My Love Lies Bleeding (9 page)

I was not enjoying this.

We weren’t even there yet and I just wanted it to be over.

We didn’t take the tunnels to Veronique. Her house outside of Violet Hill was completely independent of the Drake compound
and Natasha’s royal courts in the caves and pretty much everything else. The house was perched on a hill and painted dark
gray, with Victorian gables and stunted thorn trees all around. It was straight out of Wuthering Heights.

“I can’t believe she came here for this,” I muttered as Marcus turned into the lane. It was miles before it wound through
the woods and then out onto a clearing with a narrow driveway. “She never comes here.”

“You’re special,” Quinn told me. “She came here for you.”

“Great.”

We got out of the car and I tried not to compare the slamming of the doors to gunshots. Everything had a dark, final feel
here. I shook it off . I was letting the melodrama of the house infect me. This was technically my great-great-several-times-
great-grandmother. While I doubted she’d baked me cupcakes, I had to assume she didn’t mean me any harm either. Each of my
brothers had survived the formal introduction. I would too. I kind of wished Lucy was here; I could have used some of her
swagger. I’d just have to find my own.

“Come on, little sister.” Duncan nudged me up onto the porch. The door swung open before we could knock. Veronique didn’t
have guards, but she did have ladies-in-waiting. The one who answered the door didn’t betray a flicker of emotion. She was
dressed in a suit with a pencil skirt and wore her hair scraped back into a bun. She looked competent and about as warm as
winter at the top of a mountain.

“You’re expected,” she said. “Come in.” She stepped aside. “I am Marguerite.”

“Only Solange was summoned,” Marguerite murmured disapprovingly. “The rest of you may wait here.” She pointed to a long church
bench. My brothers sat obediently, without a word. That was enough to scare me, even without the whole matriarch thing. “You”—she
turned to me—“may follow me.”

I took a deep breath and trailed her down the hallway. There were several doors leading into drawing rooms and parlors and
a huge dining room. She ignored them all and went straight back to a set of French doors, opened up into a long ballroom with
polished parquet floors and tapestries on the wall.

“Madame.” Marguerite bowed her head. “She has arrived.”

Veronique sat on one of those curved padded benches that were in every medieval movie I’d ever seen. She wore a long blue-gray
gown with intricate embroidery along the hem and trailing bell sleeves. Her hair was hazelnut brown, her eyes so pale they
were nearly colorless, like water. She was so still, she didn’t look real. There was something definitely not-human in her
face. I swallowed convulsively. I was so nervous I thought I might throw up on her. When she moved, just an inch, I jumped.

“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure why I was apologizing, only that it seemed best. Some instinct inside me trembled, like a rabbit
under the shadow of an eagle. For all her porcelain beauty, she was a predator.

“So you are Solange Drake,” she said, considering.

“Yes, Madame.” I curtsied, putting every detail Hyacinth had painstakingly taught me into it. This was no courtesy bob a la
Jane Austen; this was a full court curtsy. I stepped my right foot behind my left and bent my knees out and not forward. I
went as low as I could without toppling over or sticking my butt out. I bent my head slightly. I prayed really hard that she’d
be impressed.

“Very good,” she said. “You may rise.”

“I am gratified to know your family has taught you proper etiquette.”

“Thank you, Madame.” Could she tell I was starting to sweat? It was hard to just stand there under her scrutiny. She was so
composed, so hard.

“I understand Lady Natasha has summoned you to her court.”

“Yes, Madame.”

“She is not to be trusted, that one.”

“No, Madame.”

“You know the prophecy, of course.”

I nodded.

“We’ve been waiting a long time for a girl to be born to us.”

Great, no pressure.

“Your bloodchange is fast approaching. I can smell it on you. Even frightened as you are, your heart beats slower than it
ought to.”

I wondered if that was why I felt like I might pass out. I lifted my chin. I was not going to embarrass myself or my family.

“I would have you strong enough to survive, little Solange. I may not want the royal courts for my own, but I won’t have them
taken from our family as if we are nothing.”

She picked up a long silver chain from the small table beside her. The vial on the end was clear, capped with silver and held
with more silver work, curled to look like ivy leaves.“Do you know what this is?”

“No, I don’t.” She held it up. From this angle I could see the vial held a dark red liquid inside. “Oh. It’s blood.”

“My own, to be precise.” She twirled it once. I watched it, mesmerized despite myself. “I do not share my blood lightly—only
in extreme circumstances, you understand.”

I didn’t understand actually. But if she made me drink that, I really would throw up on her.

“I am prepared to give this to you. When your birthday arrives, drink it and it will give you the strength you need to claim
your legacy.”

This probably wasn’t a good time to tell her I didn’t want to be queen.

