by Anne Malcom
“Is the king seriously going to be here?” Scott asked, his eyes darting around as if he was expecting a man with a crown to jump out from behind a curtain and cry “Worship me, peasant!”
I surveyed the crowd. Most were familiar, some were not. I grew up around these stuffy, bloodthirsty assholes. Went to school with a lot of them. They say the world was small, but when you’ve been on it for a few hundred years, it felt tiny. The same people seemed to circulate these wretched things. People I loathed, and by the looks I got, the feeling was mutual. The downfall of being immortal, you couldn’t even look forward to death taking someone you hated off the guest list.
“So I’m told,” I replied, downing my first glass and procuring another. Increased metabolism meant I had to drink fast in order to get drunk enough not to rip someone’s limbs off before midnight.
“The real king? Do you think we’ll get to meet him?” Scott asked with excitement.
I took a huge gulp of my champagne and rolled my eyes. “Only if you’ve been a really bad boy.”
“You don’t want to meet him?” His question made it sound like I was proclaiming I drank animal blood. I didn’t. No vampire did. We couldn’t survive on the stuff. Though, now that vampires were trendy sex symbols, popular culture had to make us a bit less… icky. Hence making up the fact that we sucked on Bambi’s blood rather than Martha’s.
Not an improvement, in my humble opinion.
I pretended to ponder, cradling the flute to my chest. “Do I want to meet the high and mighty majesty of our race? A man who most likely grew up being fed willing young blood bags on a platter and expects everyone to bow down and kiss his alligator loafers? And obey his every whim? Of course. I can think of no other way to spend my Saturday, I wouldn’t rather claw out my own fangs or anything,” I responded, my voice saccharine sweet with sarcasm.
Scott’s face turned positively pale. More pale than it already was, anyway. He wasn’t gaping at me, but at the space right behind me.
Shit.
“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” I asked through gritted teeth.
Scott nodded slowly.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. Though why I muttered it was anyone’s guess; everyone in the room most likely could hear, if they so desired.
And they’d desire nothing less than to watch the king strip the skin from my arm for daring to disrespect him at his own party.
I wasn’t just making that shit up. Apparently that happened to some vampire who criticized his choice in blood.
“I’d hate to disappoint you, but I’m not wearing alligator loafers, though I’m sure I could command someone to procure them for me so you could kiss them.” A deep voice floated into my ear. It was smooth and pleasing, with no underlying hostility suggesting imminent skin flaying.
I glared at Scott. “A hand signal, a freaking warning. You couldn’t give me anything?” I hissed at him before downing my drink and slowly turning. I tried to plaster an apologetic look on my face, though I worried I just looked deranged. Technically I could be severely punished for my little monologue. Monarchs were stiff like that.
I was momentarily shocked with what I was presented with. The king was hot. Like smokin’. It looked like he spent his days tanning instead of ruling, and his features were dark and masculine. Eyes the color of two shiny emeralds and a thick smattering of stubble covering his sharp jaw. His hair was shaggy and brushing his shoulders, a jagged scar sweeping through his brow.
Pre-turning, I thought to myself. Vampires could get injured, by someone very determined or very stupid, but we couldn’t scar. At least not after we’d come of age, died and turned into our immortal selves. Before, we were a little more breakable, though we didn’t exactly like to broadcast that, which had me wondering why our king hadn’t found a little witch to take care of the scar. Though, it was sexy as sin.
Maybe that was why, though I’m sure his crown already got him a lot of tail.
He was huge. Like huge. He towered over me, and I was tall for a woman—and in six in heels, no less. Though his tailored suit covered all his body, save his corded neck, it didn’t hide his muscular form.
I swallowed, not expecting to be attracted to the monarch I loathed on principle.
“I’m sure your lackeys have better things to do than help perpetuate crimes to fashion,” I responded evenly. I glanced down at his feet, but no snakeskin to be found. Only very expensive, very classy midnight Gucci dress shoes with a slight point to the heel. His slacks were black, Armani if I wasn’t mistaken, as was the black shirt that was unbuttoned, showing off the thick cord of his neck.
