AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Because Mircea was going to kill me.
And it wasn’t like he didn’t have cause. Sure, he could make Jules a vampire again, but he’d start out a newborn, wouldn’t he? Just like everyone else. And there was no way to know if the delicate cocktail that made a master vamp would come together for him a second time. Part of the equation was desire, and the first time around, Jules had had it in spades. But now? When he knew he’d only go so far and no farther? When he’d had time to be disillusioned?
He might be lost to the family forever, thanks to me.
And that was . . . that was a very bad thing.
Jules hadn’t just been a vampire; he’d been a master. And master vamps weren’t exactly a dime a dozen. They were a precious part of any senior master’s property, more valued than money or land or virtually anything else except power, because almost anything else was easier to get. Any master could make a vampire, but to make another master . . . That was tricky.
A huge number of things went into the process that led to some vampires transitioning to master level, but the power of the one who had turned them was a large part of the equation. It meant that low-on-the-totem-pole masters, like Fred or Rico or Jules himself, had only a very small chance of ever producing a master. So much so that most low-ranking masters preferred to remain with their families rather than to strike out on their own and form another family they might not be able to protect.
But even in cases like Mircea’s, masters were still rare. Most vampires remained vampires, stuck as servants and errand runners, lackeys and paper pushers for all eternity. Having one transition to master status was a cause for celebration and a source of personal pride for his maker, and likely a status boost, as well.
When they spoke of wealth in the vampire world, they spoke in terms of how many masters you controlled.
And Mircea now had one less, thanks to me.
I stared at the phone gleaming ominously on my bedside, and wondered how long I had. It was late afternoon, so normally, Mircea wouldn’t even be up yet. Of course, his usual schedule couldn’t always be relied on these days.
&nbs
p; The senate had lost a lot of its members in the war, which meant that every senator who remained had had to do the work of two. Plus, Mircea had been negotiating a treaty with the other senates, and doing some other stuff I wasn’t clear on, but that had to do with finding new senators to help carry the burden. He’d said that would be over soon, maybe by the end of the week. But right now, he was really busy, and there were a lot of people who needed his time and—
And I was a coward who should just woman up and call him, already.
My hand actually stretched out to grab the phone, because that was the one useful thing I could do while flat on my back. But then it dropped. Because where did I start?
And where would it lead?
It was the same problem I’d had all week. I loved Mircea; I didn’t like keeping things from him. But telling him anything was basically the same thing as telling the senate, like telling Jonas would have been like telling the Circle.
Only I wasn’t dating Jonas.
Which actually made things easier sometimes. I didn’t feel guilty that Marco had bum-rushed Jules into one of the spare bedrooms before Jonas had a chance to get curious. This was family business; it didn’t have anything to do with him. And I didn’t think Mircea would appreciate having the Circle learn that I could unmake masters now.
But, technically, the same argument could be made for the whole Pritkin thing, which didn’t have anything to do with Mircea.
Yet I felt guilty for not telling him anyway.
And that was such bullshit! Mircea wasn’t any better at sharing than I was; in fact, he probably took the closemouthed prize. From the vamp’s perspective, I was married to the guy, yet I didn’t know what his favorite color was. Or his favorite drink. Or what he did all the time when he wasn’t here, which was most of the time lately.
I didn’t really know that much about him at all, and it was maddening. But worse, I couldn’t even complain. Because then he might—hell, he would—suggest an exchange of information, and there was so damned much I couldn’t tell him. . . .
I stared at the phone.
It stared back.
I chewed my cheek for a while and then got disgusted with myself. I wasn’t going to wait around like this for hours. I’d have a stomach full of ulcers by then to go with whatever was making me so exhausted. I was going to do it. I was going to call him. I was going to do what I should have days ago and just pick up the phone and—
Someone knocked on the door.
I looked up, my heart in my throat, sure it was Marco with a phone in his hand.
And then Fred pushed open the door with a foot, because his hands were full of beer, one of them wrapped in a paper towel because we’re classy like that.
“Oh, thank God,” I said as he handed it to me.
He looked a little surprised at the fervency of his welcome. “Figured you could use a drink,” he said, and tossed my phone on a chair so he could sit down on the bed.
