Chapter 59: Honor Among Demons

Aimée’s gaze was riveted to where the vampire’s big hand gripped her thigh, every part of her tense, stiff as she waited for that rush of venom she knew would come. He’d put his fangs in her. A demon had put his fangs in her. One capable of using seiðr. She could never go back, not unless the beast was killed and his unclean soul completely exorcised of this realm.

That knowledge, the knowledge that she was irrevocably tainted by demon magic, that she could never be trusted again, that her brethren could not look at her as one of their own again, savaged Aimée’s heart more than the knowledge she was about to become a plaything for this monster. A slave whose body was not her own, a deviant, demon-worshipping whore…

“What’s your name?”

The vampire’s words cut through the thunder of Aimée’s heart, crisp and clear, and she jerked her gaze up to meet his eyes. He was watching her, quiet and still.

The thought that he was enjoying this, drinking her fear, revolted her, and Aimée twisted away to focus on the empty alley behind the café, refusing to give him that satisfaction. He had sent the vampire queen back to the car with the guns and radio, saying he needed a little ‘introduction time’ with his ‘new friend’. They were alone together, and she knew he could—and would—do anything he wanted. Anything at all. To scream for help would only invite innocents to the slaughter, so Aimée held her tongue.

“Name,” he insisted, tightening his big hand painfully on her leg.

Shaking, knowing he would do whatever he wanted anyway, Aimée spat in his face. “I tell you nothing.”

Instead of driving his poison into her veins for the affront, the vampire merely shoved her the rest of the way against the wall, his big chest crushing her to the cinderblocks like a butterfly with a boot.

“What,” he said, his eyes an inch from hers, breath hot on her face, “is your name?”

She spat on him again.

The demon didn’t blink, didn’t try to wipe the spittle from his cheek and nose. Instead, he watched her through it, his expression made even more ominous by his lack of response.

“Kill me or enslave me, beast,” Aimée snapped. “You’ll have me no other way.” She actually hoped he would try. While he was distracted by the carnal pangs of feeding, she would slip the slim silver dagger from her forearm sheath and stab him in his demonic heart.

“I don’t know if you noticed,” the vampire said, “but I’m not killing you or enslaving you.” He cocked his head at her with a flat stare. “Wonder why?”

Pressed to the wall, the creature’s fangs penetrating her, Aimée refused to look at him. She studied a pot of flowers that someone had put on the concrete barrier at the edge of the parking lot, trying to think of anything except this creature violating her.

The demon grabbed her by the chin and dragged her head back to face him with the inexorable strength of a steam engine. “Do you wonder why I haven’t killed or enslaved you yet? You even the least bit curious?”

She was, but she wasn’t going to say as much. She knew he was probably just enjoying her fear, reaping it like a starving peasant harvested wheat. “It’s because you’re afraid,” she gritted, trying to ignore the pain in her leg. “Your powers are weakened in the face of a warrior of the Lord.”

He gave her a very long, flat look, his body still surrounding her like an iron maiden, his fangs still buried in her thigh. “It’s because I’m not going to.”

“Because you’re afraid in the—”

The vampire drove his fangs in deeper, making Aimée whimper and flex to try and get away from him, showing pain despite herself. “It’s because I’m not going to. But I want you to see that I could.” He cocked his head at her, his gray eyes looking almost curious. “I wanna see, just once, if I can get through all that brainwashed bullshit and convince one of you mind-numbing fuckwits I’m not a bad guy.”

“Not ‘bad’,” she laughed, spitting again. Then, at his darkening face, she sneered at him. “You’re a vile, disgusting creature. You all are. Sick, twisted, abominations. Your whole kind revels in killing, raping, and enslaving the innocent.”

“And yet look at me, not killing, raping, or enslaving you.” He continued to hold her in place, looking more irritated than amused. “Weird, huh?”

“You were just de-venomed in the Third Lands, which is why you ran from your own lands,” she laughed. “Banished or on the run. Either way, it’s clear you’re bluffing.”

“I’m not bluffing.”

