Blood Bound

by Becca Blake

  But she couldn’t let him see that.

  She had to put on her mask and become a mirror for his desires, just like she did every day at the brothel. There was only one problem with that—she knew very little about his kind, and even less about him.

  “I didn’t know vampires needed to eat real food,” she said.

  “We don’t,” Nero said between bites. “Blood is the only sustenance we need. However, good food is one of life’s greatest pleasures, and we can enjoy it as well as any mortal can.”

  “I see.”

  Nero’s fork scraped against the plate as he took bite after bite, clearing the overflowing plate. “Tell me more about yourself. How long have you been working at the Blood Den? I can’t recall seeing you there before this week.”

  “I’m just trying it out,” she said. “Though, I’m not sure whether I can go back, or if I even want to.”

  Nero nodded. “I can see how that would be difficult for you, after what you experienced there. What were you doing before this week?”

  “I work at a brothel.” Azalea wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she’d been able to bring Miria’s cloak with her to dinner. She wasn’t ashamed of working at Madam Leone’s, but sitting in Lord Nero’s palace sharing a meal with him… It felt so insignificant. “My real passion is art, but no one in the Third District is going to pay me for that.”

  “Is that so?” Nero arched an eyebrow. “I would love to see what you can create.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I’m sure you’ve seen much greater talent than mine in your time, my lord.”

  “Perhaps,” he said with a wry smile. “But I would like to see yours all the same.”

  “Of course.” Azalea set her fork down and folded her hands in her lap. “There is something I wanted to ask you.”

  Nero pushed his plate away so he could lean forward on the table. “You want to know why I invited you here tonight?”

  She nodded. “I’m no one special.”

  “You intrigue me. When I first saw you that night, lying in the blood of a man who’d wronged you, I saw something in you. At a glance, you looked weak, helpless. Scared. But that look I saw in your eyes—that strength. What you went through last night made you strong.”

  “I was already strong, my lord,” Azalea said. “My strength belongs to me. Not to the one who hurt me.”

  Nero tilted his head to the side and stared at her like she was a puzzle he needed to solve. “The guard I sent to accompany you home last night—I noticed he escorted you again tonight. Did he treat you well?”

  “Yes. His kindness was…unexpected,” she said carefully.

  “I’m glad to hear it. I would imagine you don’t encounter kind vampires very often.”

  Azalea met his gaze, searching his cool, grey eyes for any hint about whether this was a test she could fail. Insulting his people didn’t seem to be correct, but outright lying to him seemed worse.

  “I suppose not,” she said finally.

  “Our instincts are a powerful thing,” Nero said. “It is difficult to fight against the natural pull of monstrosity that we feel. Though, some of us fight it harder than others.”

  “And how hard do you fight it, my lord?”

  His lips quirked up in a smile, with only a hint of fang poking out beneath his upper lip. “Enough.”

  She shivered, wishing she could believe him. She’d seen enough of the monsters.

  “As long as you are with me, you are under my protection. You have nothing to fear,” Nero said. He pushed his chair out and stood up. “Come.”

  Azalea folded her napkin neatly on the plate and took Nero’s hand, letting him help her to her feet. “No dessert?” she asked, voice light and playful.

  “I would love some,” he whispered in her ear. “You have no idea how much.”

  Lord Nero looked down at her with a hunger that hadn’t been satisfied by the meal he’d just eaten, a hunger that would devour her next if he let it.

  And in that moment, Azalea wasn’t sure that she’d fight against him if he gave into that hunger.

  He pulled her in close and pressed his body against hers. “Do you trust that I will keep my promise to you?” He lowered his mouth to her neck for the second time that night, grazing his teeth along her neck.

  Azalea shuddered at the sensation. She tilted her head to expose more of her neck to him, daring him to break his promise not to feed.

  “Temptation is a dangerous game for a delicate flower to play,” he murmured into her skin.

  “I don’t play games I think I can’t win.”

  Nero pulled away from her, meeting her gaze with a renewed hunger in his eyes. “Why don’t we step into my study? You said you like to draw. I think I’d like to see.”

  He took Azalea by the arm and led her up through the castle to a tall tower. The winding steps led to a room at the very top. Shelves filled with books covered the walls from floor to ceiling, except for a single window that looked out over Terra Nocturne. She could see everything, from the bright lights and shimmering leyline vines of the First District to the tiny, dreary buildings of the Third. It was hard to appreciate Terra Nocturne from the worn down streets she lived on, but from the view in Nero’s study, the underground city was breathtaking.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He came behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist as she stared out the window.

  “More beautiful for some than others,” she said softly.

  “Why don’t you show me what you find beautiful?” Nero waved her over to an easel at the center of the room. It was already set up with a fresh piece of parchment, along with a quill and a small bottle of ink that suggested this wouldn’t be its first use.

