Patricia Briggs - Frost Burned

“In the meantime, he continued to take over seethes.” Hao looked at Marsilia. “To my shame, I ignored him until one of my making came to me. She had been in Shamus’s care.”

“Reno,” Stefan told me. “Shamus was a tough bastard, but fair and smart.”

“As good a master as a vampire can be,” Hao agreed. “Constance … Constance was strong. Frost broke her. She escaped him, or he let her go—it’s hard to tell and ultimately not important. She came to me and told me I was a fool to keep ignoring Frost. Eventually, he would amass enough power that he could destroy me.”

His face tightened, and he spoke very softly. “She said it over and over. It was the only thing she could say. She was afraid of the dark, afraid of small spaces and large. Afraid of rats and quite mad.”

His nostrils flared slightly. When Charles did that, it was either a sign of high emotion or it meant he smelled something interesting. I had no idea what it meant when a vampire who did not need to breathe did it.

Hao looked up at the night sky as a drop of moisture fell on his face. “Constance couldn’t be trusted to feed without killing, and she was always hungry. I was fond of her, and I had to kill her. But even if she had said nothing, her death would have caused me to look at what was going on outside my city.”

My jaw had dropped when I thought he was crying—but then moisture fell on my face, too. It was starting to rain. I blew out, and my breath fogged. It wasn’t going to stay rain for long. The good news was that it was only the barest drizzle, so maybe it would stop soon.

“I could have killed Frost without help or much effort when I first met him,” Hao told me. “But like your Alphas, a master vampire gains power from those who serve him. Frost has many who serve him now.”

“I’m the only one left in Washington before he goes after Seattle.” Marsilia wiped a drop of rain off her forehead.

Stefan took a deep breath. “It’s not just about Marsilia. It’s not even just vampire business at this point, Mercy. He intends to bring us out the way the werewolves have come out, the way the fae have come out.”

I envisioned every town in the US finding out that there were vampires—and not the seductive lovers in the paranormal romances Jesse bought, either. The Inquisition would look like child’s play. Asil, who had lived through the Inquisition, gave me an unhappy look but didn’t say anything. He was playing my second for all he was worth. Another werewolf might have read the lies of his body language, but the old vampires didn’t have a chance.

Asil was my ace in the hole, and my instincts were telling me I might need one. Though anytime I was anywhere near Marsilia, my instincts screamed, “Run away, run away.”

“Not quite the same way the fae and the wolves came out,” said Marsilia, her voice dry. “Bran hides the monstrous side of the werewolves, and the Gray Lords would have had the world believing that the fae were all like Tinker Bell. The Necromancer wants the world to know exactly what a vampire is, reveal ourselves in our full glory to completely terrify our prey, let the humans know once and for all who is the dominant species. He doesn’t just want to rule the vampires, he wants to take down the human government. He wants to rule .”

I had nightmares about vampires sometimes. There was the particularly nasty vampire who I’d heard speak longingly of the “before times” when vampires killed every time they fed, and they fed where and when they pleased. Vampires still kill their prey—but they don’t kill every time they drink. When the people in their menageries die, it is usually accidental.

I didn’t want to live in the “before times”—and neither, I could tell, did Marsilia. The slaughter would go both ways.

Hao said, “I called Marsilia and spoke to her of what my Constance had told me—as it turns out, Frost had just talked to her. So I came to see what I could do to help. Having failed to kill him once, I feel that he is my responsibility.”

Marsilia tapped her foot and grimaced. “I called Iacapo. He was intrigued .” She probably wouldn’t be happy to know how lost she sounded. “The problem with living so long is that one grows so bored that even disaster seems a good thing. And so I told him. He hung up. Oh, he’ll come avenge my death, but he will not bestir himself before then.”

“Iacapo?” I asked.

“Iacapo Bonarata, the Master of Milan, the Lord of Night.” Stefan paused, and said in an odd voice, “I wonder if he has anyone left in his court who knows his given name.”

I wondered if Asil was the Moor’s first or last name. From what I’d heard about him, he was old enough not to have a last name.

“There will be no vengeance if Frost has his way,” said Hao. “If he wins this challenge, Iacapo will be handicapped by his own rules.”

“It won’t stop him,” Stefan said with an odd smile. It made him look young for a moment. Then he continued thoughtfully, “But you are right. Frost might not know how free and easy our former master is with his own rules because when people think of the Lord of Night, they are more interested in the scary and very dramatic things he does to people who break them.”

Marsilia nodded. To me she said, “Frost cannot take my seethe by murder or he risks the Master of Milan’s remembering that his job is to destroy vermin—even all the way across the world. Frost was not skilled enough to take over my seethe by stealth. So he is left with a frontal attack—and this is a problem. He is not entirely certain that he can take me.”

“Marsilia is no fledgling.” Stefan looked at her, and his face was … pensive. “She has a well-deserved reputation that followed her here. She is powerful and dangerous, too dangerous even for the Necromancer to fight alone. The werewolves have dominance fights, fights to the death for the position of Alpha, yes?”

“Bran frowns upon them,” Asil murmured. “But yes.”

“We have the same, but with more rules and variety. Frost would not challenge her alone—he brings two more with him, a triad. Marsilia is allowed to bring two others to the fight as well.”

“Except that he can bring two former masters,” Hao said. “And none of the vampires Marsilia has are capable of acting against him. Constance was strong, and he forced her to do his will. She was not quite his puppet, not quite, not even at the end. But Constance was stronger than any vampire Marsilia has to call except for Stefan and Wulfe.”

“And Stefan is not hers to call,” I said. Marsilia narrowed her eyes at me, narrowed them further when I held her gaze.

“And Wulfe would be a mistake.” Marsilia looked away. “He is strong enough in power and a vicious fighter when he chooses, but …”

Stefan broke in. “He is less stable now than he ever was.”

“I have never been certain,” Marsilia said, speaking to Stefan, “that he wasn’t smack in the middle of the conspiracy that Estelle headed up. I know she thought so.” She hugged herself and looked about fifteen. “To tell you the truth, I did ask him if he felt up to the fight. He said he felt that it would not be a good idea.” She gave Stefan a gamine grin, an expression I’ve never seen her wear. “He called Iacapo and yelled at him. Said he was getting old and lazy if he couldn’t bestir himself to ‘squish’ Frost.”

Stefan snorted. “That sounds like Wulfe.”

“I have heard it said that Wulfe made Iacapo,” Hao said.

Marsilia shrugged. “Wulfe is the older—and Iacapo could never get Wulfe to obey him any better than I can. But that means nothing.”

“Iacapo couldn’t get Wulfe to obey him at all,” said Stefan—which for some reason made both Marsilia and Stefan laugh. Stefan stopped laughing first. He rubbed the thigh of his jeans and looked away.