“I can arrange a ride,” Bronco said, his tone cautious and his words guarded.
“Good,” Eli said. “We can be ready fast.”
“Hmmm,” Edmund said, curious why Eli goaded him. And then he remembered. Men of war often pushed one another. Goaded, provoked, and annoyed one another. A peculiar sort of comradery-of-war. Was Eli’s badgering that sort of... bonding? Of friendship? And, dear God, did he want to befriend this man? Ed’s mind and body went still, considering the ramifications of such a comradeship.
The Hummer drove on.
Alex had rented one of the log cabin cottages to the back of the house. Bronco dropped them off—and the cat jumped to the ground in a single leap—to freshen up while Bronco proceeded on to the main house to inform the boss that the guests would like to begin their stay with amoonlight ride. As the Hummer rolled away into the night, Edmund watched as the cat stretched into impossible positions and breathed in the night air with that sucking sound she made. She chuffed, raced to Edmund, rose onto her hind legs, and shoved him to the earth. He landed with a softwhompand an exhale of surprise. She jumped atop him, her front paws on Ed’s chest, her back paws on his abdomen, digging in, getting dust all over his suit.
“Damn it all to—” He stopped. Her face leaned in to his. Nose to nose. Her irises glowed a soft yellow with a pupillary silver sheen in the blackness of the night. Ed discovered that he didn’t really care if he was dusty and dirty. Who would dare to take offense? Besides, he could afford a dozen new suits if he so wished. He was the Emperor of the European Mithrans.
The realization hit him hard.
He was the Emperor of the European Mithrans.
Leo Pellissier had plotted, contrived, and schemed for this, to get Edmund into this position, as a last-ditch maneuver should the Master of the City of New Orleans die. And then... then Leo had died, his head attached by a thread of skin. And he had been buried in the blood of his enemies. Not blood freely given, but blood drained from the unwilling. His... his friend was buried.
Tears gathered in Ed’s eyes and wild grief swamped through his chest, a flood, a torrent of anguish. His friend was dead and buried. There was a million-to-one chance he could ever come back, and if he did, if Leo Pellissier rose as a twice-dead, he would not be the vampire he once was. Revenant... mindless killing machine.
As if she felt his pain, Beast patted his cheek with one paw, the way she might a kitten. She chuffed into his face, licked his cheek with that sandpaper-harsh tongue. She stepped from his body and trotted into the darkness. Ed assumed she knew she had created this maelstrom within him, was satisfied, and was now getting the lay of the land.Damn cats.“Don’t kill anything tonight, Cat,” he called. “Our official hunt begins at dusk tomorrow.” In the distance he heard another chuff, but she was gone.
Beast
Leaving Edmund on ground in dirt, Beast loped into night. Loved Edmund, but Edmund needing teaching, like foolish kit. Edmund was important vampire with many powers. But Beast was best hunter. Beast could still teach Ed.
Smells swirled on night-wind. Dust from ground lifted in dust devils, swirling and whirling. Beast watched dust devils caper over land like kits, silver and blue and green and many-more-than-five colors of gray. Sniffed, pulling air in over tongue and scent sacs in what Jane called flehmen response, a sucking dry noise, smells full of promise of hunt.
Smells of familiar deer and strange deer and... and strange cows. And...bison. Beast pelt lifted in sharp points. Beast crouched. Belly-crawled to small hillock. Night vision was silver and sharp as Beast crested hillock to see.
Bison everywhere.
Everywhere!
Beast tightened. Pulled claws inside claw-sheaths. Pulled paws under self, tight, ready to leap or run or hide or kill. Watched bison. Smelled bison. Beast lay on warm stone and stared down into low land full of bison.
Many, many-more-than-five bison. Smell of bison filled nose. Male bison with no sex parts. Female bison ready to mate. And one bull bison, ready to fight for mating rights.
Beast watched. Pelt high. Ears perked. Night deepened. Darkened.
Bison male mated with females. Many females. Was noisy and earth moved beneath Beast belly. Females were stupid to share bison bull. Should be other way. Should be many bulls to fight over every female. This was why Beast was hunter predator, and bison were prey.
Beast crept, and then ran, to check on Edmund and Eli and Alex.
Edmund
Ed stepped into the cabin, his hand-cobbled, calf-leather dress shoes tapping on the dark-stained wood floors. The log house was two stories, with the main living area open to the high rafters and dormers to let in the light by day and the view of the stars by night. As advertised, the cabin had fifteen hundred square feet of living space, all the outer walls composed of logs, all the inner walls rustic reclaimed barn wood. On one wall, there was a huge, stone-cased, wood-burning fireplace with a bison head centered over it. A wood-burning stove stood in the corner, the shape old-fashioned enough that he felt the familiar tendrils of history wrap around him.
The open living space was filled with old furniture. Not antiques, nothing from a civilized time, but just old furniture, all with a Wild West flair, not a single piece more than a 100, 150 years old. He might have laughed.Hewas older than that.
Old rifles hung, wired to the walls, too high to remove without a ladder and wire cutters. There were American tribal blankets on the upstairs railing, an old saddle draped over a board extending from the balcony, and of course, the ubiquitous antler chandeliers. There were sepia-tinted photographs of gunslingers and Western cities. The jars in a glass-fronted mini-cabinet had once been used in a pharmacy. Heavy stoneware—hand-turned mugs, plates, and bowls—were stacked next to cobalt blue glasses from a department store in tall, glass-fronted cabinets. Inexpensive, but clean and neat and beautiful.
The bedroom on the lower level had steel shutters on the widows with heavy draperies for a vampire’s daytime sleeping schedule, and a thumb-turning deadbolt on the inside of the bedroom for personal security.
He walked into the vampire room to find Alex already there, his tablets spread over the bed.
“Dibs,” the Kid said.
Ed merely looked at him. Drawing upon the smallest hint of his power, silent, deadly. Cold as an arctic wind. He let his eyes bleed scarlet and his pupils widen. He kept his fangs in place. They weren’t needed. All thatwas required for the moment was the reminder that he was in charge. That he was the predator.
