“Just Merit,” I said, and stuck out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Jeff.”
Rather than reaching out to take my outstretched hand, he stared at it, then looked up at me. “You want to shake? With me?”
Confused, I glanced back at my grandfather, but before he could answer, Catcher, his gaze on a thick ancient-looking book in front of him, offered, “It’s because you’re a vamp. Vamps and shifters aren’t exactly friendly.”
That was news to me. But then, up until twenty minutes ago, so were the existence of shifters and the rest of Chicago’s supernatural citizens. “Why not?”
Catcher used two fingers to turn a thick yellowed page. “Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to know that?”
“I’ve been a vamp for three days. I’m not really up on the political nuances. I haven’t even had blood yet.”
Jeff’s eyes widened. “You haven’t had blood yet? Aren’t you supposed to have some kind of crazy thirst after rising? Shouldn’t you be, you know, seeking out willing victims for your wicked bloodlust?” His gaze made a quick detour to the stretch of T-shirt across my chest; then he grinned up at me through a lock of brown hair. “I’m O neg and completely healthy, if that matters.”
I tried not to grin, but his enthusiasm over my notably un-buxom chest was endearing. “It doesn’t, but thanks for the offer. I’ll keep you in mind when the wicked bloodlust hits.” I looked around for a chair, found an avocado green monstrosity behind one of the two empty metal desks, and sank into it. “Tell me more about this vamp-shifter animosity.”
Jeff shrugged negligently and went back to tinkering with a vaguely octopus-shaped stuffed animal on his desk. A buzz sounded, and my grandfather pulled a cell phone from a hip holster, took a look at the caller ID screen, then glanced up at me. “I need to take this. Catcher and Jeff will get you started.” He looked at Catcher. “She’s trustworthy, and she’s mine. She can know everything that’s not marked Level One.”
At my smile and nod, he turned and disappeared through the door.
I had no idea what Level One was, but I was pretty sure that was the stuff I’d really want to know. Or it was the stuff that would scare the crap out of me, so it was probably better not to press the point today.
“Now you can get the real scoop,” Jeff said with a grin.
Catcher snorted and closed his book, then slid back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. “You met any vamps yet? Beyond Sullivan, I mean?”
I stared at him. “How did you—”
“Your name was in the paper. You’re Cadogan’s vamp, which mean’s you’re Sullivan’s vamp.”
My skin prickled. “I am not Sullivan’s—”
But Catcher waved a hand. “Babe, not the point. The point is, and I’m guessing from that bristly tone you’ve met Sullivan and you understand at least the basics of vamp politics, that your people, and I use that term loosely, are a little particular.”
I gave him a sly smile. “I’ve gotten that sense, yeah.”
“Well, shifters aren’t. Shifters are happy. They’re people; then they’re animals; then they’re people again. What’s not to be happy about? They live with their friends. They drink. They ride their Harleys. They party in Alaska. They have hot shifter sex.”
At that revelation, Jeff winged up his eyebrows at me, an invitation in his eyes. I bit down on a grin and shook my head sternly in response. Apparently unruffled, he shrugged and turned back to his computer. Happily.
“Vampires, on the other hand,” Catcher continued, “play chess with the world. Should we let people know about us, or shouldn’t we? Are we friends with this House or that one? Do we bite people, or don’t we bite people? Eek!” He bit down on a crooked finger dramatically.
“Wait,” I said, holding up a hand, remembering something Ethan had said about Cadogan vamps. “Stop there. What’s the story with the biting?”
Catcher scratched absently at his head. “Well, Merit, a long, long time ago—”
“On a continent far, far away,” Jeff threw in.
Catcher chuckled, the sound low and sensual. “Way back when, Europe got pissy about its vamps. Figured out that aspen stakes and sunlight were the best treatment for an overabundance of vamps and took out most of the fanged population of Europe. Long story short, vamps eventually formed the precursor to the Greenwich Presidium, which made the survivors take an oath never to bite another unwilling human.” He smirked. “Instead, in true, manipulative vamp form, they found people who could be blackmailed, bribed, glamoured, whatever into giving it up for free.”
