Fatal Harmony (The Vein Chronicles Book 1)

by Anne Malcom

  His eyes, which had turned midnight right about the ‘tingly’ portion of my monologue, sparked with hunger and danger, and he was in my space in a split second.

  I was prepared, my hand tightened around the blade inside my jacket, which I may or may not have borrowed from my ‘friend’ the slayer. It wasn’t like he’d notice; by the looks of it, he didn’t keep the best tabs on the only weapon that would keep him killing the ‘creatures’ he was born to exterminate.

  I decided it was in much better hands with me.

  “You forget yourself, Isla,” he murmured, his voice even but deep and winding with meaning. “If you threaten your king, or disobey him, it doesn’t matter if you’ve wrapped it up in your version of seduction. That act in itself will result in death.” His hand went to a tendril of my hair. “The only thing you’ve done with your feminine wiles has me certain I’ll be fucking you before I punish you,” he rasped, his threat both terrifyingly morbid and erotic at the same time.

  He didn’t say any more, didn’t move, just kept staring at me in that horribly blank yet somehow loaded stare.

  I didn’t want to back down. Fuck, I was a Rominskitoff; our family didn’t back down. I hadn’t backed down to anyone outside said family in the last four hundred and fifty-seven years.

  My mind stuttered on a certain slayer who was not only still breathing, but whose lips I still tasted on my own. Whose body was still imprinted into every one of my pores.

  I hoped the king didn’t catch his residual scent. Then we’d stop the seduction portion of the evening and move right on to the execution. It may be frowned upon to marry and sleep with humans, but it wasn’t illegal. Slayers, on the other hand? Even having a conversation with one that didn’t end in you breaking their neck could be punished with imprisonment.

  Sleeping with one?

  Yeah, certain death.

  It seemed two men—one mortal, one immortal—were producing various forms of surrender. One may be the final end of my existence, the other possibly promising the beginning. The problem was I couldn’t quite distinguish one from the other.

  My grip loosened on the blade, then completely released it.

  His face didn’t change, but he relaxed slightly and stepped back.

  “Good choice, Isla,” he said, betraying knowledge of my little weapon.

  Damn it, I thought I’d been so stealthy.

  He stepped back, buttoning the front of his jacket, eyes on me. “I’ve got an event at my compound in two days’ time. You’ll be accompanying me.”

  I folded my arms. We’d gone from death threats to dates in the blink of an eye. Standard practice for kings who just happened to be vampires, I presumed. “Will I now?” I challenged. “I know I’m a tempting and rather fetching choice for a date, but there’s a reason that your little ball last month was the first time you’d seen me at one of those. I avoid any bureaucratic vampire gathering like I do Birkenstocks. They’re not my thing, and the vampires who attend are lower than demons in my regard. I was well-behaved last time mainly because I wasn’t there for long and my family had….” I tried to think of a way to euphemize the fact that they’d threatened to murder children had I not gone. “Somewhat of an incentive for me to attend,” I finished. “This time, if Lucifer is feeling generous, they won’t be attending and therefore I have no such incentive.”

  His icy gaze settled on mine. “Apart from your king’s command.”

  I raised a brow at him. “You really need to command yourself a date? You’re a nice-looking monarch, I’m sure you can procure yourself a lovely vampire from a better family who is much more popular in your chosen circles. And one not likely to behead many of the guests out of boredom before the night’s over,” I said, only half joking. There was a reason people were uneasy to see me at such gatherings, regardless of the fact that the last incident happened well over a century ago.

  He stepped forward. “You’ll be coming,” he declared. “I don’t need to command anything when it comes to dates or the bedroom. Most women line up for the former and beg for the latter.”

  I gave him an even look. “I don’t beg,” I told him, voice hard.

  That murderous coldness returned to his eyes.

  “Even for your life?” he asked, the entangled promise of death if I refused left unsaid.

  I tilted my chin up. “Especially for my life.”

