The Vampires' Blood Mate: A Paranormal Reverse Harem Romance

by Lili Zander

  “Yet, he’s your friend.”

  “Yes, he is,” Saber agrees. “I notice the things he keeps hidden. In the middle of planning a war, he went to the funeral of a soldier who died to defend him. He took on the task of returning the children Gratvar stole to their homes, no questions asked.”

  “He sent Dr. Karling to cure me.”

  “He did,” Saber agrees. “You know why he didn’t harm you?”

  “Because it would have offended you.”

  “No, that’s bullshit. Ragnar has no problems offending me. It’s not even because he’s attracted to you. I’ve spent a lot of time this past week thinking about it. The real reason, even though he will never admit it, is because he does not like harming innocents. He has to kill from time to time—you cannot be a prince of the Shayde Empire and avoid murder—but he doesn’t like it.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “You’re wondering what you’ve got yourself into.” He takes my hand. “You’re wondering if you’ve made a mistake. I like Ragnar, but I want to be clear. My first loyalty is always to you. If you don't want him, say so. If you're not interested, we will turn the ship around. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do.”

  “What if I have no idea what I want to do?”

  His shoulder touches mine. “Then take all the time you need to figure it out.”

  I’m still nervous. I think I’m a little afraid of Ragnar. He’s terrifyingly competent. He managed to figure out that we were headed to Antaras Seven, and he beat us there. He shut down the drone network of the Jowth. Now, he’s calmly planning an invasion of the Chipwa Sector.

  Nero, Zeke, Saber, and I are a team. We’ve fought for it. We’ve worked through our problems. We’ve earned it. Ragnar is an unknown, and this could go one of two ways. He could slot harmoniously into place, or he could be a wrecking ball that destroys everything we’ve built.

  28

  Raven

  Most of Gao 69P is frozen ice. We enter the thin atmosphere and skim the surface of the asteroid until we reach the domed city. As we near, a panel slides open, and we enter, touching down on a landing pad.

  Ragnar is waiting for us when we descend the ramp. “You made it,” he says, a smile of welcome on his face. “And the Valiant doesn’t have any new dents. Congratulations.” His eyes land on Zeke. “Thank you again,” he says. “You have no idea how much we needed to find that boarium. Astrid sends her gratitude as well.”

  Jealousy claws my insides. Of course, she does.

  Ragnar shakes Saber’s hand, and then Nero’s, and then he turns to me. “It’s good to see you, Raven.” I brace myself for his touch, but he lets my hand go after a cursory shake. “Shall we go inside? There’s food and drink, and then my soldiers want to talk strategy.”

  Huh. That’s unexpected. There’s a part of me that’s relieved that he’s not making a pass and another part that’s a little piqued.

  You’re crazy, I lecture myself as I follow the vampires to a waiting skimmer. You spent all this time being nervous about what’s going to happen, and now that nothing has, you’re offended? Stop being ridiculous, Raven.

  I get into the back of the skimmer. Zeke and Nero squeeze on either side of me. Ragnar pilots the craft, and Saber settles himself into the front passenger seat. “We think the best strategy is to sneak in and steal the boarium,” Ragnar says to Saber as we start to move. “We could land in a show of force on Banrilia, but I’m afraid that Harek will order the fuel destroyed rather than let me have it. Three teams, twelve soldiers each. Tomas is on standby to provide infosec support, and Zeke, I could use you as well.”

  “Sure.”

  “Perfect. In a happy coincidence, my beloved cousin Gerra is on her way to Banrilia. As soon as we have the boarium, I thought I’d make my way to her location with a small strike team.”

  “You looking for volunteers on this mission?” Nero’s voice is very hard. “She paid Gratvar for a cargo of children. I’d like a shot at her myself.”

  “I’d be happy to have you,” Ragnar says.

  “Count me in as well.” Saber’s expression is grim and determined.

  “Avenging your grandfather, are you?”

  “Fuck, no. I don’t care about my family’s imaginary woes. So they lost a council seat. Big fucking deal. I’m gunning for Gerra.”

