Kristen Painter - Last Blood

A knock on the nursery door dispersed her thoughts. “Yes?”

Kosmina stuck her head in. “My lady, Daciana has returned with your new comar.”

“That didn’t take long. I guess Rennata didn’t want to deal with my emissary any more than she wanted to deal with me.” The tickle of anticipation trilled down Tatiana’s spine. Her sorrows temporarily pushed aside, she nodded and pointed out the door. “Send them to my office. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes, my lady.” With a short bow, Kosmina left.

Tatiana took a long look in the nursery mirror and arranged her expression into one of calmness and serenity. She would drink from this new, unspoiled comar until her strength was completely returned to her, until power rippled over her skin. Then she would call Samael again, and this time, he would come to her. She hoped.

“Faith,” she whispered, nodding solemnly at her reflection, seeing the woman who had defied her human life to rise through the ranks of her vampire brethren until she’d been named head of her House. There was no one above her. No one who had the power she did, power that had been given to her by the very creature who now refused her beckoning.

She smiled, showing her fangs. “This time, my liege, you will not deny me.”

Creek approached the old Catholic church with caution. He knew Preacher wasn’t a big fan of company. The front doors didn’t look well used, so he went around to the side. He knocked twice. No point in overloading the man’s vampire senses.

“Who’s there?” The door stayed closed.

“Name’s Thomas Creek. I have information about your daughter.”

The door moved, but only an inch, the light from inside casting Preacher in shadows. “What kind of information?”

“Where she is and what’s being done to get her back.”

“You work for the mayor?”

Creek made a face. “Hell no.”

The door opened all the way. “Come in.” Preacher stood back, watching him. His nostrils flared. “Your blood smells strange.”

Creek came in but not too far. “Most vampires think it smells sour.”

“No,” Preacher said. “Smells sweet to me.”

Creek laughed once. “Figures you’d think that considering where you live. I’m Kubai Mata. You know what that is?”

“Nope. Should I?”

Creek shook his head. “Most vampires don’t and those that do don’t believe in the KM. I guess you could say I’m part of a secret society organized to protect humans against othernaturals.”

Preacher’s stony expression cracked into a grin a few seconds later. “You mean you’re a vampire slayer?”

Not the reaction he’d expected, but then nothing was expected when it came to a vampire like Preacher. “You could say that.”

Preacher crossed his arms. “Prove it.”

“You mean you want me to try to kill you?”

He laughed. “I think we both know that’s not going to happen, so I’d find a different way if I were you.”

Creek thought for a moment, then shucked his jacket and his weapons holster. As much as that went against his self-preservation instincts, he had a feeling showing Preacher the brands on his back would do the trick. He turned and yanked his shirt up.

“Latin.”

“You read that, don’t you? You were a priest, right?”

“A chaplain. I read a little.”

More than most. Creek helped him out anyway. “ Omnes honorate. Fraternitatem diligite. Deum timete. Regem honorificate . Translated that says, ‘Honor all men. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honor the king.’ It’s the code of the Kubai Mata and it comes from—”

“The New Testament,” Preacher finished. “1 Peter 2:17.”

Creek pulled his shirt and gathered up his holster as he turned around. He nodded. “Proof enough for you?”

Preacher stuck his hand out. “Good to meet you, son.” Creek shook his hand, and then Preacher turned on a dime and headed into the church’s interior. “We can chat in here.” He took a spot on one of the front pews.

Creek sat a few places down from him. “The KM would like you to know that we have some intel on your daughter’s location and we’re working on getting her back but that it would be in everyone’s best interests if you let us handle it. The ancient ones that have her are more powerful than you can imagine. Chances are if you went after her, you’d end up dead before you got close.”

“You want me to agree to this, you’d better keep me informed.” Preacher stared at him. “I’m not without skills. You keep me out of the loop or lie to me, and I will do whatever I feel necessary.”

“Understood.” Creek decided to test the waters a little further. “You asked if I worked for the mayor. I take it you don’t get along with her?”

“She may be the mother of my late wife, but she’s got bad ambitions. That ignorant woman tried to get me to turn her into a vampire.”

“Interesting. I can tell you she found someone else to do it.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped and his eyes lit with anger. “She is not getting her hands on my child.”

Creek nodded. “The KM shares your sentiment on that.”

Preacher twisted to stare at the altar. “The mayor was just here not long ago. She wants me to come see her at her office. Says she has information on Mariela.”

“That’s your daughter’s name?” Creek asked. “I didn’t know.” He leaned forward. “Go meet with her. See what she has to say, but don’t let her know that you and I talked. She’s not a big fan of me anyway. We know she wants Mariela for herself, but let’s see what else we can find out.”

Preacher nodded without looking at him. “Will do.”

Creek stood. “I’ll be back when I have information to share. Until then, keep a low profile.” The guy seemed all right. Not entirely normal, but not bad for a vampire. “If you need me, I live in that old machine shop.”

“I know the place.” Preacher rose. “And don’t worry. I won’t do anything stupid. I have a daughter to live for.”

“I didn’t think you’d show.” Lola didn’t get up as the housekeeper brought Preacher into her office. She glanced at her watch. “You’re almost four hours late.”

“I said I’d come. I didn’t say when.” The dog tags around his neck gleamed against his dull green T-shirt and camouflage jacket.

“But you were too busy earlier? When I came to you?”

He sat, his expression neither pleased nor displeased. A hard man to read. “Yes. Too busy.”

“Doing what?” Because honestly, she couldn’t imagine what filled his schedule.

“I see you got what you wanted. Found someone to sire you.” He snorted. “Can’t sense you, though, so I’m guessing you must be some kind of vampire I don’t know about.”

Fine. Play it that way, don’t answer. Once again, his loss. “House of Paole,” she told him. “It’s the inherited power all nobles of that house receive. We are undetectable to others.”

“Can you daywalk?”

“You know very well that is a gift you and you alone possess.”

He stared at her, a hint of impudence in his eyes. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

“I thought you might want to know. I had a team go after Mariela.”

He sat forward. “Why wasn’t I brought in? I’m trained for that kind of thing. I could have been an asset.”

She held her hand up. “This was more of a diplomatic exercise than a military one.” She lifted the prepared letter. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t successful.”

“They didn’t bring Mariela home?”

Lola pushed her tongue against the tip of one fang until the pain made her eyes water. “I am very sorry to inform you that Mariela perished during the mission.”