by Addison Cain
Yet I knew that no matter this soul-solid reality, beauty never mattered.
Standing so Ethan might help me into my couture dress, I meant the smile I threw his way. The slip of a satin-lined gown, the cold clasp of diamonds circling my throat.
He was perfection at preparing a woman for the slaughter.
And I… I was perfection at leading the room by the nose.
Knowing better than to kiss me once my lips were smeared with rouge, instead, my darling ran his fingers from my shoulder to my wrists, surprising me with a gift.
I loved presents.
The cuff was weighty, immaculate, and worth a small fortune.
His grandfather, before he’d died in World War I, had given me one just the same.
“I love you, Jade.” Brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear, ignoring our huffing blonde, he did something a man of his station never dared. He carefully kissed my red lips.
And was all the cuter for smearing my favorite color on his grin.
Chapter Three
Sipping a third glass of champagne, my red lips quirked at whatever politician’s wife Ethan was buttering up. The charm of a peacock, that one—all bright feathers and squawking.
Spell woven, he’d fully enraptured the woman to his cause with little more than dimples and a practiced swagger.
It was a ploy to aid the Rothschild family’s political agenda. Trying to swing a senate vote in his uncle’s favor would determine how far Ethan might take the night’s seduction.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Miss King?” Watching the same choreographed dance across the city’s chicest hotel’s rooftop, Ethan’s powerful uncle—the mercenary and corruptible Senator Randal Rothschild himself—planted his bulk by my side.
I was not there to enjoy myself; I was there to overhear softly whispered conspiracy. Still I offered a smile to the man of the hour. “Happy birthday, Senator. It’s a lovely party.”
View immaculate: the glittering evening skyline of the financial district’s skyscrapers, the celebrity guest list, even the pot-bellied, bleating president holding court over the country’s greediest misers, was pageantry serving a solitary purpose.
Clout.
It took more than designer garments, a pedigree, fine schools, or even contacts to rule this world. The key was in the small moments of ruthlessness.
Such as watching my lover seduce another woman and encouraging him with a sly wink.
“A pity your father couldn’t join us.” Pompous, fleshy cheeks reddened by bourbon and the night’s chilled air, Senator Rothschild fisted his lapel.
I gave the unspoken complaint no weight, sipping from a coupe of champagne as I answered, “He sends his regrets.”
“I was hoping we might discuss…”
Money. He was hoping he might discuss my father’s money and how much Senator Rothschild might jam into his blood-drenched pockets.
“You should marry that boy.”
Now he had my attention. Skating my glance from Ethan’s antics to the scheming politician at my side, I quirked a brow.
Once upon a time the senator had been handsome and charismatic like his nephew. Now aged, and powerful enough to ignore the crutch of vigor, he’d entered his twilight years, morphing more and more into a jowly blobfish. It had been an interesting transformation to behold.
Ugly and terrible as he was, very few men could hold a stare like a cold-blooded Rothschild.
This offer of marriage… he wasn’t flattering me. He was trying to buy my father with the gilded Rothschild’s name. Which meant he knew something I didn’t.
Mistakes, oversights, plain fucking up, led to unspeakable punishments I had no interest in enduring. Senators didn’t throw their nephews at heiresses, no matter what the movies portrayed. “You anticipate my father will change factions.”
“He mentioned—”
Slipping at the mention of my father for the second time that night, I demanded an answer from a man I’d been commanded to flatter. “What did he say?”
My eyes were blue, my dress was green, and my dark hair had been spun into classic elegance. I was everything memorable and forgettable all at once. I smelled of whale vomit and dead wood.
A born vampire who could walk in the sun—the weakest of my kind and also the most valuable.
Daywalker.
The only offspring of our king.
And I was afraid of my daddy.
For good reason.
When the senator went glassy-eyed under my influence, I demanded, “Tell me what he said to you.”
“We have not spoken yet. But, immigration… he expects open borders. My platform… my base. I need to sell hate to secure the vote.”
I didn’t give a shit about politics, and my father didn’t give a shit about people. Humans were a food source, nothing more. He demanded open borders because he wanted undocumented targets to harvest.
I did mention that he was the devil…
Angry, hating being caught off guard, I used the slight influence I possessed. Touching my hand to Rothschild’s fluttering fingers, I planted a seed. “You’re senate majority leader. Lying to your constituents is your only vocation. Promise them whatever they want, deliver what he wants. You don’t want to disappoint Darius King, now do you?”
As I lacked the skill to fully enthrall, Senator Rothschild had already begun shaking off my pathetic mental influence. Ready to put a little miss in her place, he narrowed his eyes. “Well, you see, child. This is all above your pretty head.”
I was older than him by decades. Hell, I’d fucked his grandfather! But that was neither here nor there. “Of course, sir. I apologize. It’s just that I adore Ethan.”
“Then marry him.”
And that, in this era of internet and images that even my people could not scrub out of existence, a marriage would grant me more time with my Ethan. I would not be easy to wash away. “I’ll mention the idea to Daddy.”
Sauntering away, the old man crowed, “You do that.”
