Blood Feud

CHAPTER 1

LOGAN

It had been a hell of a week.

Cleaning up after a psychotic vampire queen wasn’t easy at the best of times. It was much worse when your mother was the one who’d dispatched the old queen, you and your brothers were suddenly princes, and your baby sister was being stalked by a centuries-old homicidal vampire.

Like I said, hell of a week.

At least we’d all survived, even Aunt Hyacinth, whose face was now so scarred she wouldn’t lift the veil off her Victorian hat or leave her room. Helios-Ra vampire hunters did that to her—right before one of their new agents started dating my baby sister.

That’s just weird.

Still, he saved her life less than two weeks ago, so we’re willing to overlook a little making out.

As long as I never, ever have to know about it.

I mean, sure, Kieran’s a good enough guy—but Solange is my only sister. Enough said.

Quit brooding, Lord Byron. My brother Quinn smirked at me, shoving me with his shoulder. There are no girls here to impress with your Prince of Darkness routine.

As if. Quinn was the one who used the whole vampire mystique thing to get the girls. I just happened to like dressing in old frock coats and pirate shirts; that some girls liked it was incidental. Well, mostly.

Any word yet on the Hound princess? Quinn asked.

Nothing yet. Dad had invited the reclusive Hound tribe to the table for negotiations now that Mom was the new vampire queen, ruler of all the disparate tribes. Sounds melodramatic and medieval, but that’s a vampire for you.

Think she’s cute?

Aren’t they all?

Quinn grinned. Mostly.

The royal caves behind us had been left in shambles after the battle that took out Lady Natasha. The dust of staked vampires was swept up and the shards of broken mirrors carted out in boxfuls. There were still at least a dozen left hanging on the wall. Lady Natasha had really liked looking at herself. Some of the ravens carved on her whitethorn throne were chipped, some decapitated. Everyone was busy with some task or another, cleaning, arranging, or just staring at my mother as she sat at the end of the hall scowling at my father, who wouldn’t stop talking about peace treaties.

The tension vibrating the air was harder to clean out than the ashes of our dead.

Everyone was watching their backs: the old royalists loyal to Lady Natasha, the ones loyal to the House of Drake and my mother, and the ones caught in between. Lucy would have been running around with white sage chanting some Vedic mantra to cleanse our auras if she were here. But she was forbidden to come to the caves until the worst of the politics had been sorted out. She shouldn’t have been staying with us either, but her parents’ drive home was interrupted by their ancient van and some ancient part that fell out on the highway. They were stuck in a small town and Lucy was stuck with us. Humans were fragile at the best of times, and Solange’s best friend didn’t have the basic self-preservation of a gnat. If there was trouble, she always jumped right in feetfirst. If she hadn’t started it in the first place, of course.

Between her and my sister, we had our hands full. Vampire politics paled in comparison.

"Now she’s cute, Quinn murmured appreciatively as one of the courtiers dragged a box of what looked like the remains of a broken table. I’ll just go help her out. It’s the princely thing to do."

You’re an ass, I told him fondly.

You’re just jealous because I’m so much prettier, he tossed out over his shoulder as he left to charm yet another girl.

He never reached her.

She straightened suddenly, stepping onto a footstool that gave her a good view of the length of the hall, and my parents in particular. She pulled a crossbow loaded with three wickedly pointed stakes out of the bag.

Not a broken table after all.

And no matter how prepared you are, or how careful, there’s always an opening somewhere.

Mom taught us that.

The girl aimed and squeezed the trigger, barely making a sound. We might not even have noticed her at all if we hadn’t been actively watching her. The stakes hissed out of the crossbow, hurtling through the air with deadly accuracy.

Or what would have been deadly accuracy had Quinn not been close enough to grab her leg and yank her off the stool.

The shot went wide, but not quite wide enough. She tumbled to the hand-embroidered rug, Quinn’s fangs extending so fast they caught the lamplight. My own stung my gums, my lips lifting off the rest of my teeth.

I didn’t have time to reach her or my parents.