  Ragnar smiles at him. “Good. Zeke, I know you want to volunteer too, but I really do need infosec support.”

  Zeke sighs. “Fair enough.”

  We pass a set of barracks. “I didn’t think anyone except the refueling staff lived here,” Nero says curiously.

  “They don’t. We set up the barracks yesterday.” He pulls up at a low structure that hugs the inside of the dome wall and jumps out. “We’re here.”

  Here is a veritable palace.

  On the outside, the building Ragnar takes us to looks similar to the barracks. Prefab construction, hastily erected plasteel walls, one story high. Function over form.

  Inside is a different story. We walk into a large living area. Right opposite us, stretching from floor to ceiling, is the glass dome wall, offering us views of the outside. It’s daytime, but this far from the sun, the light is weak and hazy. Unlike the ice deserts I’m used to, there’s no snow here. According to Zeke, it’s because there’s not as much moisture in the air. Large rocks dot the landscape, covered in a thin sheen of ice. The effect is strange and surreal and captivating.

  A thickly piled red and blue carpet covers the floor. The table in the center of the room has a vase of flowers. Flowers. In the middle of an iced hunk of rock. Ragnar must have brought them with him.

  A fireplace is to the left of me, a fire crackling in the hearth. To the right is a fully stocked bar. A glass chandelier hangs from the ceiling, spilling golden light everywhere. Two large couches are arranged at right angles to one another.

  Doors are set into the walls on either side of me. “Let me give you the tour,” Ragnar says. He opens the door on the right. I follow him into a bedroom. The sheets are gray silk, the mattress thick and soft, and the bed, large enough for five people, is piled with pillows. Gray silk drapes line each side of the dome wall, ready to block out the weak light from the outside. Once again, the floor is carpeted, and vases containing flowers dot the small tables on either side of the bed.

  “There’s a freshroom through there.” Ragnar gestures to a door. “These will be your quarters. I hope they are adequate.”

  He brought flowers and silk sheets and fluffy pillows to a war zone.

  He looks at me, waiting for an answer. “They’re fine,” I manage.

  “My quarters are to the left of the living room.”

  “Shall we see them?” I ask blandly. I’ll be honest; I’m judging him a little. I’m absolutely shocked that he brought all these luxuries here. His soldiers, the people who are going to be putting their lives on the line for him, are sleeping in barracks and Ragnar’s living like he’s still on Starra?

  He raises an eyebrow. “Of course.” He leads the way into his rooms, and the moment he opens his door, I have to admit I judged him prematurely. Ragnar’s room is pretty sparse. There’s a large bed, but it’s not covered with a dozen pillows. No flowers. No carpet on the floor. No silken drapes over the windows. Our side is distinctly nicer.

  Ragnar shoots me a mocking look. I flinch but hold his gaze. I deserve it.

  We make our way back to the living room. “Are any of you hungry?” Ragnar asks. “I can have food brought in.”

  I shake my head, as do the others. “Strategy meeting then?” he asks Saber. “Zeke, Nero, please join me. Raven…”

  I cut him off before he can tell me I’m not invited. “I don’t know anything about military strategy. I’ll stay here.”

  I enjoy my time alone tremendously. I watch the holos. The tabloids are gossiping about a party Empress Astrid attended. They show a vid of her arriving. She’s wearing a deep blue gown that sparkles every time she moves. Her
hair is swept up, and she’s wearing a jeweled tiara that undoubtedly costs more money than I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “Prince Ragnar was once again nowhere to be seen,” one of the hosts says, a skinny vampire with vividly purple hair and a sneer on her face. “He wasn’t at the First Night party either.”

  “I hear he’s overseeing the cleanup of the Uncharted Reaches.” Her co-host, a chubby woman wearing too much makeup replies. I don’t recognize either of them, but then, I didn’t really have a lot of time to watch the tabloids back on Boarus 4.

  Purple-Vampire snorts. “What does Ragnar know about war?” She presses a button on her console, and a clip plays. It’s Ragnar, his arms around two women, sauntering into some kind of fancy party. He says something that the camera can’t catch to his companions, who smile in agreement. The three of them rush through the mansion and take a diving leap into the swimming pool outside. The camera pans to the other guests, and I can see horror and shock in their gazes. Except for Empress Astrid. Astrid is laughing at her brother. “This is the man who is going to lead our troops? He’s playing at being a soldier.”

