Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

S he was in darkness. Total darkness, but things in that black watched her. Waiting. Silent. She considered the possibility she was dead, but she had some sense of connection to her physical body. She just couldn't see it, or orient herself.

This wasn't a place about the physical senses. This was Merc. She could feel his presence all around her. His soul. A place that had blocked her entry, but not because he'd wanted to prove she couldn't get in there if he didn't want her there.

He didn't come here. He knew what was here, he'd told her. But somewhere along the way, he'd shut the door and locked it, refusing to visit it. And now she was locked in with it. Alone.

The incubus. No. Merc had insisted from the beginning that the incubus was part of him, and he wouldn't turn his back on it. But the demon part, the hungry part that would only take, that was what was here. Because that was where Merc had put it.

But it wasn't the thing to fear.

As she put her hands out, or what she was thinking of as her hands, she started to hear them. Voices like a choked gurgle beneath water, then they broke the surface, an army of cries becoming mournful wails, chilling her all the way through. Squirming tendrils of energy pulled her arms out to her sides, then her legs, wrapping around and around her, turning her, disorienting her, making her feel sick.

The voices begged for sexual release, moaning their passion, but a cry which should have been arousing, drawing her own response, couldn't quite get there. Then the darkness showed her why.

Out of the black, a woman rose up in the straining arch caused by a climax, but a giant barbed fishhook shoved through her upper torso held her in that position. Her head was tipped back, mouth open on a scream, a plea, while her body shuddered in ecstasy.

A subconscious image that reflected the terrible reality, the memories stored here. Oh Great Father and Mother. This was where they were. All the ones whose lives he'd taken.

She flailed for a way to process, and found her own memories, the annual kill.

"Say a prayer for his soul, and ask forgiveness. You took his life, which connects you to him forever. You will meet again, because that's the way of it."

She understood the price of those souls, the weight of carrying them. But she'd had her father and mother to guide her. Merc had had no one. When he finally did, when he had Marcellus, that same side of him had to learn to live with this. These lives could never be restored. Maybe his unconscious had helped the demon side keep the door closed to her, because it was somewhere he didn't want her to be.

But she did. She wanted to be here.

Merc. It's all right. Please…come be with me here.

Her soul was inside his soul. She just needed him to join her. She had her fingers stretched out beyond the bindings, and she gripped hands. Female hands. She accepted the fear and pain, the loss, brought it inside her, cried for all of them. And they became part of her. Living inside her soul as they lived inside his. Because that was part of the third mark, when it was two-way.

Everything shared, every pain, every mistake and disappointment, every tragedy. Every joy, every moment of life given to them.

A familiar touch slid over her arm, and the bonds loosened. He could hold her, wings covering her, then the bonds were around them both, spinning them, the tears and cries turning into something else. Sounds like a forest, of life and death, all the cycles turning as they should.

They were together. That was all that mattered.

He had her. That was what she needed. He'd returned control to her, but she offered it back to him, freely surrendering, submitting. Slowly, slowly, the world came back to her room, the physical awareness of his body against hers. He was above her now, one wing shadowing his face because it curved sharply over his shoulder. He had a hand on her cheek.

"Ruth."

She was weaker than that first time. She couldn't form words yet, her body an empty husk. He put his wrist to her mouth, but she was too weak to bite, so he punctured the artery with his own fangs, then returned it to her lips.

He curled his arm around her back, his wings closing over them, holding her inside that cocoon as his head rested against her temple, his harsh breath against her. As she managed to swallow his blood, he put his mouth to her throat, her shoulder, teased her collar bone with his tongue, caressed.

Nerves rippled, a sweet sensation. He moved to the rise of her breast, and a quiet gasp escaped her as he closed his mouth over her nipple and suckled. Gently, calling her back to life with the blood offering and sensual demand, the things a vampire was most likely to answer.

As the blood returned a measure of strength to her, she lifted a hand and clasped his wrist, holding it to her as she drew on it, biting and licking his flesh. His other hand moved to her waist, fingers gripping her buttock, lifting her up as he pushed inside her again, stretching sore but accepting flesh.