Aimée laughed at him, bitter and cold. “You forget—I’ve killed dozens of your kind in my time working for the Lord. I’ve helped free nineteen of your brethren’s ‘harems’. I saw their wretchedness, their degradation. I know your disgusting habits firsthand. If you could enslave me, you would already have done so. You’re just trying to extract information to use against the Cause.”

He watched her a long moment, then, fangs still lodged in her thigh, he said, “What’s your name?”

She spat on him again. “Nothing will leave my lips but curses for you, monster.”

This time, he had to wipe the spittle on her shirt or it would drip into his eye. When he returned to face her, his gaze had darkened. “I wanna show you something.” He pulled his free hand up to where she could not help but see it, the inside of his forearm facing her. Then, only inches from her face, he bent his wrist and extruded his revolting fangs. And there it was, Aimée realized, clear as day, an unholy, glowing quicksilver dribbling from the hollow tips of each fang, spattering the ground beneath them in liquid ice. A lord’s venom.

Wordlessly, the demon retracted his fangs and returned that same hand to her shoulder. Aimée swallowed hard, glancing down at it, anxiously waiting for the fangs to sink into her flesh.

“So. Any other ideas?” He looked deeply into her eyes, searching for something, waiting…

“What are you waiting for?” she eventually muttered, once it was clear he wanted something. Her confidence, however, was undeniably muted now that she knew the lord still had his ability to enthrall.

“I told you.” He said it calmly, softly. “I just want one of you mindless shitbags to see me for what I really am.”

“Go back to hell, demon,” Aimée snapped. She tried to knee him in the groin, but his arm was in the way, clamping her leg against the wall with the immobility of an iron bar.

The vampire continued to give her that protracted stare, meeting her eyes in wordless thought, seeking something. It went on for minutes.

Eventually, under the demon’s protracted stare, that inescapable threat of losing her will to this beast, her spirit quailed. I don’t want to be enslaved, Aimée thought, despite her training. God please deliver me from this monster. Unbidden, a wash of fear hit her and filtered through her body with the spicy aftershocks of adrenaline. She looked away again.

That seemed to be what he was waiting for, because his features softened a little. “Come on,” he whispered, desperation clear in his voice. “Aside from a couple pinpricks, I haven’t hurt you. I’m not enthralling you—and you know that’s actually harder for my kind than just dumping the go-juice—even though I’ve got my fangs in up to the hilt. Please just cut the shit and see I’m just a dude that happens to have big eyes and venom-sacs in his wrists.”

Aimée snorted. “I will never see anything but a monster.”

The demon scanned her eyes, and must have seen truth there, because he sighed and dropped his head. “Don’t know what I expected,” he sighed, shaking his head. “All right. Fine. You win. I’m an evil, mindless killing machine that’s better off dead.” His words had a note of finality to them…

Aimée tensed, preparing herself…

…but nothing could have made her anticipate the way he suddenly pulled away and drew his fangs back into his wrist, then dusted himself off like they were simply drinking buddies catching up outside a bar.

Aimée blinked at him, unsure of this new game.

“Well, go on,” he said, gesturing at the parking lot. He sounded tired and disappointed. “You win.”

“I win what?” Aimée asked, inching away from him along the wall, careful to go in the opposite direction as he suggested. He must plan to bind me, she thought, her horror rising a notch. Bind my blood to his commands with seiðr.

He watched her retreat in silence, his gray eyes alert, but showing no interest in following.

Aimée got a good fifteen feet away, then hesitated. “Why are you letting me go?” He probably plans to hunt me like we hunted him. A spike of fear hit her at that. It would be the ultimate irony, in this monster’s twisted mind. Payback, she thought. He’s looking for payback…

She refused to give him the satisfaction of running. She stayed where she was, meeting the demon eye-for-eye, her hand surreptitiously on the hilt of her knife.

“I won’t chase you,” he said, gesturing with disgust. “I really couldn’t care less at this point.”

Seeing he truly meant to let her go, Aimée realized he couldn’t weave seiðr. It was the only explanation… She opened her mouth to mock his obvious weakness.