  Our connection was tangible enough to be cut with a blade before a shadow of a grin crept at the corner of his lips. “Your strength has me all the more eager to break you,” he murmured.

  I smiled at him. “I don’t break easily. Or at all.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” he returned. “My intentions are not completely noble at wanting you at this gathering.”

  I rose my brow once more. “No shit,” I said sarcastically. “I wasn’t under the impression that any of your intentions were noble.”

  He chose to ignore that, luckily for me I guessed. “I’ve purposefully invited most of the people I suspect to this gathering, I cannot go ahead and do any sort of investigation on them as I’ll be watched the whole time. Which is why you’re in my employ. Well, maybe not the whole reason,” he corrected. “Even the king cannot break Theoxenia and conduct violence against those he’s invited under his roof and shared blood with.”

  Theoxenia was the oldest and most treasured of all laws of our race. Even the most rebellious of vampires—me—obeyed it. It was ancient Greek mythology, where our race was arguably born, that hospitality be granted to guests of a blood gathering. It extended to those who accepted that hospitality and shared mortal blood with the host. Or any form of hospitality offered by the host. Should they spill Ambrogio’s blood after that, they forfeited their immortality. Hence the fact that I was yet to kill anyone at a blood gathering.

  Until now, it seemed.

  I offered him a sly smile. “So the king wants me at his party in order to break the most ancient of all vampire laws? I’m warming up to the idea now.”

  He moved forward. “Not break it,” he hissed. “Merely bend it. But I will break your head off your neck if you utter this to anyone.” His voice smoothed over the threat.

  I continued grinning. “Why of course. It’s only the best secrets that offer death as the punishment for sharing them.”

  He stepped back, his mask firmly on. “I’ll send a car for you at midnight.” He gave my attire a once-over. “As enticing as the white is, I think this calls for something a little more….”

  “Sinful?” I finished for him.

  His eyes glittered. “Quite,” he agreed before turning on his heels.

  I didn’t get a moment’s peace. I had to go shopping.

  For something that I hopefully wouldn’t die in.

  AS A VAMPIRE AND COUTURE addict, my closet was full of sinful. But I needed something that would communicate that while offering me enough movement to fight my way out of the party if need be.

  Which proved a challenge at first. Why designers didn’t offer dresses which lent themselves to death-match battles was beyond me.

  All the best parties ended in bloodshed. Clothing should be designed for that fact.

  While I walked down balmy Fifth Avenue, my perfect sinful and fighting dress swinging in the wind, my phone chimed. I’d already fielded calls from Sophie after I’d been out of the king’s presence, to reassure her that he had not executed me.

  Yet.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Sophie had asked for the hundredth time.

  “No one ever describes me as okay, Soph.” I wandered down the street, enjoying the fact that I’d had an uneventful six hours since I left Thorne’s presence. I ignored the part of me that yearned for that presence.

  A big part.

  “People and vampires alike describe me as beautiful, unforgettable, manic, murderous, but never merely okay.”

  She snorted. “Narcissism in full swing means okay,” she muttered. Then there was a loaded pause. “And you killed her? The witch?”


  “Yes, I did. Not a moment too soon either. Nasty piece of work that one. And apparently not the only one of her kind,” I mused, remembering Rick’s words.

  “What?” Sophie all but hissed into the phone.

  “What do you know about a witch called Belladonna?”

  Static filled the line, a crackling sound making me yank the phone from my ear to make sure it didn’t explode. When I was satisfied that it wouldn’t, I put it back. There was still silence.

  I waited.

  “Are you saying that’s who she was?” Sophie whispered.

  I shrugged. “Apparently. And is it right that she’s got some bunkmates who may be out and about?”

  “Yes, Isla,” Sophie said, her voice as flat as I’d ever heard it. It filled me with foreboding.

  “It’s not good, is it?” I guessed.