My eyes snapped up to meet his once more. “Plus, your shoes are a comfortable surprise.” I swallowed. “Your Majesty,” I added with effort.
I supposed I should curtsey or something, but thought better of it. We had gathered a bit of an audience, so everyone had obviously heard my little speech. I wasn’t going to demean myself by trying to suck up to my king like the rest of the masses. I’d just have to hope he wasn’t feeling particularly wrathful.
His eyes weren’t full of wrath, only amusement. “I’m glad my choice of footwear pleases you….” He quirked a brow at me in question.
“Isla,” I said quickly, though I didn’t think for a second that he was ignorant of who I was. I wasn’t arrogant… well, actually I was, but I figured his ever-present aides and advisors warned him about potential troublemakers. I’d been at the top of that particular list for well over four hundred years.
“Isla,” he repeated, my name sounding delightful in his raspy tone.
Oh my God, I was getting all squidgy at this guy. I didn’t get squidgy.
Stop. Now.
The squidgyness intensified as his gaze traveled the length of me. I was wearing a pure white gown, mostly to piss everyone off. Vampires seemed to think it compulsory to wear dark and violent colors in order to perpetuate stereotypes.
I wanted to stay as far away from stereotypes as I could. My dress was skintight and strapless, molding to my body, and had a slit up to midthigh. White strappy stilettos snaked up my calf. At his gaze, I was totally happy I didn’t skimp on the hair and makeup. My auburn locks tumbled around my shoulders and down my back in soft curls. I had gone for a smoky eye to accentuate my green irises and went nude for lipstick instead of my signature blood-red. A girl had to keep some stereotypes alive. Or undead.
“I’d have to say, your choice of footwear pleases me greatly too,” he said finally, once his eyes met mine once more.
We held this long intense gaze for a split second before he gave me a polite nod and turned to disappear into the crowd. Two men trailed him. Bodyguards, I suspected. He looked like he could well and truly take care of himself, but these were uncertain times.
“Isla,” a sharp voice hissed.
“No respite,” I muttered, my back going ramrod straight.
A firm hand snatched my elbow. I met eyes identical to mine, narrowed into a look of almost pure hatred.
“Hey, Mom, how’s death?” I greeted with a grin.
“Tell me that was not just the king you were speaking to,” she demanded.
“Okay, that was not the king I was just speaking to.” I sipped my champagne, my eyes already scanning the room for the closest waiter. I needed to be drunk to stay dead for this evening, and thanks to my accelerated metabolism, I needed about twenty more of these to be sufficiently sloshed.
Her grip tightened and she glanced around, mindful of the various eyes on us. She smiled tightly. “We’ll talk about that later.”
“Can’t wait.” I smiled tightly, draining my glass.
Her eyes moved behind me, taking in Scott.
He scrubbed up well, if you asked me. I honestly expected him to be some overweight kid with spectacles and red hair.
Yes, vampires could be overweight. All shapes and sizes, not just tall, dark, and sparkly.
Actually, not sparkly at all. Unless you counted my personality, which
I did.
Scott was none of those things, but he wasn’t bad to look at. Like, I wouldn’t need the paper bag in the bedroom. He was shorter than me and a little on the skinny side, but he worked it. His blond hair was artfully messed in the way the kids loved to do these days, and his features were sharp and defined. He had a scattering of freckles, no doubt inherited from his human father.
“Who’s this?” she asked, her mask of society vampire slipping back on. “You’ve finally found a man to survive your company longer than twelve minutes, congratulations.”
I snatched another glass off a passing waiter, ignoring the Devil’s Mistress’s glare. “Mom, this is Scott,” I introduced, glancing at my watchless hand. “Been in my presence for approximately… fourteen minutes. Though I doubt we’ll get to fifteen with you around.”
