“I won’t argue that,” agreed Lalura. “And the question of Ramses Amon’s whereabouts is once more of priority,” she added.
Roman nodded.
“However… I don’t think Kamon succeeded in his task tonight,” said Lalura.
“What do you mean?”
“Something feels off, to be sure,” she said. “I can’t put my finger on it, but some grave wrong was committed. Just not where Chloe Septeran is concerned.”
“He drained her power and left her nearly dead,” said Roman.
Lalura’s blue eyes twinkled. “Did he? Or did he drain Jason’s power from her?”
Roman considered that. “She is an Akyri. She would only ever possess a warlock’s power within her.”
Lalura shook her head, looking for all the world like Miss Marple as she was about to close out a case. “I beg to differ. In fact, I would wager that right about now, Chloe Septeran is looking and feeling more like herself than she has in a very, very long time.”
It took a few seconds for Roman to mull that one over. Finally, he said, “You mean to tell me that the astral plane restored her? Fully?”
Lalura’s eyes only twinkled at him over the rim of her teacup as she took another sip.
Roman allowed himself a spear of hope at the thought. If Chloe’s magic was safe from Kamon after all, that would put them further ahead of the enemy than they’d believed.
It’s something, Roman thought.
Dannai’s twins were safe as well. It occurred to him that if Kamon had wanted a bargaining chip, going after the little ones would have been ideal. But he hadn’t… yet. Either the protective medallions Ramses had placed upon them were doing their jobs – or Kamon felt something for the children.
They were family, after all. And blood was thick.
“Do you suppose Ramses Amon’ disappearance might have something to do with the twins?” he asked, brainstorming out loud.
“I considered it,” said Lalura. “The protective medallions they wear are unlike anything I have ever felt. They are inordinately powerful.”
It was something else to think about.
After a few moments, Roman’s mind wandered back to his wife. As it always did. “I never should have made Evie come to the meeting,” he said softly, splaying his hand across the table top between himself and Lalura.
She quietly waited for him to go on.
“She looked stricken after the fight,” he said. “Hollow, almost. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “She’s never taken a life.” He looked up, meeting Lalura’s incredibly blue gaze. “She may write about it every day, but it’s quite a different story when not read from the pages of a book.”
Roman thought of the way Evie had looked after the fight. The two of them had managed to hit Roman’s double from either side. They moved so fast, they blurred. Roman and his enemy were neck and neck. And in an act of life or death self-preservation, Evie had reached around from behind the double and used her claws to open his throat.
A heartbeat later, Roman finished the job, taking the man’s head completely off. His burning gaze remained locked on his enemy’s fallen form as it transformed, turning into a pile of sand that eventually lifted away on some unfelt breeze.
Then he’d turned back to his bride. Her eyes had stopped glowing. Her fangs had receded. She seemed… different.
Lalura was silent for a long moment. Then she took a deep breath and said, “One thing I have noticed about sensitive souls is that they appear to be fragile. They break down crying at the sight of a dead cat on the side of the road. They can’t stand the thought of killing spiders – and rightly so.” She sat back in her chair. “A sensitive soul steers clear of bad news, depressing movies, and books with sad endings because they feel the pain of the souls suffering these tragedies – they feel it as if it were their own.”
Roman frowned. When Lalura paused for several long seconds, he said, “I agree, but what does this have to do with the battle and Evie?”
Lalura smiled indulgently. “Anyone who is anyone knows that in order to get good at something, you must practice, Roman. Guitarists put in hours every day to learn their licks and runs. Dancers stay en pointe until their feet bleed. And Evie?” She leaned forward once more, placing her hands on the table. One was still red and healing. “Evie has been practicing for hardship since the day she was born. She’s practiced every time she’s sensed another being’s pain or anguish, every time she’s felt another’s loss or fear.”
She paused here and leaned back once more, sighing heavily. “The bone that has been broken the most is the strongest.”
Roman digested this, feeling bewildered. Lalura was not only the high witch due to her power. She was a very wise woman.
“And in the field of tragedy and trauma,” Lalura finished, “young Evie D’Angelo is an expert.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Everything had happened so fast, Evie was still catching her breath when the vampires flanked her and the torches burst to life along the walls. She was dizzy from the transport, sickened by the destruction she had just taken part in, and terror was rippling through her like nausea on her nerve endings.
She swayed – just a bit – and one of the vampires steadied her with a hand on her arm. She closed her eyes, trying to focus.
She had just been standing beside her husband. She had just killed a man.
She had watched him fall and was stepping back behind her husband, in need of his shielding form, when she’d suddenly been yanked viciously through time and space. She didn’t even have time to take a breath, much less scream. It was a transportation spell unlike any other, devoid of swirling dimensions, devoid of warning. It was instantaneous.
And now she was here. Again, she swayed. Her legs wouldn’t seem to work right. Again, the men beside her steadied her.
She put her hands over her face. It was hot against her cool fingers. She needed to regain control. Breathe, Evie, she told herself. Just breathe. It’s no different from a panic attack, she tried to convince herself, even though deep down she knew it was as different as two things could possibly be. A panic attack wouldn’t kill you.
