by Anne Malcom
“Ah, Rick, you seem to have forgotten something.” I pointed to the mute human when Rick turned at my voice.
Now that their connection was obvious, it was the perfect time for me to get rid of her, as well as the responsibility attached to her. Rick had done the whole intense eye contact thing; didn’t that mean he was going to declare her his and swear to keep her safe and demand she move in with him or some shit?
His face was inscrutable. “It’s not my problem.” That time, his voice was definitely not smooth.
I grinned. “It’s a she, and she’s definitely your problem.”
The human blinked between us with wide eyes. Wide eyes that did not portray innocence. I knew this. There was something vulnerable about her, of course, but the reason I didn’t shove her out onto the street was there was something decidedly fucked up in her too, and I was interested in seeing how that would come out.
And it would seem that it was going to come out and ruin the king’s perfectly ordered life.
Aces.
His feigned blank gaze focused on me, but I saw straight through it. “And why is that?” he asked.
My grin grew wider. “Because you’ve totally got the hots for the weird witch chow who doesn’t seem to talk and is most likely psychologically unhinged.” I winked at the mute human. “I’m not sure which one of those things makes me like her more. It’s probably the unhinged part. I can relate.”
He blinked. Once. That was his only reaction.
Yep, he totally liked her.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Isla, we have a rebellion to fight, a possible uprising on our hands, and maybe even the exposure of our world. I don’t have time for your idiocy,” he said, the bite to his voice telling me I’d hit the mark because it was precisely the reaction that betrayed his emotion.
“I’m a lot of things, but I’m not an idiot,” I shot back, voice light and bathing in his discomfort. “And I’ve noticed all those things. I’ve actually sacrificed some of my best accessories to all those things, not that anyone’s noticed. I’m not babysitting the human, no matter how insane she is. I have a life.”
I didn’t actually mind babysitting the human, since she didn’t piss me off. But I lived to piss other people off—namely Rick—so I was using her to that end.
Rick quirked his brow, ignoring the human who was regarding him with rapt attention. And maybe equal parts fear. But not the right kind of fear a human would have around the king of all vampires. No, something else.
“I don’t think you have a choice. I’m your king and I command you. If you throw her out the window or on the street, there will be serious repercussions.” On his fatal promise, he left.
Fuck, that’s exactly what I’d been thinking of doing.
I sighed and looked at the human. “I’m thinking we’re both fucked.”
Then I looked to Thorne, my beating heart taunting me.
“And not even in the good way.”
Chapter 4
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I turned. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere,” I replied to Thorne’s growl. I picked up my purse. “I know I’m going to work. We can’t have sex, and I don’t feel like sitting around here and lamenting about prophecies and the sort of grisly demise my ex and my mother are thinking up for me right at this moment.”
I screwed up my nose, and Thorne’s energy pulsated through me, as it seemed to whenever I mentioned my demise. Or my mother. Or definitely the man who had broken my heart, quite literally, and was now gearing up to not only kill everyone I loved, but to get me as his queen.
Not that it was going to happen—because I wasn’t going to let it—but Thorne was still touchy about it.
I ignored that and thought on my options, if not work, or reading or waiting for someone to give me something to kill. “I guess I could take Scott on a hybrid hunting mission or go taunt the big, bad, all evil, all-powerful witch—maybe get some pointers on how she got that title so I could get there myself,” I pondered. Sophie still hadn’t returned, and Duncan was beginning to regret his eagerness to babysit. I waved in dismissal. “But no, I just got a manicure, and I’ve got a feeling any and all those things would fuck it up. So work it is.”
“You’re not going to work,” Thorne said, folding his arms.
I tilted my head and smiled. “Aw, that’s sweet. You think you have a say in the matter.”
His jaw ticked. “We’re in the middle of a war.”
I nodded. The whole battle in Russia had only happened a week ago, and then there were all the news stories talking about hoaxes and terrorists that the Sector was obviously scrambling to use as an excuse. “And a recession,” I added. “I’m a high-powered CEO and a boss-ass bitch. I’m not going to let the possible end of the world fuck up my empire. That’s not how I roll.”
I tried to walk past him, but of course, he didn’t let me. His grip would’ve bruised my arm, you know, if I had actual blood flow.
I glanced down at the purplish mark. Fuck, I did have blood flow. The beating in my heart kind of made me a little more breakable.
Thorne didn’t know that.
Until now, obviously.
“Fuck,” I hissed, yanking my arm from his grip. The bruise disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared, but the damage was done.
Vampires didn’t bruise, as a rule. Our healing was normally too rapid for that. Unless someone punched us really fucking hard, of course. But definitely not from something as simple as a slayer snatching our forearm.
“What’s that?” he demanded, gray eyes zeroing in on my skin in shock. The broken bone was a little easier to explain away as to the slow healing. But a bruise? No. I hadn’t bruised even in the midst of my death curse—not from a simple touch, at least.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, trying to walk past him again. Of course, he didn’t let me, stepping in sync with me so his body was in my path.
I gritted my teeth.
I’m not meant to kill my boyfriend. I’m not meant to kill my boyfriend, I chanted internally. I love him dearly, and I’m sure I’ll remember that soon.