Thirty years prior I might have let the thin glass of my champagne’s coupe shatter in my hand. I might have hurt that man. But I already carried enough regrets and grasped that I’d have to pay for America’s uglier desires once my father heard this… despite my obedience.
The devil knew how to extract his due no matter how hard I’d tried to obey.
Draining the glass in my grip, I set it on a passing waiter’s tray, reaching for another.
Effervescent bubbles danced down my throat, everything gulped in a single swallow. Bubbly champagne spun in my belly, warmed me, but did nothing to slake the thirst I had ignored for the past week.
Having worked my pathetic resources on that flabby prick, working to squash the impending sense of doom, I was starving.
And no soul here could feed me.
Often I’d flung away feeling of any sort that would not keep me breathing. Loneliness, depression, the need to run as far as I might from this horrible place. Engaging, handsome distractions had served. Obedience served.
Alcohol served.
I snatched another glass from another white-coated server, Cristal running down my throat.
Next I’d marched toward the food. Caviar, candied bacon, delicacies too difficult to pronounce. I picked at the offered fare, smiling and making small talk with anyone and everyone nearby. Because that was my job.
That’s what I was.
A showpiece that existed only to overhear gossip and have my mind stripped at my father’s leisure.
A fallible disappointment.
The devil would see me crucified for the slip I’d made that night. So why not exasperate it?
Act a fool before the masses.
Pretend I loved it all, that I was friends with everyone. That I mattered.
Most of my act was for the single interloper who’d invaded my stage.
I saw him before he’d dared speak to me. Slurping down an oyste
r, assuring he had a clear view of how I sucked the shell as if human food were ambrosia, I sneered.
Of course, night had fallen. My kind had arrived.
Undying, gorgeous, and the last thing on earth I desired, he pushed through the crowd to approach. “Your father granted me rights tonight.”
“Have we met?” I could never be sure, because I made no effort to engage with my food.
“I’ll be careful of your fragile state.” Beautiful chocolate eyes in a Nordic face. That man had been a warrior ages ago, bore the years and experience I lacked.
Pointing out my inferiority and documented physical weakness let me know exactly what type of male my father had sent to seed my womb. “How kind.”
Leaning closer, the most beautiful male in attendance dared run his nose near my neck. “You smell of sunshine.”
And he’d forgotten sunshine centuries ago. No born vampire would notice such a thing. “Let’s get this over with.”
“I have a fine room prepared.” Smiling, thinking he might seduce by flashing the tips of his fangs, he beckoned me inside.
“I know someplace better.” Weaving my arm through his, daughter of the king of evil, I edged him toward the exit.
Chapter Four
Arm in arm I led my father’s chosen stud through the city’s finest five-star hotel, down halls meant for employees, round corners no patron should see. Escorting him out the side exit where the kitchens tossed their garbage.
A stinking alley infused with rats.
Stiffening, the male seemed to catch on to my game. But it was too late. I had already slighted him and shown the stranger exactly what my father meant when he offered me up for the night.
Dumpster to my right, some poor soul’s vomit to my left, I hiked up my skirt and placed my forehead against aged brick. “I’m ready.”
No panties. Dry as a desert.
Ass up like a cheap whore, I waited for the inevitable complaint.
“I earned this right! There is a room upstairs where you will serve me.”
This old speech I’d heard thousands of times. “You were told you had the right to seed me. That you’d been honored with the opportunity to potentially father the next in my bloodline.” And that was a fucking fact. “Not that I was to entertain your pleasure or cum. Get to it. I have laundry to do.”
He wasn’t the first to enact violence when I failed to live up to the fantasy.
Sexy daywalker reeking of bad perfume and the heat of sunshine. A poor vampire weakling who failed to thrive within the hive and bedded down with humans.
How lucky I was to be granted their old cocks.
It was the nose that always broke first. Smashed into my chosen wall as they hissed and tore down their flies.
Not once had my father ordered they be gentle with his weakling offspring. After all, I was immortal. It might take my body time to stitch itself back together, but very few things could actually kill me.
A violent lover certainly wouldn’t.
And if he truly wanted the honor of fathering my child, no vampire male would take it too far. The womb must remain intact, after all. Otherwise, where would their little spawn implant?
But before my father’s chosen might get underway, the air rippled with the chill of magic. Cursing at the interruption, the man dropped fang and hissed.
A portal opened in our special space.
Fuck.
At my back, my paramour stiffened, but wisely withheld acting out further once he beheld who walked through the gate.
“She’s been summoned. Finish your business and go.” Melodic, wondrous. I hated that voice with a passion.
The blunt head of a half-hard cock prodded my entrance. “I slaved for this honor!”
Blasé, cold, the perfect soldier… my despised guardian folded his arms over his chest. “Enter her, seed the womb, and make offerings to our god. Perhaps he will deem you worthy to try her again.”
Under the Viking’s breath the slander, “Bastard,” paired with a forward thrust.
