by Sadie Moss
Carrick scoffed. “My son, I don’t know what—”
“I challenge you for the throne. Step down or die, old man.”
My father’s face froze. Although the man was a master manipulator, I knew the look of shock on his face was genuine. He’d turned me all those years ago with delusional plans of the two of us ruling a vampiric empire together. But I had never wanted this life.
Never wanted to be a vampire. Never wanted to be a king.
I’d spent so many years denying the legacy he tried to force on me that I knew he never expected a threat to his reign to come from me.
Truthfully, a part of me still wanted to deny it. My stomach churned at the thought of taking on such a great responsibility. Of ruling all the vampire clans in North America.
But if I didn’t do it, my father’s rule would go on unchallenged.
And I could no longer allow that.
“My son.” Carrick worked to make his voice sound calm, but I could hear the strain in his words. “There is no need for that. I always intended to share my power with you. We can work together.”
“No, we can’t.” I lifted my chin. “You are not fit to rule.”
Behind me, I could hear Willow’s heart thudding in her chest. She’d stopped breathing. Jerrett and Sol were both tense and alert, ready to leap to my aid if Carrick ordered his men to attack.
The king’s expression hardened. He glanced around at the guards stationed around the room, but what he saw in their faces didn’t seem to bolster his confidence. A few of the guards were the same ones who had been present when the shades attacked the castle—they’d seen the king slink off to safety while they fought, and they didn’t seem particularly inclined to help him now.
“Fine,” Carrick bit out at last. “I had hoped to spare your life, son. But if you think your misguided cause is worth dying for, so be it.”
The arena floor smelled of dust and blood.
It had been over a hundred years since I’d fought in this ring, forced to battle fledgling vampires at my father’s behest in what I now saw as a truly disgusting ritual.
When I left the Penumbra after Ariana’s death, I’d sworn to myself I would never step foot inside this arena again. I’d already broken that vow once to protect Willow. And now I was breaking it again.
This will be the last time.
Carrick strode into the arena from the opposite end, his arms raised above his head as if inviting the crowd to cheer for him. But the gathered throng was quiet, watching in riveted silence.
He had removed his shirt, as I had mine. We would fight in the oldest way vampires knew. Without weapons. Without armor. Tooth and nail, to the death.
The king was twenty years my senior. When I was human, that age difference had meant something. But now that we were both over four hundred years old, those twenty years felt like nothing. Although his body was that of a middle-aged man, he was as strong as I was. Or stronger.
We met in the middle of the large open space of the arena. Carrick extended his hand, making a show of his sportsmanship for the crowd. When I grasped it, he leaned in closer, lowering his voice as he spoke into my ear.
“This is your last chance to back down, son. If I win, I’ll have your friends put to death for treason. And I will feed from your precious fae bitch every day until she begs for death.”
Ice rushed through my veins at his threat. Against my will, my gaze flicked up to the platform at one end of the arena. Willow and my brothers sat staring down at us. Even from this distance, and amidst all the other noises, I thought I could make out the steady thrum of Willow’s heartbeat. Her large eyes were bright with worry, her hands clenched into fists in her lap.
I knew my father meant what he said. If my challenge was unsuccessful, he would take his lingering wrath out on the people who meant the most to me. My brothers would die. Willow would be tortured and then killed.
But as terrifying as that thought was, it only strengthened my resolve—made me more certain I was doing the right thing. I had let Carrick bully and neglect his people for too long. I could no longer ignore it.
“Then I won’t let you win.” My voice was hard as stone.
Carrick’s lips curled back. His fangs had already dropped, and darkness was overtaking his eyes.
We separated, stepping back and circling each other slowly. The crowd had gone completely quiet—or maybe I’d just blocked out every sound, every sight but the man before me.
His frame was similar to mine; I’d inherited my broad shoulders and muscled arms from him. And though the man was a coward, he was a powerful fighter.
