Thrall of the Vampire King (Blood Fire Saga Book 4)

by Bella Klaus

  A long breath heaved from my lungs. If I had to lie here semi-comatose, why did it have to be with this incessant chatter? Coral and I had never spoken about the effects of thrall, and I couldn’t remember if she said it brought on hallucinations.

  My fingers twitched, and it finally felt like the beginning of normal sensation. Coral once mentioned the time she was high on faerie-synthesized thrall in Logris. It was when a shadow had frightened her into expressing fire. But it had been Kresnik all along, finally deciding she was ready to reap.

  “Miss Griffin,” the voice hissed.

  “Who is this?” I croaked.

  Whatever he said next got drowned out as the thrall took control of my senses and swept me into a landscape of white. It was nothing like the void where Valentine’s soul dwelled, but a sea of clouds that carried my prone body in a cocoon of warmth.

  Right now, nothing mattered. Not Kresnik or Valentine or even my impending fate. I guess this was why some people found thrall so addictive. My imaginary arms swept out to my sides, and I let myself glide over the fluffy expanse. Even though I felt no emotional attachment to the problems I left behind, they were still intriguing.

  My mind drifted to our encounter with Kresnik. Someone who wanted to defeat the Supernatural Council and take over Great Britain should be busy mobilizing troops, consulting with spies, and planning their first few attacks. So why had he taken time to summon me about my sound healing session?

  It had been a harmless attempt to ease their discomfort, yet Kresnik had warned me not to do it again. Kresnik had even made my life here more perilous by ordering the removal of the blood packs. The man wanted me dead, but I couldn’t think straight enough to fathom why.

  If my sound healing had been such a threat, why had Healer Calla allowed me to perform the session?

  What did Kresnik find so objectionable about a New Age treatment I performed all the time on humans?

  The man was a puzzle, and no amount of thrall could distract me from wanting to uncover his secrets.

  Sound healing was supposed to calm the energy body, and it had worked on smoothing out the jagged edges from where Kresnik had torn out my teammates’ magic. It was also supposed to remove negative attachments, but Kresnik had used me to connect with each of my team members—I had been the conduit for their power.

  The breeze in my dreamscape shifted, and I rolled above the clouds. Had I stumbled onto something dangerous? It would explain why Kresnik wanted Valentine to kill me. Did it mean we each still had a kernel of the magic he had imbued in us from conception?

  The clouds thinned, and my body drifted down, landing on the mattress with a gentle thud.

  “How long do you intend to lie there when a maniac is plotting to take over the entire world?” the voice asked.

  “Who is that?” I murmured.

  “This is becoming rather tedious, don’t you think?”

  Annoyance tightened my skin. Who did this voice think he was? And how had he gotten into the room when Valentine had said Kenwood House was inaccessible to all but Kresnik and his inner circle? My muscles spasmed as though trying to twitch awake, but a second later, they gave up, and I melted back into the mattress.

  “Don’t go back to sleep,” the voice said, but it was too late.

  I flew across the night sky on a silver spoon, among stars that twinkled like diamonds. A pearlescent moon shone down at me, its smile as wide as a cat’s. I wondered which human song or nursery rhyme my mind had stolen these images from, but the dreamscape dissipated into the breeze.

  The next time I awoke, it was to an empty stomach that wouldn’t stop spasming and rumbling. I grimaced through the discomfort, and squeezed my eyes shut, not able to remember the last time I had eaten. Was it the morning of the ritual?

  “Awake again?” the voice drawled.

  “Get a life,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Do you think I have nothing better to do than watch a cow slumber under the influence of vampire thrall?”

  Annoyance tightened my skin, and I clenched my teeth. “I’m not a cow.”

  “Really?” he drawled. “Because if it looks like a cow, gets fucked like a cow, and feeds a vampire like a cow, I guess it’s an upstanding young woman.”

  “You’re a dick,” I muttered.

  “Or a queen,” he said, drawing out the last syllable. “Wasn’t that what you were mooing about on the palace steps?”