My mother ignored me and held out her gloved hand. Not for Scott to shake, but to kiss. Seriously.
He stared at her outstretched limb in confusion before he jumped forward and clumsily executed the kiss.
“Ma’am, nice to meet you,” he fumbled once he’d released her.
She gave him an appraising eye. “Charmed,” she murmured, though her tone betrayed she’d be more charmed to be chewing on a dishrag. “You’re….” She stared at his cheap suit, then at his freckles before she bristled.
You could taste the ice in the air, originating from her utter distaste of half breeds. I reasoned if she could find a way to discreetly and immediately burn the glove he’d set his mouth on, she would.
Me? I thought he needed to spray antifreeze on his lips.
“Half human and he works the phones at the Sector,” I finished for her, enjoying the way her face froze immensely. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.” I snatched Scott’s hand. “We’ve got something very important to do, over there.” I gestured vaguely to the farthest side of the room.
I didn’t wait for her to say anything else, dragging Scott out of reach of her fangs, both literal and figurative. She most likely wouldn’t do something as uncouth as lunge at my date at such an event, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
I nodded to the various people who stared at me, grinning at the ones who openly glared.
“So, that was your mom,” Scott said, swallowing tightly.
I snatched another champagne off a passing tray, handing it to him. “Yes. A total peach, isn’t she? A shining example of the wonderful people who attend these glorious gatherings,” I said, grinning inwardly at the people who stiffened as they heard my hushed tone. Vampires. Great hearing meant I could insult a huge group at one time. Totally awesome.
I directed us to a corner of the room where we had the best vantage point to look down on the rest of my vampire kin.
“This is…. These are all of the families?” Scott asked, glancing at the sea of attractive, eternally young bodies wearing an array of black, crimson, and other equally depressing colors.
I nodded, scanning the group and locating my brothers and father, though they were hard to miss. My family was tall. Yep, vampires had genetics, just like any other living, or technically dead, species. Every member of my family had thick, auburn hair—though mine was the best—and a statuesque frame. However, unlike me and my mother, my father and brothers weren’t slender; they were built with muscle, like they spent hours in the gym. They were just one of the ‘great families,’ good looks and favorable physiques part of the deal. These traits were ensured by ‘selective breeding’ of only the purest of blood.
Mixing or dirtying the Vein Line with anything that didn’t err on the side of blue was an ideal way to get yourself shut off from the ruling elite quicker than you could say ‘shotgun wedding.’
They all looked like GQ models, and the same ages, despite there being a couple of thousand years between them. You’d have to cut them open and count the rings if you wanted to distinguish age. Though, my father’s hair was slicked back and he was leaner than my brothers.
“There’s the rest of my cuddly family.” I nodded to them, giving them a finger wave and a smile.
Father glanced at me with an empty gaze, the chasm of his eyes betraying nothing but perhaps the smallest bead of distaste. Viktor and Evgeni just ignored me.
“Don’t let their good looks fool you. They’re fucking psychopaths,” I said through my smile.
“Aren’t all vampires?” Scott muttered, surprising me. His tone was somewhat jaded and full of revulsion, as if he was distancing himself from those in the room whose legs I’d been certain he was going to hump.
I glanced to my side to regard him. He was staring at the room, that puppy dog look gone, replaced with something older and arguably wiser.
“I think we’re going to get on just fine, Scotty,” I said, looking back to the room.
We had only been swimming in the shark-filled waters for about half an hour before a thick silence blanketed the room. One that had me looking up from the tray where I’d just snatched my twentieth, or fortieth champagne.
The king stood in front of the crowd, slightly raised on a small stage in front of a tapestry depicting The Battle of the Four, where the four supernatural factions fought against each other. Casualties on all sides were heavy before a peace treaty was signed. Then every faction’s respective rulers commenced in dividing every major city into four sections, so no such battle would be fought again.
