Jabril (Vampires in America #2)

Jabril (Vampires in America #2) Page 3

She rinsed her mouth and stepped under the hot spray, letting it pound away the tension, forcing herself to put aside her many grievances, shoving them far into the back of her mind. It was how she had survived this long, how she would survive long enough to break away someday, to take Liz and make a life for the two of them far away from Texas and Lord Jabril fucking Karim.

Chapter Four

The thick fabric of her skirt hung heavily on her hips, and Mirabelle tugged at it, trying to settle it comfortably around her legs. Her clothes were unrelieved black—ankle length skirt, t-shirt and loose black sweater, even a scarf to hide her long blond hair. Her shoes were black Nikes, and she wore black old lady socks that rose above her knees, as if somehow the sight of even the tiniest bit of her flesh would prove an irresistible temptation to the male vampires of Jabril's court.

Mirabelle didn't feel irresistible or tempting. She felt old and ugly, and she looked resentfully at the richly dressed men who filled the room. The penile brigade clothed themselves in silks and soft wools in a rainbow of vibrant color.

Mirabelle was the only female vampire on the estate. For that matter, she'd never even met another female vampire, although she knew they existed. Jabril Karim rarely sired female vamps. Normally, he had no use for women beyond the nutritional value of their blood and the sex that came with it—and his basement stable of human blood slaves provided that. He'd made an exception in Mirabelle's case, because she had something else he wanted ... a lot of money.

Fortunately for her, he had yet to figure out a way to get to the money without keeping her alive, assuming a vampire could be considered alive. She didn't know the science of the matter, but she certainly felt alive. Sometimes she thought it would be worth dying for good just to keep Jabril from getting his slimy hands on her part of the money. But then, he'd just go after Liz that much harder, plus she'd be well and truly dead and unable to enjoy his reaction, so that kind of took away from the satisfaction of the whole idea.

With an effort, she forced her thoughts away from Jabril and his followers and onto something more pleasant, what little there was to choose from. She wondered where Liz was. Not that her little sister ever ventured into this part of the house at night. There were only two types of beings in this room—vampires and food. If you weren't one, you were the other. And Liz was determined to be neither, an aspiration Mirabelle had every intention of seeing realized. Bad enough Jabril had succeeded in turning her; she would not stand by and let him turn her little sister as well.

A ripple of movement shivered across the room, and Mirabelle glanced up through her lashes. It was a big room, a “great” room her parents’ architect had called it, with broad pillars dotted throughout the empty space. The pillars were only for effect—Mirabelle knew from a childhood spent playing here that they were quite hollow and not at all the marble monoliths they appeared to be. But that had been before her parents had died, before Jabril had claimed their home for himself. There were no children playing in this room, not anymore. A familiar wave of sadness rolled over her as she remembered all those other times. The grand receptions and parties of Texas society—fund raisers hosted by her parents and others, charitable events where guests stood around sipping cocktails and eating dainty finger foods before writing big tax deductible checks.

She sighed. Jabril had changed the room to suit himself, of course. He'd had most of the furniture removed—there was no need for couches or chairs when no one was permitted to sit, except him. He'd left only a few narrow tables along the walls interspersed with huge verdigris urns whose pale green reflected off the near white of the marble floor. Far overhead, the ceiling arched into a round glass-paned dome whose copper framing bore the same green patina of age. She remembered sunlight shining through those enormous panes of glass, filling the big room with—

She jerked her attention back to the present as double doors burst open to one side, and a hulking, half-naked vampire stalked in, glaring around the room as if expecting someone to challenge him. No one did. In fact, no one so much as met his gaze. They'd all learned long ago that Calixto's idea of a challenge was unpredictably flexible, depending on his mood on a given evening. Vampires might heal injuries quickly, but the pain still hurt like hell. The bodyguard stepped out of the doorway, standing to one side and nodding respectfully into the unseen room beyond.

A moment later, Jabril entered with a regal nod of approval for his guard's diligence. In appearance, the vampire lord was a fit forty-year-old, with black, tightly curled hair worn short, and dark chocolate eyes that were large and round, almost bulbous, with a yellow sclera. To Mirabelle, they had always looked wet—big, wet, yellow eyes. Yuck.

She dropped her own gaze quickly as he approached her. Jabril Karim al Subaie was the scion of a very traditional and conservative Arab family who'd been allies of the Saud dynasty for centuries, longer than even Jabril had been alive. He demanded respectful and submissive behavior from his servants ... and his women.

Mirabelle tensed as the elegant leather shoes beneath his perfectly tailored trousers stopped in front of her lowered gaze. She waited, not daring to look up.

"Mirabelle, my treasure,” he said finally. She fought not to curl her lip at the endearment. There was nothing even approaching affection between them. If she was his treasure, it was only in the most literal sense.

"My lord,” she all but whispered.

