Blood Bound

by Becca Blake

  “You don’t have to be alone. Stay here with me.”

  Miria turned around and leaned against the wooden door with a heavy sigh, then tossed her bag against the wall. “I’ll do my best to behave. But I won’t let him hurt you.”

  Azalea didn’t believe that Nero intended to hurt her. If he really wanted to hurt her, he’d had plenty of chances.

  Still, it wasn’t worth arguing the point further with Miria, so she simply nodded. “Okay.”

  Azalea started across the room, but her feet caught on a pile of emerald green material, bunched up in a messy ball. She picked it up, admiring the soft fabric of the beautiful dress. As she smoothed it out to get a better look, a section of the train detached from the rest and fluttered to the floor, leaving behind it a floor-length green gown that flared out at the bottom.

  “This would look lovely on you,” she said, holding it up in front of Miria so she could imagine what she would look like wearing it.

  Miria shrugged. “It’s ruined.”

  “Come try it on anyway!”

  Miria’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, really! You would look amazing in this.”

  “No. Maybe that’s what life could have been like for us—trying on pretty dresses, brushing each other’s hair. Having fun. But not here. Not like this.” Miria took the dress from Azalea and tossed it in a trash bin.

  “It can still be like that,” she said finally, after a long silence. “We can do that right now. We don’t have to spend our lives worrying about what might have been if we’d never been brought here.”

  Miria spun around and took Azalea’s hands, her face drawn in serious lines. “We can’t let ourselves get used to living at the mercy of a vampire. He’s dangerous.”

  Azalea sighed. “I know. Didn’t we just go over this?”

  Miria shook her head. “You’re not listening. He attacked me tonight. Here, in this room, right before you walked in. That’s why I was on the floor when you got here. I was bleeding from being thrown into the wardrobe. I thought he was going to kill me.”

  Nero was dangerous, but she’d never seen him become violent. “I’m sure that’s not what happened.”

  “You think I’m lying?” Miria demanded, stepping too close in front of her for comfort.

  “No, of course not. I just think you’re…” Azalea spent a moment searching for the right word. “Misinterpreting.”

  “I know what I saw. I know what happened to me. He pushed me against that wall, right there, and threw me into the wardrobe.”

  Azalea scoffed. “Were you mouthing off to him?”

  Miria’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

  “You know.” Azalea waved her hand around as she searched for more words. “It’s what you do. You don’t know how to keep your mouth shut. It’s why you always get into trouble.”

  Miria’s scowl deepened into a dark, dangerous look that chilled Azalea. “I think you should leave. I need some time to myself.”

  Azalea started toward the door, then paused in front of it, hand hovering over the doorknob. “Look, just…don’t do anything stupid, okay? Don’t ruin this for us.”

  The line of Miria’s mouth became tighter and smaller as she continued to glare at Azalea.

  Point taken. She saw herself out of the small bedroom and started back down the hallway, toward the other end of the castle where Nero stayed.

  Where she would be staying, too.

  It still hadn’t fully sunk in that this was now her home. She’d been so busy worrying over Miria that she hadn’t had a chance to fully appreciate how drastically her life had changed in only the last week.

  It was unfair of Azalea to expect Miria to immediately adapt to the change as well as she had—she knew that. Still, she knew living with the lord of the city was a game that could turn deadly at any moment. Miria would have to learn the rules quickly for both their sakes.

  Though, admittedly, insulting Miria on what was probably the most difficult—or at least, the second most difficult—day of her life probably wasn’t the right way to teach her. She was unstable. What she needed more than anything right now to get through this was a loving and supportive friend, and Azalea wasn’t exactly winning any awards in that area.

