Page 65 of Dhampira

His faint smile returned. “Know a lot of turned vampires, do you?”

I blinked. “No. I don’t know any.” And Mama had rarely spoken of vampires, turned or otherwise. Secrecy was safety. Even in the privacy of the cottage, we’d acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary. I’d spent my life blending in so I would never be found out.

“There are four types of Noctans,” Vander said. “The first kind serve Rasimir because they revel in cruelty. The second serve out of fear and a desire to live. The third have decided they can do more good than harm by staying close to him. Perhaps, they reason, they can curb his worst impulses. The fourth don’t serve him at all. Not everyone agrees with me, but they’re the bravest among us.”

“Who are they?”

“The Resistance. At least, that’s what they call themselves.”

I sat up straighter, the promise of answers making my blood pump faster. “And this is the war Rasimir is fighting?”

Vander nodded. “They’ve never named a formal leader, which is a smart move on their part. Rasimir would immediately target anyone who challenged him. But informally, two groups pose the biggest challenge to Rasimir’s rule.”

“Witches and werewolves,” Lorcan said, repeating the words he’d rasped in my ear as he warned me not to attempt another escape. When I looked at him, he offered a tired smile. “And if you’re wondering if I revel in cruelty, the answer is yes.”

Vander scowled at him. “Only because you’ve been a fool. You should have let me handle the wolf.”

“Excellent plan, Captain.” Lorcan leaned forward. “Next time, I’ll be sure to let the werewolf rip my throat out while you return from chasing the other werewolf. Did he get away?”

Vander was quiet for a moment. “I’ll track him later.”

“Fuck,” Lorcan muttered, shoving a hand through his hair.

“You could have held the first one off,” Vander said, his tone growing hotter. “But you wanted his strength. And look where it got you, losing control—”

“My control is fine,” Lorcan snapped.

Vander’s eyes widened. “Is that a jest?”

“No more so than the one sitting in front of me.”

The bench shook as Vander jumped up. He stabbed a finger at Lorcan. “You always do this. You know you’re wrong, so you resort to insults rather than simply admitting you were too greedy to pass up a chance at more power.”

Lorcan was on his feet in a blink. “What would you have me do?” He flung a hand toward me. “Let them kill her? You know that’s what they want.”

“What?” I gasped, standing.

Both men jerked their heads toward me. The splash of water cut through the silence.

“Who wants me dead?” I demanded. Vander’s shoulders lifted as he sighed. The movement broke the tension, draining the masculine aggression from the air.

“Sit,” Vander said, motioning me to the bench. “Please,” he added more softly.

I eased back down, but my wariness remained as he settled beside me once more.

Lorcan stayed standing, his arms folded over his chest and his black cloak trailing to the grass. His posture was intimidating, but his eyes were somber as he looked at me.

“You are Rasimir’s heir,” he said. “He’s spent centuries stealing power from other immortals. But one race is more versatile than the others, their abilities limited only by their ambition and distaste for battle. They speak magic as a language, wielding a variety of powers with words alone.”

The strange words he and Vander had used echoed in my mind. Rasimir had used them, too. “Which race?” I demanded, but I had an idea. The woman from the dungeon flashed in my mind, her snarled Blood traitor ringing in my ears.

“The witches,” Lorcan said, confirming my suspicion. “Unlike us, they don’t have to steal magic. They possess a variety of magical gifts, and they can accumulate more by ripping power words from other witches. The strongest witches possess dozens of these words. The ancients among them have hundreds. Rasimir has hunted the witches to the brink of extinction, draining them so he can borrow their abilities. Of course they want to kill any potential successor.”

My body flashed hot and then cold. I’d been brought into Nocta against my will, and now an entire magical race wished me dead. “You steal magic, too,” I told Lorcan. “Do the witches want to kill you?”

“Everyone wants to kill me.”

Vander tossed Lorcan a look of annoyance before turning to me. “Rasimir isn’t the fastest or strongest vampire. He’s not even the cleverest. But he possesses something unique. Something that has allowed him to rule Nocta for five hundred years.”