"I wonder, my dear, if you have heard from Elizabeth lately?"

She felt a jolt of fear at his words. Shocked into looking up, she met his eyes for brief seconds before her gaze fell once again to his feet. “Elizabeth, my lord?” she managed. “I have not seen her since...” She thought desperately, trying to place Liz's last visit. “I believe it was five days ago, my lord. Just before dawn."

Had something happened? She wanted to scream the question at him, but forced herself to stillness, clenching her fists tightly in the folds of the heavy skirt. If he knew she cared, he would delight in keeping the information from her.

She was aware of his silent scrutiny as he stared at her, sniffing the air like an animal, as if he could somehow smell the truth of her words. But then, she could not lie to him. He was her Sire, her creator, and she was too young and too weak to resist him. He knew her mind nearly as well as she did. She had managed to keep some secrets from him, hidden away in the most private part of her mind, behind walls of misdirection and inconsequential detail. He'd never think to look for the truths she hid, because he had no idea they existed. But he would know if she lied in answer to a direct question. And she was not lying about this. If Elizabeth was missing, Mirabelle had no idea where she was.

"I see,” Jabril said. “Well, that is troubling. Has the woman arrived, Asim?” he asked the vampire standing at his elbow.

"She just cleared the gate, my lord."

Mirabelle listened, eyes downcast, her mind bombarded with questions. Where was Elizabeth? And what woman was Jabril talking about? Did she know something about Liz? She was so caught up in her own questions that she almost missed Jabril's next words, jerking in fear when he spoke right in front of her.

"You will remain here, Mirabelle."

"My lord,” she squeaked breathlessly, folding into a deep bow and remaining there until she was certain Jabril had moved well away. When she straightened, she did so slowly, her eyes still searching. It wasn't beyond Jabril to linger, only to punish her for disrespect. The vampires closest to her observed her cautious behavior with little snickers of disdain, and she felt a pang of old hurt. Once upon a time, these same vampires had treated her with the fondness due a younger sister. Over the months following her turning, they'd seen Jabril discard her, seen him treat her with utter disrespect. Seeking to please their master, they'd followed his example one by one until she'd been completely isolated, alone in a room full of vampires. Stifling a sigh, she ignored their snickers for now, knowing they could do no more than smirk. Until her twenty-fifth birthday, until Jabril had absolute control over her money, no one was allowed to touch her. No one except Jabril.

Mirabelle shuffled backward until she stood against the wall, head bowed, hands fisted at her sides, wanting nothing more than to be invisible. She gazed cautiously around the room, trying to gauge the mood of the other vampires. They stood in bright clusters, talking and laughing too loudly, their voices echoing off the marble floors and high ceiling. Jabril had moved to a low dais at the front of the room, seating himself on an oversized wooden chair elaborately carved with gilded detailing. The back and seat were cushioned in deep bronze satin with gold embroidered trim. A throne by any other name, Mirabelle thought.

She didn't care. Let him have his throne, let him have his sycophantic followers filling the room and jostling for position, trying to get close enough to preen and fawn for his attention. Not Mirabelle. The last thing she wanted was Jabril's attention. She'd much rather be hiding in her closet, checking the message boards for some sign from Liz. Because if Jabril truly didn't know where Liz had gone, she might have run, might have escaped this hellhole that had once been their home. And if that was so, she'd try to send word to Mirabelle, to let her know she was safe. They both knew Liz had to be careful, that any information she gave to Mirabelle could be pried from her mind by Jabril. But she'd send something. She wouldn't let Mirabelle worry for nothing. And Mirabelle was very worried right now.

A door in the back of the room opened with a bare whisper of sound. Mirabelle looked up along with everyone else and saw one of the vampire lord's many bodyguards slip inside. They were enough alike that she rarely bothered to distinguish among them. Hulking men with dark hair and dead eyes, dressed all in black from shoes to shirt. This one paused, his back to the closed door, and looked to the front of the room, questioning. Mirabelle followed his gaze and saw Asim whisper briefly to Jabril who raised his eyes and nodded to the bodyguard.

Curious, Mirabelle turned back to the entrance in time to see an unfamiliar woman stroll through. She was tall and slender, her dark hair hanging in a ragged shoulder length cut, her green eyes sweeping the room with a seemingly idle gaze. Mirabelle barely stifled the gasp of longing that stabbed through her hard enough to hurt. The woman was everything Mirabelle knew she would never be—beautiful, confident ... free. That green gaze fell on her briefly, and Mirabelle saw a flash of humor. She knew in that moment it was all a pose, a deliberate play for attention. And it was working. Every vampire in the room was staring at the visitor hungrily, wondering what it would be like to bury his teeth in that slender, soft neck. Jabril and his vampires might disdain women as something lesser, but that didn't keep them from lusting after them all the same. Mirabelle sighed, loud in the silence. The woman met her eyes again and winked.