I only had time enough to whip the dagger at my belt out into the trajectory of the stakes. It caught one and split it into two, the pieces biting into a huge wooden cupboard, the knife into the back of a chair. My nostrils burned.

Poison.

Everyone else seemed to be moving in slow motion. Guards turned, eyes widening, fangs flashing. Swords gleamed, lace ribbons fluttered, and boots clomped onto the wall as the best of them flipped out of the way of the other two stakes. A wire birdcage toppled, spilling the stubs of half-burned candles. Beeswax joined the sharp, sweet smell of the poison. One of the stakes caught a thin pale courtier in the shoulder when he failed to lean backward quickly enough. He yelled and even that sound seemed too slow and stretched out until it distorted. His blood splattered onto the tiles laid into the ground between the edges of the carpets.

The third stake went unerringly on its way, straight toward my mother’s heart.

The girl smiled once, even as she fought to free herself from Quinn’s grim hold.

Which just went to show how little she knew my mother.

My father whirled to put himself between her and the stake, as two of my other brothers, Marcus and Connor, somersaulted to his side to form a wider barrier.

Even as my mother leaped into the air and tumbled over their heads, refusing to use a shield made of her husband and sons.

She landed a little to the left and stuck out her arm, safely encased in a leather bracer, and knocked the stake right out of the air. It hit a tapestry and fell into a basket, looking innocuous. Guards closed in. There was so much snarling, the royal caves sounded more like cougar enclosures at the zoo. Mom fought her way free of her overeager guards as the girl was hauled away from Quinn.

I want her alive! Dad was shouting.

Too late.

The assassin-girl was clearly prepared, and knew enough not to be captured and questioned by the enemy. The inside of her vest was rigged with a slender hidden stake. She pulled a small piece of rope sewn into the armhole of her vest and smiled. There was a very small thwack sound and then she crumbled into ashes. Her clothes fell into a pile.

Dad swore, very loudly and very creatively.

Mom’s fists clenched. "Quinn, Logan. With me. Now." She shot a glare at Marcus and Connor. You too.

Mom did not like being saved by her children.

We followed her into a small private antechamber. Adrenaline was still coursing through me. Quinn’s jaw was clenched so tightly he looked like a marble statue, pale and cold. I knew just how he felt.

We had a short reprieve as Dad cupped Mom’s face and ran his hands down her neck, over her shoulders. Helena, are you hurt?

She waved that away. I’m fine. She smiled briefly, then turned hard eyes on us. Each of us took a healthy step backward and not a single one of us felt any less manly for the wise retreat.

I distinctly remember, she said softly, her long black braid swinging behind her as she crossed her arms over her chest, after the events of last week, ordering you never to step between me and a weapon again.

Mom, Quinn ground out. Give me a break.

Her glare could have sizzled steak. I will not have my sons killed by some third-rate assassin.

And we won’t have our mother killed by one either, I added.

She closed her eyes briefly. She looked less like an ancient Fury, pale as fire and just as angry, when she opened them again.

Thank you, boys, she said finally. I’m very proud of you. Don’t ever do that again. She leaned against Dad. You either, Liam.

Shut up, dear, he said affectionately, kissing the top of her head. He looked at the guard standing in the doorway, under the string of small glass lanterns. The candles flickered. Well?

I recognized Sophie when she stepped forward. She had a mass of curly brown hair and scars on the side of her face from when she’d been human. No one knew how she’d gotten them. She bowed sharply. The girl belonged to Montmartre. His insignia was stitched on the inside of her vest.

And?

And that’s all we know.

That’s not nearly enough, Helena snapped.

I agree, Your Highness.

Helena sighed. Don’t ‘Your Highness’ me.

Yes, Your Highness.

Wait. Quinn frowned. She had a tattoo.

You’re sure? Mom asked. Where?

Under her collarbone, above her left breast. To his credit, he didn’t blush. Exactly.

Mom’s eyes narrowed on his face. You were looking down her shirt?

Quinn swallowed. No, ma’am.

Mmm-hmmm. What was the tattoo?

A red rose with three daggers or stakes through it. I didn’t get a very good look.

Dad frowned. I don’t know that insignia. I wonder if it’s new? He glanced at Sophie. Find out. And double the patrols, and set another guard on my wife.

