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Or… a setup?

Awareness is a lightning bolt in my brain. Vampremacy have been trying to build support for a long time, but Tristan’s been standing in their way. A lot of vampires who might have thrown their lot in with Vampremacy have stayed neutral because of Tristan’s reputation. How better to win those vampires over than to discredit him?

I swallow hard. Tonight might be a turning point that nobody expected.

Chapter 24

Numbly, I spare a thought for the fact that this eliminates any doubt about whether Misha’s aligned with Vampremacy. He walked into this party, and the first thing he did was pick a fight with Tristan—just in time for Geoffrey to swoop in. It makes total sense. Otherwise, I would’ve expected more of a fight from someone with Misha’s reputation.

Of course, we can’t prove it, even if it is logical. In the meantime, there are now four vampires in this room who are definitely the enemy, and I’m not sure what kind of backup Tristan has. Pierce, for sure, but the others? I don’t know.

Tristan doesn’t take his eyes off Misha. “Stay away from my feeder.” The low rumble, so unlike his usual voice, would probably do very bad yet fun things to me if I wasn’t shit scared right now. My dick is still paying attention, in a half-hearted kind of way.

Misha says something too low for me to hear, but whatever it is sends Tristan over the edge. Blood spurts, and a murmur goes up from the watching vampires. Paul rushes forward, but Tristan holds up his free hand to stop him. His body is blocking my line of sight, so I can’t see exactly where the blood is coming from, but I’m guessing Misha’s neck. Fuck, I think I need to call Anna.

“I will rip out your throat,” Tristan threatens. Fun fact: Vampires don’t have claws. What they do have is brute strength, enough to bust through skin and muscle with the blunt tips of their fingers.

“Please,” Paul begs. “Not here.” That has absolutely no impact, so he adds, “You’re so close to a truce.”

“Are we, though?” Misha garbles, and more blood spurts, spattering gruesomely across the white marble floor tiles.

“Is this the kind of example the regent sets?” Geoffrey needles, tsking. He hasn’t moved from the doorway, but he’s projecting clearly. Not that he’d need to—the room is quiet enough that I can hear my own jagged breaths. “Is this what he’s defending? The right for vampires to attack each other over humans?” The last word is a sneer. “Feeders degrade us to the level of animals, unable to restrain ourselves even at times like this.” His gesture encapsulates the elegant room and formal outfits. His gambit isn’t complex or sophisticated, but it’s still working. These vampires might know he’s playing them, but that doesn’t change the fact that Tristan, an arbiter of control and discipline, the goddamn regent, has attacked another vampire at a fancy party… because of a feeder. I can almost see the thoughts circling behind their eyes—would things be better if no vampire had a reason to be possessive of a human?

I want to scream at them that it’s wrong, that Geoffrey is a turd, but nothing I, a feeder, can say will make this situation better. Plus I’m pretty sure that Tristan would actually murder me if I drew even more attention to myself.

Tristan’s voice cuts through the haze of doubt and confusion. “I defend what’s mine, whether it’s vampire, human, or object, as every vampire who ever lived has done since the first of us rose.” He’s still not looking at Geoffrey, and logically that’s because Misha is the more immediate threat, but it has the added bonus of making it seem as though he considers Geoffrey insignificant. “Perhaps once you’ve lived longer, you’ll understand the nature of being vampire.”

I clamp my jaw tightly closed so my mouth doesn’t do something stupid like protest that I don’t belong to anyone. That would be monumentally disastrous here, surrounded by vampires who are only restrained by the fact that I “belong” to one of their own. Especially right now, with the ripple of agreement that Tristan’s statement has brought. With two sentences, he’s turned the tide of doubt. I should have had more confidence in him.

Geoffrey’s face twists with hatred. “I understand being vampire better than you do!” he shouts, but the childish rebuttal only solidifies Tristan’s victory. Around the room, vampires are shaking their heads or turning away with the kind of expressions adults wear when they see kids having tantrums. It’s a timely reminder that to some of these vampires, Geoffrey is literally a child, and one that Tristan, their leader, just scolded. That reminder makes it hard for them to take him seriously, and I wonder if Tristan made a mistake. He might want other vampires to ignore Geoffrey, but that doesn’t mean Geoffrey isn’t dangerous.

He starts toward Tristan, his gaze narrowed with single-minded intensity on the top of my vampire’s head, but one of his sidekicks grabs his arm and says something. It’s too low for me to hear, but Geoffrey stops, grits his teeth, and turns away, yanking his arm free. He scans the room and then makes his way toward a group clustered near the stairs.

My throat is dryer than the Simpson Desert, and I’m not even in the clear yet. With Geoffrey seemingly occupied, I turn my attention back to Tristan and Misha. There’s a decent-sized puddle of blood on the marble tiles now, which worries me a little. Vampire blood usually doesn’t raise bloodlust in other vampires, and anyway, “civilised” vampires don’t go places where humans might be if they haven’t fed recently, but history is full of unfortunate accidents and coincidences. It would be just my luck for there to be a vampire here tonight who hasn’t fed recently enough to maintain control in the presence of blood, even if it isn’t human blood.

“Well?” Misha asks, the sound making me jump. His voice is guttural, and blood stains his teeth, but the provoking smirk is still on his face. “What happens now? Are you vampire enough to kill your sire?”

It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in, and then the bottom drops out of my stomach. Misha is Tristan’s sire? Why didn’t I see that anywhere on the Dish when I was doing my research?

“The only thing that keeps you alive is my respect for my hosts,” Tristan replies, his voice as cold as ice. “But even that has limits.”

I try to remember everything I ever read about vampire sires. Since the act of turning a human into a vampire is deliberate and new vampires are so volatile and unstable, it’s incredibly rare for a vampire not to maintain a connection to their sire. Most vampires were made on battlefields or sickbeds. It was considered safer for vampires to live in nests of at least three, so that if they were hunted, they wouldn’t be fighting alone. To this end, vampires would often search out humans who were near death and offer them a chance to live in exchange for their loyalty. The blood exchange would take place, the human would die shortly after from their injuries or illness, and then they would rise as a vampire. Their sire would keep them fed and controlled until they regained their sanity, after which they would join the nest for years—sometimes decades—before striking out on their own. Even when they did leave, there was always a connection to their sire, kind of a lifelong allyship.

Except that’s obviously not the case here, since Tristan is on the verge of ripping out Misha’s spine.

“I apologise,” Misha says suddenly, and stunned silence falls. It seemed like not many people were paying attention anymore, but clearly they were.

Tristan seems just as surprised as everyone else. He doesn’t move, and after a brief hesitation, Selene and Paul come forward, Pierce only a step behind them.

“You will give Tristan and his feeder the respect due them?” Selene asks Misha.

“I will.” His smirk is still firmly in place. I really don’t like this guy.

Selene glances at her husband, then Tristan, who hasn’t moved, but it’s Pierce who murmurs his name.

Tristan sucks in a breath through his teeth, then releases Misha and springs out of his crouch in a way that’s decidedly not human, landing in front of me.

“Don’t push me again,” he warns.