You surrendered to me, Ruth. I honor that surrender now by giving you back the life you offered to me.

She felt that overpowering incubus energy swirling around her, but this time, instead of drawing energy away, it was sinking into her, joining with her blood, restoring her.

He was feeding her with what nourished him .

He was stroking inside of her, slow. She licked the puncture wounds on his wrist until they closed, then slid her arms around his shoulders, fingers against his feathers. When she wrapped her legs over his hips, his buttocks flexed beneath them, the slow thrust and withdrawal that had her body lifting to him, asking for more.

She dug in her nails, giving him the fight he liked, and his expression changed. Became fiercer. There was a quality to it that twisted her heart, because it wasn't just the warrior she saw. It was everything else she'd seen in his soul, every face he'd had to wear, created by the experiences he'd had, the weight of the lives he'd taken to survive. The embedded emotions all of those things had given him.

The sensations expanded, taking over until she thought they would kill her, this time in a way she welcomed. He shuddered, telling her he felt it, too. She held on, giving him whatever strength she could, but knowing he could carry them as far as they needed to go. Then she made it official and formal.

You honored my trust, Master. I give you my submission.

They climaxed together, explosive, intense, mind-scrambling, but not life-threatening. When they came down, he was braced on one arm, and his wings were fully spread over either side of the bed, a feathered tent that delighted her. She ran her fingers over the arch and the primaries she could reach, as her body trembled in the aftermath.

"Do you want to lie down?" She offered a small smile, her voice a whisper. "Vampires are known to wear out their sexual partners."

He wasn't ready to smile yet. He settled onto one elbow, but still held most of his weight on the other arm as he traced her face. "You said a vampire coming into a servant's soul could be excruciating. It was. I didn't expect that. I reacted wrongly."

"I'm all right. You made sure of it. I don't care about having a safe life. Just an interesting one. Would you…would you kiss me again?"

The glimmer of his usual expression reassured her. Amused, exasperated and ready to admonish her. But at her request, he leaned in, giving her what she'd asked. She murmured against his lips, and his hand cupped her cheek, fingers on her temple as they sank into it together.

Her fingertips drifted over his shoulder, under his arm, feeling the brush of feathers against her knuckles. And then something else.

He felt the difference when she did, and they both drew back to exchange a look.

So uncertain if the marks themselves would take, she hadn't considered the possibility that one of their effects would happen.

"Um…all fully bound servants get a mark somewhere on them. It looks like a cross between a brand and a tattoo. It never fades."

It might not be that. But what else could it be? If he'd sustained an injury from earlier events, it would have already healed. And if she'd scratched him in the heat of passion, that would feel different. He would know it was a wound.

Sliding back from her, his gaze resting on hers, he shifted, putting himself on his stomach. He lifted his wings to remove them from her field of vision. When the wings jangled the strings of feathers and beads in her canopy, he glanced up and adjusted them outward to avoid tangling them.

"I guess I might have to rethink that setup, if I share my bed with an angel incubus." She pushed herself up on an elbow and looked. He definitely had a mark on his back, below the joining point of his left wing, above the small of his back. It was a good size, nearly the length and width of his own hand. Larger than hers.

"What do you see?" he asked, his voice hard to read.

"I'm not sure. Hold on." She sat up and scooted down the bed, turning so that she was looking at the mark from the opposite direction. A small smile touched her lips. "Now it makes sense."

The mark had the silhouette of a type of cat she recognized, but she didn't know if he would.

"Show me in your head, Ruth."

It was a thrill, doing that for the first time, and knowing from his response it was successful.

"A caracal," he said, surprising her. "Your father and I tended to them."

The caracal was leaping for a bird. Not the caracal's usual prey. It was a much larger bird. Rather than seeming to be attempting to escape, the bird's talon was outstretched, making contact with the caracal's reaching claws. Connecting.

"It's always something that makes sense to the two people." She traced the outline. "Even if not at first."