“Just go,” he said, his voice thick with irritation. “I’m not into killing defenseless girls.”

I’m not into killing defenseless girls… Those words burned like fiery tar on Aimée’s soul. She, an Inquisiteur of the Order, had been dismissed by a demon. As if her existence was so irrelevant to him that her death didn’t even matter to him. Like it wasn’t even worth his time to kill her.

Enfoiré!

“Defenseless?” she snarled, taking a step towards him. “Go ahead and try it, connard,” she snapped. “You will find me harder to kill than you may think.”

He raised a brow. “Oh?” He seemed to consider that a moment.

Then, in a movement too fast to see, faster than she’d ever seen a demon move, he had his hand at her throat and he was driving her bodily to the ground, at the same time ripping the dagger’s sheath from her forearm with such force the straps broke skin, then whipping her silver blade out of sight out into the forest behind the café. And there, spread out on top of her, he had his big hand squeezing her throat like a metal vice, his too-heavy body pinning her to the ground, giving absolutely no leverage as he strangled her…

Almost before that had time to register, he let her up again, rolling his shoulders and popping his neck. His flat look of boredom was unmistakable. “You were saying?”

He’s old, Aimée thought on a wash of surprise, already feeling the bruise forming on her neck from what, to him, had been a light touch. He could have killed me. Like snapping a twig.

“So,” he said, giving her a long look, “ready to cut the bullshit?” He cocked his head. “Or are you gonna keep trying to goad me into killing you so you don’t have to go crawling back to your buddies and have to endure the humiliation of everybody wondering if I’ve bound you with seiðr?”

Aimée scoffed. “You can’t weave seiðr. If you could, you would have already.” Such was obvious, and she wasn’t about to allow herself to be deceived.

Almost idly, the demon raised his forearm to his face and licked a little of her blood from his wrist, eyes on her face as the vampire tasted her thoughtfully. He flexed a big hand and Aimée did a startled double-take as she saw darkness uncoil from his fingertips. At the same time, she felt a sudden tug in her veins, a brief pull that nonetheless yanked her towards him like a marionette as he watched her over his own arm, weighing her reaction.

Non, Dieu miséricordieux non! that undisciplined part of her mind screamed, as she stumbled ineffectually against the pull. Non…

Then, even as her panic was starting to rise, uncontrolled, he suddenly spat her blood out and straightened, releasing the bond that had started to form between them with such force she stumbled.

“Happy?” he growled.

She wasn’t. She felt sick. So the monster did know how to work the blood magics. And he had his venom. And he was older and faster than she had ever seen. That he had spared her afterwards was…incomprehensible.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

He gave her a really long, silent look. “Maybe, if you think about it long enough—give it a few decades—you’ll figure it out.” Then, without another word, he turned to leave her there.

“Wait!” No sooner had the word left her lips did Aimée cringe at her own weakness. Curiosity. That was how the demons always found a way in…

But the vampire turned, slowly, a dark brow raised in interest. “Yes?”

“You truly aren’t going to bind me?” she couldn’t hope for that, not after what she knew of vampires, especially lords…

He turned a bit more, facing her fully, now, curiosity lightening his features. “I said as much.”

And there they were, at an impasse. He, who had stated the impossible. She, who had no reason to believe him but for the fact he’d done it.

“I…” Aimée struggled with what to say next. “Truly?” All of her youth, all of her many, many afternoons with the priests, her thousands of hours storming nests of monsters with her fellow Inquisiteurs, her countless more hours reading of their deviancies in the sacred libraries…none of it could have prepared her for standing in front of this vampire lord who had three times been able to harm her irreparably, and three times had let her go, instead.

Mind games, a stubborn part of her insisted. She had been taken in by the Church at the age of eight, after a matagot had entered her family home under the guise of a stray cat and slain her parents and sisters as they slept, stealing their souls as well as the milk they had laid out for it.

She knew the dangers of trusting demons.

Still…

“Look,” the vampire lord said, “I just wanted to see if it was possible to change your mind.”

“Never,” she bit out.

