“Let’s hope not,” he said, pulling me to my feet. “I can only fight one war at a time.”

And I could already guess at which side he would fall on if the races went to war against the nightwalkers.

SIX

When Danaus and I entered the main living room, we found Roberto lounging against the wall near the doors, hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers. Dressed in another black suit, he looked like a careless Italian playboy out for an evening of reckless pleasure. The deep red shirt he wore was open at the throat, his dark brown hair perfectly slicked back. Roberto was a few centuries old; closer to my age than Tristan’s, but still far from being an Ancient. My encounters with the Coven flunkies were few and far between. My patience was thin and I had a tendency to burn through them. My orders had always come directly from Jabari, and occasionally from Tabor.

Tristan stood expressionless behind a seated Sadira. He’d pulled on a deep blue shirt, but had yet to button it. They were all awaiting my arrival. How nice.

“The Elders are waiting for you,” Roberto said.

“And Tristan?” I asked him, stopping the nightwalker as he turned toward the doors. Roberto turned back, his eyes sliding over to the young vampire as a dark smile lifted his red lips.

“He may stay behind. He has not been invited to court.”

I looked from Roberto over to Tristan, who was watching me with a desperate look in his eyes. Had I just put him in even greater danger? The Coven had granted my wish, but they never were so generous without a specific reason. If Tristan remained behind, he would be unprotected, vulnerable to any other nightwalker lurking in the city. Of course, he would have been in the same danger if he was coming with the rest of us. But someone feared that I might interfere with tonight’s planned entertainment if I was around, so I was effectively removed from the equation. If I was with the Coven, I couldn’t protect Tristan here.

I cursed myself and my stupidity. I had tried to outmaneuver the Coven in an attempt to protect the young nightwalker and only made an even bigger mess. He wouldn’t survive an encounter with the court, but I also doubted he would make it through the evening alone in the hotel room.

While I was never an official member of the court, I had seen what it was capable of, played a part in its games as both prey and predator. Nightwalkers were resilient creatures who could survive all manner of physical torture for hours on end. But it was more than the physical pain that left a creature curled in a pool of its own blood, spewing an endless litany of pleas and prayers for mercy or death. They played with their prey until its mind shattered like a stained-glass window, so there was nothing left. No sense of self or reality.

My eyes jerked to Sadira as she stood and walked over to us while Tristan remained standing by her empty chair, one hand tightly gripping the back as if it were his last lifeline of safety.

“Say it,” I growled at Sadira. My narrowed eyes followed her as she slipped by me and stood near the double doors.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but she wouldn’t meet my gaze nor would she look back at Tristan.

“Say it! Do what you would never do for me,” I shouted, pointing at the young nightwalker. But she didn’t look at him. She didn’t speak. She lifted her chin slightly and continued to stare at the wall.

Against my better judgment, my eyes fell back on Tristan. I could still remember his smell from when he lay in bed with me, the sweet mix of heather and blood. The feel of his smooth skin pressed to mine and the memory of how he spooned me last night filled my brain.

I kept telling myself that he was just chum, entertainment was his purpose for being, but the words were bile in the back of my throat. A couple of nights earlier he had gone into the woods with me and attacked the naturi. He had fought beside me when we were outnumbered and destined to die horrible deaths at the hand of our enemies. He had stood beside me because he believed I would keep my word and save him from our maker. He had faith in my sense of honor.

Rage pumped through my veins, pushing aside the blood. I hated him. I hated myself. I hated the fates that had bought us to this precipice. There was no escaping the promise I had made nor living with myself if I even tried to.

Ignoring Sadira and the rest of the occupants of the room, I marched over to Tristan. Roughly grabbing a fistful of his hair, I pulled him toward me. “No!” Sadira’s desperate scream echoed through the silent room. She had suddenly realized what I’d been about to do.

I had enough time to release Tristan’s hair before she crashed into me, crushing me into the wall while knocking Tristan out of my reach. I tried to shove her off me but her nails were digging into my bare arms and I couldn’t get a solid hold on her.

“You can’t have him,” she snarled.

“You’re giving him up to the court,” I countered, finally getting a grip of her thin bony shoulders.

“For a night of entertainment.”

“They’ll kill him!” I shouted, pushing her away. She immediately came at me, but I backhanded her, snapping her head around as the blow sent her to the floor.

“You don’t know that,” she argued.

“I do. And so do you.”

Tristan is my child. The statement came as an insidious whisper across my brain, causing me to flinch as if Sadira had struck me. Just like you will always be my child, my Mira. You can’t have him.

“I claim him,” I snarled, balling my hands into fists as I tried to fight her claim on my will. Every fiber of my being screamed to obey her. Everything within me demanded that I kneel down and crawl into her waiting arms. But I couldn’t. I had promised Tristan.

To my surprise, I was able to lift my arm to Tristan, beckoning him over. Sadira had the ability to manipulate my thoughts and emotions, but she wasn’t as strong as Jabari. She couldn’t control me physically like a puppet on a string.

Again I roughly grabbed a handful of Tristan’s hair and pulled him close. Sadira increased her presence in my brain until the pain was positively excruciating. Tears streaked my cheeks, escaping from my clenched eyes. Not caring about the pain I was causing Tristan, I sank my fangs into his throat and drank deeply. It didn’t require much, only a couple of swallows. The blood also seemed to wash Sadira’s presence from my brain.

In those few seconds, I pulled all of Tristan’s history and emotions into my brain. In a flash I saw his childhood home in Geneva, the beautiful face of his dead wife, the promise of a daughter who never survived, and a horrific slide show of events that comprised his years with Sadira.

Lifting my mouth from his neck, I pushed him down to his knees in front of me. “You belong to me now. You are mine until I choose to free you,” I said in a shaky voice, my narrowed gaze capturing his wide blue eyes. Releasing him, I turned back to the others who were closely watching me and focused my attention on Roberto. “He is mine,” I declared. Those three words hung like a worn hangman’s noose in the center of the room for several seconds, daring anyone to argue with my decision. “Anyone touches him and I will know. Harm him and they will answer to me.”

“But the Elders have already promised—” Roberto began, but I didn’t let him finish that statement.

“No one touches him,” I warned, my voice dropping to a low growl. “Tell the others.”

Roberto nodded stiffly, his anger trickling through the room. The Coven might have granted the right to play with Tristan, but anyone who came near the young nightwalker would have to deal with my wrath. A vampire then had to decide if he thought the Coven would protect him from me, and there were no promises to be found there.