Reaching back, he gripped her hand. "It makes sense."

He turned and brought her to him, resting her against his chest, folding an arm around her and a wing over her. She traced both with her fingertips, her eyes half closing, thinking of what it all meant. They drifted for a while that way, then he spoke against her ear. Reluctantly.

"Marcellus reached out to me earlier, when you were with your father. Lady Kaela has completed her territory business, and the Trad is due to meet us at her home at eleven o'clock tonight. Pacific Time."

It was too close to dawn to leave. But she remembered how fast Merc could travel. Or they could use the portal Adan had arranged.

"Sleep. When you rise, I'll get us there in time. You'll have time to speak to your parents before you leave. Your mother said she was making corned beef hash and biscuits."

"If she wasn't making breakfast, would I have time to say good-bye?" she teased him.

"An irrelevant question, since she is."

"Will you stay with me while I sleep?"

"Is that what you wish?"

Yes. If that is what you wish.

It is. "I'll get up at dusk to speak to your father, but I'll stay for now. To ensure you do as you're told and rest. Fully recuperate."

She pinched his leg. "Don't treat me like an egg. What are you going to talk to Da about?"

I'll treat you as I wish. I'm your Master. You've said so.

Don't let it go to your head. Or I'll cut it off. You didn't answer the question.

Manly things. Don't worry your pretty head about it.

She did her best to find more sensitive appendages to pinch, hard, but he thwarted her, gripping her wrists and holding them across her breasts, his thumbs teasing her nipples. She halfheartedly hissed at him as she enjoyed the sensation. He chuckled at her, but when his grip on her wrists constricted, it was a little harder than expected. I mean it, Ruth. Sleep. Regain your strength.

She obeyed, because she had no real choice. Dawn and the night's events were pulling her under. His blood and sexual energy reversal had restored her to herself, but only to herself. It hadn't made her a stronger vampire. Wishful thinking, she guessed.

Your will more than makes up for that. And you don't need to be stronger. You have me.

She drifted off on that thought. Merc watched—and listened—to her do so. He expected that Mal, as a stronger and older vampire, would be up as soon as dusk arrived. It would give Merc time to have the discussion he wanted to have with him, while not leaving her alone for long.

He'd done a lot of shitty things. Far more awful than risking the life of a female vampire who attracted him. Yet he'd never had the strength of feelings he had for her, and rather than blaming that as the cause of how he was feeling now, all he could think was that he never, ever wanted to feel how he'd felt when he'd regained control of his demon side and seen how close he'd come to taking her life essence.

She might not have died, physically, but he would have left her mind and soul an empty vessel. He'd been sure of it.

The third mark…it was indescribable. He was bound inside her and she was bound inside him. From exploring the shape of it, yes, he had the power to push her out, reject the marks. Close down the gateways she could pass through to reach his body, mind or soul. He couldn't think of anything he desired less. He felt reunited with parts of himself he'd been away from for so long, they were new and strange. Some of them he wasn't sure he'd ever met before.

Something to explore, like the third mark between them.

Marcellus had suggested the mark as a way to protect her in her world. Merc would make sure of it. He would be the servant no one in the vampire world would fuck with. Not if they wanted to live.

He stayed in her room as the hours passed, examining the things from her childhood and items collected from her present, filing away questions to ask her about them later. Eventually he lay next to her again and let himself have the pleasure of doing nothing but holding her, of gazing down at her when she shifted and turned, curling herself against him. She had no idea that no woman had ever done that with him. He'd never allowed it. Never wanted to allow it.

Now he considered demanding it from her at every sunset.

When dusk arrived, he rose, he settled her under the covers and left a feather in her hand, curled under her chin. His tough vampire female, who looked like a child when she slept. He'd tease her with that, next time he wanted her in a fighting mood.

As he emerged from below, Elisa was coming through the side kitchen door with a handful of herbs and a smile. "Can I make you some coffee? I'll have breakfast ready when Ruth rises, but I can get you something now."

"No, but thank you. I've interrupted your gardening."

