The Supernaturals of Las Vegas Books 1-4

by Carrie Harris

  “I…wait. What?”

  “You’re telling me that you’re worried I’m going to get a taste of his spit,” Liss practically gagged at the thought, “and get so horny that I’m going to rip off my clothes?”

  “Exactly. If he kisses or bites you, I want you to be prepared for the result. And this is very difficult to remove. It will give you time to recover control. Please don’t get me wrong; Gregor wouldn’t take advantage. Our family is a valuable asset to him, and he knows that mistreating you will compromise that relationship. But it would be very awkward for you to throw yourself at him on what’s essentially the first date, yes?”

  This brought up a very uncomfortable line of thought, because it seemed to Liss that the most logical way for Dagmar to know this was to have experienced it herself. And what about her dad or her brother? The point of having four thralls—no more, no less—was to spread around the feeding so no one got too anemic. She wondered if Tait wanted to rip his clothes off when Gregor fed on him, but the thought was too disturbing.

  “I don’t want to know any more. Hand over the uncomfortable undergarments,” she said.

  Vampire society had been built on restraint. Even showing a dot of blood on your clothing served as grounds for dismissal from high society. Propriety wasn’t just polite, but essential to fitting into human society. With that in mind, the private lobby leading to court wasn’t much to look at, not by Vegas standards. Nothing blinked or spouted water in time to a soundtrack or dripped diamonds. It was just a little room dominated by a set of wood paneled double doors. The fancy silk wallpaper was dotted with paintings from an obscure Italian artist whose name Liss couldn’t remember. Her father had told her once, during a daytime tour of the facility during one school holiday or another.

  A pair of untitled vampires flanked the closed double doors, hands clasped behind their backs and fangs sheathed. Still, their pallor gave them away, to Liss’s eye. Up here, they didn’t bother with makeup or special lighting designed to minimize their strange appearance as they did down in the public areas of the casino. A curly wired earpiece led under the lapel of their identical black suits, contributing to their impressive air.

  Liss stepped off the elevator. Her skirt got caught on the door, and her brother Tait had to free it quickly before the doors shut on it.

  “Thanks,” she said, smiling.

  Tait was tall and rakish. He wore his blond hair a little longer than their father liked, and spent hours artfully sculpting it with gel every morning until it didn’t look styled at all. But under the bad boy grin and the swagger in his step was a keen mind for the politics of business. He was good at getting people to not only agree with what he’d wanted, but to think it was their idea in the first place. He’d already begun to make his mark in the boardrooms of the vampire community, and he was a shoe-in to take their father’s place running the Renaissance for the House of Valdemar when the time came.

  He winked before turning to the antechamber door guards, hands clasped behind his back, the bright metal of his fancy watch glittering at his wrist.

  “Who are you?” asked the guard on the left, eyeing Liss with suspicion.

  “My name is Anneliese Dagmar Lorensson.”

  She held out her wrist, the inside of which was marked with the crest of the Valdemar line, a sword crossed with a coin on a field of red. The brand marked her as their property, untouchable by anyone or anything else in the supernatural community. It was inked with Gregor’s blood, and the guard vamp’s nostrils flared as he ran his nose over the tattoo. She felt his tongue flick out to taste her skin, and her hand jerked involuntarily. This wasn’t part of protocol, not at all. He tightened his grip, forcing her to remain still while he completed his inspection. She could feel her mother’s questioning eyes on her back but forced herself to remain still, cheeks blazing. She didn’t want to make a scene, not right before her presentation to Gregor. But she would remember, later.

  He straightened with a look of smug satisfaction, but Liss didn’t say anything, even though a few cutting remarks came to mind. Instead, she held her head high and waited for him to open the doors.

