“Death does not end love. You still love Leo. What would you give me to get him back alive? What would you give if his master could give him back to you?”
“Holy crap,” I murmured.
Bruiser said nothing, a pause that lasted heartbeats too long. “Nothing. I would give nothing to revive the dead. And his master is dead at the hands of my own Lady Mother.”
My Lady Motherwas what Bruiser called his titled mother, who died killing the vampires who were using her body and taking her blood. I knew the story. She killed Amaury Pellissier and numerous other vamps by drinking silver-laced alcohol before they attacked her.
Monique breathed and raised her hands, putting them on Bruiser’s face, cupping his cheeks and stroking his lips with her thumbs. The fingers of the broken wrist were still bruised and swollen, but she seemed not to notice. “Not his maker. Hismaster.”
“Who—” Bruiser jerked back, breaking the touch. He was holding the null cuffs. She hadn’t noticed he had taken them off her lap. Thehedge of thorns–imprinted gloves glowed in my vision.
Monique’s purple strands attacked. Bruiser stood, his hands laced together in a single fist holding the cuffs. Using their magic. His arms thrust up. Knocked Monique’s to the side. Stepped back. Kicked her in the chest. Pivoted into a rooted stance. All in one smooth motion, a basic martial arts move, breaking a hold, kicking, twisting away.
Her chair tilted back on two legs. Her hands threw magic like dark purple lances. The chair tipped farther. Her attack magic was absorbed by the gloves and the null cuffs except for a single strand that hit Bruiser in the chest. He threw his entire body at her and rolled her out of the chair. Across the floor. Latching the null cuffs around her neck so tight they cut her flesh.
Her blood landed on the metal, and her magical attack slowed to a trickle, choked off. Her mouth opened in gasping silent rage.
Bruiser inhaled, catching his breath. Latched the wrist cuffs back on her, accidently bending her broken wrist through the splint and tape as she sucked in a painedbreath. He almost apologized for her pain, but stopped himself, his mouth tight.
Monique was still reeling as he righted her chair, picked her up, and sat her in it. He stretched behind her to the mantle and grabbed a roll of duct tape I hadn’t noticed. Moving primo-fast, he stripped off a length and wrapped it around her wrists on top of the cuffs and then around one chair arm. He secured her ankles together and then to a chair leg. It was a well-made solid oak captain’s chair, and though it was possible to break the chair apart and get away, it couldn’t be done silently.
Bruiser stepped away from her. Touched his chest the way people did on TV when they’ve been shot, and looked at his fingers. There was no blood from the place where Monique’s magic had hit him. He turned and left the room. A moment later, Eli and I heard the outer door close and the lock turn. Bruiser’s footsteps moved toward the barnlike fermentation room, sounding somehow dejected.
Even wounded, Monique had bested him again, using guile and mesmerism, and my Consort had been forced to resort to physical means to defeat her. When he was gone, Monique started crying silently. Besides reinjuring her broken wrist, it was clear that Bruiser had hurt her magically too. Good for my sweet-cheeks.
“What did she mean, ‘Not his maker. His master’?” Eli whispered.
“I got no idea. Follow him?” I asked. “Make sure he’s okay. She hit him with a spear of purple magic. Right in his chest.”
“And what are you gonna do, Janie?”
“There’s blood at her neck. I can use that blood.”
“Don’t get yourself killed.”
“Copy that,” I said, as Eli gathered up his equipment and followed Bruiser.
He glanced back. “Don’t forget your appointment. Noon in the sweathouse.”
“Yuck,” I said. He gave me that not-really-there smile and loped after my honeybunch.
I was alone except for the white werewolf. “Hey,” I said to Brute. “You’re standing in the rain.”
He chuffed at me.
“Wanna go inside and roll all over a mean woman who tried to hurt my boyfriend?”
Brute’s mouth opened and his tongue lolled out. He panted into my face and wagged his tail. His breath was a dreadful combo of salmon from his last meal and mint from the chewy he gnawed to keep his teeth clean.
I faked a gag. “Yuck. And I’m taking that as a yes.”
***
I made my way around the cottage and inside, opened the door to the bedroom, and let the werewolf in. I closed the door after him without Monique seeing me. I pulled offle breloque.It wasn’t always agreeable to being removed, but it didn’t clamp down this time. I set it aside, puttering around the kitchen, which was kitted out with all the necessities a visiting vamp might need. I started a pot of coffee and turned on the kettle. Placed a few Irish Breakfast silk tea bags in the pot. Banged around a bit. Found some commercial bakery lemon cookies in an unopened brown paper sack. They were still fresh enough, and I poured some into a small bowl. I set up a tray, sorta the way Bruiser might, coffee carafe on one side with a mug, teapot on the other with a mug. I added stirring spoons, creamer, sugar, and some stevia stuff. The mugs were all white and bland, with no catchy sayings on the bottom. I needed a mug about Onorios. Something pithy. I tore off and folded paper towels instead of napkins. Classy.
As I worked, I heard squeals and shouts and various phrases repeated: “Get away from me, you stupid dog! Stop! Horrors! Someone get this dog off of me! Ahhh!”
I placedle breloqueto the side of my teapot, opened the door to the bedroom, and snapped my fingers. Brute bounded out, happy as a puppy. I let him outside and closed the door. Lifting a small serving table, I carried it into the bedroom, placed it near Monique’s chair, then brought in the serving tray. It looked nice.