"Just gathering some seasonings for the meal."

He noted the dirt on her gloves and the garden apron she wore over jeans that fit her curvy body well. "I was looking for Mal." He dipped his head toward the hallway leading from the living room, where he could sense the vampire.

"He's in his office," Elisa confirmed. "He'll call me if you need anything."

Ruth's father was leaning back in a squeaky and ancient-looking metal office chair. He had the tip of a lethal-looking and sizeable knife balanced on the desk blotter and was turning it in meditative circles, obviously a routine habit while thinking. Though if it did double duty as a warning for his daughter's chosen, all the better.

Merc could respect that.

"Did you sleep well?" Mal asked courteously.

"Your daughter gave me three marks," Merc said.

He had no patience for small talk. Mal gestured him to a dilapidated sofa across from the giant desk that looked like a sea chest.

"We thought she might. What's on your mind?"

He asked Mal to explain vampire overlord protocols and "expected" servant behavior, so he could support Ruth as needed. Much of it wouldn't apply to him, but Merc was thinking of what Adan had said. Mal confirmed the line Ruth needed to straddle. "They won't expect you to act as a typical servant, but they also won't expect her to act submissive. If she does, or you dominate her before them, she'll lose any respect they have for her."

"I can fix that attitude," Merc said darkly.

Mal appeared to appreciate Merc's opinion, but he shook his head. "That would end her ability to be part of the vampire world in any meaningful way."

"I don't understand."

"When the two vampires tried to take advantage of her," Mal's jaw tightened, telling Merc his feelings about that, "she was seen as a vampire, one of us. If you take violent action as you describe and she encounters vampires on her own, without you, she won't be seen as one of us. She'll be prey.

"And if you do encounter vampires when you're together, they'll respect and deal with you. She'll be dismissed, as if she's the servant. Titles in our world are a front. The vampire that holds them always has to back them with the appropriate power. It's the only thing a vampire's nature truly respects. It's a hard bias to overcome, no matter how conscious we are of it. Even Ruth, for all of her challenges, has her share of it."

"You're a confusing race, full of contradictions."

Mal lifted a brow. "Do you know of one that isn't? I expect angels and incubi have their own challenges. And we all know how confusing humans can be."

"Including your servant."

Mal's lips quirked. "A female of any race is confusing. Human or vampire."

Ruth was up. Merc could feel her leaving the bed, figuring out what she was going to wear. She also reached out to him. She didn't interrupt his conversation, but the touch of her mind was almost as pleasant as the touch of her hand. He "touched" her back and her pleasure flooded him. She liked being connected to him.

As Mal had just dryly pointed out, he'd likely have to put some work into keeping it that way. Merc rose. "I understand her desire to stand on her own two feet in her own world, and ask for nothing that she didn't earn. I'll do my best to respect that."

Mal's eyes glinted. "Did you just share that with her, or did you keep it between us?"

Merc pressed his lips together. "I think it's better if she just assumes I'll always step in when she's at risk. Whether she wants me to or not. Because if it comes to a conflict between vampire protocol and that, there's no question as to what choice I'll make."

"I don't necessarily disagree. Just make sure you think it through, before you make that choice for her."

Merc could tell Mal understood. Because it was male logic.

Simple and straightforward.

Lady Kaela's home was in Monterey, perched on cliffs overlooking the slate-blue Pacific surf. When they landed in the driveway, Ruth had a question for her angel incubus.

"So do angels have built-in GPS? You're given an address and you just know where it is?"

"You scoured my soul a few hours ago. I choose to keep some things a mystery, so you don't tire of me and cast me aside too soon."

"Is that your way of saying you have no fucking clue?"

She dodged his attempt to grab her, laughing. However, when the front door opened, she had the somber mien appropriate for meeting an overlord. Years of adopting the habit for their many vampire island visitors made the transition seamless. Locking down the trepidation vampires she didn't know provoked within her was part of the same process.

When Garron, Lady Kaela's servant, stepped out, it didn't relax her guard. An overlord wouldn't meet a lower echelon vampire at the door, and Lady Kaela could still tap into her servant's head to see Ruth's behavior.