  Azalea sighed as she made her way down the long, empty hallway. She would have to apologize to Miria…again. She walked up the tower to Nero’s study, then paused in the entryway to take in the sharp scent of ink and parchment in the air. It was small, but the space had been arranged very efficiently. Art supplies were stacked neatly on the shelves built into the walls, and an easel at the center of the room was arranged so she could look out the window while drawing. There were books on shelves all over the room, and when she’d taken a few moments to examine them more closely earlier, she’d found that many of them were books filled with detailed illustrations she could use as reference when drawing.

  The one thing that was missing from the room, Azalea now realized, was a bed.

  Her body was weary from the trying day, and she longed to lie down and let sleep take her. But she couldn’t do that here. Nero hadn’t given her her own room yet, and she wasn’t sure where she was meant to sleep.

  She closed the door behind her and padded down the carpeted hallway until she reached the door to Nero’s room. She allowed herself a moment to gather composure and calm her nervous breathing before knocking on the door.

  Her best efforts to calm herself weren’t nearly enough for what waited for her on the other side of the door. Nero opened the door wearing only a thin pair of black pants and a lazy smile. His smooth, pale skin glimmered in the dim candlelight.

  “Y-your study doesn’t have a bed,” Azalea stammered, hoping that the low lighting hid the heat she felt rising to her cheeks.

  Nero quirked up an eyebrow. “It is a study, not a bedroom.”

  He was going to make her ask, she realized. “Then where am I meant to sleep?”

  Instead of answering, Nero grinned.

  “Here?”

  Nero’s smile widened, and he stepped aside, allowing her space to enter the bedchamber. “If it would please you, flower,” he whispered into her ear as she passed.

  A pleasant and not entirely unwelcome shudder rolled through her, shooting straight between her legs. “It would please me, my lord.”

  Nero closed the door and locked it with a soft click, then tugged at the strap of the black dress she wore. It fell to the ground, exposing her nude body.

  He attacked me tonight.

  Miria’s words came to her as a cold wind that froze the heat between her legs. She flinched as Nero reached for her.

  He frowned, noticing the sudden change. “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s nothing.” Azalea wrapped her arms around Nero’s neck and tilted her head to the side. “Drink your fill, my lord,” she said with a whisper.

  If he was drinking from her, she could forget. Her body and mind would melt into a pliant, dreamy form that existed only for his need. With all of the worries flying through her cluttered mind, she craved that feeling more than anything. She needed that emptiness, that weightlessness that would take away all of her doubts and fears.

  “Please drink,” she murmured.

  Nero kissed her neck, dragging his teeth across her willing flesh just enough to draw small drops of blood.

  Azalea moaned as she sank forward, her knees going weak. Her mind clouded over, but this time, it wasn’t the thick, opaque fog that hid all of her thoughts. It was thin, translucent, hardly covering anything at all.

  She brought a hand up to her neck to feel the wound, only to find that there was nothing there. He must have already licked the wound shut, leaving her with only a taste of the peaceful emptiness she craved. A noise, barely a whimper, escaped her lips.

  “Not tonight, flow
er. My thirst doesn’t need to be sated so frequently.”

  The fog in her mind dissipated, leaving Azalea with all of her worries about Miria, about the future, about him.

  “Then, is there another thirst you wish to sate tonight?” she asked. Perhaps that, at least, would help calm the storm in her mind. Anything to not be at the mercy of her fears.

  Nero ran his hand down her body, along the side of her breast, down her tight stomach, until it rested on her hip. “Perhaps not tonight,” he said thoughtfully. “Tonight, all I wish for is the warmth of your body next to mine as we drift off into a peaceful slumber.”

  She joined him in bed, convinced that he would change his mind with the closeness. But true to his word, Nero didn’t make any attempts to escalate their cuddling into something more. His body was cool against hers, but his presence was soothing all the same.

  Still, it was hard to forget that Miria was on the other side of the castle, understandably furious with her. It was selfish to bring her along. She would never adjust to this life. She hated Nero too much.

  “I know where your mind is,” Nero whispered in her ear, even as her eyes grew weary with sleep. “It may have been a mistake to bring your friend with you.”

