Chapter 8 #2
A low chuckle built in his brother’s barrel chest until it became a full belly laugh. Luis ground his molars hard enough to make them squeak.
“You fucking idiot,” Milo chortled, pressing his palms to his heavy stomach.
Resisting the urge to throttle him, Luis snapped, “Whatever else she is, Frankie’s in danger, idiot. If I don’t win, one of these fucks will. And after that, she’ll never be free. There will always be someone hunting her, trying to use her for her blood or worse. I can’t let that happen.”
With considerable effort, Milo sobered up. Mostly. “She’ll need a good, strong vampire to look out for her. Someone from a good family who can keep her safe. Hey, maybe one of the Byrns is single. Of course, she’s gotta like redheads—”
“Are you fucking done?”
His brother shook his head. “Not until I tell the rest of the cousins. Felix is gonna love this after all the shit you gave him about Dahlia. You know, she might’ve tried to run away from him, but she never volunteered for the Blood Games to be rid of him. He’s gonna lose his mind.”
Before he could let the panic that particular threat inspired sink its teeth into him, Luis waved the topic away. “Can we focus, please? None of that will matter if I don’t win.”
“You’ll win.” His brother glanced down at the creased photo of Francesca, all done up in soft makeup and a floaty red top. “If she matters this much to you, it’s not like you have another choice.”
“I don’t,” he agreed. “She’s—”
A painfully familiar drawl interrupted him. “I didn’t know Amauris participated in the Games.”
Luis turned to find the smug face of Malachi Burke staring back at him. Dressed in a navy blue tuxedo to match the tattoos swirling over his shaved head, he looked exactly as overdone and irritating as he always did.
Surrounded by the protection of his entourage, including the behemoth who was almost certainly his personal bodyguard, and clearly delighted to have a reason to pick a fight, he continued, “I figured you were too busy fighting your own family to bother with anyone else.”
The jabs about their family weren’t new.
The Amauris had a reputation not just for viciousness and a willingness to do the dirty work, but for the civil war and assassinations that had nearly torn them apart.
All that stopped when Felix took over for his grandmother and the cousins swore to never make their parents’ mistakes, but that didn’t change how the rest of the syndicate saw them.
If they weren’t upstarts, they were family-killers. And if they weren’t family-killers, they were a serious business threat worth eliminating.
Malachi didn’t come from a big, powerful family. He’d risen up through the syndicate on his own, amassing wealth through blackmail and strategic murder. He’d been in the business for as long as Luis and Milo’s father had, which meant that he was a scary motherfucker in his own right.
But that didn’t mean they had to tolerate him. They were scary motherfuckers, too, and Luis had a lot more on the line than Malachi.
“Aren’t you a little old to be here?” Luis asked, all faux-sincerity. “I’d hate for you to miss bingo at the old folk’s home.”
“You must have me confused with all the relatives you no longer have.” Malachi’s thin-lipped smile didn’t flicker. “How’s your father?”
It was Milo who grunted, “Retired.”
“A miracle he’s still alive, considering what happened to the rest of his generation,” Malachi replied. It didn’t sound like a compliment. “For a while there it seemed like you Amauris were going to wipe yourselves off the map. What a shame that would’ve been.”
“A shame indeed,” Luis agreed, smiling with all his teeth.
“And young Felix? I heard a rumor recently that he found himself a Bowan blood bride. I didn’t even know they had one hidden away.
I can’t imagine Alastair was too pleased with that match.
” Malachi’s smile oozed malice. “That Felix. He does love to take things that belong to other people, doesn’t he? ”
Luis stiffened. There was a very good reason they didn’t do business with Malachi, and it wasn’t just that he was lower than a piece of shit smeared on the bottom of a shoe.
He peered closely at the older man, trying to see through the smug mask to determine what he knew — or thought he knew. In a cooler voice, he replied, “Felix doesn’t steal anything. He just protects what’s his.”
A dark look glittered in those pale, soulless eyes. “We’ll have to disagree on that, I’m afraid.”
Fuck.
Luis resisted the urge to glance at his brother. That sure sounded like he knew, or like he was fishing for confirmation, which they couldn’t risk giving him.
Forcefully changing the subject, he asked, “What brings you here? I thought you had an anchor.”
The older man waved a hand carelessly. “She died. It worked out well that I was hunting for a new one when Easton got in touch with me. Even an idiot can get something right every once in a while, apparently. I figure it won’t take much to extend her contract into a long-term anchor agreement.
The last one gave me fuck-ups for progeny. It’s time I started over.”
“She’d never agree to that.” Luis worked hard to keep his expression relaxed when all he wanted to do was rip Malachi’s head off his shoulders.
Malachi’s pale blue eyes sharpened with interest. “Oh? I did get the impression that you knew her.”
Luis’s voice came out light, but his eyes were flat with banked rage when he answered, “Only well enough to say for certain she’d never agree to an anchor arrangement.”
The older vampire snorted. “Ah, so she turned you down, then. That’s a sign of good sense.
Not that she really needs it. Anchors really shouldn’t be allowed to use their brains too often.
It distresses them.” Malachi fixed the sleeves of his suit with quick tugs of his ring-clad fingers.
“Give them enough allowance and some shiny things and they’re content. I’m sure she’ll be much the same.”
Luis felt his breathing quicken. Only the subtle shifting of his brother’s feet reminded him that now wasn’t the time to rip Malachi’s balls off.
“You seem very confident you’ll win,” he drawled.
Malachi tipped his tattooed head to one side, indicating his entourage — a small fleet of tattooed men. His snakes, as he called them. Not men who owed him loyalty out of blood ties, care, and mutual benefit. They were all conscripted and branded as his through a career of blackmail and extortion.
Luis even recognized one of them: a lean, dark-eyed and dark-skinned man who’d once been a United Congressman’s son, before his father borrowed money from the wrong monster. Luis thought his name was once Rhodes, but now people only called him Bite.
If Malachi wanted you dead, that was who he sent — and who he’d without a doubt throw into the ring as his proxy.
“I have a good feeling about my odds,” Malachi quipped, like it was all for fun.
The thought of Malachi of all people coming within ten feet of Francesca, let alone having the privilege of tasting her blood, made rage boil in the pit of his stomach.
He wouldn’t care whether she was comfortable or happy.
He’d use her until she had nothing left to give, just as he did to everyone who had the misfortune of falling into his orbit.
Just as he’d tried to do to a powerful young witch, once upon a time.
Inclining his tattooed head, Malachi offered an insincere goodbye. “I look forward to seeing you in the ring, Amauri brothers.”
Neither of them bothered to return the sentiment.
When Malachi and his entourage were far enough away, Milo turned his head to whisper, “I’m going to step out for a second.”
Luis frowned. “What? Why?”
“Because if that piece of shit is here, you need more help than I can give you by myself,” Milo answered. “I’m calling in a favor.”
Watching him move toward the doors, Luis called out, “Not Marietta!”
Swiveling his head to give his brother a disgruntled look, he replied, “Of course not. She’d start throwing knives before you even stepped into the ring. Just trust me, okay?”
“I trust you.” Luis swallowed. “You’re my brother. You’re the only one I trust with her.”
The corner of Milo’s scarred lip kicked up in a wry smile. “Just a friend, huh?”