If Caleb ever moved on, Garron could step into the strongman's role. Their height and muscle mass were comparable. Garron's shaved head gleamed in the evening moonlight, and the exposed scalp was scarred. So was his face, a mark running from his cheekbone, across his straight nose, to the hinge of his jaw. Another formed a groove from his left ear to his throat, disappearing into the collar of his dress shirt, tailored for his massive body.

The damage must have predated his marking, far enough back the transition hadn't been able to erase it. He was a charismatic male, his sexual appeal undiminished by the old wounds. He was also a Dominant. She recognized it like a favorite perfume.

When the opportunity presented itself, many vampires preferred bonding with a human Dominant. There were bottomless pleasures involved in topping a human used to being the one holding the reins. Though they'd never have the chance to exercise it on their vampire, it was also a useful trait for the entertainments involving other servants.

Plus, the higher the vampire's rank, the more administrative demands were placed upon the servant. He or she needed to be courteous and deferential, yet know when and how to stand up for and represent their vampire's interests among a world of aggressive and volatile personalities.

Plenty of power submissives could ably handle those responsibilities as a vampire's servant, but there was an extra punch to it when the servant was a Dominant. Like with Lyssa's servant, Jacob.

Kaela's success as an overlord had predated her marking Garron. However, because of the female overlord's reputed savvy and political nature, Ruth expected Garron was well suited to the role.

Garron executed a short bow to Ruth before allowing his eyes, dark with hints of blue, to shift to her companion. Merc's wings were cloaked.

While Lady Kaela had been read in, so she knew a Truth Vessel was an angel, Merc had decided it made more tactical sense to conceal his most attention-grabbing feature. Let those who didn't need to know guess at what he was, even if they could tell he wasn't human.

On a normal day, he was pretty attention-grabbing, even without the wings. Today he'd gone the extra mile.

After breakfast, he'd excused himself, telling Ruth he was going to change before they headed for Lady Kaela's home. When he met her outside the house, he wore black slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, open at the collar and the sleeves folded back from his forearms. His dagger was on his slim black belt. Though she expected it would still have that sandpaper rasp she liked, his jaw was clean of stubble.

"Wow," she said. "You clean up nice."

"Your father said a more formal appearance is advisable. Though I outrank her considerably on the food chain, if we choose to reveal our marking, I wish her to respect you as well."

She cocked her head. "You're sort of talking like Marcellus."

He blinked. "If I stop using contractions, cut off my head and burn my body. Make sure the virus can't spread."

She chuckled. "Does he never use them?"

"They slip through now and then. He used to use them more. Apparently, as angels get older, they tend to speak more formally. Or maybe it just happens when they lose their sense of humor."

Noting his gaze sweeping over her as well, Ruth straightened accordingly, wanting him to get the full effect.

Her white cotton blouse was edged with lace at the off-the-shoulder neckline. The shirt had a gathered waist and a lace hem that draped over her hips. The broad turquoise stripes of her wrap-around skirt were divided by thinner ones in brick red and sand colors. She'd worn the skirt over her tooled Shepler boots.

The silver and turquoise conch shell belt completed the look, with matching ropes of turquoise at her neck and ears. She'd pulled up her hair. Merc drew closer and toyed with one earring, his fingers stroking the sensitive flesh beneath it. They were alone, because she'd made her good-byes to her parents after breakfast, before they headed out for the night's work.

Merc found her breast, the heat of his hand warm through the cotton. Ruth's body swayed toward him as he teased a nipple to a point with his thumb. Her bra was thin, the shirt even more so.

When she rose on her toes to put her nose to his throat, he slid his arm around her. He tilted his head to peer down at her. "What are you doing?"

"Just inhaling." Suddenly uncertain of what was moving through her, she tilted her head back. "Is that okay? To just enjoy you?"

He blinked. "I can't think of a reason to object. But I expect we need to get going."