  She entered the antechamber alone, leaving her parents and brother to have their tattoos inspected and possibly licked in turn. The long room housed the coat check and bathrooms and other human things that the vampires preferred not to concern themselves with. Unlike the entryway, which could conceivably be seen by regular humans, the antechamber was decorated in a mixture of old world opulence and Vegas flair, with chandeliers so expensive that they probably could have put a nice dent in the United States deficit. It wouldn’t do to look overwhelmed, so Liss made sure to project an air of studied indifference on the outside with a healthy dose of careful consideration simmering underneath.

  Approximately 200 bodies stood waiting for court to begin, and about 80% of them were breathing. Thanks to her family’s careful preparations, Liss wasn’t shocked by any of the inhabitants of the room, even though it was her first time at court. Hollywood movies might portray vampires as hot young things, unless they’re evil in which case they’re creepy and in need of moisturizer. But as Tait had explained to her, those movies didn’t take into account the fact that physical attractiveness has really changed over the years. Within moments, Liss saw a few Renaissance vampires who would be considered rather overweight by today’s standards, a pair of Colonial men who wouldn’t give up their wigs, and more than a few sets of terrible teeth. She’d already seen many of them in photographs, so she was able to take in the view with calm aplomb.

  Most of the thralls had already lined up with their sponsors in a queue that doubled back and forth across the antechamber three or four times. She knew that vampires from all over the American kingdom traveled to court, so the numbers failed to surprise or overwhelm her. The virginal new thrall dress attracted more than a few stares as she made her way toward the Lorensson’s place toward the back of the line. Liss knew what they were—the evaluating, calculating looks of people who were trying to figure out how they could exploit her. She met the eyes of a grey-haired senior thrall attached to what looked like a country vamp noble and stared him down until he flinched.

  As she turned away from the cowering thrall, the crowd parted like magic and she saw him. She didn’t hear trumpets or celestial harps, but it felt like that kind of moment.

  Gregor.

  He ambled across the room toward her, hands stuffed into the pockets of his immaculately tailored tux. His hair was glossy black and tumbled in unruly curls over his forehead, his eyes a deep blue that nearly matched the pupils. If anyone in the room approached Hollywood vampire perfection, it was him. His figure was trim and slim hipped. No wigs. Nice teeth. He put all of the college boys she’d ever wanted to shame.

  As he made his way across the room, a variety of lesser nobility tried to catch his attention, but his eyes never wavered from Liss. The weight of them drove all her lessons and carefully planned artifice clear out of her head. She’d spent so much time preparing for the things that would happen tonight, but she hadn’t been ready for the sheer, heady presence of him.

  “Anneliese,” he said, stopping a few feet away. “Happy birthday.”

  Chapter 2

  Before Liss arrived, Gregor Valdemar had had fairly low expectations for the evening. Of course he was looking forward to making the acquaintance of his new thrall. Based on the reports he received from her family and her schools, she’d make a fine addition to the Valdemar household, but what did that mean? Nothing. Not when his sire, King Viktor Valdemar, ruled sway over all with an iron fist. Especially when it came to his only progeny.

  In some ways, Gregor could understand why Viktor was so strict. Without strong leadership, the vampire nation would dissolve into chaos and crime, and then it was only a matter of time before the humans came hunting with stakes and fire and sunlight. He remembered those days, hiding in the daytime and sneaking from one small settlement to another, feeding and then running away b
efore they could be discovered. Viktor hadn’t been a king then, and he’d spent all the riches he’d accumulated in life. All he had was what he could steal, including Gregor himself. But he’d been as controlling then as he was now.

  As a result, Gregor prepped for court with his usual lack of excitement. Although many of his fellow vampires envied him and courted his influence, he knew the truth. That influence was slim indeed. When Viktor ordered it, Gregor would jump. It made for a lackluster existence after all of these years. The opulent surroundings had lost their novelty. He no longer marveled over his fancy penthouse with its vaulted bedroom, secure against the sunlight. He didn’t enjoy the tailored suits or expensive watches in his closet, or the selection of luxury cars at his disposal in the garage. The only thing that brought him pleasure was standing out on the casino floor, watching the humans as they chased their fortunes. Most people thought him dedicated to the business and marveled at the way the casino had flourished under his care, but that was all Konstantine and Tait Lorensson. They made all of his business recommendations, and while he did take his job seriously and vetted each one, most of the ideas came from them.