“That’s not nothing, Isla,” he hissed. “You don’t bruise.” He paused, face moving in realization. He stepped forward and, with extreme gentleness, rested his hands on my hips. “When your heart wasn’t beating you didn’t. Now you do. That’s what made your leg heal so slowly, not the curse.”
I rolled my eyes at the concern in his tone, the gentle touch hurting me more than any brutality could’ve. Because treating me like I was weak was worse than breaking any—or all—my bones. Thorne should’ve known that. And it fucking smarted that he didn’t.
“It was only for a hot second,” I snapped, stepping from his grip. Of course, it was easy to do, since he didn’t want to bruise me. “The Awakening does something to vampires to make them… more human, for lack of a better comparison,” I said, talking quickly, hating that I even had to explain this. I knew it would make Thorne crazier, and it was possible that I’d forget I loved him long enough to do something I might regret, like kill him.
“It makes our bodies a little more hospitable for little monsters to gestate in. That in turn makes us a little less… unbreakable.” I gave him a look. “But that doesn’t mean I need to be wrapped in cotton wool. Or treated differently. Being slightly more breakable than a diamond isn’t exactly weak.”
I squinted at him, if only to distort his pure rugged beauty so I could continue being mad. He always used his face and body as a distraction. It was so annoying. “In fact, during my last Awakening, someone tried to insinuate such a thing. A rock demon, if memory serves—which it does—and I turned him into rubble with as much effort as it takes for me to curl my hair.” I glanced away from him to look in the mirror, regard my reflection, and to give him the image, I flicked my locks. “Which isn’t much at all. I’ve mastered the art of soft waves much the same as I’ve mastered the art of killing. It’s in dispute as to whether my hair o
r killing prowess is my best quality.” I blinked at my reflection, my bloodred hair curled softly around it. “I’d say it’s my hair. You know, because I’m vain.”
Thorne was silent for a long time. Long enough for me to swipe an extra layer of lip gloss and check my Instagram feed, reading Channing Tatum’s statement on his breakup for the hundredth time.
“Such a shame,” I said, slipping my phone into my purse.
I glanced up. Thorne hadn’t moved. Obviously.
And he thought I was dramatic.
“Please do not make this into something,” I said. “It’s not something. We’ve got enough somethings. Frankly, I’m sick of you treating me like the damsels in all those insufferable fairy tales. In fact, we talked about this. I kill damsels. I sure as shit am not ever going to identify with them.”
His jaw ticked again, his eyes still glued on my now porcelain and blemishless skin, as if the bruise remained for him and him only.
“You’ve been keeping more secrets,” he commented, eyes thundering with fury that wasn’t injected into his voice. He was forcing himself not to shout.
“Only little ones,” I replied, holding my thumb and forefinger together.
He kept staring.
“Okay, and big ones,” I relented with a sigh. “But what is life without secrets, really?”
His jaw ticked again, eyes glittering. “We don’t have secrets between us, Isla,” he clipped, accusation hot in his tone.
My blood ramped up in temperature, which had nothing to do with the newly beating heart. “Are you really throwing that at me, Prince Thorne?” I asked, my voice venom. “Because me deciding not to clue you in on all the details of my Awakening doesn’t really measure up to you lying about your entire fucking identity.” Unlike him, I wasn’t making an effort not to shout, so I ended on a rather shrill scream.
It suited the moment, so I was rolling with it.
He regarded me, face tight and hands fisted at his sides. “I thought we’d gotten over this.”
I let out a little scream. Then threw a lamp. “I’m a woman. We don’t just get over things!” I yelled. “We stew on them, pretend we don’t, and then when we need to get our own way, we throw your indiscretions in your face because they are not something you get the fuck over.” My fist went through the wall, and the fact that my arm started bleeding kind of fucked with the indestructible fury thing I had going.
And stained my blouse.
That made me angrier.
Thorne stepped forward, eyes on me, anger disappearing as always, concern and love trumping everything else.
Of course he wanted to protect me.
“Nope,” I snapped, holding my bleeding hand up in warning. He stopped because my voice was pure ice, full of murderous promise. “Don’t. I’m going to work. You’re going to go and do something that isn’t pissing me the fuck off, and I’ll call you when I don’t feel like ripping your head from your shoulders.”
I darted out the door before he could say anything else.
Despite my dramatics, I wasn’t over his betrayal. I would never say it out loud, but I was hurt more than I was angry.
A lot more.
It didn’t pay to be hurt.
So I pretended I was angry.
Both to him, and myself.
“Isla, we’re so happy to have you back,” Ashton, my assistant, said, handing me my coffee as I sat behind my desk.
I raised my brow as I scanned through contracts, getting myself up to speed on everything I’d missed, which was a lot. I cursed myself for letting things like being actually cursed, almost dying, and being in the middle of a war stop me from running my business.
That was not what Oprah would’ve done.
“Okay, so while the tyrant was away, the infidels did play,” he relented with a sly smile.
I grinned. “Of course they did. I’m sure you kept them in line. That’s what I pay you for, after all.”
