I nodded. “You are a bunch of greedy bastards.”
Misha paused at my brutal honesty before chuckling. “The victors in Europe, Asia, Africa, and Australia have emerged. Through a mutual agreement, they have decided to stay in their respective regions, unwilling to go to war. Yet the leaders of the Americas have yet to be determined.” He placed six photos in front of me and pointed to the first four. “Antoinette Malika, Zhahara Nadim, Sofia Rocio, and Roberto Suarez.”
The judges from court. I nibbled on my bottom lip, a sense of unease building deep within me. “All masters in the area?”
Misha nodded. “All the masters on the West Coast have settled near Tahoe. They are energized by the magic of the lake.”
I rubbed at my arms, knowing what he meant. Tahoe both enlivened and settled my beast. My eyes focused on each photo, only to widen at the picture of a fair-skinned vampire with crew-cut blond hair and dark brown eyes. “Petro. Petro…is a master?” I picked up the photo and examined it carefully. Petro remained vampire pretty, yes, but something about him seemed so nerdy. It was probably due to his awkwardness. And the damn bow tie didn’t help either. I placed the picture back on the table, shaking my head. “He didn’t feel strong to me.”
Misha stroked his chin. “You are correct. My brother is not as strong as he should be.”
That got my attention. “You’re brothers?” When Petro had said they were of the same family, I presumed he meant Misha had sired him.
“We share the same master.” Misha focused on his picture, hints of sadness and shame finding their way into his strong voice. “Petro is not like the others of our station. The only power he appears to possess is the ability to create the undead.” He flicked the edges irritably with his fingers. “The grand master considered ending his existence decades ago, embarrassed by his…inelegance. Petro’s keen intelligence is the only thing that spared him.”
Feelings of not belonging poked irritably in my gut. I could relate. So could my sisters. But that didn’t mean I’d make Misha aware. “Which grand master?”
Misha pointed to the last picture. “Uri Heinrich. He turned me and Petro vampire.”
Uri smiled pleasantly in the photo. His short dark hair and well-trimmed beard made him appear dashing, despite the honest-to-God olive green opera cape he wore. Yet a sense of power danced around his photo. If a mere picture did this, his presence would likely knock me out of my sneakers. “Why would your own master try to kill you now? He could have easily stolen your power upon your creation.”
Misha leaned back, hurt reflecting from his ominous gray eyes. “It is possible I have lost the grand master’s favor.” His gaze traveled to each of the pictures, falling lastly upon Uri’s. “In the last century, I have gained the potency it took my rivals several centuries to achieve. The wealth I acquired for the grand master and his fondness for me may not spare me from his desire to attain a greater power.” He tapped the photo. “And yet if he chooses to strike, I do not believe it would be now. The grand master is patient. He would likely wait until the others and I finish ourselves off so that he may take the champion’s collective power.”
I went through the pictures again. “Can a vampire cast a bloodlust curse?”
Misha shook his head. “No vampire can work such magic. And as I mentioned, I would have felt it.”
My brain searched for a possible solution. Bren had educated us on the supernatural world based on his personal experiences as a werewolf. Prior to meeting Bren, Danny advised us by studying old magic chronicles. Still, there was so much we didn’t know. I played with the edges of my hair. “Can a vampire influence another preternatural?”
“Our control works only on humans. And magic from different mystical races cannot be combined. It clashes, with the dominant power ultimately extinguishing the other.” He drummed the table impatiently. “I sought an audience with the leader of the local witch clan, but she denied any involvement. Had she lied, I would have sensed it.”
I slowly sipped my tea. No matter how I sliced it, Misha was screwed. As a master, he was responsible for the actions of his family. He had no choice; he had to kill his infected vampires.
But he also needed to figure out the cause of the infestation.
I waited to see if he would say more. He didn’t. “Why are you telling me this?” I finally asked.
“The first stone has been cast. It is my belief it was done by Zhahara Nadim. She is my closest adversary in both power and business, and maintains the company of a former head witch. Zhahara despises the earth I stand on and has sworn to ruin me any way she can.”
I remembered how eager she seemed to dig her vindictive fangs into Misha. Yet, I couldn’t hide my grin. “Did you dump her or something?”
Misha didn’t answer, but his one-sided smile spoke volumes.
“You did, didn’t you?” I shuddered. I’d heard of Zhahara, even before being graced with her wicked bitch presence in vamp court. She was considered the Doris Duke of Lake Tahoe—very rich, very elusive, very much someone you stayed away from. “I guess hell hath no fury like a preternatural female scorned.”
Misha chuckled. “Is this a warning, my dear?”
“Unless you plan to date me, too, no.”