"Yes." She gripped his collar and steeled herself for what was ahead. "Okay. Let's go."

The nice clothes didn't diminish Merc's always dangerous demeanor. So Garron took the extra moment to gauge her companion in the way a protective servant and fighter did.

"The requested Truth Vessel," Merc said, inclining his head without smiling.

"Yes." Garron executed another bow toward him. "Is ‘my lord' the appropriate address?"

"Merc is fine."

"Very well. My lady welcomes you both. If you can follow me, I'll take you to her office."

"Has the Trad arrived?" Ruth asked.

Garron's jaw tightened, a less-than-subtle expression of his displeasure at having a Trad in his Mistress's home. Ruth didn't blame him.

"Stating a need for extra precautions, he has moved his arrival time to tomorrow at dusk. However, my lady thought it wise to have you here at the original time, in case he changes his plans again. She also thought it would be wise to discuss a coordinated strategy in handling his visit."

Inside, the house was open and airy, with lots of windows to show off the impressive view of ocean and Monterey landscape. The lower part of the home was built into the cliff, and Garron pointed out a descending staircase.

"The quarters for vampire guests are that way. There's a separate staircase to my lady's quarters, to ensure privacy."

Garron didn't reveal the access point to Kaela's quarters. A wise choice for a cautious overlord. Kaela's promotion had come about due to a corrupt overlord removed by Council. She'd been a member of his territory, selected and charged by Lady Lyssa to clean house. Kaela had personally dispatched several vampires too loyal to the overlord, when they unwisely challenged the Council's decision to make a change.

Vampires could be brutal in such matters, but the best overlords, like Florida's Lord Marshall, or Lady Lyssa, knew how to follow it up with wise leadership. After swiftly handling the executions, Kaela had restored balance and brought prosperity to the previously subjugated vampires in the territory, earning their respect. They no longer lived in fear of unpredictable and sadistic leadership.

Meeting a more powerful vampire always made Ruth nervous, but this time it was tempered by a genuine interest in the vampire who'd done what most had thought would require a more imposing male vampire to do. Lady Lyssa's decision had been questioned—quietly of course—but Kaela had quickly reinforced the queen's judgment.

After all, our Council head is a female, and no one doubts her power. Those who'd doubted Kaela had sagely pointed that out afterward, as if they'd known all along it would turn out fine. Yeah, right.

Admittedly, Kaela was nowhere near as old and powerful as Lyssa, and she was a made vampire, not a born one. So gender aside, the question and concern had been valid. She'd proven it unfounded, regardless.

Kaela's office had more of those windows, creating a vista of dark sky and darker ocean behind her desk, the demarcation flanked by sparkling stars above and white caps below.

Kaela had shimmering thick waves of red hair, held back from her face by bronze combs. Her golden-brown eyes, with a dark ring around the iris and fringed with reddish-gold lashes, focused on Ruth with the usual piercing vampire regard. Though the California overlord could pass as human, it was helpful she was in an area populated by Hollywood celebrities. Even for a vampire, Kaela had exceptional looks.

Ruth liked learning history from vampires who'd lived far longer than herself, and wondered if she'd get the opportunity with Kaela. Lady Yvette said she'd been a Confederate spy before she'd been turned.

One had to step carefully toward such memories, though. Kaela had lost a husband in the War Between the States, and years didn't always dull the pain of such a loss.

When Ruth was a child, long before Lady Lyssa was blessed with Kane, Ruth had asked the queen if she had any children. Lyssa had been sitting at the kitchen table, Ruth on her knee as they played a puzzle game. Born vampire children were cherished, because births were rare. So during their growing up years, all vampire visitors, regardless of rank, showed them tender protectiveness and kindness. Even playfulness. But this had not been a playful moment.

Ruth still remembered the flash of anguish in Lyssa's jade green gaze. "No," she'd said, her tone suggesting that hadn't always been the case.

Ruth had tentatively touched the queen's hand. "I'm sorry." She might not know much, but she knew sorry and a touch helped fix a hurt.

