The Immortal Conquistador (Kitty Norville 15)

The other devils—vampires—in the room waited for their Mistress. When she had her glass, she raised it high in a toast. “To Don Ricardo, welcome. We are so very glad to meet you and bring you into our fold.” She drank, and all her fellows raised their glasses and drank, too.

Ricardo hesitated for a moment, considering her words. He wasn’t sure he liked them. But he drank. The blood was still warm, and it filled him like fire.

Whoever’s blood this was tasted as if he had been afraid.

He watched the others over the rim of the cup to see how they drank, how they managed—was this a perfunctory matter of survival? No—they indulged. Their throats worked, swallowing the sustenance. They made small moans and sighed with pleasure. Elinor’s expression of bliss—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, chin tipped up—was nearly erotic.

From her throne, Catalina watched him. He was sure he was being judged. How was the feral child behaving? Was he truly one of them? Ricardo sipped the blood as he would a decent brandy after dinner. Ran his tongue along his teeth to get every drop of it. Enjoyed, in spite of himself, the warm rush of power the drink provided. Made no other overt display.

“You have probably never had any instruction in the laws of hospitality among our kind,” Catalina said, seeming to revel in her role as instructor. She seemed practiced at it. “When you bring a vampire into your space, you are obligated to provide sustenance. Failing to do so invites a wild chaos. To be a Master means you provide for all your people.” She gestured to the glittering beauty of her entourage. “This is the true display of power. Do you understand?”

The vampire Family was a like royal court. She provided for them; they served her. He understood very well, and he wanted to go home now.

She set her cup on a table, rose from her throne, and approached. Her court moved aside, fawning. Ricardo stood his ground as she touched his sleeve, studied his face, and finally took his hand as a mother might a child’s. Her gaze traced his features; he would not let her look into his eyes. Which was awkward, when she stood this close.

She said, “Ricardo. I am very sorry your time thus far has been spent alone and unsupported. I cannot imagine. You have my deepest sympathies.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“But no longer. This is my territory now, and you are no longer alone. We will take care of you.” Her smile was gracious, serene. She expected him to be glad of this pronouncement.

But what if he didn’t want them to take care of him? He only wanted to go back to Zacatecas and live—exist, rather—as he always had. But he did not feel he was being given a choice.

He replied as carefully and firmly as he could. “I am very grateful to you for your hospitality. But I have a home, you see. I would like to return there, to continue living as I have. Perhaps I could visit you from time to time.”

Eduardo’s hand tightened on the pommel of his rapier. That small gesture told Ricardo much.

Catalina was polite, calm, careful. She was too controlled, too powerful, to reveal any slip of emotion. “I am n

ot sure you understand the situation. I cannot let you do that. Your home is my home now. It is how things are done.”

“Is it?” Ricardo said coolly.

She gave a flirting smile. “I can’t have you plotting behind my back now, can I?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said. While it was a statement of fact, no one here would believe him. Because they would all plot behind Catalina’s back, if they had his resources.

She nodded, seeming to concede the point. “As you yourself have stated, there is so much you don’t yet understand. I would count it a personal favor if you would stay with us for at least a few days, to help you know us better. Then perhaps I will understand you better.”

Such a reasonable invitation, but her tone still suggested: prisoner. Ricardo bowed, acceding to the request.

“Dawn comes soon. Eduardo, show our guest to a room. Show him how we care for our favored people.”

“My lady,” Eduardo answered. In fact, he came to Ricardo’s shoulder in the manner of a guard to a prisoner.

“Gracias,” Ricardo said. “And Happy Christmas to you, Doña Catalina.”

He was rather pleased at the chilled, shocked looks that brought on.

Catalina stared. “You are very strange, señor.”

He merely bowed. The scent of blood lingered amidst the smoke of candles.

The room was comfortable. No—it was opulent. Finer than any room in his family’s manor back in Spain. Silk and velvet, a wide bed and gilt fixtures. Ricardo had grown used to the merely practical.

The windows were all boarded shut. How sad, that he only felt safe in rooms where the windows were boarded shut. And yet, always, he knew when the sun rose, when daylight was near. The weight of it turned his bones to ice. So he took off his boots, removed his cloak and doublet, and stretched out on the too-soft bed to sleep out the day.

He awoke instantly.