Dark Awakening by Kendra Leigh Castle

we’re incredibly good hunters, even among creatures whose senses are naturally far beyond those of humans. But we’re still considered lowbloods. Gutterbloods, many would say.” He tried to keep the old bitterness out of his voice. He’d had to accept a long time ago that in the world that was the night’s underbelly, there were some things that were simply beyond his control.
    “And… how does the mark get there?”
    He knew she was wondering about the intricate marking on her own collarbone.
    Just as he wondered.
    “When you’re sired, which is to say when you’re made a vampire by another one, part of the whole deal is that after they drink from you, you drink from them. At least if you want to keep living. Their blood brands you. I don’t know how else to describe it,” Ty said. “But the mark appears the moment your change is complete. It can be modified,” he continued, remembering the way his blood had burned when the ankh had been added, the way his Cait Sith blood had rebelled against even that single drop of Ptolemy blood. “But it can never be removed. It’s how we’re known. It’s who we are.”
    It was odd, talking about all of this to someone else. He had never sired another and had sworn he never would. He would never do to another what had been done to him, condemning someone else to a life with a mark that invited derision, fear, and often poverty.
    It was as though she could hear his thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lily watching him with intense curiosity.
    “And who are you, then, Tynan MacGillivray? You toldme you’re not actually one of these Ptolemy you’re working so hard to protect. So what does your mark say to other vampires?”
    “The most important thing it says is that I’m a lowblood.” He shrugged. “That makes me unworthy of notice to any
but
the Ptolemy, who tend to prefer my sort when they need people to do the jobs they don’t want to do. Every dynasty has their preferences. But Ptolemy, Empusae, Dracul, Grigori, and a few other smaller dynasties tucked away here and there, they’re where the power is. The highbloods, the ones from dynasties that can trace their roots all the way back to a specific god—or demon—are what you might think of as our aristocracy.”
    Her eyebrows shot up. “Uh, maybe I’m reading this wrong, but if these Ptolemy think you’re so worthless,
why
are you trying to save them?”
    Ty passed another car in a blur, noting that he was doing ninety and might want to slow down a little. He tried to relax, to force himself to loosen up. Lily was only interested in the answers, not trying to judge him, he told himself. Still, it was difficult. He wasn’t used to being questioned. Loathed, yes. But not questioned.
    “Because I’m a part of them, after a fashion,” he said, baring his mark again briefly to explain. “The ankh there—looks a bit like a cross with a loop at the top—came a few years after my siring. Arsinöe herself gave me just enough of her blood to force the mark.” He covered it again, unsettled by Lily’s keen interest in it. “I’m the queen’s personal hunter and am very good at what I do. I’m not supposed to save them, by the way. You are. I’m just facilitating.”
    “Thanks for reminding me.”
    He smirked at the testy note in her voice. “You don’twant the satisfaction of knowing that you’ve saved the oldest vampire dynasty, earning their queen’s eternal gratitude?”
    “I would have preferred to have a choice.”
    He felt a twinge of sympathy. “Sometimes you just have to accept the hand you’re dealt.”
    “And sometimes you get abducted by some vampire bitch’s pet cat.”
    Her words were unexpectedly heated, and they sliced through Ty even though he knew she hadn’t intended them to. She was just venting and looked lost in her own thoughts. But she couldn’t know how close her words hit to home. His animal side had condemned him to such remarks for centuries