“Your brothers didn’t need it; the Drake men have been turning for centuries. But you’re different. I am curious to see how
this will play out, and precious little incites my curiosity these days.”

So maybe being the bearded lady at the carnival wasn’t so bad after all.

“You will, of course, have to prove yourself worthy.”

“Of . . . course.” Because just handing it over would be too easy. “How do I do that?”

“There are skills every Drake woman should know, to honor her heritage. We will begin with embroidery.”

My mouth hung open. “Embroidery?” I sucked at embroidery. Aunt Hyacinth had tried to teach me, but we’d both given it up as
a lost cause. Lucy, strangely, had picked it up really quickly and embroidered a tapestry of Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow for
my last birthday. Somehow, I didn’t think that was going to help me right now. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at embroidery.”

Her lips pursed. My palms went damp. Her fangs were out, as pointed and delicate as little bone daggers. “That’s disappointing,
Solange.”

I was going to die because I couldn’t embroider roses on a pillow.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Can you draw?”

“A little. I can throw pots. I don’t suppose you have a kiln?”

“No, but duly noted.” She waved her hand and suddenly Marguerite was back. I hadn’t seen her leave, and I hadn’t seen her
return. She was carrying a small table like it weighed nothing and a chair. She set them down in front of me, then produced
a sketchpad and pencils. “Go on,” Veronique murmured. “Draw me something.”

I wiped my hands and reached for a pencil, eyes racing over my surroundings for a subject. If she asked me to draw her, I
might as well kill myself right now. I noticed a clay vase in the corner, holding a bouquet of stakes. I drew vases and pots
all the time, getting ideas for my work at the pottery wheel.

I broke the tip of the first pencil. I took another one but had to wait until the tremor in my fingers subsided before trying
again. This time I drew lightly, trying to pretend that my future didn’t actually depend on it. Veronique glanced at my page.

“Passable.”

I let out a breath in a big whoosh. She was like the scariest teacher ever. It made me glad I’d never gone to a regular school.

“And now for music. The harp? Piano?”

The harp? Was she serious? My mother taught me how to avoid hunters, shoot a crossbow, and stake a rabid vampire at twenty
paces, not how to play “Greensleeves.”

“I . . .”

She rose from her chair with the speed of an ancient vampire and the grace and posture of a prima ballerina.

A prima ballerina who was about to pass judgment on me.

I felt useless and insignificant. And I couldn’t think of a single thing I could do that might impress her. How did you impress
a nine- hundred-year- old vampire matriarch?

“Math?” she snapped.

“Yes,” I replied, relieved. “I’m good at math.”

“History?”

“Yes.”

“When was the Battle of Hastings?”

“1066.”

“Who was Eleanor of Aquitaine’s first son to rule?”

“Richard the Lionheart.”

“What year were my twins born?”

“1149.”

“Can you fight?”

“Yes.”

“With a sword?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

She clapped her hands once and another woman walked in, wearing the traditional white fencing uniform and face guard. I could
tell by her eyes, which were light green, that she was a vampire. I had no idea if she was a Drake. And though I was pretty
good at fencing, how was I supposed to beat a vampire? I was still human, and it was late enough that I would have been yawning
by now if I’d been any less scared. My opponent gave me a mask and a vest and a foil.

“Begin,” Veronique demanded before I’d even had a chance to test the balance of the blade in my hand.

We began.

I gave the proper salute, bringing my handle up to eye level and bowing. My opponent did the same. Then she lunged. I cross-stepped
backward, blocking her attack. The slender blades scraped together. She lunged again and I used a circular parry, low this
time. I didn’t touch her, not once. She was too quick, a blur of white. I’d never felt slower. I was at a distinct disadvantage
but I kept going.

She blocked me, feinted, and then brought her sword down toward my head. I held up my own sword, parallel to the gleaming
floor, and absorbed the power of the blow in my arms. The force of it rang through my bones. I knew if she’d wanted to, she
could have cleaved me in half.

“Enough,” Veronique called out, sounding satisfied. I lowered my arms, panting. There was the sound of footsteps in the hall
and then my brothers all trying to race through the door at the same time.

“Solange!”

“Are you hurt?”

When they realized I was unharmed, they stopped together, mouths snapping shut. Their eyes went from me, to Veronique, and
then they bowed in unison.

I took off my mask and left it with my foil on the floor. I was halfway to the door in my haste to get out of there when she
stopped me. “Solange.”

I nearly groaned. “Yes, Madame?”

“Don’t forget this.” She moved so fast I didn’t see her, but she was suddenly standing next to me. Even my brothers looked
startled. She handed me the vial. I slipped the chain over my head.

“Thank you.”