Though I despised humans as a rule, I did quite like this one, and I’d almost missed him. It was nice having someone around who was scared of me not because I was a vampire who could kill him with the snap of a finger, but because I was a beautiful and ruthless CEO who could fire him and insult him so bad he’d wish he was never born.
Very nice, in fact.
Not that I’d tell anyone that.
Ashton was tapping at his own iPad, his acrylic nails flying over the screen in something that would’ve been a blur to the human eye. “Which is why I’m asking for a raise,” he said, not looking up.
I grinned wider. Another reason I liked him: he was shrewd, ruthless, effective, didn’t complain, and had excellent style. Plus, he never commenced in the asinine human behavior of small talk. “I’ll consider it once I see how many people you’ve terrorized,” I said honestly.
Just because I liked one person in my company did not mean I liked the rest. I didn’t have to like them to have them work for me. Didn’t even have to interact with them. That was Ashton’s job, and he performed it with the appropriate malevolence.
He nodded, glancing at his phone as it vibrated. “Your ten o’clock is here.”
I sipped my coffee. “Send him in in about five minutes. I really need to get past this level on Candy Crush.”
He shook his head, then bowed. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
I glanced up. “Your Bitchiness will do just fine.”
He nodded and walked out.
I busied myself for five minutes before the gentle knock at my door interrupted my game. I put the iPad down, pissed off.
“Enter,” I said.
“Mr. Roman is here for your appointment,” Ashton announced.
Then the man otherwise known as Gideon Roman—a hedge fund manager looking to invest heavily in my company—entered the room.
No, the vampire, the one who once had killed an entire family in front of me merely because I’d smiled at them and given them bread from our kitchen because I knew they were struggling to eat.
My fucking father.
I betrayed nothing as Ashton walked him to my chair, asking him if he required refreshments, to which my father declined. Politely, of course.
I was sure it was grating him to have to be polite to a human. I should’ve found some joy in that. But I did not, because I couldn’t rip off his head here and now. This was my workplace, after all; it would be bad taste, among other things.
Like revealing our race to a whole building full of humans.
The last thing I needed was the Sector on my ass when I’d only just been granted a full pardon.
Then again, I was bound to fuck that up sooner or later, so why not sooner?
“That’ll be all, Ashton,” I said through gritted fangs. “Please go work for your raise and terrorize some infidels.”
“I’ll do my level best,” Ashton replied, unaware of the tenuous grip I had over my temper, and therefore his life.
Silence reigned as we waited the agonizing time it took for a human to exit a room. Silence followed even once the door was closed.
“You killed your brothers,” Father said finally.
I shrugged. “They deserved it.” It took everything I had to keep my voice flippant.
He was silent.
He wanted me to get sick of waiting and speak.
Which, of course, I did. I hated to wait. Especially under the cool and heavy weight of my father’s empty and unyielding stare, like all of Russia itself was packaged into his irises.
I leaned back in my chair. “I’m assuming you’re here, as the head of the family, to bring about my execution?” I asked blandly.
He regarded me. “Your actions were sanctioned. Your brothers had committed treason.” His voice was measured, without any emotion that would be normal in a father—even a vampire father—when discussing the death of almost his entire Vein Line.
“And serious crimes to decency,” I added lightly, to cover my surprise. “And not the fun kind.” I inspected him. My father was
marble, as usual. Impeccably dressed. Ditto with his grooming.
He had turned later in life, but he still looked like my slightly older and attractive brother, which he would until the day he died. I really hoped I’d bring that about soon.
“Are you here to kill me?” I asked conversationally, glancing at my emails.
“No, Isla,” he said firmly, with something resembling shock or disappointment in my words.
I arched my brow, eyes still on the screen. “Well, Mother would be terribly disappointed in you.” I glanced back to him, careful to school my expression. “And you’re doing her dirty work, are you not?”
My mother’s insistence that not only did my father have nothing to do with this but that he had some kind of affection toward me was not something that was going to jive. It had to be some sort of trick.
Of course it would be. They wanted to weasel into whatever vulnerability I had toward the family that shunned me, tortured me, routinely tried to kill me, and betrayed me in every way possible.
It was a good plan.
But I was better.
My father regarded me long and hard, and somewhere in the middle of the gaze, I imagined I saw a chink in the marble. Something not quite human, but not quite vampire either.
Then it was gone.
“Your mother has done her own dirty work for centuries now, quite without my help, or approval,” he answered finally.
I sat back in my chair, crossing my legs. “So you’re to have me believe that you’re not involved in the revolution?” My eyes went to the window. I stared at the skyline for the longest time, then finally looked back to my father. “Nope, no flying pigs around.”
He clenched his fists, which were sitting atop his thighs. “You stop with your insipid nonsense and use the brain I know you have, you’ll see the truth.”
I tilted my head. “I’m quite attached to my insipid nonsense, so how about you make me hear the truth instead of see it?”
My father let out a long-suffering sigh. Like I was asking for an extension on curfew instead of a solid reason for him not being behind a rebellion and various plots to have me murdered. “You do not have many allies here, Isla,” he said instead of explaining anything. Of course, that would be too easy.