  Irritated by her snap judgment, I change the channel. I flip through the offerings, but my attention isn’t on the holos. I’m thinking about Ragnar. The tabloids dismiss him as a lightweight, which is probably just the way he likes it. Ragnar’s survived assassination attempt after assassination attempt. It’s to his advantage that people underestimate him.

  But there’s a big difference between the prince’s public facade and his real self. His soldiers are willing to risk their lives for him. Saber, Zeke, and Nero clearly respect him. Gerra Clay and Patrik Kevis treat him like a formidable opponent.

  And you? What do you think of Ragnar?

  I shy away from that thought.

  I’m dozing off in front of the fire when the door slides open, and Ragnar enters the room. I sit up. “Where are the others?”

  “Right behind me.” His smile is tired. “Don’t worry, they’ll join us in a minute.”

  He looks exhausted. I feel a pang of sympathy for him. “Thank you for the room. It’s beautiful.”

  “You’re welcome.” He sits on the couch across from me. “I’m sorry Ivar couldn’t get the transfusion to work.”

  “It’s okay. He said he’d try again in a few weeks.”

  He nods. “I needed him back in Starra.” He leans back and props his legs on the table. “The scientists that created the virus had years to design it. We have weeks to find a cure. Ah well. Where’s the glory if it’s easy?”

  “What glory? According to the holos, you spend all your time diving into pools at fancy parties.”

  “You saw that?” He looks amused. “In my defense, it was a painfully boring party.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” He nods. “Why not bunk with the soldiers? Wouldn’t it be better for morale if you’re one of them?”

  “I’m not one of them,” he says bluntly. “I will never be one of them, and it’s condescending to pretend otherwise. If I'm there, they can't let off steam. They can't bitch about the Empire. They can't grumble about the guy in the port who wouldn't give them a permit or make jokes about who they’d like to fuck.”

  “Ah.” I wipe my palms on my pants. “Are you really going to kill Gerra Clay?”

  “Yes.”

  He gets up from the couch, crosses the room, and pours himself a glass of slenti. He inclines the bottle in my direction, and I shake my head. I need all my wits around Ragnar. I’m not yet ready to let down my guard. “Because you want to sleep with me?”

  He takes a slow sip of his drink. “Sure.”

  No. He’s lying. This is an answer the tabloids would believe, but Ragnar isn’t the person they make him out to be. “What’s the real reason?”

  I don’t expect him to answer. Saber has warned me that Ragnar doesn’t explain himself. I’m bracing myself for a polite but pointed rebuff. “Two reasons. The less important one is that Gerra and Patrik have sent three sets of assassins after me in the last ten days, and I’m extremely irritated with both of them.”

  “And the more important reason?”

  “The children Gratvar enslaved. Gerra is a member of the Ruling Council. What the fuck was she thinking? Humans outnumber vampires in the Empire. Do you have any idea what would happen if this got out? Equality Pact would fan the flames, and humans would revolt. Rightly so. Millions would die.”

  “That’s why you’re killing her? To preserve peace?”

  He gives me a mocking smile. “Is that not altruistic enough for you?”

  Saber’s words ring in my ear. The real reason, even though he will never admit it, is because Ragnar does not like harming innocents.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  There’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” Ragnar calls. A man wheeling a cart of food enters the room. “Should I put this in your quarters, sir?”

  “Please.” He turns back to me. “Why do you think I’m killing her then?”

  “Because they were children and they were defenseless. Because they were torn from their families and locked in a cargo hold, as if they were animals. Because you know what it feels like to lose your childhood.”

  His eyes rest on me. “You don’t know me, Raven.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. But Saber, Zeke, and Nero all believed, without exception, that you would help, and I trust their judgment.”

  The door opens, and my vampires walk in. Saber looks at me, and then at Ragnar, and at me again. “Everything okay in here, Raven?”

  “Everything’s fine.”

