Silence Fallen
Page 53
There were, by his count, sixty people in the room, not including the waitstaff. Adam’s small pack was vastly outnumbered. That was probably not an accident. Some of the guests were human. A few were other, people who were magical but fit poorly into established categories.
Adam was mostly intrigued by the people he didn’t see. Bonarata had Lenka, the werewolf he had enslaved. But she wasn’t the only nonvampire Bonarata had in his arsenal. He’d had a powerful witch at one time, though she seemed to be missing—but there were others in his hire now. The only werewolves in the room were in Adam’s party—and Elizaveta was the only witch.
By the time Adam made his way to his table (he aimed for Bonarata, assuming that would be where he’d be eating) the others were seated. The Lord of Night had placed himself across from Adam. Marsilia was seated on Adam’s right (Bonarata’s left), and a strange vampire had the seat to Adam’s left.
“You like the room?” asked Bonarata pointedly. “You took your time examining it.”
“I take care of my people,” Adam said with a peacefulness won from a hand on his knee and watching Honey ignore the people ignoring her—and the solid connection of his mate bond. He decided that he could also be gracious. “The room is elegant—and interesting.”
“You were going to explain what happened to Mercy after you brought her here,” said Marsilia.
Bonarata sighed. “Not knowing anything about her, except that Wulfe had told me she was powerful—not strong, I grant you, but powerful—I put her up in a safe room outside this house, where I could keep her protected from my people and keep my people safe from her. She woke up, and we had a polite discussion. I thought all was well when I was called away to deal with other issues. I left my own werewolf to guard her. At this point, I was more concerned with my people hurting her rather than the other way around.”
“Concerned,” thought Adam, could be a very unspecific word.
“You left your bloodbitch to guard Adam’s mate,” said Marsilia, real anger in her voice. She looked at Adam. “He stole the wolf female from the Milan Alpha because he could. When the Alpha objected, Iacopo had him brought here and tortured him until he’d broken them both. But Iacopo—”
“Jacob,” corrected Bonarata softly. “Jacob is easier for my American contacts.”
“—Jacob,” continued Marsilia without a change in her voice, “doesn’t feed from males. So he had the Alpha killed but kept his mate. She was quite mad when I left here. I cannot think that a few centuries will have helped her.”
All of which Marsilia knew that Adam knew, which meant that she was bringing it up to get a reaction from Bonarata. It wasn’t working.
“If Mercedes had not run, the wolf would not have chased her,” Bonarata said easily. He didn’t address or acknowledge Marsilia’s charge except for that correction over his first name. “She would not have disobeyed me. Mercedes was safe until she tried to run.”
Adam understood what he was hearing. Mercy had not been what Bonarata was prepared to deal with, so he’d set her up to die. A very practical thing, really. If there was only one person telling the story, there could be no debate about what had happened.
Food was served at just that moment. Adam held his tongue and watched as a very rare steak was set out for him while he fought the beast inside him to a standstill. As soon as all of those eating food were served, vampire waiters brought out trays with golden goblets that they placed before the vampires. The last person served was Bonarata.
He held up his goblet and said, “Eat and drink, my friends. Tonight is a glorious night, and tomorrow will be better.” Then he said something in Italian. Adam was pretty sure the vampire was just repeating his words.
He sipped his drink, and Adam did, too, because there was nothing wrong with drinking to tomorrow. As soon as Bonarata set his goblet down, people started to eat.
Most of the place settings were silver. Adam’s was gold. He glanced at Honey and saw that her tableware was gold as well. He’d assume that Smith received the same courtesy. Adam cut into his steak and took a bite and chewed with what he hoped looked like thoughtfulness instead of restrained rage. If Mercy had not managed to escape, she’d have been dead when they arrived.
“So,” he said softly, “where is your pet werewolf whose job it was . . . to keep Mercy here, I think you said?”
There was a pause, then the beautiful male vampire to his left said, a hint of amusement in his voice, “She was hit by a bus and is currently recovering.”
And just that easily, Adam’s equanimity was restored.
Adam nodded. “People who stand in the way of my mate’s ability to get herself out of trouble often feel like they were hit by buses. I think this might be the first time it is literally true, though.” He looked at the second vampire. “We weren’t introduced.”
“This is Guccio,” Bonarata said. “He is responsible for the night-to-night running of the seethe. My apologies for not introducing him earlier.”
“Don Hauptman,” said the pretty vampire, “I have heard many things about you.”
Adam opened his mouth to tell him that his name wasn’t Don, when Bonarata spoke. “Signore Hauptman is a young wolf, not even a century old.” He looked at Adam. “‘Don’ is an old term of respect; Guccio meant it so.”