  “No. Not good at all.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course. I’ve killed one. The rest should be a breeze.”

  Cue another pause. “And she didn’t use magic before she died?”

  I scoffed. “Of course she did. She may have been an evil, sadistic shrew but she was smart. Good thing I’m smarter. And stronger. And much, much prettier. You didn’t want to see behind her mask. It was like Donald Trump without the makeup.” I shuddered, reaching the foyer of my building.

  Silence over the phone.

  I paused. “Witchy? Have you dropped dead over there?” I asked.

  “No,” Sophie said, voice strange. “I’m very much alive, and glad you are too.”

  I laughed. “Well, in a manner of speaking.”

  “And you were with Thorne. For the entire week?” She changed the subject at vampire speed.

  I tensed. “Yes, I was. Lying unconscious and dead, if you didn’t recall,” I snapped.

  “But you woke up there.” I heard the grin in her voice. “And to him. In his bed.”

  “Yes, and I got up, considered draining him and his slayer friend, thought better of it, and left.”

  “That’s all?”

  I scowled at her, wishing she could see my death glare. “That’s all,” I hissed.

  And I may have had the most amazing sex of my afterlife in an abandoned house littered with corpses after we’d killed a witch who had almost murdered me. Then when I woke up, he had declared something dangerous like his undying love for me. I sure as shit wasn’t going to tell her that. I was on my way to convincing myself it never happened. Five hundred years had me pretty good at denial for the sake of self-preservation.

  Love was never undying. Especially with a mortal. It died, an ugly and bloody death.

  I was the only thing that didn’t.

  I cannot die, which means I cannot love. Because eternity with the shadow, with the ghost of a dead love, was a forever of death.

  “Riiight.”

  “Whatever. We need to be focusing on catching these slimeballs who turn humans and plot against our race so I can get back to my normal, peaceful life.”

  Sophie snorted. “You wouldn’t know normal if it ripped your throat out.”

  “Well a decidedly abnormal vampire came up to me not one week ago and ripped my throat out. It’s almost the same thing.”

  “And peaceful? Peace for you is when you only have one member of your family trying to kill you while you screw a demon and fight a werewolf.”

  “That didn’t all happen at the same time,” I argued for the sake of clarity. Even I had limits. “It was spread out over a week.”

  Sophie laughed. “Okay, so to get us back to our peaceful lives, I’ll get to work on figuring out who in my community has a hand in helping vampires turn humans. I’ll bet my Metallica tickets she wasn’t working alone.”

  I perked up. “You have Metallica tickets?”

  “Already have one for you. It’s good incentive to survive the week.”

  Sophie was already doing her work, so I had to do mine.

  Which meant subduing my crazy half-breed stalker once I got into my apartment and answered his seventh phone call. I’d ignored the first six.

  “Isla,” he practically screamed into the phone.

  I screwed up my nose. “If it were possible for my eardrums to pop, I think you would have done it,” I answered.

  He ignored me.

  “Where have you been?” he asked. “I hadn’t heard from you in a week. I thought you were dead. For real.” He whispered the last part as if saying it aloud would snatch my afterlife from his grasp.

  “Not dead, just busy.” I didn’t elaborate. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Scott; after all, he’d done everything he could to help Sophie and kept his mouth shut. He was like a loyal puppy, though at that point I thought kicking him might not get him off my fricking leg. It was either kill him or get used to him.

  “Well I can help with whatever you need. Are we going out for humans tonight? I’ve already found some we could use. Plus, I’ve been looking into vampires who haven’t been logging any kills, especially ones with previously high volumes. I’m thinking those could be the ones turning humans—”

  “Jesus Christ,” I hissed at Scott, reflecting on my earlier thoughts. “You don’t say shit like that over the phone while you’re in a building full of fucking vampires who are searching for a reason to kill you,” I snapped. “Silence is golden. We’ll meet after I go to this insidious gathering tomorrow night. I’ve got a mountain of work to do for my real job and then have to stop a vampire war. I can’t babysit you too. For now, try not to do anything stupid that would get you killed—or even worse, get me involved.”

