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

by Bella Klaus

  Inside, it was dark with spotlights illuminating leather seats that curved around its interior. A bottle of champagne stood within a bucket of ice surrounded by four flutes. My throat dried as I remembered Kresnik’s reason for celebrating. I wasn’t looking forward to spending time with the man in an enclosed space, let alone hearing him brag about his expanding army of preternaturals.

  As soon as Valentine and I settled into the butter-soft seats, the guards shut the door, and the driver pulled out of the driveway.

  Relief escaped my lungs in a long breath. “He’s meeting us there?”

  “Aurora and a few others are conducting a ritual tonight.” Valentine’s hand slid over my exposed thigh, sending a ripple of pleasure into my core.

  The limo continued to the end of the driveway, where I clenched my teeth at the pinpricks of magic from the wards as it joined a road that cut through Hampstead Heath.

  I bit down on my lip, trying to ignore the mingled sensations of discomfort and pain. “More magic transfers?”

  Valentine’s hand continued up my leg. “They’re going to slip through into the realm of the gods.”

  My breath caught. “Really? I didn’t know such a thing was possible.”

  He nodded. “Nothing is beyond the capabilities of Our Lord.”

  Irritation burned through my insides, and I clamped my legs together. How many times would I have to endure Valentine—a noble being who never bowed to anyone in his life—refer to that parasite with respect? Kresnik was like the old wizard who hid behind the curtain in that movie. Worse, because he combined being a charlatan with being a murderer.

  I pressed a kiss on Valentine’s jaw. “Tell me more.”

  “You’ll have to ask your father at dinner,” Valentine replied with a chuckle. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted with your interest in his work.”

  Suspicious, more like. I leaned back into my seat and crossed my legs.

  Fifteen minutes later, the limousine slowed past Belsize Park station and into a high street of Georgian buildings with their downstairs converted into quaint little bars, restaurants, and the occasional international chain. At the end of the block stood a building that looked like it had once been a movie theater with GOURMANDE emblazoned in glowing letters.

  The vehicle stopped level with a red carpet that stretched from the curb to the establishment’s closed front doors.

  “What is this place?” I asked. “A restaurant?”

  “London’s most infamous burlesque club,” Valentine replied.

  I turned to him and smiled, my mind conjuring images of the Moulin Rouge movie, starring Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman. Macavity had particularly enjoyed the Spectacular Spectacular scene, making me replay it four times. I was about to tell Valentine, when the driver opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air and sparkly magic.

  “Faeries.” I grabbed Valentine’s hand.

  He curled his fingers around mine and guided us out of the limousine and onto the red carpet. “Yes, it’s fae-run.”

  The limousine door slammed shut, and the driver returned to the front. As he pulled out into the high street, I raised myself onto my tiptoes and whispered into Valentine’s ear, “We’re both under death sentences and about to step into a place run by supernaturals. Don’t you think it’s strange that Kresnik invited us here?”

  Valentine raised my hand to his lips and placed a kiss on my knuckles.

  I stared up at him, my mouth gaping open. “That’s your answer?”

  “Trust in Our Lord.” He continued over the red carpet and pressed a hand to the wooden door.

  Light pulsed under his palm, and it clicked open to engulf us with more of that sparkling faerie magic. A red-carpeted reception area stretched out before us, manned by ogre and human-faerie bodyguards dressed in burgundy uniforms with silver trim. Sparkles covered the walls, looking like compressed starlight.

  My steps faltered. Did Valentine just open up a portal into Elphame?

  A young man with blond hair pushed his way through the guards and swept into a low bow. “Bonsoir, Madame et Monsieur, welcome to Gourmande,” he said in an exaggerated French accent. “I am Karsten, your host.”

  As he rose, our eyes locked, and recognition flickered across his features. I clenched my teeth. Karsten was a common enough name among supernaturals, but I hadn’t expected to meet someone I knew from the academy. Karsten had been one of the sycophants who orbited Ellora Vandamir, who’d laughed the loudest at her barbs, a faerie hybrid who came from a troop that fed off the misery of women.