The explanation—though necessary—had been given with a hint of patronization.
Adam was mostly intrigued by the people he didn’t see. Bonarata had Lenka, the werewolf he had enslaved. But she wasn’t the only nonvampire Bonarata had in his arsenal. He’d had a powerful witch at one time, though she seemed to be missing—but there were others in his hire now. The only werewolves in the room were in Adam’s party—and Elizaveta was the only witch.
By the time Adam made his way to his table (he aimed for Bonarata, assuming that would be where he’d be eating) the others were seated. The Lord of Night had placed himself across from Adam. Marsilia was seated on Adam’s right (Bonarata’s left), and a strange vampire had the seat to Adam’s left.
“You like the room?” asked Bonarata pointedly. “You took your time examining it.”
“I take care of my people,” Adam said with a peacefulness won from a hand on his knee and watching Honey ignore the people ignoring her—and the solid connection of his mate bond. He decided that he could also be gracious. “The room is elegant—and interesting.”
“You were going to explain what happened to Mercy after you brought her here,” said Marsilia.
Bonarata sighed. “Not knowing anything about her, except that Wulfe had told me she was powerful—not strong, I grant you, but powerful—I put her up in a safe room outside this house, where I could keep her protected from my people and keep my people safe from her. She woke up, and we had a polite discussion. I thought all was well when I was called away to deal with other issues. I left my own werewolf to guard her. At this point, I was more concerned with my people hurting her rather than the other way around.”
“Concerned,” thought Adam, could be a very unspecific word.
“You left your bloodbitch to guard Adam’s mate,” said Marsilia, real anger in her voice. She looked at Adam. “He stole the wolf female from the Milan Alpha because he could. When the Alpha objected, Iacopo had him brought here and tortured him until he’d broken them both. But Iacopo—”
“Jacob,” corrected Bonarata softly. “Jacob is easier for my American contacts.”
“—Jacob,” continued Marsilia without a change in her voice, “doesn’t feed from males. So he had the Alpha killed but kept his mate. She was quite mad when I left here. I cannot think that a few centuries will have helped her.”
All of which Marsilia knew that Adam knew, which meant that she was bringing it up to get a reaction from Bonarata. It wasn’t working.
“If Mercedes had not run, the wolf would not have chased her,” Bonarata said easily. He didn’t address or acknowledge Marsilia’s charge except for that correction over his first name. “She would not have disobeyed me. Mercedes was safe until she tried to run.”
Adam understood what he was hearing. Mercy had not been what Bonarata was prepared to deal with, so he’d set her up to die. A very practical thing, really. If there was only one person telling the story, there could be no debate about what had happened.
Food was served at just that moment. Adam held his tongue and watched as a very rare steak was set out for him while he fought the beast inside him to a standstill. As soon as all of those eating food were served, vampire waiters brought out trays with golden goblets that they placed before the vampires. The last person served was Bonarata.
He held up his goblet and said, “Eat and drink, my friends. Tonight is a glorious night, and tomorrow will be better.” Then he said something in Italian. Adam was pretty sure the vampire was just repeating his words.
He sipped his drink, and Adam did, too, because there was nothing wrong with drinking to tomorrow. As soon as Bonarata set his goblet down, people started to eat.
Most of the place settings were silver. Adam’s was gold. He glanced at Honey and saw that her tableware was gold as well. He’d assume that Smith received the same courtesy. Adam cut into his steak and took a bite and chewed with what he hoped looked like thoughtfulness instead of restrained rage. If Mercy had not managed to escape, she’d have been dead when they arrived.
“So,” he said softly, “where is your pet werewolf whose job it was . . . to keep Mercy here, I think you said?”
There was a pause, then the beautiful male vampire to his left said, a hint of amusement in his voice, “She was hit by a bus and is currently recovering.”
And just that easily, Adam’s equanimity was restored.
Adam nodded. “People who stand in the way of my mate’s ability to get herself out of trouble often feel like they were hit by buses. I think this might be the first time it is literally true, though.” He looked at the second vampire. “We weren’t introduced.”
“This is Guccio,” Bonarata said. “He is responsible for the night-to-night running of the seethe. My apologies for not introducing him earlier.”
“Don Hauptman,” said the pretty vampire, “I have heard many things about you.”
Adam opened his mouth to tell him that his name wasn’t Don, when Bonarata spoke. “Signore Hauptman is a young wolf, not even a century old.” He looked at Adam. “‘Don’ is an old term of respect; Guccio meant it so.”
The explanation—though necessary—had been given with a hint of patronization.