My feet moved lightly over the packed earth as I circled to my left, looking for an opening in Carrick’s guard. His muscles bunched a split second before he launched himself at me. I dodged out of the way, but before I could turn back to face him, he swung his large fist like a mallet, catching the back of my neck. A burst of pain made white spots flare in my vision, but I kept my balance. When Carrick threw himself at me again, I grabbed him, using his own momentum to hurl him toward the wall of the arena.
He crashed through the wooden siding, disappearing into the space below the seating banks. Murmurs and whispers rose up from the crowd, but I kept my gaze trained on the darkness beyond the wall, straining my ears to pick up any sign of him.
Seconds ticked by. Slowly, I advanced toward the hole.
Carrick burst through the wall to my left, sending pieces of wood flying as he launched himself at me again. He brought me down, and we rolled over the dusty ground, fists flying. My father reared back, baring his fangs for a killing strike, but I threw my arm up. His incisors tore into the flesh of my forearm instead of my neck.
Gritting my teeth against the flare of pain, I wrenched my arm away, tearing loose from his fangs. Ragged gashes on my forearm bled freely, chunks of flesh dangling from them.
Carrick grinned at me as I leapt to my feet, his teeth red from my blood. I struck out with a flurry of swings, but my wounded arm slowed my movements. The flesh was knitting back together, but until the muscles repaired themselves, I couldn’t make a proper fist.
He dove for me again, but this time I saw the move coming. I met his attack with a blow that sent him flying backward, and the moment he landed, I was on him. My bloody forearm had healed, and I rained down blow after blow to his face, letting memories of his threats to Willow fuel my anger.
When his nose broke with a satisfying crunch beneath my fist, I paused, pinning his head to the ground with a hand around his neck.
“You shouldn’t have threatened her, old man. Maybe it never would’ve come to this.”
Carrick gurgled something, unable to get enough air to speak. I could see a flicker of panic in his dark eyes, fear rising to the surface now that he was no longer winning.
I bared my fangs, staring down at where my bloodstained hand wrapped around his neck.
I can make it quick. He’ll barely suffer.
My heart pounded dully in my chest. As awful as it may be, I’d dreamt of doing this for years. After my father had manipulated me into killing Ariana, I’d wanted to kill him. But something had stopped me then, and the same thing stayed my hand now.
This man was my father.
He was a slimy toad, a bully, and a coward. But long ago—more than four hundred years ago—he had simply been my father. The man who taught me how to hunt, how to trade. Who told me stories when I was a small boy, sitting up with me late at night under the stars. A man I had looked up to.
I lowered my face, keeping my gaze trained on him as I increased the pressure on his neck. “If I let you live, will you yield the throne to me? Will you vow to leave the Penumbra and never return?”
His eyes flared with anger and helplessness, but his face was blotchy, and I could hear his heartbeat stuttering, his lungs heaving. With the slightest of movements, he nodded.
For a few more seconds, I stared into his eyes, warring with myself. I saw fear overtake his features as he rea
lized I wasn’t going to stop.
Then, with a jerk, I pulled my hand away and stood. Carrick rolled to the side, coughing and gasping, holding his damaged throat. Blood spilled from his nose, and he didn’t look the slightest bit royal at the moment. He looked like a pathetic old man.
A deep sorrow filled me, and I turned away from him, facing the crowd and raising my arms. The whispers and murmurs grew in volume, turning into shouts and cheers of approval.
Then a sharp cry rose above the rest of the crowd. Willow.
It was all the warning I got before my father was on me. He leapt onto my back from behind, plunging a dagger into my chest as he sank his fangs into my neck.
Agony tore through me. He’d missed my heart, but not by much. The wound at my neck and the wound in my chest seemed to overtake my senses. I could feel Carrick drinking from me, sapping my strength along with my blood.
He must’ve picked up the knife when he disappeared into the bowels of the arena. He’d wanted a failsafe in case he lost.