Sophie bowed and left the antechamber just as Mom started to bristle.

Liam Drake, I can look after myself.

Helena Drake, I love you, take the extra guard.

They glowered at each other. I knew Dad would win. Mom was vicious when cornered, but Dad had a way about him, like a snake hypnotizing his supper. His glower softened. Please, love.

Her fangs lengthened with her annoyance. Don’t do that, she muttered, but we knew Dad would get his way. Only until the coronation, she said finally, firmly.

Dad nodded. Deal. He’d find some other argument come the coronation. The walkie-talkie on his belt burbled some garbled sentence. He pressed the button. Repeat.

You asked us to let you know when it was midnight.

Dad looked at his watch. Right, he said to the rest of us. The Hound delegation should be here any minute. Logan, you’ll go meet them. If what we know about this Isabeau is true, she was turned just after the French Revolution. You’ll be more familiar to her in that frock coat.

Okay. I ignored my brothers’ smirks out of long habit. They were strictly the jeans and T-shirt types. I couldn’t help it if they had no style.

The mountainside guards know to expect them, but no one else does, he added. We didn’t want the drama.

All we get is drama. I rolled my eyes, leaving to make my way down to the main cave entrance. Dad’s walkie-talkie warbled again. His voice went grim when he called out to me.

Logan?

Yeah?

Run.

CHAPTER 2

Isabeau

I hadn’t expected the ambush. And that’s saying something.

I hadn’t become a Hound princess in the year and a half since I’d been dug out of the ground because I was a trusting sort. If the French Revolution hadn’t cured me of that, being bitten and abandoned by one of Montmartre’s Host would have.

And I might have been taken by surprise, but I wasn’t an idiot.

I was, however, armed to the teeth.

The guards outnumbered us. I’d only traveled with two others, Magda and Finn, since it was difficult to find a Hound who had the temper to deal with the vampire royal courts and the associated unrelenting arrogance. Magda’s temperament was hardly stable, but she was beautiful and just, which mostly balanced everything else out. Finn was as serene as the cedar woods he loved so much. And I was just me: lonely and vengeful but still as polite as the French lady I’d been raised to be. I was both eighteen years old and more than two hundred years old. As if this wasn’t confusing enough, I’d been pulled out of the grave by a pack of witch’s dogs.

Kala preferred shamanka to witch. Most of the princes and lordlings respected her and since she’d been the one to send me to the meeting, no one had argued or offered to take my place. I was her apprentice and that was enough for the others, even if I wasn’t sure it was enough for me. I’d have been happier fading into the background, but I owed Kala my life, such as it was. She’d pulled me through the madness and made sure I didn’t turn feral or fall prey to Montmartre. She claimed if I was strong enough to last two hundred years in a coffin, I was strong enough not to go savage too. I didn’t remember the centuries in the cemetery, only brief images before I lost consciousness. But I definitely remembered the pain of being pulled out and reawakened. And it wasn’t strength of character that had seen me through, or even Kala’s considerable magic.

It was the need to find the Earl of Greyhaven and my thirst for revenge.

For the sake of outsiders, I’d been labeled a Hound princess even though we didn’t have princesses or other royalty. It was a useful title though, since the new queen would be more apt to listen to me, even if they were probably expecting a savage girl with mud on her face who ate babies for dinner.

That was why Kala had sent me to the courts for the coronation of Helena Drake and her husband, Liam Drake; that and the fact that I and the other Hounds had kind of saved their daughter’s life. Unfortunately Montmartre had gotten away, so I didn’t consider the mission a complete success, even if everyone else seemed to.

I was here to represent the best of the Hounds, and I had a wolfhound puppy to present as a gift. Kala’s wolfhounds were legendary; I had a full-grown one as a companion: Charlemagne.

And he was growling low in his throat, muscles bunched under his wiry gray fur.

La, I murmured, pointing for him to stay behind me. I had no problem releasing him to attack, but only if I knew he wouldn’t be hurt. And right now there was an arrow aimed at his throat.

