Like in Bram Stoker’s Dracula, the vampires in the Americas tended to call themselves Masters if they were old enough and powerful enough to carve out some territory of their own. In Europe, Cian said they called themselves king, queen, regent, and even emperor. Amaliya supposed being a ‘vampire president’ sounded dull. Cian wasn’t particularly enthralled with the title of Master of Austin, and he wore it grudgingly.
Years before, in the Seventies, when The Summoner had been playing games in Cian’s life, the creator and fledgling agreed to a pact. If Cian became the master over a city, The Summoner would let him be. Cian had usurped the Austin cabal, sold them out to the vampire hunters, and took over the small college town when the hunters had wiped out the resident vampires. He wasn’t even particularly ashamed of his actions and had even friended the head vampire hunter, Professor Summerfield.
Amaliya was swiftly learning that Cian was ruthless and didn’t really live with any regrets. He did what had to be done and didn’t really worry in the aftermath. She lived with constant regrets and envied him. Her biggest regret was ever going on a date with her professor in college, who ended up being The Summoner in disguise. If she hadn’t gone on that coffee date chances are she’d still be in college and would have eventually ended up marrying sweet Pete back home in East Texas. At times like these she was haunted by a life she would never have.
“I don’t like being the big bad scary necromancer,” Amaliya said at last.
Cian brushed his lips over hers. “I know. But you are.”
Leaning against him, her fingers settled on his waist. She loved the way his body felt against hers. He had been a slave in the West Indies in the 1600’s when he had been made into a vampire. A sparse diet and hard labor had chiseled his body into lean muscle. She, meanwhile, should have lost a few pounds before becoming a vampire. She hated her long waist, wider hips, and short legs. Cian, though, seemed to love every inch of her.
The thought made her blush.
He chuckled in her ear, most likely sensing the flush of her skin and her arousal. The mist drifted around them in big clumps as it slowly dissipated.
Licking his ear, she pressed herself against his body, her fingers sliding under his shirt to glide up over his back.
“We’re here to practice,” Cian reminded her.
“Fuck practice,” Amaliya whispered.
Cian’s lips caught hers in a passionate kiss, his hands cradling her face. He made her crazy for him and it scared and thrilled her at the same time. The caress of his hands, the touch of his lips, the teasing of his tongue, all made her want to throw him down on the ground and ride him until they were both screaming.
His cellphone buzzed between them.
Nipping his lips, Amaliya tried to keep his hand from sliding into his jean pocket to get his phone.
“No, no, no,” she complained.
He pressed one last hard kiss to her lips, peered at the number curiously, then answered. “May I help you?”
Amaliya frowned as his expression suddenly became quite dangerous.
“Rachon, this is unexpected.” His Irish accent overwhelmed his voice.
Craning her head toward the cellphone, Amaliya listened in.
“Miss me, dear brother?”
The woman’s voice sent shivers through Amaliya’s already aroused body. It was like rich velvet; soft and sensual.
“It’s been a very long time,” Cian said neutrally.
The throaty laughter was amused and a little cruel. “I would have thought you would give me the courtesy of a phone call when our dear little sister murdered our father.”
“You know I had no love for The Summoner, or his ways,” Cian responded tersely.
“This is true. The relationship between father and son is always complicated, isn’t it?”
“He was my creator, not my father.”
Amaliya pressed her hand to Cian’s chest and he glanced at her briefly. He was struggling with his emotions.
Rachon’s laughter was cruel with its amusement. “You never could run far enough away from him.”
“You never tried.”
“Maybe that is why I hold Louisiana in my grasp and you merely have Austin.”
“You turned your entire family and made them your minions so you could rule Louisiana.”
“I freed them from slavery and made them rulers,” Rachon said sharply.
Amaliya smiled. Cian had hit a sore spot.
“We’ve both done what we had to in order to survive, haven’t we, Rachon?”
“I will give you that.” There was a pause in her voice. “I haven’t called to argue.”