There were summits every decade to reevaluate with the growing cities. From the whispers I’d heard throughout the party, one had just ended in Prague, where some controversial decisions were made.
I wouldn’t know, it was New York Fashion Week last week and the only big decisions I knew about was the decision to bring back velvet. Obviously the vampires at this party loved that particular choice.
The king radiated a cold sort of authority that made the greatest vampires—I use that title with a heavy dose of sarcasm—quiet and focus on him. Some did it begrudgingly, like my mother with her pinched face, but all still gave him the most precious thing an immortal could give—their attention.
His emerald eyes darted over the room before they settled on me for a moment. Then they were gone.
“I appreciate your attendance,” he started, his smooth tenor traveling over the crowd of vampires in the ballroom. “I know many of you have come far to be here and hear the announcement I brought you here to make.” He paused, long enough to be uncomfortable, yet not a vampire muttered a thing. They wouldn’t dare. The king’s menace was legendary and every vampire there had too much self-preservation to interrupt the king’s speech with an ill-timed whisper.
“With traitorous factions causing trouble for themselves, an alliance has been made.”
The words settled over the room with such a force that I couldn’t hide my grin. Even I couldn’t piss off every single vampire so easily. Kudos to King Markandeya.
Vampires considered themselves to be at the top of the food chain. We were created by gods, for Pete’s sake. Our Vein Lines had the Ichor, the substance of eternal life running through them. Werewolves were just freaks of nature, witches were pagans, and demons were merely soldiers of a long-forgotten king. Vampires were elite. Or that’s what the attendees of this soiree thought.
“This alliance between supernaturals has been a long time coming. The world is changing and so must our society if we are to maintain our position,” the king continued. “But be warned, this isn’t, and never will be, a democracy. You may disagree with this decision, but I do it for the good of our race, so you must find a way to accept it. Or you face the punishment that those rebels caught after the explosion in Prague.” His threat held heavy in the air as cold eyes focused on various members of the marble-faced crowd.
Silence thick with malice and anger filled the room. The king remained at the front of the space, daring anyone to challenge him. When the silenced yawned, he nodded once. “Enjoy the blood, the company, I urge you.” Then he nodded and glided off the stage.
Muted conversations resumed after his exit,
but no one dared to criticize the king’s decision, though I was sure there would be more than enough outrage behind closed doors.
Me, I lapped up the discomfort of the vampires I’d long despised. I held my glass up to my mother’s blank face. Her eyes flickered with rage before she masked it.
I grinned, sipping from my glass.
Scott leaned in. “Did something bad just happen?” he asked, oblivious as a child.
I gave him a look. “Oh no, something great just happened.”
“I need to get some fresh air,” I muttered to Scott as we walked away from a conversation so drenched in verbal barbs, I was surprised I wasn’t bleeding.
Though if words could wound, the vampire we were walking away from would have been a headless corpse added to the décor.
Centuries of this meant I had been able to hold my own.
“You gonna be okay in here?” I asked Scott, who was now on his fifth champagne. He hadn’t touched the amber liquid either.
He glanced to me, grinning. “Of course.”
I shook my head. “I may have been wrong about you, my friend.” I was serious. He’d handled the vipers perfectly, insulting them in ways just veiled enough to be considered good manners as a response to every comment about his lineage, or lack thereof. He was from an unknown family, and a half breed to boot. His father was human, or had been. That’s the thing about those humans; they had a nasty habit of dying. And there was nothing his mother could have done, since all that shit about vampire blood being a mystical cure was pure Hollywood. Humans died, vampires lived. It was that simple.
Half breeds like Scott were still technically immortal but were a lot more breakable than their full-blood counterparts, which was only a small reason why those in proper society tried their best to shun them away to desk jobs. Mostly it was because the assholes of the ‘superior race’ considered humans to be little more than meals with a vocabulary. Some, of course, did the horizontal tangle with them, before they sucked them dry. But falling in love with one, breeding with one? Well, that was akin to filing down your fangs.