“And you don’t care about that?”

“Radu’s blood is also innocent!” I thought that was debatable, but didn’t say so. Louis-Cesare looked like he was getting a little heated again. So much for having a pleasant, low-key conversation.

“Why do you care so much what happens to Radu?” I asked, knowing I’d probably regret it. “Didn’t he abandon you?”

“He is also my sire!”

“And Mircea is mine. It’s never bought him a lot of slack, actually.”

Louis-Cesare gave me a condescending look. “Has it not? You are here now, in answer to his call—”

“Because of Claire!”

“—as you should be. You would not exist but for him, as I would have died centuries ago if not for Radu. We have a debt to the family.”

A little wind was playing fitfully through the trees, tossing the leaves about, but when I looked upward, I could see the stars in patches. I took a deep breath of cool night air and told myself not to overreact. “You’re confusing me with a vamp,” I said shortly. “Just because Mircea donated some sperm doesn’t mean I’m bound to him.”

“There are other ties than magic. Loyalty, obligation, love—”

“I do not love Mircea!”

“And whether you acknowledge them or not, you feel them, too. You belong by his side when he needs you.”

What I felt was a burst of anger, hot and fierce. Damn him for stirring to life that old, bitter craving, the one that wove itself around the word belong. I’d never belonged anywhere. It was the first lesson I’d ever learned, drummed into my bones and ripped into my flesh long before the infant that would become Louis-Cesare was even born. And it was the one I made sure I never forgot.

“You’ll see how much love I have for the family,” I told him savagely, “when I plant a stake in Drac’s cold, dead heart.”

“You still intend to go after him,” he asked incredulously, “even though it could mean your friend’s life?”

“He’ll come after us. I thought that was the plan.”

“Using Lord Radu as bait was your plan!”

“Which he currently is,” I pointed out.

“Dracula will never try to reach him through such defenses! I did not understand until I saw them for myself, but it is true. He is as safe here as at MAGIC.”

I didn’t feel like debating it. There were no defenses good enough to keep out Drac if he wanted in, but convincing Louis-Cesare of that would be counterproductive. And even if I felt like trying, I doubted I was up to it. Even my anger had sputtered out against the overwhelming tide of exhaustion. I stared at a flickering firefly in the grass, feeling oddly dislocated. “Whatever.”

Louis-Cesare said something else, but it sounded very far away, like he was speaking underwater. I was so tired my eyes didn’t want to focus, to the point that the firefly’s path blurred into a long, continuous neon line. And then it happened again. It was like drowning, sinking helplessly down into dark, frozen depths. But instead of water, I was floundering in a sea of memory.

I realized that the drumming sound I was hearing wasn’t my heart, but someone beating on a door. It took a moment to realize it was me. The door opened to reveal a pissed-off female vamp in a diaphanous white negligee: Augusta, a Senate member. Her outfit stayed white until I lurched into her, soaking the front of the expensive nightwear in enough blood to indicate a mortal wound. I looked down to find that I was wearing only a man’s long overcoat that was gaping open in front. Under that was a lot of blood and what looked to be half of my intestines, which I was keeping inside by pressure from the hand that hadn’t been needed for beating down the door.

“My back,” I whispered.

“I’ll fetch a doctor,” Augusta said faintly. She looked hungry, but I didn’t care. At that moment, she couldn’t have done much more damage. She dragged me over to a big bed and tried to get me to lie down.

I shook my head. “My back,” I repeated.

“I know. Don’t worry—I won’t put any pressure on your stomach.”

“No!” I was trembling with the effort of standing up, but I couldn’t lie down. “Look at my back. It’s a message, for Mircea.” The vamp had been paying so much attention to my ruined stomach that she hadn’t even noticed that the back of my coat was completely drenched, and not by water.

I was trying to get the coat off, but couldn’t manage with only one hand. Augusta helped, then stopped when it was half off to stare in shock. I could see what she saw in the mirror of a small rosewood dressing table, not that I needed the reminder. Someone had carved letters into my flesh, although the blood, part dried and part fresh, blurred them, making them impossible to read.

“Get Mircea,” I whispered, kneeling on the floor, gripping the bedpost to stay partially upright. I heard her leave the room, shouting, and for a small woman she had a surprisingly strong voice.

What seemed like only a few seconds later, Mircea came in, shaking black snow off his greatcoat. He smelled of coal dust, horses and cheap perfume. He knelt by my side. “What happened?”

“You sent me to find your brother,” I gasped, fighting to stay conscious. “Unfortunately, I succeeded.”

Mircea began peeling the coat the rest of the way off. His expression was carefully blank, but his eyes were amber fire. Another vamp entered the room, carrying a basin and a towel. “Master,” he said, bowing to Augusta but managing not to spill the water. “I would like to clean up the girl.”

Augusta gave a bark of laughter. “I’m sure you would.”

“I was an orderly in South Africa, master. I survived the Zulu War; I know something about knife wounds.”

That wasn’t the only way he knew about them. Jack was Augusta’s current pet—and he’d been a monster even before she’d turned him. He stupidly offered Mircea the basin. One savage movement later, both it and Jack went flying against the wall. Jack hit hard enough that his body actually left an impression, tearing away the wallpaper to show the bricks underneath.

He didn’t get to his feet, but cowered on the floor where he’d fallen, hands on his head, not daring to look up. He’d have seemed almost pitiful if I’d had any emotion to spare. I didn’t, and it looked like Mircea felt the same. “Do it,” I told him. “You have to.”

Mircea’s hand smoothed my hair gently. Then he snapped his fingers and Jack reached out a trembling hand to retrieve the basin. He crawled with it to the door and was gone. Faster than I would have believed possible, he was back, with more water and several towels. He also carried a bottle of whiskey, but no glasses.

“No alcohol,” Mircea said without bothering to look at him. I guess he must have smelled it.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Jack murmured obsequiously. “I merely thought, to prevent infection—”

“She is dhampir,” Mircea said curtly. “She doesn’t contract infections. Leave us.”

Jack bowed deeply and backed out of the room, either to show respect or because he didn’t dare turn his back on Mircea. There was a vibrating tension in the air, sort of like the tremors before a volcano erupts. I concentrated on staying upright while Mircea carefully washed the wounds on my back, wetting an area, patting it dry, pausing to apply pressure here and there to the cuts that were still bleeding, then starting over again. I wouldn’t let him touch my stomach—I assumed I was going to die anyway, so what was the point?

Slowly, the letters began to show more clearly. It took forever and was excruciating, but I was so close to passing out that I barely noticed.

“Can you read it?” Augusta asked when Mircea had finished and set the bowl aside.

“Bandage her wounds,” he said after a moment, ignoring her. “See that she lives.”

“Mircea!” My lips were numb, but somehow I forced the words out. “If you do not finish this tonight, if you leave him any avenue by which to return, I wash my hands of the whole affair. Next time, you will hunt him alone.”