  I held my breath. He had to know about my death sentence and the bounty on my head. My fingers curled around Valentine’s and gave him a warning squeeze, but Valentine carried on as though we weren't walking into a trap.

  Karsten’s face twisted into a smirk, presumably because he’d heard all about my humiliating departure from Logris. “Mera Griff—”

  At Valentine’s snarl, Karsten’s features paled, and he smoothed his expression into a neutral mask.

  “Your Majesty.” Karsten’s voice trembled. “Table for two?”

  “Four,” Valentine replied.

  Dread rumbled through my stomach in time with the drumroll of my heart. I waited for Karsten to turn toward the door at the end of the reception area before leaning into Valentine and saying, “What if someone calls the enforcers?”

  “You’re forgetting that the Mage and Demon Kings told everyone I was no longer preternatural.” With a smile, Valentine placed his hand on the small of my back, ushering me to follow our host.

  “But I’m a fugitive,” I said, feeling queasy.

  Valentine shook his head, as though he would handle the enforcers and bounty hunters hunting my hide. If I said anything else, he’d probably remind me to trust his bloody lord again.

  My lips formed a tight line, and I walked alongside Valentine, trying not to think about the time he had spent under the control of the corrupt monarchs. “Lazarus told me you announced a lockdown and a bunch of taxes for the vampires. Is that still in place?”

  Valentine tilted his head to the side. “When Our Lord takes control of Logris, such trivial matters will no longer be of consequence.”

  The door opened, and Karsten led us through the back of a theater illuminated by red lights. A sunken orchestra played the can-can music, while a quartet of faeries pranced about on stage with their butterfly wings and frilly pantalettes on full display. They raised their skirts, kicked their legs, and cartwheeled across the stage.

  The audience clapped and cheered at what they thought were acrobatics but were really faeries taking to the air with their magic. Under any other circumstances, I might utter something about the exposure of the Supernatural World, but not tonight. Tonight, I was more concerned about Valentine and my safety in a place where enforcers could descend on us at any minute.

  We continued to a much smaller room where a quartet of women wearing outfits of peacock feathers swayed to a hypnotic rhythm upon a stage surrounded by thirty or so booths. Behind the stage was a walkway where a small orchestra played music that sounded like it could charm snakes.

  Each semicircular enclosure was private with leather backrests tall enough to conceal the patrons from their neighbors.

  Karsten stopped at a booth large enough for four with a circular glass table. “What’s your choice of condiment, Your Majesty?”

  Valentine guided me into my seat. “Red velvet. And bring me a bottle of Quell.”

  As he sat beside me, I leaned into him and asked, “What did you just order?”

  “He wanted to know how I wanted you.” He leaned into me and ran the tip of his nose down the column of my neck. “Seasoned, debauched, or au naturel.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going to try something different tonight.” He drew back and stared at me with a broad grin.

  Before I could ask what he was talking about, Karsten returned with a red milkshake topped with whipped cream and pieces of red velvet brownie
s. Whoever had prepared it swirled a maroon-colored sauce on the glass’s interior and atop the cream. I leaned in and inhaled the rich scent of chocolate.

  I glanced up at Karsten, who stared down at me with a smirk. “Red velvet milkshake?”

  He turned his gaze to Valentine and inclined his head. “Enjoy, Your Majesty.”

  My gaze darted from the host to my date, who stared back at me with reddening eyes. Something about this arrangement suggested that the purpose of the drink was to flavor my blood. I pulled the straw to my lips. Right now, I had bigger things to worry about than being bitten by Valentine.

  He slipped his hand into the slit in my dress and ran his fingers up and down my thigh. Valentine’s smoke and sandalwood scent wrapped around my senses, making me forget all about the red velvet.

  “Try it,” he murmured into my ear.

  I took a sip of the milkshake, letting the cold liquid slide down my tongue. It was more ice cream than drink, decadently sweet, with rich chocolate base notes that mingled creaminess with acidity that reminded me of raspberries.

  Valentine’s lip grazed my ear. “How is it, Innamorata?”