“Then what do you want?”
“To visit you,” Rachon answered.
Cian lifted an eyebrow as Amaliya raised both of hers.
“I see. May I ask why?”
“I want to see our sister. I want to see where our father died. And I want to make a pact with you. I know you have Santos and Etzli stalking your borders. Word is that they are trying to make pacts with Courtney, the new Master in Dallas and Nicole from Houston. You need me.”
Frowning, Cian hooked his arm around Amaliya’s shoulders and pulled her along with him as he headed toward his car. “I’m not certain-”
“You need me, Cian. We both know it. The only thing holding off Santos is the baby necromancer. He was terrified of The Summoner and that is why he left you alone before. Now there is your new pet. Santos wants her. The only reason he hasn’t attacked is because he still doesn’t know what she can or can’t do. How much longer do you think the threat of her power will hold him off?”
Unlocking the car, Cian glanced up and down the street warily.
Amaliya didn’t sense anything, but she wasn’t as powerful as Cian. Nervously, she slid into the passenger seat as he took his place behind the wheel.
“Cian?” Rachon’s voice sounded small and distant now that Amaliya wasn’t snuggled into Cian’s arms.
“What do you know?” Cian asked tersely.
“People talk to me. Powerful people. Sometimes they let things slip.”
Cian slid into the car, his brow deeply furrowed. “When?”
“Tonight.”
“Where?”
“That I don’t know.”
“We’ll talk later,” Cian said shortly. He killed the call and shoved his phone into his jeans. “I’ll need you to summon the dead over distance.”
“What?”
“Can you do it?” His voice was hard and demanding.
Amaliya bit her bottom lip, glancing toward the graveyard. “Yes. I bled in the graveyard tonight. I can do it.”
“We’re going to be attacked. Most likely close to home. They won’t attack here near the graveyard.”
“Are we being watched?” Amaliya knew enough not to look around, but remain casual.
“Yes. Probably by a human servant. They’re harder to sense.” Cian quickly pulled away from the graveyard, speeding down the street.
“Fuckin’ great,” Amaliya muttered. She tried not to panic as she watched the darkened streets of Austin stream past the window.
“We should have relocated to another part of the city. I usually move once a year, but I didn’t want to uproot you so swiftly.”
Cian’s car sped over the rolling hills along streets lined with old houses and mom and pop businesses toward the shining glory of downtown Austin. The neighborhood was mostly populated by a large section of the black and Hispanic population of the city and was much older and poorer. In recent years it had started to undergo a renewal as the middle class bought up the old houses and restored them. College students also made their homes in the small cottage style homes. The occasional mini-mansion lurked on quiet, tree-lined roads, and a few Victorians were hidden jewels in the neighborhood.
When Amaliya had been human and attended the University of Texas for one year, she had liked hanging out on the east side. It had small dives that served the best food in town and she had often chilled on the front porches of the rented homes of friends. Watching the darkened houses slid by, Amaliya wondered what it was like to sleep during the night, safe in the thought that monsters didn’t exist. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to be so innocent and human.
The car was a few blocks from I-35 and downtown Austin when a SUV ran a red light. Amaliya only caught a glimpse of its black shape and tinted windows before it crashed into the car, striking Amaliya’s door. The impact slammed her sideways as the air bags exploded, punching into her body like a fist. Glass filled the air as the car spun across the intersection, wheels shredding on the asphalt, the smell of rubber and gasoline filling the world. The car smashed to a halt against the metal bench of a bus stop.
Chapter 2
Rubbing the stubble on his chin, Santos glanced at his cellphone expectantly. The master vampire of San Antonio was in a sour mood. He was always short-tempered when anxious. He did not like waiting. Since he was unable to determine what the end result of his carefully laid out plans would be, he was very much on edge. There were too many unknown variables to be certain of anything when it concerned Amaliya, the vampire-necromancer offspring of The Summoner.