Blood Bound

by Becca Blake

  “Continue,” the visitor said.

  Nero cleared his throat. “In truth, I had expected Neryssa to meet with me herself if what she had to say was so important. I fail to see the point in her sending you on her behalf, Julian.”

  “Consider me her ambassador.” Julian chuckled to himself. “Neryssa isn’t an idiot. She’s not stupid enough to step foot in this city herself.”

  “Yet you were stupid enough to do exactly that on her behalf, it seems.”

  “Not like I had a choice,” the ambassador said with another terrifying grin. “But I have nothing to fear from you.”

  “That is true,” Nero agreed.

  The ambassador frowned, as though he were trying to make sense of Nero’s response.

  “The lion has no need to concern himself with a mouse.” Nero took a drink from his goblet.

  It took the ambassador some time to put the insult together. Once he did, he scowled at his host.

  The door to the kitchen opened enough for Farraine to poke her head out and wave for Miria, who gratefully took the excuse to step away from the table full of vampires.

  “What took you so long?” Farraine demanded.

  “Lord Nero’s guest asked me to stay out there with them.”

  “Well, take these back out with you.” Farraine shoved two plates into her hands. “I’ll send out two of the other girls with plates for the other guests.”

  Miria nodded and hurried back out into the hall. The plates were stacked high with thick cuts of meat, garnished with flakes of some type of red powder. It smelled incredible, and it took all of Miria’s willpower not to turn around and keep the plates of food for herself.

  She set them in front of the two lords and took her place once again behind the table, plainly in the ambassador’s view. Two more girls emerged from the kitchen and set their plates down in front of the other two vampires.

  Nero cut into his meat, and red liquid poured out onto his white plate. “I’ve considered Neryssa’s proposal, but I’m afraid I must decline.”

  The guest ignored his plate. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned forward on the table. “She won’t accept no for an answer, you know.”

  “It is the only answer she will get.”

  “How often do you return to the surface?” The guest smirked and took a long sip from his goblet. “I assume you’ve heard about the Hunter Guilds rising up over the last decade?”

  Nero frowned. “Hunter Guilds?”

  “Every city’s got one these days. They’re for hunting the things that go bump in the night. The werewolves… Us.” He took another long drink, then slammed the empty goblet down on the table. “Bet they’d love to learn the location of an underground vampire city. Wouldn’t you think, girl?”

  Miria startled, caught off guard by the sudden inclusion in the conversation, a conversation in which she certainly did not belong. “I… I’m not sure, m’lord.”

  “Miria,” Nero said, “go fetch more drink for our guest.”

  She stole a quick glance at the ambassador from the surface, who leaned back casually in his chair and eyed her intently.

  “Of course,” Miria said, turning her attention back to Nero. She dipped into a low, exaggerated curtsy. She had no love for Nero, but she could sense from the ambassador’s furious stare that her showing deference to the vampire lord got under his skin.

  Nero offered a wicked grin that suggested he thought the same.

  Miria hurried back to the kitchen, leaving their hushed voices behind. “Lord Nero’s guest needs more to drink,” she yelled in to Farraine.

  The kitchen manager sighed, removed a sealed pitcher filled with freshly drawn blood from the ice box, and began heating it up. “He’s already been through five of these since he got here,” she mumbled. “We’ll need to order more donations from the Third.”

  Miria bristled at the sudden reminder of her life before all of this had happened, back when her biggest worry was the next time they’d take her blood. She shook the thoughts away. There was no use dwelling on that now. She took the pitcher from Farraine and returned to the dining hall.

  As she approached, Nero cleared his throat. “At any rate, as my honored guest, you are welcome to stay through the end of the week and attend the grand ball I have planned. Our truce lasts as long as you are a welcome guest in my city, and no longer. After that, I’ll expect you to take your leave and return to the surface to remind Neryssa and any other leaders that other vampire clans are not welcome in Terra Nocturne, and that decision is final.”

  At that, Miria nearly dropped the pitcher. Other vampire clans? She’d gathered from the rest of their conversation that there were more vampires out there than just the ones who lived in Terra Nocturne, but how many other vampire clans could there be in the world?

  “You are making a mistake, my lord,” the ambassador said, turning the honorific into an insult.

  “Terra Nocturne is civilized. We demand better of our resident vampires than the barbaric natures and base impulses most of our kind possess. We feed only from those who are willing.” Nero fixed a look of warning on Miria, a look that told her she would regret it if she dared say a single word that contradicted him.

  Miria bit her tongue as a reminder not to use it for speech that would get her into far more trouble than the satisfaction of speaking her mind was worth. Now, in front of a guest who was clearly causing Nero a great deal of grief, was not the time to show him any sort of defiance.

  Stay smart.

  Stay alive.

  “Besides,” Nero continued, apparently satisfied that Miria would remain silent, “wouldn’t you agree that willing prey tastes so much sweeter?”

  Not a single trace of humanity remained in the ambassador’s smile. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

  “More blood, m’lord?” Miria asked the guest.

  “Please.” He held out the goblet.

  The sound of the thick, red liquid pouring into the goblet seemed to echo through the otherwise silent dining hall.

  When she finished pouring, the guest took the goblet back and swished the blood inside around. He gave it a quick sniff, as though judging its worth by smell, then dumped it on the ground. It splashed off the stone floor, leaving splatters of crimson on Miria’s boots.

  The vampire grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her in closer until she sat in his lap. While his rough fingers dug into her skin, he sniffed the inside of her wrist. His dark eyes were full of hunger and desire that froze her in place. “Perhaps I should try a real sample of the goods you keep down here?”

