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“Of course, I have. Two birds, one stone. Weaken her politically and make the challenge easier at the same time. It’s how they think; you know it is—”
“Dory!” Ray put a hand over the one I had clenched on the railing. “He’s a dueling champion surrounded by vamp bodyguards. I think he’s fine.”
I eyed the four huge vamps inside, who were dimly visible through the striations of setting sun on the glass. They were trying their best not to look like gorillas in their tuxes, which was a complete waste of time standing near my elegant husband. They were big, they were badass—or so they thought—and they were all but useless against the kind of things we had been fighting. And I didn’t mean just our enemies.
I narrowed my eyes at Hassani, who had started life as an expert assassin and, as far as I knew, had never gone out of practice. I hadn’t had to ask if he wanted to head up the new Vampire World Senate. He was a master vamp; he wanted it. And Louis-Cesare could be his ticket to ride.
Especially when the so-called bodyguards were busy scanning the crowd, while completely ignoring the much more dangerous man standing right beside them!
Not that I really thought that Hassani—or anyone else—would try something so openly, but vampires were tricky, especially the old ones. You never knew how their minds worked. And, yeah, I was paranoid, but I had reason to be, and my nerves—
Were a little on edge, I thought, realizing half a second after it happened that I had whirled, my body splayed out in a lunge, to hold a terrified waiter at knife point.
He didn’t move and he didn’t scream, although the front of his nice dark trousers got a little darker as we stood there in our little tableau, staring at each other.
“What?” I asked, realizing that Ray had said something.
“I was gonna ask why you don’t rate any guards,” he said dryly.
“Two of them are mine. I put them on Louis-Cesare,” I said, and pulled the knife back.
It was at the other end of the stake for convenience, and thin enough not to bulge my dress. I’d been flashing it all night anyway, whenever I moved just right, like a gunslinger in the Old West with a .45 under his arm. But I was past caring.
Screw diplomacy; my party was going home with all their limbs attached, and if Hassani or anybody else had something to say about it, they could—
The waiter dropped his tray of drinks and screamed as the delayed reaction hit, then fled. Several people glanced outside, with the bored disinterest of beings who had seen everything and didn’t think much of it. There wasn’t even a break in the subtle ebb and flow of conversation.
“Sorry,” I told Ray, taking the handkerchief he proffered to wipe the spilled champagne off my hand. “I’ve just been a little on edge late—”
“Shit!” he yelled, and tackled me.
I heard it a split second after he did: a high-pitched whistle, unmistakable to anyone who’d ever been at war. A missile, incoming. And then here, a split second after Ray threw us behind one of the massive old benches, which I guess were as sturdy as they looked. Because the explosion tore around and over us, but not through us.
Not through us.
I was on my feet and tussling with Ray, who despite appearances was a vampire and a master at that, while debris was still in the air, while heat was still radiating outward in waves, and while the wind of the explosion was still blowing my hair around. I didn’t care. I threw him off and ran, into a once nice ballroom that was currently falling to pieces.
Damn it, I knew it!
“Louis-Cesare!”
I didn’t see him. I did see a jagged edged hole in the sky outside the windows, or more accurately, in what I guessed was a shield surrounding the ballroom and terrace. The pretty view was still being projected onto the inside of what was left of it, while everywhere else . . .
Was destruction. A heavy ceiling
tile crashed to the floor at my feet, sending sharp edged shards to pepper my legs and the arm I threw over my eyes. Blackened furniture, much of it still on fire, lay scattered around; destroyed columns were in chunks on the floor, one of them crushing a servant; smoke filled the air, chokingly thick; and the charred bodies of vamps and glassware crunched underfoot.
But there were signs of survival, too.
There was movement amongst the fire, with the power levels of those in attendance on clear display. The weakest were burnt corpses, mere shells of gray ash that puffed away into nothingness as I passed. Those with more years and more power under their belts were stirring, some weakly calling out for help in a dozen languages, the stronger struggling to get up or staggering back to their feet. But the masters . . .
Were furious.
A woman jumped up beside me with a snarl, her finery burnt away except for a few scraps clinging to her blackened, naked body. Much of her henna dyed updo was also missing, and the rest was down around her shoulders, one of which was smoldering like an ember. She clawed it out, grabbing a chunk of her own damaged flesh and tearing it off before it took the rest of her along with it, then ran to the other side of the room. Others were congregating there as well; rallying around Hassani, who was suddenly surrounded by an army of his creatures, blackened and bloody, but still deadly.
And they needed to be. Because the missile had only been the first volley. It had somehow broken through the shield surrounding the court, like a medieval trebuchet making a breech in a wall, and now the army was pouring in.
Only an army of what, I wasn’t sure.