I didn’t recognize entry, or pay any attention to the animal rutting. It’s not as if this situation were unique. All vampire-kind were consistently ordered to fuck in an effort to keep the bloodlines strong. Even the pretty asshole trying to spend his cum in me must have been forced to mate hundreds of times, considering his age.
But I? Over and over, those who didn’t know better assumed my pussy was some prize worth having. It wasn’t.
A sleeve to slake lust within. A potential garden for the next life.
Not that I had ever conceived.
Every single day since I’d reached maturity I had obeyed the order to try.
Miss a turn of the sun and be beaten. My father’s creative concepts for torture were so extreme that I’d only refused to mate once.
More daywalkers were needed to be his perfect spies. Daywalkers he could flaunt when visiting aristocracy graced the Cathedral.
And his troublesome embarrassment of a daughter would become instantly disposable the next time I inevitably pissed him off.
I’d often wondered if I’d even be allowed the honor of holding my future child before I was murdered. Would I be granted the honor of choosing their name?
Jade was such a common stone, as unremarkable and easy to find as a pearl.
I’d hated that name long before I’d heard others laughing behind their hands at how little my father cared to choose something so commonplace.
At my back, the man picked up speed.
A grunt, a hiss, a grunt, and a rougher thrust shoved my slack body fully against the wall. Wafting stench of garbage, steam rising from cooling vomit, the scratch of vermin. He came.
No single apology for breaking my nose was offered when he pulled out and cursed.
“Darius will be notified that you received your honor, Calder.” Chanting preceded the opening of another portal gate, our observer expending his magic to expedite the Viking’s departure. “You’ve done us all an honor.”
Without so much as a farewell, my horrendous lover obeyed.
Moments later, the air stilled, my paramour gone. But my handler remained.
Turning so my sex could be covered by falling silk, I pressed my shoulder blades to the brick and wiped blood from my healing nose. “I’ll be careful of your fragile state, he’d said. Dick.”
Edging closer, close enough that my stomach rumbled at his scent, the inevitable chastising began. “Jade, you wouldn’t be so physically weak if you’d feed as you should. More importantly, starvation clouds your judgment. It makes you unreasonable.”
“Malcom.” I parroted his demeaning tone. “Despite my submission to having cameras all over my home, I do not enjoy having an audience while I’m being fucked.” Angry, hating that this man had stood witness to another session of my degradation, I snapped. “You could have at least turned around!”
Faster than I by far, exponentially stronger, one moment Malcom was a comfortable distance away, the next his fingers carded through my fallen hair. “You need to feed.”
How I hated that I jumped.
Against the undead, I was a piss-poor fighter. That didn’t stop me from instantly shoving him so hard the wall he flew into cracked from the force.
“Don’t touch me!”
He’d rebounded to his feet in a blur, completely unharmed by my outburst. Brushing dust from tailored black slacks, he had the audacity to smirk. “Pathetic, really. You can do better.”
And then his fingers were playing with my hair again.
I couldn’t effectively retaliate, because he was right. I was starving, and weakened, and so fucking tempted to tear into his flesh that behind my lips my fangs punched downward.
Embarrassing.
So I turned my head away instead, eyes locking on the dumpster as if failing to acknowledge him would make him disappear.
Lips at my ear, a willing throat far too close to my salivating mouth, Ma
lcom murmured, “Give me your word that you’ll feed tonight, and I’ll leave you in peace.”
Grinding my teeth, refusing to concede to such a blatant taunt, I hissed, “I’ll eat.”
Oh, I’d eat. I’d eat and I’d disgust the bane of my existence in a single swoop.
With the pitter patter of rats already creaking under the dumpster, as soon as one might skitter by, I’d snap it up and tear in.
Right there where he could see.
I’d suck that vermin dry and then grab another. Who cared that feeding from animals was forbidden, lowly? Agitated as I was, I didn’t even care that I would most certainly be punished once my father found a hint of my action staining my memory.
He backed away at my agreement.
Once my eyes darted to where skittering was the loudest, Malcom knew what I was about. Silvery golden hair wafting about his shoulders like he was some goddamn phantom, he barked, “Jade, don’t.”
But I had already reached out. Fur filled my palm, and almost my mouth, before I realized that I held no rat.
A mewling kitten, dropped before I might scream.
Blood drained from my face. Vampire pale, I stared in horror as the feline scampered back to its hiding place, and I felt a thing I was forbidden from feeling.
“Look at me, Jade.” Why did he dare sound so sympathetic? “The cat’s gone. Look at me.”
Gowned in Chanel couture, prettied, and coiffed, with cum running down my thigh, I didn’t even attempt to pretend that we both didn’t know why I trembled.
“It’s gone. It’s okay.”
Before his fingertips might ghost over my shoulder, before I might have embarrassed myself further, I snapped. “I told you not to touch me!”
Hand hovering, still as the corpse he was, Malcom obeyed. He even took two steps back. Only then did I make my eyes track from that sliver of dark under the dumpster to look at his face.
Like a carved marble statue, beautiful in the same unearthly way all undead were beautiful. It was like staring at God's favorite angel. Outranking almost every last withered soul in the hive, he’d never fallen into the habit of outlandish costumes.