  A mask slides over Ragnar’s face. “I was just about to invite Raven to have dinner with me.” He gets to his feet and holds his hand out to me. “Will you join me in my quarters?”

  I get up, ignoring his outstretched hand, and look through the open doorway into his quarters, where the man has set the table with two table settings, covered dishes, and more damn flowers. It looks cozy and intimate.

  He assumed I’d say yes.

  I don’t know where it comes from, but white-hot anger fills me. This is a vampire used to getting whatever he wants, and now he wants me. He thinks he can snap his fingers and I’ll come running, just like every other woman that passes through his life.

  I refuse to be a foregone conclusion.

  “Sorry.” I don’t sound the slightest bit apologetic. “I have prior plans. Zeke and I are going to see Barnett’s Folly.” Giving Ragnar a vicious smile, I cross the room and lace my fingers in Zeke’s. “Shall we head out?”

  Zeke winks at me. He lets go of my hand long enough to grab an unopened bottle of slenti from the bar, and then the two of us walk out of there.

  As I leave, Saber starts to laugh. “Ah, Ragnar. When was the last time you didn’t get your own way? This is going to be good.”

  The last thing I hear is Ragnar’s rueful chuckle. “It’ll be different, that’s for sure.”

  29

  Zeke

  Barnett’s Folly was an interlude, a moment for Raven and I to catch our breaths before we went to war. We talked. We saw the sights. We made love.

  But war won’t be denied.

  We have to be careful. Gerra Clay is not stupid. Family Clay and Family Thorsson have a peace pact that dates back to the time of Empress Chela’s abdication, but despite that, she has to know that if Ragnar finds out who sent the assassins, he’ll retaliate. She’ll be bracing for counterattack.

  Ragnar’s sent a small advance team to Banrilia. Nehal Kuri and Stefan van der Klein are posing as a vampire couple in the market for banned mind-altering drugs. They report that the so-called Pleasure Planet is on high alert. “Automated checkpoints everywhere,” Stefan says to Ragnar when he checks in. “They’re checking identities against ShaydeNet.”

  ShaydeNet is an Empire-wide identity database. Facial recognition, DNA, fingerprints, everything is stored in one central database. “We’ll be fine then,” Ragnar replies. “Tomas took care of ShaydeNet
. Our fake identities will hold up.”

  “There are also reports of random manual checkpoints,” Nehal warns. “We haven’t run into any of them, but I overheard a couple of Oensi grumbling about running into a dozen inept soldiers outside Section Thirteen.”

  I frown. If we hit a manual check, we’re screwed. Nero and I are blessedly anonymous. To a lesser extent, so is Saber. But everyone knows Ragnar’s face. “We’ll need disguises.”

  If Ragnar is tense by the prospect of landing on a hostile planet, he doesn’t show it. “I have an idea. Give me thirty minutes.”

  He disappears into his quarters. When he emerges half an hour later, my mouth falls open. Ragnar is dressed in the clothing that was the height of Empire fashion fifteen years ago. A sky-blue calf-length tunic worn over a pair of neon yellow puffy pants. His shoes match the tunic. He’s shaved. His hair is greasy-looking. He looks fifteen years older, and when he nears us, I recoil from the odor of stale booze mingled with sweat.

  He takes in our reactions. “What do you think?”

  “I’m wavering between admiration and revulsion,” Saber says, horror coating every syllable. “What the fuck are those pants? My eyes will never be the same again.”

  Ragnar barks out a laugh. “I have outfits for the rest of you too. Get changed, everyone. We have boarium to recover, and Gerra to kill.”

  Over seventy percent of Banrilia is water. We land in Calder in a spaceport in Section Thirteen, only a few minutes away from the ocean. The scent of rotting fish greets us when we emerge outside. Raven wrinkles her nose. “Why does it smell so awful?”

  Awful doesn’t begin to describe the odor. “A hundred years ago, Banrilia used to be a flourishing food planet,” I tell her, fighting the urge to gag. “A few fishing villages still try to eke out a subsistence living farming the ocean, but more often than not, their product ends up rotting in ports.”