Chosen by Blood by Virna Depaul

are negotiable.”

THREE
    VAMP DOME
PORTLAND, OREGON
    T he next day, Knox hesitated outside his mother’s bedroom door just as a feminine laugh drifted through the smoothly polished wood. A wave of relief coursed through him, so intense he actually had to flatten one palm against the door to steady himself. He and the children had been in France for only a few days. When they’d returned, his mother had been too ill for visitors, so he’d left to meet with Mahone before he’d had a chance to see her.
    It appeared his mother was feeling better. Perhaps she’d been given an infusion of pure blood or perhaps she’d simply fought off the weakness herself. Whatever had happened, Bianca Devereaux was laughing for the first time in a very long time.
    Knox closed his eyes. Three hundred years ago, his mother had been vibrant and healthy, with long silver hair that sparkled more than the most precious of jewels and pale skin reminiscent of rose-infused cream. She’d looked exactly like the Queen she was—elegant, ethereal, almost too beautiful to be real—a royal vampiress whose pure blood was reflected in her regal posture, tall, slim lines, and symmetrical features. Back then, Knox had been too young to recognize the innate sensuality that had drawn men to her like flies, but she’d been fierce in her affection, in the way she’d taught him right from wrong, and in her devotion to her clan. She’d been strong, so much stronger than most female vampires once they had children, Noella included. That had started to change after Knox’s father had died.
    Or to be more precise, his mother had changed, right after Knox’s human father had been executed for treason by order of the High Vamp Council. Given the circumstances, the vampire Queen’s attempts to overrule the Council’s order had been ignored.
    Straightening, Knox tapped on his mother’s door. When it opened, he almost winced. He’d let himself dream because of one soft laugh. Looking at her now, there was no denying his mother barely resembled the strong vampiress she’d been at the beginning of the French Revolution.
    It wasn’t simply that she’d physically aged when, as an immortal, she should have looked exactly as she had when Knox had been born. It wasn’t even the fact that grief had creased a perpetual furrow between her brows or that the hair that had once been smooth and shiny was now dull and clipped close to her head.
    No, his mother’s decline was most evident in her grayish pallor and the sunken hollows of her cheeks. Beneath her nightdress, her limbs were frail, sleek muscle having long given way to sagging skin and protruding bone. Her eyes glimmered so feverishly that for a moment he feared for her sanity, but then she raised a trembling hand to his cheek. “Son. I’m glad you’re home.”
    Knox quickly clasped his mother’s hand, kissed it, then cradled it against his face. As relieved as he’d been to hear her laugh, he was twice as relieved to hear her voice, soft and steady, cognizant of who he was.
    With a small smile, she dropped her hand and motioned him inside the luxurious sitting room that adjoined her bedroom. Sinking onto a chaise covered in a creamy damask silk, she patted the cushion beside her. When he sat, he saw the photos and memorabilia scattered on the small coffee table. He wondered what had produced the laugh he’d heard. Wrapping her hands around one of his arms, she nestled her head on his shoulder. “So how are my grandchildren faring? Did Michelle and her family spoil them rotten?”
    “You mean you don’t know already?” Knox teased, already aware his mother would never take liberties, even if she could, by reading his mind without permission. Long ago, the vamps in his clan had discovered a way to prevent other vamps from exercising their powers over one another; it wasn’t so much suspicion that had motivated the invention as much as a common need to feel secure in one’s own skin. Walking around