Shadow's Bane (Dorina Basarab 4)

“I know that’s what it is! My mother was a Romanian peasant girl, and my father—” I stopped, because holy shit. Mircea was going to be . . . well, ‘pissed’ didn’t really cover it. Not only did he have a family obsession that this was going to fly straight in the face of, but he also needed me on the Senate right now. And needed badly, or he’d have never persuaded the consul to look at a damned dhampir every meeting.

“Vampires can do that?” Claire said, her forehead wrinkling. “Just mentally ride along with someone? Because I’ve never heard—”

“Neither have I.”

Caedmon had slipped through the door while we weren’t looking, a massive pink bouquet in his hands. He laid it in my arms like I was some beauty pageant contestant about to be crowned, which would have been funny except that Louis-Cesare was on his heels. At least, he was until he grabbed the king of the fey and slammed him against the wall.

“You’re not taking her!”

I dropped everything—literally: the full stein splattered its contents everywhere and went rolling across the boards, and the flowers littered the hall. But I got in between the guys before a blow landed. “Not here!”

“Damned right!” That was Claire. “What are you playing at, Caedmon?”

“Playing?” A blond eyebrow ascended. “I assure you, I am perfectly serious. The law clearly states that we are allowed to claim anyone with fey blood—”

“I don’t have fey blood,” I said.

“I can assure you that you do.”

“And I can assure you, I don’t! I’ll take a test, if you like—”

“You already did.”

“Funny, I don’t recall it.”

“Really? I thought it was memorable.”

“Start making sense!” Louis-Cesare snarled, and Claire nodded. I blinked. Because seeing the two of them agree on something was . . . kind of creepy.

“It’s quite simple,” Caedmon said, taking his time, and adjusting his wrinkled tunic. “We have a treaty with your Senate—with all of them, for that matter. As you know, our birthrate is very low. We cannot afford to lose anyone of our blood, particularly one with such a rare gift—”

“We know all that!” Claire broke in. “But Dory just told you—she isn’t fey!”

“And she would know?” Caedmon looked at me. “You know who your mother was, but what about your grandmother? Your great-grandmother? Your great-grandfather? How well do you know your bloodline?”

“My mother was a peasant girl,” I reminded him. “They didn’t keep records back then. Most of them couldn’t even read.”

“Exactly so.” He sounded like he’d just proved something.

It pissed me off. “It doesn’t matter! I’ve told you, it’s a vampire skill. I get it from my father—”

“What is?” Louis-Cesare asked.

“I doubt that,” Caedmon murmured.

“Dory?”

“Something happened the other night,” I told Louis-Cesare. “It’s . . . complicated.”

“Complicated? How complicated?”

“Merely a manlikan army attacking the house, and then an assault by an especially strong vargr,” Caedmon said, before I could stop him. “Don’t worry; we don’t expect you to know what that means,” he added.

Because I guess Louis-Cesare’s face wasn’t red enough already.

“Give me a damned blood test, and end this!” I said, because I needed to talk to my boyfriend. Like, now.

“You are dhampir,” Caedmon said. “Irrevo