And perhaps he’d known I wouldn’t be able to kill him in the end.
My hands felt numb as I reached for the blade protruding from my chest. I needed to get it out so my healing could set in. But before I could, Carrick twisted the blade, sending another wave of pain shooting through me.
I will feed from your precious fae bitch every day until she begs for death.
A soul-deep rage bubbled up inside me as I remembered my father’s promise; it burned like fire through my muscles and veins. I felt my teeth lengthening and sharpening, could feel the skin of my face stretching taut over the shifting bones as battle fury filled me.
Leaving the dagger embedded in my chest, I reached instead for Carrick. Grabbing onto his shoulders, I threw myself forward, hurling Carrick over my body and onto his back. His fangs tore from my neck, blood spurting in a wide arc from where he’d ripped into an artery.
But I was beyond caring.
The monster I’d spent so many years trying to contain was pawing at the walls of its cage, demanding release. And sometimes, it took a monster to defeat a monster.
With a feral roar, I leapt on Carrick. One blood-slicked hand wrenched the dagger from my chest, and in a single movement, I impaled him through the heart.
His eyes went wide.
His hands clutched uselessly at the dagger’s hilt.
Carrick’s heart had stopped beating, but the vampire magic sustained his consciousness for a few moments beyond his body’s natural death.
In that time, no words passed between us. We just stared into each other’s eyes as the life drained from his body. And in those dark eyes, so similar to my own, I saw what could have been. I saw how the two of us could’ve ruled side by side, dominating all those weaker than us. I saw my father’s hope that I would embrace the gift he had given me. And I saw his pain at my rejection.
Then I saw the light of life leave his eyes.
My fangs retracted. The haze of bloodlust faded. Slowly, I reached down and closed my father’s eyes. In death, he looked so much like the man who had raised me that it broke my heart; but he hadn’t been that man for centuries.
I leaned down, pressing a kiss to his bloodied forehead. Then I stood.
“Is there anyone else who would challenge me?” I roared into the crowd.
Silence greeted me. Thank God. The wounds in my chest and throat were closing slowly, but blood still dripped from my neck in slow pulses.
Hiding any signs of weakness, I stared out at the assembled vampires in challenge. Some of the faces gazing back at me appeared pleased. Many looked stunned. A few looked disgusted and angry—my father’s closest supporters. They would have to be dealt with quickly and decisively, or I risked a bloody civil war.
But there weren’t as many angry faces as I’d expected. My father’s selfishness and cowardice had endeared him to few.
I let the silence settle over the crowd, turning slowly to take them all in. When my gaze reached the dais where my brothers and Willow stood, I met the wildcat’s hazel eyes.
Relief, pride, and love stared back at me.
She had seen my beast. And she didn’t fear it.
29
Willow
“Oh fuck. I can’t fucking feel my legs.”
“They’re over here,” I gasped jokingly, struggling to catch my breath as I collapsed into the pile of sweaty, hard male bodies. To drive my point home, I pinched Jerrett’s leg.
“Ow! Oh, thanks, Will. There it is.”
He sat up and leaned over, pressing a sloppy kiss to my lips. Then he collapsed back onto the mattress again.
I ran my hands over the smooth planes of muscle that surrounded me. Jerrett’s leg. Sol’s toned stomach. Malcolm’s large bicep.
Sol buried his face in my hair. “You’re incredible, Willow tree. Every time with you is better than the last.”
A warm feeling swelled in my chest, adding to the flush already covering my breasts. The three of us had been sleeping in the same bed for the past week, ever since our return to the Penumbra. Along with the rest of the repairs to the castle, Malcolm was having Carrick’s old quarters gutted and refinished. In the meantime, we’d taken another large suite in the same wing.
I figured at some point maybe we’d all go back to having our own rooms. And I did want one-on-one time with all the men, time to savor the individual connections I shared with each of them. But after everything we’d been through, I was absolutely fine with sharing all three of them every night for a while. I felt more at ease when I was with them.