But death pushed in on her from every side now.
Just breathe.
She did.
And then she did some more.
Then, with a force of will she had never realized she’d possessed and had hoped she would never have need of, Evie managed to steady herself and open her eyes.
As she did, she felt herself come into focus. She felt stronger and sharper. Maybe she was just high on adrenaline. Maybe it was the Vampire Queen in her.
Or maybe it was Evie.
“Welcome, Evelynne D’Angelo,” came a deep beautiful voice that was slightly familiar. Evie looked up toward the throne that sat atop a raised dais before her. A hooded figure sat upon the massive stone chair. Only his red eyes glowed from beneath the hood.
“Emperor Palpatine, at last we meet,” she quipped. Her voice didn’t even quiver.
Soft laughter answered her, wrapping around her in a warm way that was also familiar. She recognized this kind of magic, this kind of sway. The man beneath the hood was a very powerful vampire. A master vampire, like Roman.
It helped explain the cavern; vampires liked caverns. Roman had one, after all. Caves helped soothe the vampire’s inner batling.
He tilted his head and regarded her with those inhuman eyes. “I must apologize for the swift transportation. It was obviously necessary to infiltrate the meeting room and extract you with great care and speed.”
“You think no one will notice I’m missing?” she asked. She was all bravado, with a voice that didn’t quake and a gaze that was steady. But on the inside, she was wondering furiously what it was that he was going to do with her.
“Not for a while,” the man replied with easy calm. “You see, you’ve been replaced with a decoy. Granted, it is a flimsy decoy, devoid of the substance that is you.” He smiled, flashing fangs that glea
med from the shadowy depths of his cowl. “We currently only possess the means to clone kings accurately, not their queens. So your double is not top quality, and it won’t last long.” He shrugged. “But long enough.”
Evie looked at him long and hard. Then she glanced at the men on either side of her. They stared straight ahead like soldiers.
She licked her lips and looked back up at the vampire on the throne. “Long enough for what?”
Another chuckle, deep and beautiful. “It seems that in life, everyone answers to a higher power, and I am no different. Just as my servants bow to me, I too have a master.”
Evie waited.
“He was drained by the attack on the meeting of the 13 and their queens. It isn’t easy to infiltrate such a power. He is resting.” The vampire paused, and she felt his gaze trail down the length of her. She looked down, remembering that she was wearing the gown from the meeting of the 13 Kings. Briefly, she contemplated using her magic to change, but decided to save her strength.
The effect of his scrutiny was almost as blatant as being physically undressed. She felt a breeze against her skin… could have sworn she felt his touch.
He was cold as ice and burned like fire.
She blinked and shook herself.
“When he is strong enough, he will come to you and quite frankly drain you of every ounce of your essence,” he told her.
Evie’s knees felt weak again.
“In the meantime,” he continued, speaking more softly now, more intimately. “I’ve been wanting to meet you, Evie. Very much so.”
Evie couldn’t help it. The focused attention he now cast upon her was so strong, she took a step back. Or at least she tried. The men beside her placed their hands at the small of her back, preventing further movement.
“You’re very beautiful. You may have been made rather than born into our little family… but you make a lovely vampire and a fine queen.”
There was movement in the darkness to the right of the cloaked vampire, and it drew not only Evie’s attention – but his as well. He turned in his seat, his red eyes flashing. “You are of a different opinion, my pet?” he asked, gazing at something Evie could not see.
A figure moved forward, stepping into the light. “I think the dress is beautiful,” said the woman. “And the necklace.” Her words dripped with poison.
Evie recognized her at once. The sound of her voice was the same as it had been when she’d spoken in Evie’s head at the mansion – before the mansion had been destroyed, along with everything inside it. Including Evie’s computer.
“Ophelia,” Evie hissed, every ounce of her anger returning to her with a vengeance.
The black-haired woman’s eyes widened, just a little. She attempted to retreat, but it was too late. Evie had promised revenge, to herself more than anyone, and she intended to have it.
The magic she had acquired upon becoming the Vampire Queen shot out from her like a bolt of lightning, slamming into the other woman with vicious, monumental force. Ophelia cried out and went sailing backward, landing somewhere in the darkness with a terrible thud.
Evie raced after her, and for some reason, this time the vampire guards allowed her to do so. Further torches along the wall at the back of the cavernous chamber that had not been previously lit now exploded to fiery life. Firelight illuminated the entire chamber.
Ophelia lay crumpled against the back wall, gasping for breath as her blackened chest smoked and her nose bled.
Evie came to stand over her, readying a spell that would end it all – end Ophelia’s non-stop invasive threats and her devastating bombs and any residual hold the woman may think she still had over the Vampire King. Enough was enough.
But as Evie raised her arm to deal the final blow, magic crackling and swirling in the palm of her hand, she found herself hesitating. She looked into Ophelia’s eyes.
What she saw there stunned her. She saw fear, plain as day. And she saw pain. She recognized these things in a personal way, as she always did when someone around her suffered.
In that hesitation came something she would never have expected. She empathized with the woman who had tried to kill her upon multiple occasions. She actually felt for her.