  No, he was less concerned about the business and more interested in the guests themselves. He could stand there for hours, listening in on their conversations, watching their little dramas. Wondering what it would be like to be them, for just a day. They were so busy chasing some elusive dream of riches that they didn’t appreciate what they already had.

  Gregor would have killed for their freedom, if only it would do any good. But Viktor’s hold on the kingship was absolute, and the penalty for murder of one vampire by another was death. He didn’t see any way out at all. There was nothing he could do except put on his tie and go pretend to be someone with power when in reality he felt like a puppet on a string.

  He put on his tie, checked his reflection in the mirror, and left his ornate rooms without a second glance.

  As he entered the antechamber, Gregor felt an intense wave of déjà vu. The same door guards made the same efforts at deferential bowing and scraping. The same thrall girl gave him what she thought was a sultry glance from behind a feathered fan, under the disinterested eye of her dessicated husk of a vampire patron. An old crony of Viktor’s, long fallen out of favor, tried to engage him in conversation about the good old days. Gregor had taken pity on him a few times and listened, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it again. The aged vampire told the same three tales over and over again, clinging to their familiarity in a world he no longer understood.

  He dismissed the vampire with a wave of his hand and continued into the antechamber. His spot was at the end of the line in accordance with his rank, and once he paid the proper obeisance to his king and sire, he’d take a spot on the dais with Viktor. Standing, of course. Only the king sat on the dais, while everyone hovered around, ready to leap to attention upon command. The whole thing was tedious, and Gregor couldn’t wait for it to be over so he could go to the casino floor and watch the people. There was a gaming tournament in town, which promised some interesting drama. He’d been looking forward to it, inasmuch as he looked forward to anything.

  The clock chimed 11:30 as he stepped into his spot at the end of the line, brushing a speck of dust off his lapel. His mind wandered, as it did so often these days, and was only brought back to the present by the cleared throat of someone standing behind him. He would have been embarrassed if he hadn’t had defensive social posturing drilled into him from an early age. Instead, he turned around with a calm yet slightly affronted expression, like he’d been deeply pondering some important topic and the interruption had interfered with the process.

  “Ah,” he murmured. “Chandra. What a pleasant surprise.”

  Chandra’s appearance was anything but, although no one would have been able to pick up on his true feelings by his tone. The Court Steward was his father’s creature. Not in the same way as Gregor—Viktor hadn’t brought her over to vampiredom. He’d simply taken her under his wing after her sire went missing. Dead, presumably. But she was completely dedicated to him nonetheless. Most vampires struggled to resist their sires, whose blood flowed through their veins, sustaining their unlife. Gregor had experienced it himself. As much as he hated Viktor, as much as he wanted to resist the things Viktor had sometimes insisted upon, he felt the blood pulling him to obey. Eventually, it had always became too much to resist, and he had given in and hated himself afterwards. He had no problem with violence, if violence was warranted. But Viktor tended to resort to violence all too often in his opinion.

  Chandra didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to relish in the moments when Viktor’s temper came to the forefront. She might like to see it happen more often, if Gregor had any guess. Either she was a bad influence on Viktor or the other way around, although he couldn’t see anyone making Viktor do anything he didn’t want to do.

  She had never seemed to pick up on Gregor’s intense dislike, and she didn’t now. Instead, her bright hazel eyes were alight in her mannish face as she gazed up at him with something approaching delight.

  “Your new thrall will be presented tonight, will she not?” she asked, clasping her hands and feigning girlish delight.

  “Anneliese? Yes, she should be here shortly.”

  He replied in formal tones, hoping it would put her off, but she failed to get the picture just like she always did. She clasped his arm and hung on it in breathless excitement despite the fact that they were both hundreds of years old, and nothing existed on this planet that would make them breathless about anything since they didn’t actually breathe.