  “Delicious,” I replied, “but is that all I’m going to eat?”

  “I’ll make sure you also get something savory,” he replied with a chuckle that made my skin tingle.

  I continued drinking, letting the milkshake calm my nerves and chase away my anxiety. My energy increased with each mouthful of the sweet, creamy liquid, making me suspect that the shake contained magical ingredients to prepare its drinker for donating blood or something else.

  While we were courting, Valentine had taken me to all kinds of eateries, including temple-style establishments where women in kimonos served green tea with matcha-based desserts. This was the first time I’d ever had a milkshake as a meal.

  Valentine kissed my neck throughout the milkshake, confirming my suspicions. I swept my gaze across my surroundings. On the other side of the glass table, a woman dressed as Marie Antoinette sauntered onstage to the applause of the patrons seated in the booths opposite. Her white wig was nearly as large as her head, topped with fluffy white feathers that matched her voluminous gown.

  As I reached the end of my drink, the band played striptease music, and the woman plucked out a feather from her wig. Valentine stopped stroking my thigh and rose from his seat.

  I glanced up to find Kresnik entering the booth, clad in a white tuxedo jacket that clashed with his pale eyes and contrasted with his blood-red hair. His cold gaze landed on me with the force of an icicle through the gut, making my breath catch. The interrogation was about to begin, and it didn’t help one bit that Valentine would sit between Kresnik and me.

  Kresnik lowered himself into the seat, and a young woman whose red curls and freckles made her look like a teenaged Orphan Annie slid into the booth beside Kresnik.

  “Thank you for the gracious invitation, My Lord,” Valentine said in a voice as smooth as butter.

  Stiffening, I turned my gaze to the stage, where the woman removed the long train of her dress and tossed it at the band. She drifted to the other end of the stage and removed a feather from her wig.

  Kresnik ordered steaks for himself and his date. After confirming how they wanted the meat cooked, the host disappeared, leaving us alone to talk. A boulder of dread settled in my gut, making me slide further down the seat.

  They started with a bit of small talk, mostly centered around how much the Supernatural World had changed since his heyday five hundred years ago. I leaned into Valentine’s side, listening for useful tidbits that might give me clues about why his phoenix flames had failed this afternoon, but all they talked about were the demon communities sprouting up around Great Britain and what that would mean for the upcoming war.

  As the conversation continued, my breathing calmed, and the host returned with two plates, one containing chunks of raw meat arranged into a patty and topped with an equally as raw egg. The other contained a steak so bloody they might have just sliced it straight from the cow.

  The host placed the plate swimming with blood in front of the Annie lookalike, who placed a hand over her mouth and stared at her meal. I sent Valentine a word of silent thanks for ordering something as palatable as a red velvet milkshake.

  Kresnik picked up his fork and dipped it in the egg, spreading yolk over the chopped meat. “Why have you kept Hemera for so long, considering her proclivity to be disobedient and willful?”

  A fist of alarm squeezed my heart, making me rear back. Was he suggesting that Valentine kill me? I glanced across the table to meet the other girl’s shocked eyes. I’d never seen her around the Flame before, but she seemed to understand Kresnik’s hint.

  “Disciplining Mera is the ultimate pleasure,” Valentine replied with a smile in his voice.

  “Yes, her conduct this afternoon suggests that your methods of reprimand are insufficient.”

  I cowered behind Valentine, trembling so hard that my teeth chattered. Kresnik would punish Valentine first for allowing me to meddle in his attempt to create a vampire army out of his followers and then he would demand that Valentine silence me for good. Blood roared between my ears. I held my breath, keeping my body inhumanly still, so everyone might forget my presence.

  Shallow breaths grazed the tops of my lungs, and my heart fluttered like a flock of feral pigeons. If Kresnik ordered Valentine to drain me dry, what would he do? I wrapped my arms around my middle and squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe this was why Valentine had ordered me that shake—so he could drink me to the brink of death.