“Why buy the cow?” I asked.
He nodded with approval. “Precisely. When the technology was developed to preserve blood, to bag it, most vamps turned away from humans. Immortality makes for long memories, and some Houses thought they’d be safer if they cut contact with humans almost completely, relied on bagged blood, or shared blood with each other.” At my raised eyebrows, he added, “It happens. The vamp biology needs new blood, a new influx, so it’s not a reliable source of nutrition. But it happens—sometimes ritually, sometimes to pass along strength.”
Jeff’s throat clearing filled the brief pause in Catcher’s explanation. “And there’s the other thing,” he prompted, a flush coloring his cheekbones.
Catcher rolled his eyes. “And some vamps find there to be a . . . sensual component in sharing.” I felt a blush cross my own cheeks and nodded studiously, trying not to think about the details of that act—or any green-eyed vamps it could be performed on.
“Anyway,” Catcher continued, “as times changed, a few Houses, Cadogan included, gave their members the choice.”
“To drink or not to drink,” Jeff put in.
“That was the question,” Catcher agreed. “Some vamps think humans are dirty and biting’s a little too throwback. Cadogan takes heat on it. Not that doing it in secret is any better.”
“Raves,” Jeff said, with a knowing nod.
“What are raves?” I asked, leaning forward, eager to gather as much information as they were willing to pass along.
Catcher shook his head. “We’ll save that sordid little chapter for another time.”
“Okay, then what about vamps being particular?”
“Vamps think their politics, this House bullshit, is the biggest issue in the world. They think it outshines human concerns, world famine, whatever. And a lot of supernatural folks agree. Vamps are predators, alpha predators, and where vamps go, a lot of fey follow.”
“Fey?”
“You know—sups. Supernaturals,” he testily added, at my confused expression. “Anyway, angels, demons, your heavier sorcerers, they pay attention to the Houses. Who’s screwing who, who’s allied with who, all that crap. Shifters, on the other hand, could give a shit. They’re just too laid back.”
“And we’re too neurotic?”
Catcher smiled. “Now you’re getting the picture. Vamps don’t appreciate that shifters are lackadaisical about their problems. Vamps want alliances. They collect friends they can rely on, especially the older ones that remember the European Clearings. Next time you’re at Cadogan House, check the symbols above the front door. Those are alliance insignia; they show who Ethan’s got signed up as allies. Really, they’re backup in case humans get pissed or other Houses decide Cadogan’s drinking is a little too risky. And because shifters don’t play those kinds of games—Keene’s never gonna post insignia over Ethan Sullivan’s front door—vamps ignore them.” Catcher sighed. “There are also rumors that shifters had the chance to step in during the Second Clearing, but chose not to act, not to become involved.”
“Not to save lives?” I asked. Catcher nodded heavily, his expression tight, his gaze on Jeff, who looked to be working to ignore the direction of the conversation.
“I see. And who’s Keene?”
“My pack leader,” Jeff offered, looking up from his keyboard with a bright expression. “Gabriel Keene, Apex of the Central North American. He lives in Memphis.”
“Huh.” I stood up and paced from one end of the room to the other, then back again. The feast of information he’d just thrown at me—needed to be digested. “Huh.”
“Verbal, this one,” Catcher said. Then quickly added, “Jeff, quit staring at her ass.”
There was throat clearing behind me before typing started again in earnest.
This was so much more complicated than I’d imagined. Granted, before the change, I hadn’t thought much about vamps. The few thoughts I’d had—especially after watching Celina Desaulniers seduce her way through a Congressional hearing—weren’t flattering. The few I’d had since—Well, they involved too much Ethan Sullivan and too little anything else.
“I’d love to know what you’re thinking right now, babe.”