  Azalea’s eyes snapped open. Her body stiffened against Nero’s as the warmth and comfort of early sleep vanished.

  “She’s important to you, I know. That is the only reason I will allow her presence here. But know this: I will not suffer treachery under my own roof.”

  Her assurances that Miria meant no harm, that she could watch over her and keep her from getting into any trouble, died in her throat. They were all lies, and she was certain Nero knew as much. Azalea couldn’t control Miria any more than she could control the passage of time.

  And maybe Miria was right to be worried for her.

  Nero kissed the back of Azalea’s neck, just below her ear. “Good night, little flower. May your dreams tonight be sweet.”

  Azalea closed her eyes again, squeezing them tight in an effort to will the world away. But the ugly world with all its troubles lingered, just beyond her eyelids, waiting for her to open her eyes once more and see it for everything it was.

  20

  Miria raced through the castle halls, hurrying from her room in the servants’ wing of the castle to the kitchen. Her shift was supposed to start hours ago, and she’d slept through most of the dinner preparations already. Farraine, the hot-tempered head of the kitchen staff, was going to be furious with her.

  Miria thought that her years of experience working as a cook and waitress at the Silver Leaf would have prepared her for working in the kitchens at Nero’s castle, but the complex, unfamiliar dishes of the vampire lord’s estate were proving difficult to master. In the two weeks since she’d arrived, it felt like she hadn’t managed to do a single thing right.

  And reporting for work several hours late wasn’t likely to improve Farraine’s opinion of her.

  Her demanding work schedule and frequent visits from Azalea were the only things that kept her mind from wandering to dark places. Neither of them had mentioned anything about their argument the night they arrived, both content to pretend that nothing had happened between them at all. It was easier that way.

  As promised, Miria had never been forced to feed or donate her blood. Nero had never requested it of her, and though other household servants willingly offered their veins to visitors as though it was a badge of honor to feed them, it was never required of Miria. For that, if nothing else, she was grateful.

  She kept her distance from the vampire lord as much as she was able. Each time she was in his presence, she could feel the weight of his gaze following her everywhere she went, like he was waiting for her to slip and prove what a danger she was.

  Miria hadn’t forgotten who she was or what she wanted, but for Azalea’s sake, she did her best to play nice. She couldn’t protect Azalea if Nero found a reason to eliminate her.

  So she wouldn’t give him a reason.

  Stay smart.

  Stay alive.

  The words from Zephyr and Azalea repeated over and over again in her mind. Her actions had resulted in Zephyr’s death; she wouldn’t let the same thing happen to Azalea. She would play the role of obedient kitchen girl for as long as she had to.

  Miria took her stained apron down from the hook and tied it around her waist.

  “You’re late,” Farraine snapped as she pushed past Miria to stir something on the stove.

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to start dinner for another hour?”

  “Lord Nero’s got himself some important guests tonight.” Farraine pushed past Miria again, handing her a sack full of bread rolls as she did so. “Butter those. Get them in the oven.”

  Miria arranged the rolls on a tray as Farraine barked out orders to the other kitchen girls. The task was a simple one—impossible to get wrong, which suited Miria just fine.

  Irena flitted into the kitchen, her movements smooth and graceful like a dancer’s.

  “Take this tray in,” Farraine instructed her, shoving a plate filled with cheeses in various shades of white and orange.

  Irena paused before taking the dish. “Miria, those rolls are supposed to come out with the salads.”

  “I know,” Miria said, doing her best to keep the frustration out of her voice. “They’ll be done.”

  Irena sighed, more loudly than was entirely necessary, then pushed past Miria with the tray of cheeses. Her foot caught on Miria’s leg as she passed by, and the tray slipped out of her hands as she fell to the floor. The scattered cheeses flew across the room, then bounced off the walls and ceiling before landing all over the floor.

