Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,130

home, bruised and battered and hurting, only to find his farm burned to the ground and their decomposing bodies flung in a ditch. And even now, two thousand years later, he wasn’t over it.

People who say that time heals all wounds have never met a vampire.

Worse still, Marco had passed through the hands of a number of masters in his long life, ones who’d liked his fighting ability and imposing stature, but who had never seen the pain eating him away inside. And who probably wouldn’t have cared if they had. But then fate, and Marco’s incredibly undiplomatic manner, had landed him with me, and what a change that had made! Particularly after I got my court.

Marco now had dozens of “daughters,” who might not be the real thing, but who seemed to have finally eased that terrible pain. Keeping us safe—because I was in no way blind to the fact that, Pythia or no, I fit into the small-thing-that-must-be-protected category in his head—had also saved him. Marco was finally home.

And he was damned well going to stay there!

But the consul was bored now, because she didn’t care about my staffing problems. “Explain,” she told Mircea again.

“Parendra has been late sending the men he promised,” Mircea said. “And when he does, he frequently takes them back again.”

“And you cannot merely substitute others? We have more arriving every day. Why risk so much for an inconvenience?”

“It isn’t an inconvenience—”

“Then what is it?”

Mircea’s eyes flashed gold for a second, but he reined it in.

“Ours is a hybrid army,” he said stiffly. “But that depends on a decent pairing, which we don’t always have. Not every vampire can handle the idea of possession, and even fewer can learn to work with their partner in harmony. If they are constantly fighting each other, they cannot fight our enemies. But after we go through the long and sometimes very frustrating process of finding good matches, they are being jerked away. If I didn’t know better, I would say that Parendra is deliberately trying to sabotage us.”

“Is he?” she asked Marlowe. Because it was his job to know these things.

“If so, there’s been no other indication,” he said. “It could be nerves. After this place was hit a month ago, every senate has been worried about security, afraid they’ll be next. And this damned mess in Hong Kong doesn’t help. He may not like his best people being pulled away when he thinks he needs them most.”

“He’ll need them more if we lose,” she said dryly.

“Yes, but they’re not used to thinking as a group,” Marlowe reminded her. “None of us are. Everyone’s wondering what happens when this is over, what the fallout will be. They’re afraid you won’t want to relinquish power, that they may have to fight for it. We ask for their best to help us win; what if those best are then turned back on them?”

“That would be impossible unless the demons stayed in residence,” she pointed out. “And perhaps not even then. And the demons go home when the threat is eliminated.”

“Do they?” Marlowe persisted. He sounded eager, like someone who has been trying to make a point for a while, but not getting a hearing. But he had one now, and he was taking full advantage. “The other senates only know what we’ve told them: that the demons are on loan, and the possessions are temporary, lasting solely for the duration of the war.”

“But that’s true,” I said. “That’s the deal I made with Adra—”

“Yes, the deal you made,” Marlowe said. “Exactly.”

I frowned. “Meaning?”

“That the demon alliance is with you, not us. Adramelech is your ally; we only receive the benefit of it because you are allied with us.”

I frowned some more, because I wasn’t getting this. “So?”

The vamps exchanged glances.

“So, Cassie,” Mircea said gently, “what if you lied?”

Chapter Thirty

I started to protest, to tell them I hadn’t, before I realized: it didn’t matter. Vampires lied all the time, to humans, to each other, even to themselves. It was their favorite pastime. Of course they’d assume I’d lie if Mircea asked me to.

Of course they would.

“So what am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Get Adra to come talk to them?”

Another exchange of glances, this time surprised.

“Would he . . . do that?” Marlowe asked.

“Well, why not?”

Marlowe looked at Mircea, who licked his lips. Which, for him, in a situation like this, where he needed to control his face, was tantamount to anybody else having a freak-out. I stared