  “Well, I am positively eager to see her. The Lorenssons have always made such fine thralls. I’m quite envious of them. I imagine this one will do the line justice,” she simpered.

  “I expect she shall.”

  “Yes, well… you will feed on her at court, of course.”

  This statement gave Gregor pause. He had intended, of course, to only feed upon Liss after a short period designed to establish trust and make each other’s acquaintance. The exchange of blood was a rather businesslike affair for him after all this time. He much preferred his thralls to fill a glass for him to drink; it avoided the embarrassing effects of the vampire’s kiss. He’d always found it difficult to look at thralls the same way, no matter how intelligent and talented they might be, after they begged him to take them, have his way with them, and drain them dry. He had to share a boardroom with some of these people, after all.

  “I’d intended to wait,” he said, but Chandra cut him off.

  “It is Viktor’s wish that you feed upon her at court. Directly, Gregor dear. Not from a glass.” Chandra grinned wickedly. “I’m rather envious of it myself. There’s nothing like the first sip of a new vintage.”

  He frowned. “I fail to understand.”

  “What is there to understand?” asked Chandra, patting him on the shoulder. “You are too uptight. Viktor wants you to relax and enjoy yourself, of course. You have a fresh, unspoiled young girl at your disposal. He simply wants you to give in to your instincts. I, for one, look forward to seeing it.”

  Gregor opened his mouth to observe that he would never be so gauche as to feed where others might see when he realized that she was simply trying to bait him as she always did. He shut his mouth with a snap and contented himself with giving her a cold nod.

  “Very well,” he said. “I shall do as he wishes.”

  “Right.” She looked down the length of the room toward the entrance, where a figure in white made its way through the crowd. “Ah, look. There is your dinner now.”

  He tightened his lips against the dismissive reply that wanted to escape them and turned his attention to Anneliese. She liked to be called Liss, according to her mother. Based on the photographs, he knew she was beautiful in the way that ice sculptures were beautiful, cold and untouchable, but they hadn’t prepared him for the shock of seeing her there. The proud tilt to her chin under the weight of all the stares. T
he intelligence burning in those wintry blue eyes. The flash of uncertain hopefulness that rose in her eyes as she met his for the first time.

  Gregor had initially resented the order to feed upon her. Perhaps it was the power of suggestion, but now that he saw her, he couldn’t think of anything else.

  Chapter 3

  Liss entered the ballroom on Gregor’s arm. It seemed as if she should be nervous. Every eye in the court was turned on them, and she knew from her mother’s many lessons that too many of the people in the room would view her as a potential asset rather than as a person. At this very moment, they were thinking about how to manipulate her, how she might be used. Most of their attempts would be transparent and easily avoided, but some of the elder vampires played the kind of long game she couldn’t hope to unravel. She would have to be careful of them, and especially of Viktor. But it was difficult to concentrate on that with Gregor so close.

  It felt like a fairy tale. She had never been the sort to go stupid over romance, except maybe for a short while in her tweens. She’d never bought into stories about love at first sight, or destiny bringing two people together, or any of that ridiculousness. Those things didn’t happen. But still, there was something magical about seeing him for the first time. He was handsome, of course, with a quiet allure that appealed to her. She couldn’t stand people who jabbered incessantly just because they were afraid of silence. And there was the relief of finally seeing him after waiting for it for so long. Although she was a confident sort of person, she wasn’t made of ice. She’d been agonizing over it for so long, hoping that her family told the truth about him, that he would like her, that it wouldn’t be a letdown.

  So there was the instant attraction—he was just the kind of man she usually went for. Except that he wasn’t a man at all, and he was their family’s patron, and there was a certain amount of delicious forbiddenness about that whole situation. But it went beyond that, as if something in her blood recognized him. After all those yearly New Year’s toasts, maybe it did.