  My heart accelerated, pounding hard enough to rattle my ribs. Blood roared in my ears. Who was this asshole and what gave him the right to spy on Valentine and me? He even knew about what happened at the ball and was prepared to use that knowledge as a weapon.

  I cracked an eye open to scan the room for the intruder, but all I found was the four-poster bed’s golden canopy. My gaze darted to the left, where orange flames danced within the fireplace, illuminating Kresnik’s portrait. On the right, pale sunlight streamed through the window from an overcast sky. I couldn’t tell if it was morning or evening, but it was time to deal with this pest.

  “What are you, some kind of lecher?” I asked through clenched teeth. “Is your existence so bland that you have to spy on girls and offer up snarky commentary on their lives?”

  “Please,” he said, his tone dismissive. “I’ve had an eternity of beauties, each far more dazzling than you. King Valentine fucks like he’s barely seen his first millennium.”

  The tightening in my belly spread up my diaphragm, making it hard to breathe. My mind tumbled through my options. Was this Kresnik’s attempt to turn me insane so I hurt myself? Was this another of his schemes to engineer my death? Or had his shadow found a way to slither out of Hell along with his soul and was now infiltrating my room for revenge?

  “Are you a ghost?” I asked.

  “Hardly.”

  “Kresnik or any of his offshoots?”

  Jagged magic crackled against my skin. I’d offended him. Good.

  “Of all the cows and all the Neutrals, why did the mighty Vampire King get degraded by the dullest?” he said.

  The words slammed into me like a kick in the gut, making me flinch. How dare this wretched old man accuse me of ruining Valentine’s life?

  “You don’t know anything about us,” I snarled.

  “Enlighten me.”

  My muscles tensed, and a burst of anger seared the edges off the thrall, bringing my mind back into sharp focus. What was this, some kind of reverse psychology? If he was so knowledgeable, why didn’t he work out the answer for himself? I shoved my elbows into the mattress, trying to push myself up. If this really was someone trying to drive me crazy, I would frustrate him until he buggered off.

  Sparks crackled across my fingertips like tiny bolts of static as I shoved against the mattress, trying to get my muscles to cooperate.

  “What did you just do?” he asked, all traces of superiority gone.

  Ignoring him, I twisted around on the bed and pushed myself a few inches off the pillow. The crackling sensation spread over my entire hand, settling on my wrists.

  “Get up,” he hissed.

  “Why?” I rose onto my hands and knees, facing an ornate headboard of gold swirls. One more heave, and I would be off this bed.

  “Just do as I say.” His voice quickened, rising several octaves.

  I rose to my knees, threading my fingers through the swirls for balance. My muscles ached from the effort, and sweat beaded across my brow. Valentine needed to understand that this thrall of his was only making me vulnerable. If I’d had full control over my body, I’d have been able to walk out the moment the voice came a-snarking.

  Eventually, I turned back and fell in a sitting position, propped up by a combination of the headboard and pillows. I glanced around the empty room, trying to catch a glimpse of the annoying man, but he had disappeared.

  A long breath eased out of my lungs. Maybe he had been my imagination, an inner coach to annoy me into fighting through the thrall. He was still an aggravating dick. Sometimes, I
would hear Coral’s voice in the back of my head saying something snarky or pessimistic about vampires. This voice had likely been something similar. I nodded to myself. He had probably been a figment of my imagination and plaguing me to snap out of my thrall-induced stupor. My way of fighting through the haze.

  “You have your magic?” he asked.

  Flinching, I squeezed my eyes shut. He was real.

  “Miss Griffin?” he said in a voice he probably thought was commanding. “I asked you a question. Do. You. Have. Your. Magic?”

  A pained moan slipped from my lips. “Kresnik took it—”

  “Not all.” His voice shook. “See if you can generate a few sparks.”

  “Just go away,” I muttered.

  “Miss Griffin.” His sharp voice cut through a layer of haze.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “Humor me and I’ll be quiet. Or you can continue being disobedient, I will plague you all day, all night, twisting your mind into knots until King Valentine returns. He’ll notice your erratic behavior, and you know what he’ll do?”