  She stared at the blank parchment, trying to envision something she found beautiful. Most often, she drew the people around her. If no one was around, she doodled interesting rock formations, or flowers and trees she remembered from her years on the surface. Sometimes she would try to remember what the animals above looked like, though she was sure she got them all wrong. She’d once attempted to draw Viridi, though that endeavor had ended in her scribbling all over her failed attempt. She hadn’t tried again.

  Now, in the castle with its fabulous view of the city, the most beautiful thing she saw was the vampire who had just taken a seat in an armchair across the room.

  With a shaky breath and an even shakier hand, she dipped the quill into the bottle. The quill scratched against the parchment as she made the first stroke. Ink settled in a thick line of bright crimson that seeped into the parchment.

  Blood. The ink was made of blood.

  She paused, her hand hovering in front of the easel. Liquid dripped from the tip of the quill and splashed into the bottle of deep red below.

  “Is something wrong?” Nero asked.

  “No, my lord,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m just not used to working with supplies…of such high quality. And a blank canvas is an intimidating creature.”

  She made a second stroke, and a third, sketching out the edges of Nero’s face. The strokes of ink darkened to a muddy brown as they dried.

  This is just another type of ink. There’s nothing special about it.

  Azalea drew with quick, sketchy strokes to avoid the long lines that would betray the shaking in her hand.

  Just ink.

  She looked up frequently, using the living reference in front of her. She’d drawn Miria before, but she would have been impressed by stick figures. This drawing… This had to be perfection. And that pressure scared her far more than the blood at the tip of her quill.

  As she drew, Nero’s gaze was heavy upon her. She looked up frequently to meet it, staring into pale grey eyes that burned with an intensity she longed to capture on the parchment.

  She dipped the quill in the inkwell in preparation for another stroke
, but this time it scratched along the parchment without leaving a mark. She picked up the bottle, rotating it around to see the final droplets of blood ink rolling lazily around the bottom of the container.

  “I believe I’ve run out of ink.”

  “Do you need more?” Nero didn’t move from his chair as he held the full weight of his gaze on her.

  She looked at the drawing again, considering. She’d finished most of it, had the shapes of all of his features defined. She could leave it here, and no one but her would know how much shading and definition it lacked.

  Perfection. This piece had to be perfection. She couldn’t settle for good enough.

  “Yes,” she said. “I do.”

  With a single graceful movement, faster than her vision could track, he was in front of her. He brought her non-dominant hand to his lips, kissed the inside of her wrist, and sank his fangs into her vulnerable, trembling flesh.

  11

  Azalea gasped at the sharp pinch, then sighed as the thrall of pleasure from the vampire’s bite took hold of her.

  “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Lord Nero,” she said dreamily.

  “I don’t.” Instead of latching onto the wound, Nero held it over the inkwell, letting her blood drip into the container. “How much more do you need?” His tone was calm and even, his eyes locked on hers.

  She glanced down at the bottle as it filled, then met his eyes again. “More,” she murmured.

  Nero took in a sharp breath as he held her wrist firmly over the bottle.

  As her blood trickled out, her head started to feel light and airy. “More.”

  Azalea gripped the edge of the desk with her dominant hand to stop herself from falling over. Her body was so heavy, and she struggled to hold herself upright. Without the vampire supporting her weight, she was sure she’d slump right to the floor.

  Nero flipped her arm over and brought it back to his face, holding eye contact as he licked her wound shut. “That’s enough for now. I don’t want to drain you dry before I’ve ever had a true taste at your vein.” He lowered her into the green armchair behind his desk, allowing her to rest.

  She sat in the chair, limbs heavy and unmoving, recovering from the vampire’s spell. She hated this feeling of helplessness, of vulnerability. If Nero chose to hurt her now, there was nothing she could do to stop him. She was entirely at his mercy. If this had all been a ruse to make her powerless so he could take advantage of her, she’d fallen right into his trap.

  Not that the king of the city needed to resort to trickery to take what he wanted.

  Nero added another liquid to the inkwell and shook it gently to mix them together, then set it on the desk in front of her. “It’s ready for you, when you’re able.”

  He took his seat across the room once more. His eyes remained locked on hers for every minute of her recovery, never wavering from the eye contact she did her best to meet.

  Once her limbs regained their strength, Azalea dipped the quill in the mixture again and continued her work, shading in Nero’s features with layers of her own blood. When she was satisfied she could do no better, she set the quill in the bottle and turned the easel to face Nero.

  He moved closer to examine the portrait, then looked at her. “I ask you to draw something beautiful, and you chose to draw me?”

  “Yes.” Warmth rose in her cheeks. “I find you beautiful, Lord Nero.”

  Nero lifted her onto the desk and held her cheek in his hand. “And I find you,” he whispered, his face only inches from hers, “exquisite.” He captured her lips with his own in a rough and hungry kiss.

  Breathless and consumed with need for the vampire lord in front of her, all Azalea could think of was how much she regretted making him promise not to feed from her.

  Miria’s boots flew across the room as she kicked them off. They slammed into the wall and landed a foot away from the rug next to the door.