  Farraine’s face burned red as she glowered down at Irena. “Get up,” she said through gritted teeth. “Now.”

  Irena buckled on her ankle as she tried to stand. Tears welled in her eyes. “I can’t!”

  Farraine reached down and helped Irena to her feet, helping her to balance on one leg. “Not broken, but it looks like you twisted that ankle pretty badly.”

  “Miria tripped me,” Irena said.

  “I did not,” Miria insisted. “I was preparing the rolls for the oven!”

  Farraine glared between the two of them, then called over a third girl. “Take Irena to her room and get her into bed, then hurry back. We’ve got much to do and one less set of hands to do it. Sofiya! Start cutting up more cheeses. We should have just enough for another platter.”

  As Irena hobbled away and the other girls returned to their work, Farraine continued to glare at Miria.

  “I didn’t—” Miria started.

  Farraine held up a hand to interrupt her. “I don’t care. We’re short a serving girl. Hang the apron up and make yourself presentable. Make it quick!”

  Miria’s mouth fell open. “I don’t— I’ve never—”

  “I’m not asking. The other girls are covered in flour and mess from working the kitchen. You decided to stroll in at your own damned leisure, and then you tripped up our most experienced serving girl. So you can go put on a pretty face and wait on Lord Nero and his guests.”

  Miria hung the apron back up and smoothed out her beige and blue dress. She ran her fingers through her hair to pull out the tangles she hadn’t had time to brush that morning, then weaved the strands into a quick braid that she hoped looked better than it felt.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” she said.

  Waiting tables for other elves had been an easy enough job, but vampires? At least in the kitchen, she’d largely been able to avoid them. But now, out in the dining hall with Nero and his vampire guests… She suppressed a shudder.

  “It’s simple enough. Mind your manners and bring them everything they ask for. I’m sure even you can manage that. They’re from out of town, so be on your best behavior. I wouldn’t want to get on the king’s bad s
ide for making a mess of this dinner.”

  “Out of town? They’re not from Terra Nocturne?” Miria asked, her voice high with piqued interest.

  “Right.” Farraine grunted as she shoved the fresh platter of cheeses from Sofiya into Miria’s hands. “Now hurry on out there, girl.”

  Miria’s head buzzed with questions she didn’t have time to ask as she stepped out of the kitchen into the huge dining hall, tray in hand.

  Nero sat at the head of the table. Two vampire nobles sat on either side, and a third, who appeared to be their leader, sat at the opposite end. He wore a silky black tunic with shining gold trim and had his shoulder-length hair pulled back in a tight, low ponytail. His eyes, a bright, unnatural red, narrowed as Miria approached the table.

  “Where’d that other girl go? The blonde?” His voice was thick with a drawling accent that sounded like it was from one of the western sea towns. It had been so long since she’d been on the surface, Miria could hardly remember the towns’ names.

  “Irena slipped in the kitchen—” Miria began.

  Nero’s eyes burned with an intense rage as he met her gaze. “Go send for one of the other girls, Miria. Perhaps Eryn can come assist us tonight.”

  The vampire noble’s lips curled up in a slow, menacing grin as he looked her over. “Nay, Cineris. Keep her here. I like this one.”

  A chill crawled through Miria, and she couldn’t contain a shudder. Her obvious discomfort only served to widen the vampire’s grin.

  Miria slid the platter onto the table at Nero’s end, keeping her eyes downcast. “Your cheeses, m’lords.”

  “Thank you, Miria,” Nero said, waving his hand to dismiss her.

  “Wait, girl,” the guest said. “Why don’t you stay right here and make this dull room a bit brighter?”

  Miria looked to Nero, seeking permission she hoped he would refuse to give. “M’lord?”

  “Please stay,” Nero said through a sneer.

  It must kill him, she realized, to take orders like that from a guest. Was he another vampire king who had superiority over Nero? Miria looked down at her feet to make herself appear distracted and inattentive even as she hung on their every word.