Page 1 of Blood Mosaic

Chapter One

The vampire traced a finger over blood-red tesserae set into the intricately composed mosaic that lined the walls of his day chamber.

Sire.

Lover.

Mate.

Brother.

Friend.

Each one singular. Each unique.

Each one dead by his hand.

One after another after another, each tessera flashed in the light of his fire before dissolving into the shattered pattern that made up his endless night.

He spread a thin layer of cement next to the newest section of the mosaic—a jagged landscape filled with deep blues and greens—and placed a large glass tile onto the wall, red glass snipped and melted into the shape of a half-moon.

The new tile positioned, he quickly placed smaller tesserae around it, counting each like the victims of the vampire he’d helped to kill. He turned the solitary moon tile into a burst of scarlet bleeding into the blues and greens.

After the tesserae were placed, he stepped back and looked at the rhythm and balance of his work. The pattern was even and blended well with the larger motif.

He would wait until the cement cured before he set the grout that would fix the glass tiles into place among the ceramic and stone tesserae he’d used over the centuries.

The cold stone walls of his castle in the Eastern Carpathian Mountains had been gradually decorated over centuries by his own hand. The fortress rose from a river valley and spread into the surrounding mountains, a grey stone citadel teeming with vampires and the humans who served him, all of them surrounded by the intricate art that covered the corridors and ceremonial rooms. Even his armory was decorated with mosaics.

But this particular chamber was his alone, and few had trespassed in nine hundred years. This chamber was locked against the sun, barricaded against those who might harm him, guarded by loyal humans during the day and his own fierce reputation during the night.

Oleg Sokolov, the fire vampire lord of Kievan Rus, heir of Truvor the Red, and anonymous head of numerous multinational corporations, stood shirtless in his day chamber, playing with a lick of fire that danced in his hand and contemplating how he would finish the border of the pattern that had occupied his mind for over a week.

The mosaic in his day chamber was a record of his life, the only one he hadn’t destroyed, and it covered two-thirds of the stone walls with scenes of blood, conquest, and victory over his enemies.

The chamber was as much studio as bedroom, the wall behind him lined with strictly organized shelves containing glass in all colors, ceramic tiles, and carefully cut stone. The tools of his art were a mix of ancient and modern, but most had been custom made for him and had lasted for centuries.

He heard a firm knock on his door. Only one of two people would disturb him in his private rooms. Walking toward the heavy oak door, he tossed the dancing flame in his hand toward the fireplace in the corner, then flipped open the wooden cover over the small window cut into the door.

The grim face of his current chief financial officer stared back. “I need to talk to you.”

He’d told Elene he wanted the week to himself, and she wouldn’t have disturbed him if it wasn’t important.

He let out a short grunt and snapped the window closed, then walked back to his workbench and pumped water into a basin to wash his hands before running a damp rag over his bare shoulders to remove any dust. Finally he forced a comb through his wavy russet hair.

Glancing in a small oval mirror tacked to the wall above the basin, he made sure his beard hadn’t grown wild in the heat and humidity of his chamber, then threw on a shirt hanging from a peg and buttoned it halfway up his chest.

Oleg kept no modern technology in his day chamber—the magic of the current world had its uses, but not where he rested during the day. This stone room was illuminated by multiple braziers he lit himself. He had no need for electric lights that would buzz and irritate him like summer insects.

Neither did he have need for hot water to bathe when he preferred the cold mountain stream water that soothed the elemental fire running under his skin. A simple pump carried the water to his chambers for washing and to keep his rooms damp enough to control his element.

Warm air was circulated by vents designed by a wind vampire four centuries before, and plumbing consisted of concealed drains along one wall.

“Oleg!” Elene shouted through the door. “I don’t have all night.”

“I’m coming.” He had no need for modern communication devices when he hired humans to keep in touch with the modern world so they could report to him.

The most important human was the woman on the other side of the door.

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