  I hung up on him before he painted an even bigger target on his back.

  The one on mine was already getting too hard to hide.

  I glanced down at my phone, grateful for the reprieve from spending six hours unmoving, staring at my computer screen. Events of the last twenty-four hours plagued my mind. Not purely the memories of blood that that hellish witch brought to the surface, though that had me feeling a little… off.

  No, it wasn’t that. Or the battle. It was Thorne. Every inch of my mind seemed to be consumed with the slayer.

  The human, I chanted to myself. Despite the fact that it was punishable by death to associate with slayers, it didn’t follow my ‘no humans’ rule. There was a reason I only whored myself around the supernatural community over the past few centuries—humans died. Attachments didn’t die with them, though. They stayed with me and my undying mind; hence the reason it was a little unhinged.

  The thought of Thorne dying had me wanting to throw my desk out of my window. Which was precisely why he was dangerous to me and the pedestrians forty floors down.

  I swirled in my chair as I snatched up my phone. “Speak,” I answered.

  “Isla?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Santa?” I whispered back.

  There was a loaded pause. “Yes, this is Isla,” Rick deduced smoothly.

  “You’re calling me? The king himself? Don’t you have servants for that?” I asked.

  Another pause. “I do. They dial for me.”

  I stared at the horizon. “Did you just make a joke? Oh my gosh, you did. What a wondrous day to be undead.”

  “Earnshaw talked,” Rick clipped, obviously not liking small talk.

  I relaxed in my chair. “Of course he did. He’s a coward. Cowards talk. What’s the goss?” I kept my voice even; this was the moment of truth to see if Sophie’s spells worked. I would so kill her if they didn’t and it got me dead.

  “Nothing of import. Apart from how his… disciples were made,” he explained, though not outright saying ‘the humans he turned into vampires.’ The fact that he was wary of speaking of it over the phone meant he was wary of those who could overhear him. What a world he lived in, when I was the only one he could trust.

  That did not mean good things.

  “You’ll fill me in at this wretched ball you’re throwing, I’m sure,” I muttered, wincing at the prospect.

  “
Indeed,” he agreed.

  “Unless you want me to go fight bloodthirsty animals and a witch again and almost die? I can do that instead,” I offered hopefully.

  “No, Isla. Your job tomorrow night is to be on my arm and infiltrate the traitors.”

  I rolled my eyes. “James Bond made it seem so much more fun. What else has Earnshaw got that I can actually use?” I asked.

  “Most of his dealings were done through an intermediary at Extermius,” Rick explained.

  I cocked my brow. “Interesting, but not entirely surprising. The patronage at that bar aren’t lovers of the human race. I’ll check it out. Tomorrow night work?”

  “Isla,” he warned.

  I gritted my teeth. “Fine.”

  Rick didn’t speak, but I could hear the rustling of clothes and the steady echo of footsteps on the other side of the phone.

  “No, you hang up first,” I cooed, my voice saccharine sweet.

  “What?” His smooth voice was marred with confusion.

  I spun on my chair. “Oh, were we not playing that human game to see who could sever the riveting conversation we’re currently having? I thought you were struggling to hang up.”

  His sigh rippled through the phone. “There’s one more thing. It’s of little import, and actually one thing that these miscreants are doing that might benefit us.”

  “Whatever could that be? Killing the human responsible for those wretched American Idol shows? Bravo.”

  He ignored me, as was becoming his habit. “Apparently, they’re attacking the slayer compound, in about—” He paused as if glancing down at his watch. “—twelve minutes. I would send a team out there to capture the rebels, but likely they’ll be mindless soldiers who know little more than Earnshaw. I’ll wait until they’ve exterminated those pests and then perhaps I’ll send someone to pick up the leftovers,” he mused.