Page 5 of The Baritone's Rival

“Shut up, Justin,” the big one growled. His eyes flashed as he spit out his answer to Lillian’s accusation. “Who are you? Does this coven even have a name? Or are you just squatting on Azarian property?”

“We are Coven Grosvenor.” Lillian’s voice was flat and cold. “We are the only coven of New York City.”

“Grosvenor, huh?” The muscular vampire sprayed saliva as he spoke. “Figures a couple of Brits would kill off Charles and try to take over a red-blooded American coven. Listen up. I had anarrangement with the Azarians. I get to hunt the city in exchange for providing extra security.”

“We don’t need extra security.” This time it was Freddie who spoke, his voice low and commanding. “And no one hunts in New York. We have bagged blood enough for any who need it.”

“What kind of sissy wants blood from a bag?”

“If you feed in New York, you feed from a bag.” Freddie’s tone grew deadly. “Otherwise you can leave. Now release the human.”

“Please, Rick?—”

With a growl, the big one picked up Justin by the neck and threw him against a nearby car, smashing the passenger side window. Oscar winced at the sight of Justin’s head, now hanging at an unnatural angle. Rick, if that was his name, had done real damage.

“Justin!” Oscar ran over to the slight man crumpled by the car. The muscular vampire took off, still holding on to his shirtless human, and Lillian pursued him. Freddie turned to Oscar.

“Take him to the covenhouse if you think he can be trusted. I’m going to back up Lillian.”

Oscar nodded, turning to Justin, who was drifting in and out of consciousness.

“Oscar! You’re…you’re alive. I’m so glad!” The small blonde vampire blinked quickly, trying to get his eyes to focus. “Where’s Rick?”

“If you’re talking about the brute, he ran. The coven master went after him.”

“Maybe I’ll be...lucky. Maybe he’ll kill him.”

Oscar reached down, feeling for where Justin’s neck had bent so grotesquely. “I’d say the chances are quite good. Freddie doesn’t cotton to anyone hunting humans in his adopted city.”

“Freddie? You call your coven master Freddie?”

“Well, Coven Master Grosvenor is a mouthful. He prefers Freddie.” Oscar bent down, making hard eye contact with Justin. “I’ll need to straighten the vertebrae in your neck so that your vampire healing can kick in. I’m afraid it’s going to be painful.”

Justin let out a shaky breath, then nodded. “Do it quick.”

Oscar grasped Justin’s head between his hands. This would be awful. It’s not that Oscar was squeamish, but he’d seen enough bloodshed and violence in his last coven to tide him over for the next hundred years.

Setting himself, Oscar breathed in andpulled. There was a loud crack, and Justin let out a strangled scream. Oscar’s stomach clenched at the sound. He grabbed Justin’s hand.

“Come on, deep breaths.”

Justin looked up at him, tears in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, and promptly passed out, slumping forward against Oscar’s chest.

Oscar sighed and lifted Justin into his arms. He’d always been a sweet kid. It hurt Oscar’s heart to see him like this. He would feel better with some rest and a couple of bags of blood.

When Freddie and Lillian returned,Oscar was spread out on a chaise lounge in the large shared space that took up the entire second floor of the covenhouse. Freddie had knocked down the walls that separated the apartments on that level, forming an enormous, long hall. Coven members would meet up there, relaxing together, playing games or watching bad television.

Style-wise, the place was a mass of contradictions. Freddie’s taste in home decor ran to the Victorian, which clashed with the modern architecture of the Upper West Side apartment complex. The lush fabrics and wooden furniture were a strangecontrast with the steel and concrete, and Oscar wasn’t certain it worked. That being said, the velvet chaise was incredibly comfortable andalmostlong enough to contain Oscar’s full height.

If he’d been stretched out, his toes would have dangled off the end, but they were folded up under him as he sipped from a large goblet of dark red wine. He flipped through a men’s fashion magazine.

“You can’t get drunk.” Freddie’s gruff voice held a hint of a tease. “I don’t know why you insist on such an expensive vintage.”

Oscar turned to see Freddie unbuttoning his shirt. It was covered in blood.

“I take it you dealt with Rick?” Oscar sipped his drink.

“He threw the human at us and managed to escape. Lillian took the poor fellow to the ER.”

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