He sighed. “Yeah, well, that’s pretty ob—” he frowned at something behind her and his eyes widened. A moment later, he was shoving her, putting himself between Aimée and her rescuers.

“The queen is out front!” she cried, even as the vampire held her in place behind him. She struggled against the viselike lock he had on her arm. “She has my radio and guns!”

“Hello, Theodore,” a deep, mellow voice she didn’t recognize droned. Aimée stopped struggling to free herself and looked around the vampire lord’s body to whatever he faced in the woods.

It was a shorter man, dressed in the tattered ruins of what was once an elegant black and purple Nightlander robe. By the pale, smooth-skinned, big-pupiled look of him, he was another vampire, possibly even a lord. Beside him, a large brown dog sat comfortably at heel, though its body was stiff, its mouth half open in a tight snarl.

“Get out of here,” the vampire lord bit out. “Run!” He shoved her.

Still, it took Aimée a startled minute to realize he was talking to her. She took a confused step backwards, unsure what was transpiring between the two.

Her movement seemed to catch the other demon’s attention. “Ah. One of the hypocrites.” He chuckled. “Did I interrupt your meal, Theodore?”

“Fuck.” The first vampire glanced at Aimée, then back at the other Nightlander. “She’s not your problem, okay? The lady and I were just having a chat.”

And, with that, Aimée realized startledly… This demon has a soft spot for women.

She could definitely use that, and decided to put it in his file immediately, so that they knew to approach him with female agents next time…

“Were you?” The other vampire seemed vaguely interested. “I have grievances of my own with those fools, and your struggles have left me hungry. I assume she’s untouched, considering your ridiculous honor code?”

The first vampire lord shoved Aimée again, harder. “Run, goddamn it.”

“Oh, Theodore,” the other vampire chuckled, petting the mastiff with a lazy hand, “don’t you know you’re only making it worse?”

And then, in a flash of shadow, the vampire was there, grabbing Aimée with a glassy fist on her throat, slamming her bodily against the wall like a tank. “Hello, darling,” he said, inches away. “My apologies, but this child and his comrades have ruined my afternoon.”

…child? Theodore Ósvaldr Hjörr, from what they could piece together a former Baron on the Thirdlander Council of Lords, was easily the oldest vampire she had ever seen. How could this man be calling him a child?

Then the robed man rammed his fangs into the meat of Aimée’s chest, puncturing her breast. Aimée gave a strangled groan as she felt them extend to their fullest, brushing her rib cage.

“No, you motherfucker—” the first vampire snarled, taking a step forward.

This one’s using me as bait, Aimée realized, meeting the blue-eyed vampire’s gaze. She’d done it to countless other demons before, just as soon as she learned their weakness… “No, stay bac—” she started to shout, before the second demon’s grip tightened on her throat, crushing the sound from her larynx.

“Now…” the robed vampire said languidly, “to make you mine…” With those words came a rush of cold in her chest, a wave of ice that found and clung to Aimée’s very mind, numbing it, caressing it.

Oh no…

Her whimper had the effect the newcomer was looking for. Theo let out a blind howl and lunged—and, with practiced ease, the second vampire lashed out with a whip of void-black seiðr, catching the jeans-wearing lord off guard with a loop around the neck and driving him to the ground. A moment later, a mass of shadows spun down the cord connecting the two lords, wrapping and writhing around Theo’s thrashing body, enveloping it, completely obscuring it from view.

As the second vampire looked into Aimée’s eyes, seemingly unconcerned by Theo’s thrashing, he smiled and whispered against her neck, “Patience, Theodore.” He leaned close and licked the bruise on Aimée’s throat, and, horrified, Aimée felt her trembling body respond… Smiling down at her with cold, malicious blue eyes, the second vampire lord said, “You’ll get your turn when I tire of breaking this silly little bigot.” He stroked a finger down her trembling cheek. “Eh? You feel disavowed of your hypocrisy yet, Inquisitor? No?” He kissed her over the carotid artery. “Give it time…” He breathed into her ear, and Aimée’s mind screamed in revulsion even as her body melted in his grip. “…it just takes time…”