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Bela gaped at him before looking around the table at both Englishmen. “You killed him?”
“Stephen killed him,” Istvan said, glancing at his partner with some pride.
Bela stared at Stephen, wide-eyed. He was silent for some seconds as though struggling for words. “Well,” he said to Istvan. “And you feel comfortable sharing your life and your bed with a vampire slayer?”
Stephen gave him a stony look. “It’s not like that.”
Sam was tiring. He wondered just what Istvan saw in this horrible man that he courted his friendship and would invite him to meet his other friends. Against his will though, he found the vampire attractive.
“Isn’t it?” Bela asked. His blue gaze bored into Stephen. “How did you kill him?”
“I decapitated him,” Stephen said, lifting his chin.
“Why?”
Sam smothered a laugh. Was he serious? He needed to ask what Emil had done? Where did one start with his list of crimes?
“Because he tried to kill Istvan. Because he massacred Nikolaus’s family.”
“Nikolaus?” Bela said. “Another spawn of your loins, Istvan?”
“Severin’s,” Istvan said tightly.
Bela laughed. “Oh, I see. You two really have been busy while I’ve been away. No wonder you had to kill Emil.”
Istvan stared back at him stonily.
Bela looked at Stephen. “So you cut his head off, then set up home with his successor.”
Istvan shook his head. “I’m not his successor, nor do I want to be. Severin is older than me.”
“Severin is rash and foolhardy. You would be more appropriate.”
“I’m not interested in being a tyrant.”
Sam privately agreed that Istvan made the better successor. Over two hundred years as a vampire had made him wise and careful, while somehow still retaining his humanity—how else would he have allowed Stephen to remain human? He was a role model Sam tried to emulate.
Stephen cleared his throat. “You should tell him, Istvan.”
Istvan sighed. “It means nothing.”
“He didn’t walk away by himself,” Stephen said.
“Still.”
Bela looked from one to the other. “Tell me what?”
Istvan sighed. “Emil’s head and body vanished from where we left them.”
Bela paused with his glass at his lips. “Oh,” he said. “I see.”
Sam fought the urge to yawn. Emil had never truly affected him but he had been along for the ride to kill him because of everything the vampire king had done to his friends. He wasn’t sure the disappearance was as big a deal as the vampires had made out at the time, and a miraculously glued together Emil had yet to visit them with murder on his mind. It was five years ago. Ancient history. Obviously some sycophantic toady had taken Emil and now kept him in a coffin in his cellar or whatever. The king was dead, long live the king.
He eyed the glass of blood again as hunger began to gnaw at him. He pushed back his chair and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to retire. Thank you for a nice evening.”
Bela got to his feet. “May I escort you?”
Sam looked at him with amusement. “What am I, a blushing Victorian lady? Do I need escorting?”
