Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 11-15 - Laurell K. Hamilton [533]
“They are masterless, Anita. The master that made them died, and the sourdre de sang that created their line was destroyed, too. They survived the destruction of their line, but it weakened them.”
I looked up at the blond’s face, Truth or Wicked, I didn’t know which he was. He was staring at Malcolm, but the look in his eyes said it was the truth. “If you had blood-oathed them, they’d have a master right now.”
“I allowed them into my church. Most masters would kill them.”
“Why?”
The vampire on the ground answered, “They fear us,” in a strangled voice.
The blond said, “Don’t talk, brother, I will talk for you. They fear that if other vampires knew we survived the slaying of our entire bloodline, then others might wonder if they could kill those that enslave them, too, and survive.”
“Brother?” I said.
The blond looked up at me, fresh tears giving his blue eyes a reddish cast. “Truth is my brother.”
Shit, I thought. “Is Malcolm right, if we remove the knife will . . . Truth not heal it?”
“Once, yes, but the death of our line did weaken us. When a silver weapon is used, we heal like a human.”
I looked down at the hilt sticking out of the vampire’s chest. “If he was human, he’d be dead already, he’s not.”
“He is dying, Anita, can you not feel it?” Malcolm said.
I put my hand on the vampire’s chest, near the blade, in the cooling blood in his clothes, and I concentrated. I felt his energy, for lack of a better word, fading.
He took a deep gasping breath and had trouble getting the next breath.
“Shit, he’s bleeding to death.” He was losing so much blood his body was beginning to shut down. Shit. I looked at the blond. “If we just sit here, he will die. If we pull the blade out, I may be able to save him.”
“How?” the blond asked. I just couldn’t think of anyone as Wicked, not as a name.
How? That was the question. If Jean-Claude were here, we could blood-oath him. Of course, now with the marks wide open between us, Truth could take my blood and be bound. Primo had found that out by accident, now it had possibilities.
“I’m going to contact my master, the Master of the City. If he agrees, I’ve got an idea.” I called in my head, “Jean-Claude.”
I had a sense of movement around him. He was in the club. “Oui, ma petite, you rang?”
I didn’t use words, I let him riffle through my head in a kind of shorthand. We ended with him feeling amazed. “The Wicked Truth here in America.”
“You know them?”
“They are the only vampires in our history to purposefully hunt down their line and murder them.”
That threw me. “What, why?”
“I knew their master, and his master, the sourdre de sang. They were warriors, ma petite, such warriors. They were to battle what Belle Morte is to sex.”
“So, are they too dangerous to bring on board?”
“Do you know what happens when the source of a line goes mad?”
It seemed like a trick question, but I said, “Something bad.”
He laughed inside my head, and it made me shiver. “All in their line suddenly began to slaughter people without pay, without politics, or motive of any kind. I was still with Belle at the courts. I know that the council was planning on sending assassins, but two of the vampires in the line took action. They saved us from coming to attention in England, and for that the council was grateful, but they slew their source of bloodline, their creator, and that is a death sentence among us.”
“So why aren’t they dead?”
“Because some on the council interceded. I do not know why, or even entirely who, only that Belle voted for them to live, but they were masterless and sent to roam as they would with the hand of any master that met them turned against them. If they could slay their fountain of blood and survive, then most considered them too dangerous to survive.”
“How do you feel?”
“What are you offering, ma petite?”
“Remember what happened with Primo?”
“You will feed Truth, and he will be bound to me and to you, is that it?”
“Yeah.”
“They are not the