Ruth returned to the present. Kaela had risen from her desk and nodded her greeting to Ruth before turning her attention to Merc. After a brief assessment, she executed a short bow. "My lord."

She would have heard Merc's preference through Garron's mind, but the overlord had made her own decision on it. Merc was measuring her just as circumspectly, so perhaps not correcting her was a tactical decision of his own.

When Kaela gestured Ruth into the guest chair, Garron moved behind his Mistress, crossing his arms. Though it was a standard position when the vampire wanted their servant in attendance, the bodyguard vibe to it was obvious. When Ruth tuned in to Merc, trying to determine if it was because of his usual incubus vibes, she realized he had re-channeled and reworked them, creating a comfortable hands-off buffer around Ruth herself.

His vigilance is not entirely because of that, Merc told her.

He can't think I'm a threat.

I'm not certain what it is. But remain on guard.

Since that was her usual operating mode for vampire meet and greets, she didn't disagree.

Kaela's gaze was moving between her and Merc, the silence lengthening.

"Is there a problem, Lady Kaela?" Ruth asked. Courteous, but with an edge that asserted her own rights in this situation.

"No, Lady Ruth. I apologize. Your relationship with the…Truth Vessel, seems to be more than that of a vampire escort from Lady Yvette's Circus. Would you care to satisfy my curiosity on its nature?"

Since she had no desire to hide her attraction to Merc, and vice versa, Ruth had been prepared for the question, somewhat. She'd run it by Merc before they arrived.

I'm fine with however you wish to define it, Ruth, he confirmed again. I know what lies between us.

His response could also be translated another way. I'm fine with however you wish to define it, because I'll be carving my own definition, no matter how I scar up vampire protocols to do it.

The thought provided mild terror and amusement. Plus an unexpected relief that he refused any attempt to mold his behavior. She didn't have to be responsible for it.

No, you don't. Just guide me on the protocols that make sense. I'll ignore the rest.

She suppressed a smile. "Since I'm here to assist him with vampire cultural norms, it was deemed a good idea for him to carry my marks. It helps our coordination and provides me protection as I navigate waters that may rub the Trad the wrong way. Since I'm barely an adult to most vampires."

"Yes. A second mark would handle that adequately." The question hung there. Kaela had a good stare, but maybe because of Merc's reinforcement, Ruth held the Dominant female's gaze with far less difficulty than she usually did. Also a relief.

Unless Kaela asked the question, "Is he third marked?" Ruth wasn't going to volunteer the information. Before she left, she'd confirmed with Mal that he couldn't detect the marks on Merc. But the body language projected during the mind-to-mind communication was a giveaway most vampires recognized, and had probably sparked Kaela's interest.

"What can you tell us about the Trad?" Merc said. He'd chosen a cushioned bench instead of another guest chair. His knees were spread and feet braced. If they'd been visible, his wings would have likely been folded over one another, the tips crossed.

A servant entered with refreshments, a dish of chocolates and dried fruits, and crystal glasses of clear water with ice shaped like crescent moons. When Merc's gaze turned to her, she faltered and would have dropped the water pitcher if he hadn't closed his hand on it and moved it to the desk.

"My apologies, my lady," she stammered.

Ruth gave Merc a narrow look as Kaela reassured the servant with a brief word and sent her on her way. He shrugged.

"It's a hard energy to overlook," Kaela said wryly. "I've attended the Circus and seen an angel there, but at a distance. No offense, my lord, but are all angels this arousing in close proximity?"

"I'm not full angel," Merc said. "The other part is incubus. Sex demon. With a smattering of human blood."

"Ancestry dot com is still trying to work it out," Ruth said.

The overlord chuckled, but her eyes stayed thoughtful. Garron didn't smile. Merc gave him a bland look.

Don't pick a fight with the human servant , Ruth advised. It's bad manners. He's just protective of her.

Very.

Kaela laced elegant fingers on the desk and answered Merc's question. "Are you familiar with Trads, my lord?"

"Ruth and Yvette have told me what little they know."