  “This bullshit is going to kill me.”

  Her complaint received no reply, which meant Azalea was elsewhere for the evening. Again.

  Her entire body was covered in filth from the mines. She stripped off her disgusting clothing and looked down at her hands. The grime was caked into her skin, buried beneath her fingernails. Even if she had the extra money for a warm bath, she wasn’t sure even that would be enough to make her feel clean again. And even if it did, it would be a waste of the money she didn’t have, considering she’d be just as gross when she arrived home tomorrow. Still, she took a towel and rubbed her face and hands, nearly scrubbing her skin raw in an attempt to clear away the grime.

  She’d taken her job at the pub for granted, that was for damn sure. And she’d sure as hell had enough of this new job. There were far too many stories of elves going to mine duty and never returning, sometimes due to accidents and other times due to “accidents.” Miria refused to be part of that number.

  It was time to plan their escape from the city. And now, with the sword she’d stolen from the guard she killed, they actually had a way to do it.

  Miria dressed in fresh clothing and an old pair of boots. They were worn out at the soles, but at least they were less likely to leave tracks of filth anywhere she tried to go. She reached under her mattress and retrieved the sheathed sword she’d taken from the guard.

  The other miners had been whispering rumors about bodies being found in the market, but no one seemed to know much about what had happened. But if word had spread this quickly through the elven community, it was certain that the vampires knew about it.

  Still, no one had come knocking on her door, which meant they didn’t suspect her. At least not yet.

  Miria had to get the sword out of her apartment before they decided to come question her.

  She tied the belt around her torso, tucking the sheath into her pants to conceal it, and pulled her baggy tunic over the hilt. It wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny if someone stopped her to take a closer look, but it would suffice to walk a few blocks down the street to stash the weapon at Zephyr’s apartment.

  A crumpled piece of paper on Azalea’s desk caught Miria’s eye on her way out the door—probably another scrapped drawing. The hard lines of her mouth softened into a smile as she reached for the parchment. The illustrations Azalea hated enough to throw away were always the ones Miria found the most interesting. Azalea obviously saw something wrong with these rejects, but no matter how long she looked at them, Miria could never see whatever negative quality Azalea saw. They all looked great to her.

  She picked up the sheet and frowned. There was no drawing on this one, only a short note:

  Meet me tomorrow for dinner. I will share my meal with you, provided you share your vein with me.

  The paper slipped away from her fingers, and unease clawed at her gut.

  Gods, Azalea. What have you done?

  She reached down with shaking hands to pick the paper back up from the floor to see what vampire had made this demand of her.

  Her legs suddenly weak, she sat down in the chair at Azalea’s desk and covered her face with her hands.

  The note was signed by the city’s vampire king, the one whose face would be burned into Miria’s memory forever. The one she saw in her darkest nightmares.

  The one she wanted to kill more than she wanted anything else.

  Azalea had been spending her nights feeding Nero Cineris.

  Which meant Aeidan had been telling the truth—he really hadn’t touched Azalea that night. Miria had attacked him and been sent to work in the mines for nothing.

  Azalea lied to her.

  Why? Why would she do that?

  She would never agree to it voluntarily. He had to be forcing her.

  But of all the elves in the city…why her? How did he even remember who she was? How long had this been going on?

  The note gave Miria far more question
s than answers, and now wasn’t the time to try to answer them. She stuffed the note in her pocket and hurried out the door. If Azalea was being forced to feed Nero, that made their need to escape even more urgent and even more dangerous.

  It didn’t take her long to reach Zephyr’s building. When there was no answer to her banging on the door of his third-floor apartment, she yelled out his name. “Let me in—it’s important.”

  After some shuffling noises from behind the door, it swung open. Zephyr stood in front of her, resting one arm on the door and the other on the frame, his shirt notably absent. He didn’t bother to hide the frustration from his expression. “What the hell is going on with you lately?”

  Miria slipped past him without answering and pushed the door shut behind them.

  Zephyr crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. “Was beating the shit out of Aeidan worth getting sent to the mines?”

  “No.”

  The admission shut Zephyr up. He cocked an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

  “I did it because I thought he was hurting Azalea.”

  “There are better ways to take care of that—ways that don’t involve you possibly throwing your life away. I mean, the mines? Gods, Miria, elves twice your size rarely survive there longer than a couple years.”

  “What was I supposed to do, ignore it? You should have seen how she looked when she came home those nights.” Miria threw her hands in the air in frustration. “The worst part is, that asshole didn’t even deserve it this time. He didn’t do it. Azalea has been coming home bruised and bloody because she’s been feeding Nero her blood.”

  “Nero? Azalea is feeding Nero Cineris? There’s no way.”

  Miria flicked the crumpled piece of paper at Zephyr.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  He came up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. “We—” Whatever words Zephyr was about to say died on his lips as his hand brushed against the hidden sword. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at the bulge on her hip, noticing it for the first time since she’d arrived at the apartment. “What the hell is that?”