Hounds. One of the guards sneered. I knew that half-disgusted, half-fearful tone intimately. We weren’t exactly famous for our elegant table manners. It hardly mattered that half the rumors weren’t true. We used them to our advantage. The more the others disdained us, the more they left us alone, which was all we really wanted in the first place. Let them worry about politics and hunters. We only wanted the caves and the quiet.

Well, most of us.

The puppy in the basket slung over my shoulder barked and I set him down. I drew the long slender sword strapped to my back, which the guards hadn’t noticed yet. The moment I touched the hilt, both Magda and Finn sprung into action.

Learning to fight was no different than learning to waltz or dance the quadrille, in my opinion. It was all about the tension between you and your partner, about footwork and balance and timing.

And I preferred the long deadly sword to any silk ball gown I’d ever worn. I wasn’t sure what that said about me, but I had bigger worries.

Like the polished mahogany stake flying through the air toward my heart.

I leaned back as far as I could. It passed over me, close enough that I could see the wood grain. Trust the damned royals to polish their stakes to a high gloss. We just sharpened sticks.

I popped back up again to crack my opponent on the side of the head with the hilt of my sword. I might have stabbed him into a pile of ash but Kala had warned us time and time again that we were here for negotiations.

Someone might try telling the guards that.

Magda took one out before I could stop her. It was hard to feel regret since he’d been about to snap her neck. Charlemagne whined with the need to jump into the fight.

Non, I told him sharply. We were invited! I added, shouting as I cracked my boot into the guard’s heel. He stumbled, dropping his stake.

Stop! Someone else hurled himself into the melee. Great, just what we needed.

He leaped between us, lace cuffs fluttering. He was pretty, like the boys I’d known at my uncle’s parties, but not nearly as soft, even in his velvet frock coat. His fangs were extended, gleaming like opals. I didn’t know who he was but the guards eased back, weapons raised respectfully even if they were still snarling.

She killed Jonas, one of them spat.

Because he was trying to kill me, Magda spat back unrepentantly.

The guard snarled. The boy turned to him, speaking blandly. Don’t you recognize them? He pointed at me. This girl saved your life not too long ago.

That hardly got the snarls to subside.

He looked about eighteen, same as Magda and me—though technically I was really 232 years old. Only Finn looked to be in his thirties, though he was nearly eight hundred years old. Kala had sent him to keep us level-headed. He wasn’t really a Hound, just an ordinary vampire, but he’d been with us for so long that we treated him as if he was one of us, especially since he hated Montmartre as much as we did.

My apologies, he added, bowing to us. My mother’s only been queen for a few days and everyone’s still on high alert. Someone tried to assassinate her not ten minutes ago. He must be one of the legendary Drake brothers. There were seven of them and a single daughter who’d just been turned. But you’ll be safe, he hastened to assure us.

I know. I did not need his protection. His eyes were as green as mine, like moss. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me, as if I wore one of my old ball gowns instead of a leather tunic with chain mail over my heart.

Isabeau, he said. And Magda and Finn, I presume? He nearly drawled each word. I’m Logan Drake. His brown hair tumbled over his forehead, and the shape of his jaw and his narrow nose were distinctly aristocratic. He would have been more at home among the nobles of my time than this modern place. It made me both distrust him and feel oddly drawn to him. I straightened my spine. I wasn’t here to admire pretty boys; I was here as Kala’s emissary. It was inexcusable to be distracted, even for a moment.

We’re here for the coronation, I explained stiffly.

It’s not for another two weeks, another guard said.

Logan made a sound of frustration. At ease, Jen, he said before offering us a charming smile. If you’ll follow me?

I snapped my fingers and Charlemagne bounded forward to trot at my side. The basket full of wriggling puppy went over my shoulder again. They led us down a carved hall, the gray stone dipping low over our heads. Magda was scowling.

These caves used to belong to us, she hissed.

A hundred years ago, I hissed back. You weren’t even born then, never mind turned.

So what? They still stole our home from us. Her long flowered skirt flowed around her ankles, the silver thread embroidery glinting in the torchlight.

Lady Natasha stole the caves, Logan said, without turning to look at us.

"Are you