Nicholas lounged in that irritating way of his, reading through the photocopy of the field guide. He glanced up, watching
me pace back and forth, back and forth. “I had no idea you were so fitness conscious.”

I paused. “What?”

“Well, you are doing aerobics in the middle of the night.”

I hadn’t realized my pacing had practically turned into a jog. My breath was a little short, my leg muscles vibrating with
tension. He was holding himself very carefully, as if he might break apart. Or as if I might. I made an effort to calm my
pulse, dropped onto the sofa, and tried to sprawl as irritatingly as he did, but I couldn’t just sit there waiting. I piled
kindling in the hearth and lit a fire. It was too warm outside for one, but I needed something to do. Nicholas’s fists unclenched.

“I hate this,” I said as the flames caught. It wasn’t nearly enough to distract me.

“I’d never have noticed. You hide your feelings so well.” His grin was crooked. It made him look nearly approachable, warmed
by that unearthly beauty. Solange was the only scruffy Drake I’d ever met, and I didn’t know if she’d suddenly start wearing
dramatic gowns after her birthday.

“Bossy as you are, Solange doesn’t take orders from you.”

“I can’t think why, the Drakes are so malleable.” I sat up straight as something occurred to me. “Hey, you have the key to
the vault.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do,” I told him pointedly. “And I want a stun gun.”

“It’s not a department store.”

I got up, tugged on his hands. They were cool to the touch. I pulled harder, before letting myself get distracted. “Come on.”

He made a big production of sighing like I was crazy, but at least he followed me down the stairs and through the halls, some
of which doubled back on themselves, toward the family vault. It was more of a safe really, with a secret-tunnel exit, oxygen,
blood supplies, and weapons. I’d never actually been inside before. I bounced on my heels impatiently. He shook his head.

“You’re acting like we have Santa locked in there.”

I rubbed my hands together.

“This is better than some old fat guy. Now gimmee.”

His glance was dry. “You’re not even supposed to know

His glance was dry. “You’re not even supposed to know where this door is.”

“Please. I know every corner of this house, including the dirty magazines Quinn keeps under his bed.” I tossed my hair back
smugly. “Helios-Ra has nothing on me. Rat bastards.” I knew I was starting to babble, even for me, but I had to keep my body
from reacting to his closeness. I should have been immune to his pheromones. I must have been more tired than I’d thought.

He unlocked the door, angling his body so I couldn’t see if he was using a key or a numeric code. He probably knew that if
I actually saw what the key looked like, I’d try and steal it. The door swung open silently, heavily, and he switched on the
lights, which flickered briefly before glinting on a wall of steel shelves lined with boxes of arrows and stakes and cases
of bullets. Guns were securely hung on a steel rack next to swords and claymores and axes on iron hooks. I let out a reverent
breath. Nicholas shook his head at my avarice.

“This was a bad idea.”

I lightly touched a wicked-edged blade.

“It’s even better than I thought.” There were baskets of quarter-staves and fighting clubs and spears. “Where are the stun—
oooh. Shiny.” I reached for a crossbow, turning to grin at Nicholas. He swung backward, bending to get out of arms’ reach
in a way that would have snapped a human spine in half. His dark shirt fluttered like wings. I lowered the crossbow, rolling
my eyes.

“Stop it.”

He straightened. “We all remember what you almost did to Marcus.”

“That was two years ago.” I grabbed a quiver of wooden arrows that looked more like stakes. “I’m taking this one.”

He frowned. “No, you’re not. And why?”

I frowned back. “Hello? Bounty hunters? Helios-Ra? The walking undead? Pick one.”

“No one’s going to hurt you.”

“Not with this thing in my possession.” I propped the crossbow against my shoulder. It was surprisingly light. He looked as
if he wanted to argue but changed his mind. I was instantly suspicious. There was nothing he loved more than to argue with
me. We’d been honing our skills on each other for nearly a de cade. Instead he opened a carved wooden chest that looked as
if it belonged in a pirate movie. He pulled out a silver chain, with thick, old-fashioned links.

“Here, put this on.” He tossed it to me.

I caught it seconds before it collided with my nose.

“What is this?” A cameo roughly the size of a dollar coin hung on the chain. It was carved with the Drake family insignia,
a dragon with ivy leaves in its mouth, symbols of strength and loyalty, respectively. It was beautiful, accented with a single
teardrop jet bead. “How come I’ve never seen these before?”

“Your parents probably have one, but they’ve never really needed to use it.”

I held it up to the light.

“Why, is it magical or something?” I rattled it gently, waiting for something weird to happen.

He smiled at me. It was kind of unusual for him but not quite the magical event I’d been hoping for.