And in moments like the one we’d just shared, when they worshipped my body like it was their new religion, and I worshipped theirs right back, I felt more whole than I’d ever imagined possible.
“Right back at you,” I murmured happily, turning my head to claim another lazy kiss from the blond vampire.
As my pulse slowed, and the sweat and streaks of blood on my body cooled, my eyes slowly drifted shut. It was early evening, and although there was so much to do, all I really wanted was to stay curled up on the large bed with my lovers for the rest of the night.
Too bad that most definitely wouldn’t happen.
“Are you ready for this?” Malcolm was sprawled on my other side, and he propped himself up on an elbow to look down at me.
I blinked up at him. “Are you ready?”
He made a face, part resigned grimace and part proud smile. I reached up to run a hand down the side of his face, loving the feel of his warm skin under my fingertips.
“You’ll be amazing,” I promised.
“You both will.” Jerrett cracked an eye open to look at us.
Sol chuckled. “Agreed. So stop worrying about it.”
I made a face, and Malcolm laughed. “Easier said than done, right, wildcat?”
Instead of answering, I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the leather and musk smell I loved so much as Malcolm wrapped his body around mine. His slowly softening cock pressed into my belly, and I relished the feel of being skin-to-skin with him.
Watching Malcolm fight his father had been one of the most terrifying experiences of my life—and that included our hunt for vengeful witch-vampires and deadly shades. When Carrick had betrayed Malcolm, leaping up to attack him after yielding in battle, my heart had stopped. Jerrett, Sol, and I had been on our feet, ready to jump into the fray, when I saw something snap inside Malcolm.
I’d never known what he meant when he talked about the beast inside him, but I understood now. I’d seen it. But I wasn’t afraid of him, and I never would be.
Because the truth was, not all monsters were evil. Some of them fought back against the dark.
I kissed a trail up his neck, finding his lips, and his grip on me tightened as his tongue delved into my mouth. Behind me, Sol ran a hand down my side, sending a shiver of pleasure up my spine. I began to move against Malcolm, seeking more friction and—
A knock came at the door.
“Go the fu
ck away!” Jerrett yelled as the rest of us groaned.
“Uh, all right,” a soft female voice called, and I heard the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall.
“Stop scaring the servants, Jerrett.” Sol rolled away from me with a chuckle, elbowing Jerrett off the bed.
Shoving a lock of dark hair out of his face, Jerrett grabbed his pants off the floor. He slipped them on quickly, then poked his head out the door.
“All right, all right, come back.” He laughed. “She’s ready for you.”
Malcolm and Sol rose too, throwing on their clothes quickly. I sat up, wrapping the sheet around my body.
Sol leaned over to kiss my head. “We’ll see you soon.”
Jerrett swung the door wider to admit the servant girl, and the three brothers slipped past her into the corridor.
A small sigh escaped my lips. I’d known we wouldn’t be able to lounge in bed the whole night, but I’d hoped for another hour at least. It must be later than I’d thought.
“Are you ready, Miss Tate?” the girl asked. She was human. I could hear her heart thudding nervously, its tempo faster than a vampire’s.
“Yes. Thanks.”
She ducked her head in a quick nod before disappearing into the attached bathroom. The scent of lavender rose into the air as she filled up the large tub. I slipped from the bed and threw on a robe, following the steamy, floral scent. When the tub was full, she took my robe and helped me step into the tub.
The warm water cradled my body, rinsing away the blood and sweat. The girl, Tamara, washed my hair and then slipped out of the room, leaving me to soak in peace for a few minutes.
It still felt very strange having servants ready to attend to my every need. All their quiet deference threw me off balance. I much preferred someone like Yuliya, who wouldn’t hesitate to go after me with a weaponized dishtowel if she thought I deserved it. Jerrett had been working on convincing the old witch to split her time between their house in New York and the Penumbra, with the guarantee that no vampires would ever feed from her.