  My eyes darted around the booth, which suddenly felt like the interior of a coffin, except I was stuck with a man who wanted me dead, and another who would be my executioner. I didn’t know where the Annie lookalike fit into the scenario. She was probably another fire user who Kresnik would order to cremate my exsanguinated corpse.

  Valentine chuckled at Kresnik’s accusation that I was out of control. “Mera’s training has been geared toward pleasure.”

  “Do tell,” Kresnik drawled, elongating the last syllable.

  “Under my tutelage she has perfected the fine art of fellatio,” Valentine said.

  My mouth dropped open, and I reeled forward. What the hell? In the time we’d been together, he’d never once demanded that of me. Was he getting me mixed up with the girls in his past he used to spank?

  Kresnik chuckled. “Martika came to me already fully trained, didn’t you, dear?”

  The young woman tilted her head to the side and spoke, but the pounding between my eardrums muffled her voice. Whatever she said made Kresnik lean toward her and press a kiss on her lips.

  “Mera does all of that for me and more,” Valentine said, sounding unimpressed.

  Prickly heat rose to my cheeks, and my lips parted to let out shallow breaths. I had to clench every muscle in my body to stop myself from uttering a denial. Even through my humiliation, I could tell this was a form of subterfuge. Kresnik was more focused on details about my sexual prowess than on suggesting that Valentine get rid of me.

  “A girl like Hemera is far too prudish to be of any use in the bedroom,” said Kresnik. “What you want is an adventurous spirit like Martika.”

  Valentine shook his head. “There’s nothing finer than training an inexperienced young woman over a course of years to anticipate one’s every need.”

  I dipped my head, not wanting to show my reaction to this pack of lies. Valentine had spent our time learning how to please me, but I wouldn’t object if this salacious talk distracted Kresnik from wanting to kill me.

  Kresnik clapped his hands together. “Prove it.”

  “What?” I whispered.

  “Order Hemera under the table. I wish to see the fruits of three years of specialized training.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I sat against the leather backrest as still as a tin solder with my hands curled into fists. My heart pounded double time to the striptease music, draining all the blood from my face. Kres
nik had to be joking, right? What kind of tyrant judged obedience by a willingness to slip under the table and perform fellatio?

  A psychotic one.

  Valentine turned to me, his expression unnaturally neutral. The strain around his eyes told me that I had better play along before Kresnik finally ordered my death. On his other side, Kresnik leaned forward, meeting my frozen gaze with raised brows.

  I gulped. He expected me to protest, to make a scene, so he could order Valentine to finally drain my blood so he could extract my power. My tongue darted out to lick my dry lips. Fellating Valentine was fine—even underneath a table with one of my academy tormentors hovering close by—but I would die before I got anywhere near Kresnik’s junk.

  “What were my orders again?” I asked.

  Kresnik’s smile was glacial. “Valentine claims he has you under control. Get on your knees and prove it.”

  Thoughts of the tyrant ordering me to service him flitted through my mind, and a rush of nausea caused some words to tumble out of my mouth. “By myself?”

  Kresnik wrapped an arm around the curly-haired girl, pulling her into his side. “Martika will keep you company.”

  Her eyes danced, and she bounced about on her seat. “Is this a competition to see who makes our boyfriend cum first?”

  “If you like,” Kresnik said with a chuckle.

  “Yay!” Martika flashed me a wide smile.

  Relief whooshed out of my lungs in an outward breath, but then another thought slapped me upside the head that made my stomach twist. I glanced at Kresnik, my eyes wide. “But all these people are watching.”

  Valentine gave me a firm pat on the knee that felt more like a warning than a comfort. “I will engage the booth’s opaque enchantment, so Our Lord can enjoy his fellatio in private.”

  Kresnik narrowed his eyes. “Are you stalling, Hemera?”

  Anything I said next would probably count as a stalling tactic, so I slid beneath the table. My knees sank into the spongy floor—something I hadn’t noticed until now, and I wondered if this establishment had made it soft in the event that their patrons wanted under-the-table servicing. I clung to Valentine’s pants leg, sending him a silent apology in case I messed up the blowjob.