“Not really.” He nudged me to turn around so he could work the clasp. His fingers were light and cool on the back of my neck.
For some reason I had to stop a delicate shiver. “There.” His voice seemed husky. It tickled my ear. “This will keep you safe.
It marks you as one of us. Vampires or the Helios-Ra would recognize this and know that to take you on would be to take on
the entire Drake clan.”

I touched the pendant briefly. “Thanks.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t flaunt it until I knew for sure I wasn’t dealing with a bounty hunter.” He paused. “On second thought,
maybe you shouldn’t wear it.” He held out his hand, as if he wanted me to take it off . I took a step back, clutched it protectively.

“No way.” The lights flashed twice. I frowned at them. “Power surge?”

“Silent alarm. Someone’s here.”

We both rushed toward the door, nearly getting stuck, like some bad sitcom episode.

“Stay behind me,” he snapped. His eyes were eerily pale. The weight of the crossbow was reassuring in my hands as we crept
up the stairs. “And try not to shoot me in the back with that thing.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

When we reached the top, he paused, nostrils flaring. The front door shut quietly.

“Uncle Geoffrey.” Some of the tension leaked out of his stance. I lowered the crossbow.

“I didn’t know your sense of smell was that particular,” I said. “I just thought you could tell if it was vampire or not.”

“Everyone has a scent. If you’re around them long enough, you kind of catalogue it.” He didn’t look at me. “You smell like
a blend of pepper and cherry bubble gum.”

“I do?”

Before I could press him further, he stepped out into the foyer, where his uncle was setting down a cardboard box.

“More gifts for Solange,” he said drily. “Bruno’s been through and scanned the bunch. Careful,” he added when we bent for
a closer look at the jumble of packages, wrapped in everything from brown paper to silver tissue. The lumpy envelope on top
had a brownish stain leaking through. “That one’s a cat’s heart,” Geoffrey said calmly.

“Ew.” I recoiled. “What? Ew!”

“A gift.” He shrugged, unconcerned. “It’s considered a delicacy in some of the more remote tribes.”

“Okay, gross . . .”

“That one’s a kitten’s. A love letter, I imagine.”

“A kitten?” I stared for a full ten seconds, my mouth hanging open. I only managed to close it to swallow the threat of bile.
“A kitten?”

“Uncle Geoffrey.” Nicholas winced. The family dogs raced over to see why I was shrieking.

“Sorry. Sometimes I forget she’s not fully one of us.”

Later, I’d feel flattered by that. Right now I was mad. Way too mad.

“Is there a return address? Who sent that? I’m going to kick his ass.” I had to turn my back on the package. “I’m not happy
about this. Seriously.”

“We got that,” Nicholas said. There was something weird about his expression. His jaw was clenched so tightly I wondered why
his teeth didn’t pop right out.

“What’s the matter with you?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“Nicholas, you just bent your ring, you’re clenching your fists so hard.”

“It smells like candy.”

“What does?” I asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

He glanced at the stained envelope. “It’s still covered in blood.”

“You are not serious.” He nodded once, as if it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “That’s disgusting,” I told him. “Seriously.”

“I know.”

“Okay then.”

We went into the huge living room, where his uncle was already busy at the library end, pulling books off the oak shelves.
Then he sat down at the table. Lamps burned behind ruby glass. Byron, the oldest Bouvier, licked my fingers, sensing my lingering
agitation. Seeing vampires drink blood or snap each other’s necks and crumble into dust was different than craving kitten
hearts. Thatwas just too much.

“Easy,” Nicholas murmured. Geoffrey glanced at us.

“Lucky, sit down, your heart’s racing. If it goes much faster, you’ll pass out.”

“She’s still mad.”

“She can be mad sitting down.”

I sank into one of the chairs, leaning my elbows on the wide table, the same weathered oak as the shelves.

“Has your aunt Hyacinth come home yet?”

Nicholas shook his head. “You’re the first.”

Geoffrey frowned. “Am I?”

“Why?”

“She’s not answering her phone or her pager. Hmm. Well, never mind, I’m sure she’s fine.” He looked around. “Where’s Solange?
Is she asleep?”

Nicholas sat next to me. “She’s not here. She was summoned by Lady Natasha.”

“What?” Geoffrey was on his feet so fast he blurred around the edges. “Why?”

“London wouldn’t say, or more likely didn’t know. If she had known, she’d have bragged about it.” Nicholas frowned at his
uncle’s reaction. “And she wouldn’t have come to fetch Solange if there was any real danger.”

“She’s rather dazzled by royalty, my boy.” Geoffrey closed his eyes. “Damn.” He reached for his phone. “We know who set the
bounty, Nicholas.” He pressed a button and the number dialed itself quickly.

“Who?”

“Lady Natasha.”