"The Trads are very secretive. While we know some about their beliefs and how they live their lives, they're very individual in their pursuit of that. We know of no coordinated efforts among them, beyond the acts of small clans. There are vampires in our ranks, like Lord Uthe, or Cai," she glanced at Ruth, "who were raised by or among them, and they've confirmed that. It's best not to extrapolate from one and place that belief upon all.

"We do know they live in forests, mountains, and other remote places. Many are nomadic. Even if they have what approximates a permanent home, they likely have several of them. They'll stay at one for a while if they have a captured human they're ‘storing' as a food source." Her lips tightened. "Or if they're making a breeding attempt."

"No female Trads?" Merc asked.

"None to date. We know of female vampires they've captured, for those same breeding attempts. When it's discovered, the Trads holding them are hunted down, and punishment is meted out. The females are retrieved. If they are still alive. Some take their own lives."

Her eyes flashed. "However, vampires can disappear for reasons of their own choosing, so it's possible there are captive females who have been with them long enough to adapt and accept that life, as worn-down prisoners might. However, Cai and Lord Uthe never encountered any during their time among them."

Ruth's brow creased. "So the Trad meeting with us. How is he different?"

"I wouldn't assume he is. Asva doesn't preach the worst of their nonsense to me, though he supports their rejection of human society. For the most part, he keeps his thoughts to himself. Which is why him contacting me and asking for this meeting got my attention. That, and him asking for a Truth Vessel to be present. Why do that if you're going to attempt deception?"

"He could have spellcraft that he believes can get him past Merc's detection skills. My brother says anything can be hacked with the right magic," Ruth glanced at Merc. "But I think this would be a pretty tough one."

"Agreed." Kaela nodded. "Let's discuss our approach to the meet, to ensure we're all on the same page and he can't take advantage of our lack of familiarity with one another."

Lady Kaela had put a great deal of thought into the possible issues that could arise at the meeting with the Trad, increasing Ruth's confidence in her leadership. She encouraged Ruth and Merc to provide their own input, raising questions that tweaked tactics to extract as much information as possible out of Asva, if he chose to be cagey.

Garron's contributions, many addressing the possibility of it being a trap, confirmed Ruth's guess that he'd once been part of a special ops military unit. He also pointed out a target Ruth hadn't considered.

"You're an angel," he told Merc. "If Asva's working for someone, who's to say they didn't tell him to ask for a Truth Vessel? They draw you here, away from the protections at the Circus, and try to capture you."

"To what end?" Ruth asked.

"If an angel has greater magic and power than the rest of us, he could get vampire females to conceive, right? Or destroy the vampire world you hate so much?"

"They think they could capture and control an angel?"

"It wouldn't be far afield of many of their outlandish ideas," Kaela said.

Merc glanced at Ruth. If any race tried to capture an angel, the Legion would descend upon them. Not so much because they value a half-breed like me, but for the principle of the matter.

I'm going to tell Marcellus you said that, and let him smack you upside your stubborn head.

Merc showed her the tip of a fang, but then their attention was drawn back to Kaela, who'd sat back in her chair. "I think we've prepared as much as we can. My cook has prepared an excellent dinner."

She glanced at Merc. "She'll be delighted to feed a guest who can eat a full plate, but Lady Ruth, I think you'll enjoy the artistry of our vampire portions. She likes being creative with her presentations. I also have two second marked household staff who can mix their blood with selections from my wine cellar, if you need that."

"She does not," Merc said.

Him stating baldly that he was providing her sustenance surprised Ruth, but she concealed it. There was something else she needed to address. A vampire meal with guests wasn't simply a meal. It was a ritual, a demonstration and testing of power, unless the vampire hosting it, or those who outranked her at the meal, indicated otherwise.

"This may be on the obvious side, my lady, but while Merc is carrying my marks, he's not a marked servant. As we're both familiar with the protocols at a vampire dinner, I want to make it clear that they do not fit his situation."

"That's evident, never fear." Kaela's gaze took on a peculiar intensity. "It's not the proper fit for you, either. Is it?"