Chapter Ten #3
Walter laughed, his voice mesmeric, like liquid velvet.
“But then, one day, or one night, perhaps when you couldn’t sleep, you remembered the last time you felt the awe and thrill of life, real life.
It was when you had Angelina as your very own.
And when you found she was no longer married, you came here.
Where she was. Where wonderment had once been.
Where you were last yourself. You took a position in the town where”—he took another breath—“Angelina lived.” His voice made my name sound like the wonderment he was describing.
Villetti inhaled as if his chest hurt, as if his breath was being crushed by fury, fear, frustration.
My good hand cradled my aching hand to my middle. EJ glanced at me and away. I had no idea what he saw in my eyes.
Walter smiled viciously. “But once here, you discovered she was not the child she had been. When you saw her, you…” Walter tilted his head.
Kicked his feet. His soft-soled shoes drummed on the cabinet.
“You floundered. Because your safe haven was different too. Therefore you began to strike out at her for no reason, using words to show her you were hurting, but only succeeding in making her guarded and angry. Now, years later, in the dark of night, you lie awake, yearning for what was.”
“You son of a bitch,” Villetti growled.
“No. Human son of a slave and a rutting goat of a vampire.” Walter smiled. “I will kill my maker soon. Soon. Can you kill your memories as easily?”
I stepped away from the working, into view, and said, “Walter. EJ needs you.”
Walter dropped his mesmerism and hopped from the island surface. “It’s been a pleasure, Detective. We should chat again someday.” With all the elegant insouciance he had learned in the royal court in Britain, Walter left the room.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Villetti dropped his stance, leaned against the cabinet, looking drained. “For what? For him speaking the truth as he understood it?”
“For him speaking a truth that you didn’t want him to know.”
“Did you know?”
“That you came here because of”—I hesitated a full second—“me? Us? No. Did I know you had done things in the war? Guessed it.”
Wearing the jacket that still smelled like Villetti—tiramisu and coffee—I moved into the room and rested my butt against the island countertop where Walter had sat. The stone was cold through the yoga pants. Vamp flesh was always ambient temperature.
“You like secrets,” I said, “both keeping your own and ferreting out the secrets of others. Walter is better at that than most vamps. A human has no chance against him.” A rare moment of sadness flashed through me, and I knew he would see it.
“Here’s a secret for you. I killed a vampire.
Her name was Tiffany and she thought she was important and powerful and that she should be Asshat’s woman.
I walked in from a trip to visit my family in Asheville and found Asshat in bed with a rowdy group of humans and a female fanghead.
She challenged my position as wife. My…husband…
He didn’t interfere. He seemed amused at my na?veté, at my shock, at my rage.
He didn’t defend me. So I accepted the challenge. ”
Villetti’s eyes didn’t change.
“In Sangre Duello, the challenged gets to set the particulars. I distinctly remember saying, ‘Accepted. One hour. In the fighting ring under the trees. Two swords. Sangre Duello rules. To the death.’ ”
Villetti’s mouth swept down, frowning in shock.
I laughed. “Yeah. Asshat’s expression looked kinda like yours.
I locked my husband out of his own room and dressed.
Called the queen—not my Aunt Jane. I called the queen.
And told her what I was doing. I expected her to try to talk me out of it or forbid me to fight.
” My laughter faded into a grim grin. “Instead, she said, ‘When you’re done, take the asshat’s head. ’ And she hung up.”
Villetti’s body softened. Gently, he said that endearment that had won my heart, so many years ago. “Amore.”
“We fought under the stars, on a hot sweltering night. She had never seen me fight. No one at Asshat’s clan home had.
” I let a twisted grin fade away as I remembered the female vampire’s reactions when I walked into the ring wearing fighting armor in my own colors—not the queen’s as princess—my own.
I was carrying a single-edged longsword and a double-bladed shortsword, the flat and fuller of the blades silvered, both custom-made to my specifications.
“They expected me to call the queen for help. Or Mama and Daddy. Or to use magic when I had used fanghead language to challenge. They expected me to beg family or the queen to fix my marriage. To ask for rescue. Expected me to be stupid. They didn’t know I understood exactly what they were doing. Using me to create political waves.
“There were no cams in the garden, so nothing could be videoed.
“I took her head in four moves, and only because I let myself hate her, and wanted to play with her a bit. A demon came out of the stump of her neck. That I couldn’t fight.
The fighting ring cleared vamp-fast, little pops of sound.
The humans scattered. And it was just that thing and me.
It was noncorporal. It wanted a living body. ”
“What did you do?”
“I threw up the strongest portable blood gauntlet hedge I knew.”
Villetti was watching me, his blue eyes holding mine. His had calmed. Grown softer. Almost…tender. And something long forgotten began to warm me.
“To make the hedge, I used the blood Tiffany had drawn from a prick on my pinkie knuckle. First time I ever was happy to have been wounded.”
“Then what?”