I wanted to ask what the pet names meant, but that was a game I couldn’t win. If I asked once, he might just talk French more often to get a rise out of me. I grunted instead. “Shoffru was in the audience, wasn’t he?” I accused. Leo smiled, and I said, “I figured. You coulda beaten me to a bloody pulp if you’d drawn on all the clan members, but you didn’t want him to see you doing that.”
Adelaide nearly dropped her tablet, staring at Leo. And Leo looked totally nonplussed. “What? What’d I say?”
“You can draw on the clan members who swear to you?” Adelaide asked. Leo looked away, thinking. “All of them?” she persisted.
“What?” I asked. “Can’t all MOCs?”
“Some can draw on their own clan members,” Del said. “Some can draw on the clan blood-masters sworn to them. Not too many can draw power from all the members of all the clans in a territory.” Adelaide stared a hole through Leo. “Good Lord. That’s why George became an Onorio instead of dying or turning—because he’d been sipping your blood for a century. No wonder the European Council is so interested in you. Is there a distance limit on how far you can draw? How many you can draw from at once?”
Leo pursed his lips and shot me a narrow-eyed glance. Obviously I’d spilled some beans, and he looked irritated. Flying by the seat of my pants had, just like always, put my feet into it when I landed. And this time it was vamp politics and Leo’s secret that I didn’t know was a secret. I remembered the night he’d drawn on all the gathered. Power had prickled in the air like lightning, harsh and painful, rippling across my flesh like sharp teeth. And he’d not drawn all he could. And maybe not everyone there had understood what was happening. Maybe Leo’s power was—had been—partially unknown. “Oops?” I said, by way of apology. Eli breathed out hard, a huff that sounded amused, but said nothing. “So, that night you saved my life, and punished Adrianna for attacking me, you drew only what you needed to control them,” I said. “You could have drained them into true-death.”
The MOC held up his hand like a traffic cop, stopping me. To Adelaide he said, “Decide. Now.”
“I accept.”
I had no idea what had just happened, but Leo inclined his head and pressed a button on his desk. A tinny voice said over an intercom, “Yes, Mr. Pellissier?”
“Four glasses, and a bottle of the Chapoutier Cote Rotie La Mordoree 1990, please. And see that Quesnel allows it to breathe.” From the way Adelaide’s face went soft, I gathered it was an expensive wine, but I still didn’t understand what was happening. Leo smiled at her expression. “Are you familiar with wines, my primo?”
I nearly choked. Primo?
Adelaide said, “The 1990 has a saturated dark ruby-purple color, an amazing nose with copious quantities of sweet black fruits, warm new oak, flowers, and smoky bacon fat. To the mouth it has a superb concentration of flavors, a sweet, expansive texture, like butter on the tongue, and a . . . mind-boggling”—she paused, and licked her lips as if tasting it already—“long”—she smiled, her lips lifting slowly—“finish. I tasted it when it was young. I am honored that you open a bottle now.”
“What about Bruiser?” I asked, feeling the floor shift beneath me. I had known things were changing, but, this was . . . official. Too much, too soon.
“George is no longer suitable as the primo of the master of a city,” Leo said languidly, watching Adelaide. “He has made other choices and, as Onorio, has other duties.”
Adelaide was watching Leo back, her attention totally ensnared. And willing. And then I heard her description of the wine, as if it echoed from the tapestried walls. Crap. She was talking about a whole lot more than wine. So she would refuse his sexual attention while she was just sworn to him, one of the hoi polloi, but if she got the perks, she would add sex into the deal? Or maybe as long as it was her choice and not part of a contract, she was willing? Human women had always been confusing to me, even back in the children’s home. Del just took that confusion to new heights.
“You have other questions, my Enforcer?” Leo asked, not looking at me.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice too loud. “You knew about the witches disappearing in New Orleans, didn’t you?” I had Leo’s attention again and it wasn’t the hot and sultry look Del had been receiving. For me, his eyes were bleeding black, and his sclera were taking on a faint tinge of pink. Not that I cared. Fury for Bruiser and anger at all the freaking vamp games burned hot through my veins. I stood and leaned in to his stare. “And I bet you knew about the witches in Natchez and the way the vamps were rising as revenants—a different kind of revenant.”
I could see the truth on Leo’s face. He had known everything. He had known it all. And he had never done a single blessed thing to stop it or warn me or fix it or . . . I stepped from my chair. “And instead of warning me, you let me go to Natchez, unprepared, to deal with it.” A possible conclusion settled around my brain like a tourniquet. A headache started over my eyes and Beast hissed deep inside. Now I had the whole picture. “You were trying to find a way to keep from taking the problem to the European Council. You and your uncle before you were trying to keep the Council out of this situation and out of your territory for two hundred years. And to accomplish that, you signed and kept a contract with the Damours, let witches die by the dozens for centuries, and let Naturaleza in Atlanta and later in Natchez put witches into a circle and drain them slowly dry. You let them run a slave breeding ground in Chattanooga. You knew all about it. Everything.
“And”—I closed my eyes, letting the final picture come into focus—“you brought Adrianna back to life after I staked her because you thought she might know things you wanted to know. You kept her alive even though she was a ticking time bomb because she did know things.” I opened my eyes and met Leo’s. “And you let all that happen because you knew there were magical artifacts on these shores and you wanted them.”
Leo sat back in his chair. His power rose in the room, a slow, coiling draft of energy, familiar and spicy, like black pepper on my tongue, this time mixed with blackberries and anise, a strange combination that signaled anger to the hind reaches of my brain. I backed two steps and my knees touched the chair, but I stayed standing.
“The witches are my affair. You are not my adviser, nor my priestess; you are my Enforcer. It is a position of power and honor, which you claimed, and which I allowed even though, like George, you are not one to be bound. Within the confines of that position, you will not work against my policies, my strategy, or my needs. And I will have respect from you, Jane.”
I flinched and sank into the chair. He didn’t know that Beast was bound. From Leo’s viewpoint, everything I’d done, everything that had been done to me, had been a decision on my part or had led from a decision or choice I made. A court of vamp law might suggest that even the involuntary feeding and binding had resulted directly from the moment I had claimed to be Leo’s Enforcer. By claiming the position, I had tacitly agreed to be fed upon and bound. The Mithran version of a forced Vulcan mind meld had been the result. It had been an intimate violation. Not my fault. Not my fault, some small logical part of me stated.
It wasn’t my fault. It also wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t legal in a human court of law. But to a fanghead it was all that and more.
A memory flared through me, my body, flat on my back, held in place by the vampire priestess and Bruiser as Leo bowed over me, fangs extended. The pain as he ripped into me.
Not my fault. Not my fault. But that knowledge was not much help at the moment.