  I didn’t need to imagine. Kresnik-controlled Valentine seemed to think that dosing me with thrall was the answer to keeping me safe.

  “Alright,” I said with a long sigh.

  “Go on, then.”

  I clenched my teeth. “You don’t ask for much.”

  “Sarcasm is the instrument of the fool. How wonderful it is to confirm your membership of the dull-witted.”

  “Oh, bugger off,” I snarled, only to generate a spark from my thumb.

  “Miss Griffin.” The energy in the room shifted. The voice paused, seeming to think about how to phrase what he would say next.

  My eyes narrowed. He still hadn’t introduced himself.

  “You must not let anyone see this spark of magic.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Trust me.”

  I rolled my eyes. Hiding my magic was pretty good advice, considering Kresnik probably thought he had stolen it all, but I wasn’t about to let this stranger think I was taking anything he had to say seriously. I’d seen enough TV shows where a disembodied spirit wreaked havoc on the life of someone who had reached rock bottom.

  They’d start off super helpful, offering advice to help their victim out of their rut. Then, once they’d burrowed themself into their victim’s consciousness, mayhem would ensue. Either the disembodied voice would snatch their body or it would subject them to a lifetime of torment until they ended it by jumping off the roof.

  No, thank you.

  I was a prime candidate for such a haunting. Lying naked in a thrall-induced stupor, amid a nightgown fashioned into ropes was probably the lowest point in anyone’s existence.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “I go by many names,” he replied.

  I pressed my lips into a tight line. This entity was probably building up to asking me for a favor and thought he’d maintain the upper hand with cheesy lines. My situation was temporary, but his? I wouldn’t let him think I needed his help because I didn’t.

  “You’ve already annoyed me a hundred different ways and established that you’re a prick,” I said. “Don’t backtrack now, trying to sound mysterious.”

  Annoyed magic snappe against my skin. That was because all the power and intrigue he held over me was gone.

  “Show yourself,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I can feel your magic in the room,” I snapped. “You’re either lurking outside the door, the window, or hiding in a laundry basket. If you want to continue this conversation, show your face.”

  White mist seeped out from beneath the bed, forming the outline of a man.

  My brows rose. “You’re a preternatural vampire?”

  The mist bristled around the edges, sending more of those annoyed crackles across my skin. “I’m a demon,” he said. “The demon.”

  I raised a shoulder. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  He expanded, trying to make himself appear bigger. “Do I have to spell it out?”

  “Actually, you do,” I said with a smirk.

  My life had really hit a low point when my biggest source of satisfaction was annoying a cloud of dust. I raised my chin, glaring into the section of the patch I guessed would be his eyes. After all that taunting, he deserved to squirm.

  “You may call me Hades, I suppose,” he muttered.

  “Then you may call me Helen of Troy,” I said back.

  “You are no Helen,” he snapped. “Neither will you ever become queen unless you regain your magic and resurrect King Valentine. The Supernatural Council will prevail, you know. And every single soul in this building and the one below will belong to me.”

  Realization struck me harder than lightning, and I remembered the awful king who stared down at me from his throne during my trial. He’d not only wanted me dead and in Hell, but he’d fought to claim the souls of Aunt Arianna and the rest of the coven. This creature had a nerve to enter Valentine’s bedroom, let alone approach me. He deserved a lot more than becoming a disembodied wisp.

  I clenched my teeth. “You’re the Demon King.”

  “I’ll excuse you from curtseying, seeing as you’re indisposed,” he replied.

  My nostrils flared. How dare the Demon King expect me to show respect. This was the man who stole pieces of my coven’s DNA and hired a bunch of shapeshifter faeries to impersonate them, the same man who lured us into a trap, and the same man who worked with the Mage King to enslave Valentine. The Demon King had also wanted to destroy my body and keep me as his pet.

  “Leave right now because I’m giving you absolutely nothing,” I spat.

