Hart has a harem,” Faith told her. ”There's been speculation for years over whether the women he keeps are there of their own free will, and over how he treats them. The prevailing thought is that he turns them himself and keeps them weak, nearly starving, so they can't fight him.”
Miranda felt the first stirrings of molten wrath forming in her stomach. ”And it's true?”
”Apparently. You should see them . . . they're skin and bone. None of them make eye contact. They just shuffled into their room and one of his Elite shut the door and stood guard.”
The Prime rarely displayed anger, even to his Queen, but she felt it flare up inside him and saw the subtle change in his expression that few other people would recognize as carefully controlled fury. When he spoke he was deadly calm. ”All right. So he brought them into my Haven knowing perfectly well how I would feel about it. I think it's safe to a.s.sume his intentions in coming here are not pure.”
David stood, straightening his s.h.i.+rt and reaching for the suit jacket he had hung over the back of his chair. They always dressed to the nines for these things, and although some Primes reinforced their reputations with old-fas.h.i.+oned wardrobes or stereotypical Goth-esque vampire attire, David opted for impeccable hand tailoring from the finest local shops so that everything fit him perfectly and only added to his allure.
Miranda was still working out her own style as far as that went. She had her stage clothes, lots of leather and jewelry, and a variation thereof that she wore into town when her presence was required. So far she'd had the most success with what she called ”neo-b.i.t.c.h G.o.ddess,” and tonight she'd worn black pants and heeled boots, a long coat, and a bloodred lace-trimmed top that perfectly matched the stone of her Signet. It was definitely not casual wear, but still wasn't a frilly c.o.c.ktail dress or Hillary Clinton pantsuit. She wanted to look impressive but be able to breathe, fight, and slouch when necessary.
”Let's go, beloved, and get this over with,” David said. He turned to her, arms out slightly in the universal vampire gesture of I have no idea how I look-what do you think?
Miranda ran her hand down the front of his jacket, resting her palm over his heart. ”Gorgeous as always,” she said fondly.
”You, too,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her on the forehead before taking her arm.
Faith looked like she'd rather eat a live scorpion than go anywhere near Hart again, but she was nothing if not a professional; she held the door open for them, but as Miranda pa.s.sed she heard Faith mutter, ”We're going to need another deer head.”
David was immensely proud of Miranda for not drawing her sword and decapitating Prime Hart five seconds after meeting him.
In fact, his fears about her reaction were completely overblown; he realized she had been observing him the last three months, and though she was friendly and somewhat relaxed with the first three Pairs who came to visit, when confronted with a notorious man like Hart she did the same thing David did and slipped on a mask of cordiality coupled with professional disinterest.
He loved it when she surprised him. It reminded him that though she was young and a little rash, the Signet never chose wrong. He could only imagine her in twenty or so years when she had stepped fully into her power and authority and was every inch the Queen . . . no one, not even Hart, would dare cross her then.
Or, it seemed, today.
”Welcome to our Haven, Prime Hart,” David said, bowing, extending his hand. ”Our home is your own.”
Hart gave a slight bow. ”I bring you greetings from the Northeastern United States,” he said smoothly, and reached out to shake David's hand.
Hart was a handsome man; he had a polished look and demeanor that would not have been out of place debating on the Senate floor and appeared to have been in his early forties when he came across. He had silver hair and iceblue eyes; the overall effect was that of a man who presumably would have had no trouble landing women . . . willing ones. If David hadn't known about the actions behind the suave facade, he might even have called him charming.
David turned to Miranda. ”Allow me to introduce Miranda Grey-Solomon, Ninth Queen of the Southern United States.”
Hart looked Miranda up and down, then bowed a bit less than he had to David. Still, he smiled when he said, ”A pleasure. Prime James Hart.”
Miranda bowed. ”Welcome to our Haven, Lord Prime. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
Hart had already returned his attention to David. ”I look forward to the next three days,” he said. ”I think it's time the Northeast and the South renew their friends.h.i.+p, with a Council meeting coming up soon.”
Having fulfilled the requirements of Signet formality, David nodded. ”Perhaps we could retire to the study to discuss matters of state.”
Hart nodded curtly, then gave Miranda a faintly dismissive look. ”I'm sure your young wife has other matters to attend to and is quite busy with her household duties.”
David wasn't quite quick enough to change the subject.
”I am neither a housewife nor a servant,” Miranda said coldly, staring daggers at Hart. ”I am Queen of this territory and I don't require a man's permission to stay or go.”
Before Hart could reply, David interjected, ”She does, however, have a performance in town tonight, which I'm sure she would much rather attend.”
Silently he willed Miranda to let it go this time-he wanted to know what Hart was up to, and if he stormed out now in a fit of pique they might never find out.
Miranda shot David a poisonous look but merely turned on her heel and walked away.
David gestured down the hall. ”This way, please, my Lord Prime.”
The study David had chosen for their meeting was not in the Signet wing; he wasn't going to let Hart anywhere near their private residence. It was a somewhat neutral venue with a square of identical love seats that put no one more in the spotlight than any other and was tastefully decorated to show off the Haven's wealth without ostentation. There was a map of the U.S. Signet territories on the wall in their current configuration with Kentucky firmly in David's grasp . . . just as a little reminder.
As they sat, one of the servants came forward to pour their first gla.s.s of whiskey. David hoped they'd brought up a very large bottle.
”Ice,” Hart said shortly to the servant without looking at her.
David felt himself bristle at Hart's officious tone but said nothing. He couldn't let every little thing Hart did aggravate him, or they'd be at war before the hour was up. Hart came from a different world and time than David; the rumor was he'd been a Crusader, son of a n.o.ble family somewhere in Europe. He'd been ordering people around his entire life. David had spent his childhood covered in soot at his father's side, and as a vampire he had worked his way up through the ranks of the Western Elite. Plenty of Primes were disdainful and dismissive of their servants. He couldn't let it get further under his skin just because it was Hart.
Not to mention it would be hypocritical to lecture Miranda about diplomacy and then start trouble himself.
”Why don't we get down to business,” David said.
Hart actually smiled, though it wasn't a particularly friendly expression. ”And what business is that, Lord Prime?”
”Cut the c.r.a.p, Hart. What are you doing here?”
Hart regarded him silently for a moment before saying offhandedly, ”You're going to have your hands full with that woman.”
”She has a name.”