It was a highly unwelcome sensation. But it was there nonetheless.
“I knew that you would not be able to do it,” came the master vampire’s smooth voice from behind her. “Self defense is one thing. But vengeance is not in you. It is one of the things Roman loves so much about you.”
Evie turned around, lowering her hand. Her magic fizzled out.
The vampire had stepped down from his throne and descended the steps from his dais. He came toward Evie with slow, even strides, his power rippling out from him like… like Roman’s, she thought. He reminded her of Roman. He was the same height, the same build. His voice was similar – even his magic had the same feel.
“It’s just as well that you can’t kill her,” he continued as he closed the distance between them. “If you had, I would be forced to find someone to take her place.” The warning in his words hung in the air, both obvious and terrifying. She knew damned well who that replacement would have been.
“Why don’t you just kill me?” she asked defiantly. It was a stupid question, but she was at the end of her rope.
“The thought occurred to me,” he admitted easily, coming to a stop a mere two feet away. Still, she could not see past the shadows of his cowl. “And then I brought you here.”
He shook his head. “And now I’ve met you, and I must tell you that I’m intrigued. You see,” he said as he raised his hands and grasped the hood of his cloak, slowly pulling it back to let it fall against his broad shoulders. “Brothers often share the same tastes in many things.”
Evie stared in stunned silence. His features were different from Roman’s, but the resemblance was definitely there. Just enough.
“Roman and I have always been attracted to the same women.” He smiled a beautiful, deadly, white fanged smile, and stars began to swim in Evie’s vision. “Now is no exception.”
*****
The night outside the mansion windows revealed a vast, dark expanse and the occasional distant slash of lightning. Thunder rolled lazily overhead. The fire crackled comfortably, casting dancing light and shadow over the exposed skin of the entwined lovers.
Chloe gazed into the fire from where her head rested upon Jason’s chest, his hand slowly brushing through her long silken locks.
“I never would have pegged you for a Giants fan,” she said softly.
Jason’s hand stilled in her hair. Chloe closed her eyes, realizing she may have made a mistake. She’d just admitted that she’d found his secret office and had gone through his private things. But then she opened her eyes again, just as quickly realizing that she wanted no secrets between herself and her king. Not ever.
At length, his fingers resumed their gentle brushing. “I never would have pegged you for a dominatrix,” he replied.
Chloe smiled and turned her head to look up at him. “Liar,” she said.
Jason’s green eyes flashed with emotion. Then he laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest like the thunder that played outside. Chloe felt entranced gazing up at him, at the strong curve of his chin and the highlights in his hair. She would forever find herself lost in the impossible green of his beautiful eyes.
After a bit, she asked, “What’s going to happen now?”
Jason looked down at her, silent for a moment. Then he leaned over, placing a gentle kiss upon her plump, slightly bruised lips. “In general, I don’t know,” he said as he pulled away and then skillfully maneuvered them both so that he was on top of her once more.
Her breath caught, her body alighting with new, fresh desire.
It was mirrored in his eyes. “But at this very moment, I am going to enjoy my queen.”
Epilogue
It was never-ending, of course. It was what the Court had in mind when they’d exiled him to this realm to watc
h over these creatures. The trouble was never ending, and he never stopped working.
Damon Chroi, King of the Goblins, pulled the sword from its scabbard at his back. The sound was ominously loud in the dark and quiet space of the woman’s bedroom.
The creature standing over the sleeping woman turned at the sound – and then straightened, coming to his full 10-foot height. Glowing eyes peered through the darkness at the king, surprised at first, but then clearly sizing him up.
“Step away from her,” Damon commanded calmly.
“Your majesty,” said the goblin. It smiled a terrible sharp-toothed smile, its red eyes pulsing with wicked magic. Its voice dripped with malignancy, with saccharin respect that barely disguised its underlying loathing. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“I’ve no patience tonight, Lucretius. Return to our realm and leave the mortal be.”
“If you continue to stop us like this, my lord,” he tipped the last word over his long forked tongue as if it were a pithy spot in an otherwise good apple, “we will wither and die as a race.”
Damon couldn’t help it. That made him laugh. He threw back his head, the sound echoing off the bedroom walls. Magic kept the woman on the bed in a deep sleep. “The day I allow you to pass on your tainted and befouled genes, Lucretius, will be the day I take up doily crochet as a hobby and begin enjoying the taste of eggplant. It isn’t going to happen.”
Lucretius Dagon was the worst kind of goblin. He was a bully of a beast, filled with more magic than he knew what to do with and rightfully should have possessed. He was charismatic and mean and had a taste for beautiful, helpless women.
Like almost any creature, goblins needed to mate in order to produce children and continue their species. As their king, Damon accepted this. But most goblins chose to mate with certain fae who accepted them, such as centaurs and orks. Others chose to be with very special mortals who also accepted them, such as Akyri or warlocks. Very rarely did they choose a human. Those humans had to demonstrate understanding and willingness to mate, and even then Damon was careful about which goblins he allowed such a privilege.
The Warlock King (The Kings) Page 18