  “I want a truce.” He raised his misty hands.

  “Why would I believe anything you say, when they also call you the Prince of Lies?”

  I was sick of the sight of him and even more fed up with listening to his voice, which now poked at my nerves like pitchforks. I turned to the window and stared out at the clouds.

  “King of Lies, thank you,” he said.

  “Get out, or I’ll go back to sleep and ignore you forever.” Out of the corner of my eye, the mist drifted over the bed. My jaw clenched. “I didn’t invite you to get cozy.”

  The cloud that was formerly the Demon King retreated to the footboard, hovering outside the bed like unwanted flatulence. “Very well.” He sounded offended, but I no longer gave two shits. “Kresnik reduced my physical form into ash—”

  “Why don’t you go back to Hell and get a new one?” I asked.

  “Judging by the lackluster performance I witnessed earlier in the week, I’m not surprised you need an explanation on how physical bodies are made. Was that your first time?”

  Prickly heat burned my cheeks, and I clamped my lips shut. My chest heaved from rapid breaths. This was another form of gaslighting. Just because I didn’t blow sparks out of my ass or turn somersaults like the demon women he was accustomed to, that didn’t mean I was crap in bed. Valentine had never uttered a complaint—not even as a rude, domineering, drugging-me-senseless-with-his-thrall preternatural.

  “Good night.” I closed my eyes.

  “Wait,” he said.

  I inhaled a deep breath, pushing every ounce of irritation down to my diaphragm. Valentine couldn’t keep me like this forever. Eventually, he would work out that I needed to eat, and I’d be free of this pest. A yawn tore from my lips, and I slipped further down the bed. Hades, or whatever he wanted to call himself, could go to hell.

  “Alright,” he snarled. “When Kresnik destroyed my body, he separated my ashes into five jars. One of them is hidden in this room.”

  I exhaled. This was interesting, but none of my concern.

  “Are you awake?” he asked.

  “Vaguely,” I murmured.

  “I need you to collect my ashes into a single pile so I can resurrect.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  He spluttered. “What did you say?”

  I cracked an eye ope
n. “The last time we met, you were ranting about tearing out my soul. You also wanted to drag my friends into Hell.” He took a deep breath, presumably to utter a denial, but I raised a finger. “Actually, the last time I saw you, Valentine was kicking your ass.”

  Hades snarled, which was an effort considering his cloud of mist was only a seventh of his bodily remains and had no throat. “I will make it worth your while.”

  My eyes narrowed. “How?”

  “There’s a certain object you want,” he said in a voice as slippery as massage oil. “An organ that goes pitter-patter being held in a jar?”

  A breath caught in the back of my throat, and hope filled my chest, but I smoothed all traces of excitement from my features. The last thing I wanted was for the Demon King to know how much I needed that heart.

  “I know its location. I will also help you hold down King Valentine as you reunite him with his heart and burn him into ashes.”

  My throat thickened, and my chest tightened with a tight band of desperation that squeezed all the air from my lungs. “What do you want in return?”

  “All I ask is that you reunite my ashes.”

  “And you’ll return with even more demons and drag everyone in the Flame to Hell?”

  “I would be gracious enough to save you and your closest companions,” he said, sounding like he was doing me a favor.

  “No.

  “What?”

  I clenched my teeth. One of the jars must have cracked early on, giving him enough time to travel throughout the Flame as a disembodied spirit, analyzing Kresnik’s manpower, soaking in his strategies, and examining the wards. If I returned Hades to his former self, he would bugger off with that information and return with a legion of warriors to overpower everyone and claim their souls.

  Kresnik might be an evil bastard that needed culling, but the people who followed him didn’t deserve an eternity in Hell just for being born with the wrong kind of magic. I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone, not even Jonathan.

  “Miss Griffin?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Give me time. I don’t like you and I trust you even less.”

  “Hurry up,” he hissed. “It’s only a matter of time before Kresnik manages to—”

  A knock sounded on the door, making my heart leapfrog into the back of my throat before falling into my chest with a hard splat.