  Miria looked to Nero, silently pleading for him to intervene. With Nero’s approval, the vampire could drag her away to drink his fill. If he took her vein, she was certain he wouldn’t stop until she had no more left to give.

  Azalea swore that Nero wouldn’t hurt her as long as she behaved, and she’d done her best to do that. But what if he could blame her death on another vampire? Would he still allow Miria to live if Azalea wouldn’t blame her death on him? In the long silence that followed, she had no way of knowing whether he would help her or abandon her to the ambassador’s hunger.

  “In Terra Nocturne,” Nero said finally, enunciating each word very clearly, “vampires feed only from the willing.”

  The ambassador tugged Miria’s wrist harder, and she gasped out in pain. “She wants to feed me, doesn’t she?”

  “She doesn’t.” Miria pulled against the vampire, who tightened his grip. Much harder, and he would push his fingers straight through her flesh.

  Nero nodded. “You heard the girl, Julian. Release her.”

  Instead, the vampire pulled her arm to his mouth. His breath was cool against her inner wrist, and the tips of his teeth pressed just against her skin.

  Miria whimpered, looking again to Nero for aid.

  Nero crossed the
table in a flash and slammed the ambassador back into his chair. The iron grip on her arm released, and she fell back to the floor, landing next to the puddle of wasted blood that had been poured from the goblet.

  “Miria,” Nero growled, his hand still wrapped around the ambassador’s throat, “pour our guest more drink. His goblet is empty, and he seems to be quite parched.”

  She got to her feet slowly, then refilled the ambassador’s goblet with shaking hands.

  Even with Nero’s hand pressed against his neck, the vampire ambassador chuckled. “It’s all in good fun. I wouldn’t have hurt her, of course. There’s no need to be so serious about it.”

  “That will be all for tonight, Miria.” Nero released his grip on the other vampire’s throat.

  The ambassador smiled at her as she backed away, and she couldn’t help but fear that he wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

  21

  Azalea stared out the tower window at Terra Nocturne below, paintbrush in hand. Globs of paint on the palette next to her had turned crusty and old, wasted before ever being used. Nero’s study was filled with more supplies than she could have ever dreamed of, everything she could ever need to make the beautiful paintings she had always hoped to make.

  Everything except the inspiration or drive to create, which eluded her.

  She sighed and scraped the unused paint into a pail next to her easel, which still held a completely blank canvas.

  Perhaps a walk would clear her head.

  Azalea closed the door of the study behind her and started down the hall. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t yet received an invitation from Lord Nero to come to dinner. She hadn’t seen him at all that day. In fact, not since his presence was requested at the city’s front gates earlier. It was too much, she supposed, to hope he’d bring her along.

  Not that he had any reason to, much as she would have enjoyed the change of scenery. She was nothing more than an elven consort who warmed his bed and satisfied his thirst. He hadn’t even let her please him yet.

  On her way to the kitchen, she nearly ran right into the vampire lord. He turned down the hall, his pace unnervingly brisk.

  “Azalea, return to my room.” His voice was stern, a clear command that made her wonder what she’d done wrong.

  Or was it something Miria had done?

  She stiffened as he gripped her arm to pull her down the hall with him. “What’s going on?”

  Nero didn’t answer. He paused only briefly before scooping her up in his arms and continuing down the hallway in a sprint. The walls rushed past in a blur that made Azalea dizzy and nauseous, until finally he set her back on her feet and closed the door to his bedchamber behind them.

  “You will stay in this room until I tell you otherwise.” He lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to look at him. “Do you understand?”

  “What happened?” she asked, her voice frantic. “Is Miria all right? You’re scaring me.”

  “Miria is fine. I saw her at dinner earlier,” Nero said. He hesitated before continuing. “We have a group of visitors who will be staying here for a time. I don’t want you anywhere near them without me accompanying you.”

  “Are they dangerous?”

  “Promise me you will not leave this room without me until after their departure.”

  That sounded an awful lot like a confirmation.

  Azalea bit her bottom lip. “I promise. But I need to know Miria is safe.”

  “Under my roof, as long as she remains loyal, she is under my protection.”

  Azalea pulled away from Nero and sat at the edge of the bed. That seemed to be the best answer he was willing to give, but it wasn’t nearly enough of an assurance. “How long will they be here?”

  “A week. At the end of this week, there will be a ball here in the castle to honor them and celebrate their departure.”

  “It doesn’t sound to me like they deserve the honor. This is your city. Can’t you just…kick them out?”

  “Unfortunately, I cannot. They’re from the surface, and I have to maintain at least the appearance of hospitality. Though, I fear I already made a mess of that during dinner.”

  “Why are—”

  Nero brushed Azalea’s hair back and kissed her forehead gently. “That’s enough about them. They’re an unpleasant bunch, and I’d prefer not to dwell on them any longer. There’s something else I’d like to discuss with you.”

  She looked up into his cool, grey eyes. “What is it?”

  Nero hesitated before answering her, as though he were considering his words carefully. “I would like for you to attend the ball as my honored guest.”

  “Is that a request, or a demand?” she asked.

  The corners of Nero’s lips tightened. “A request.”

  Azalea picked up the throw blanket at the end of Nero’s bed and wrapped it around her bare shoulders. She’d only been living in the castle with him for two short weeks. During that time, she’d been in the shadows, kept out of sight from the other vampire nobility. He’d never paraded her in front of his subjects or allowed her anywhere near any of his official business.

  That was probably for the better—she preferred not to be a public spectacle.

  “I can’t imagine the other vampires will be thrilled to see an elf at your side, rather than another vampire,” she said finally.

  Nero scoffed. “Plenty of them have elven consorts.”

  “If a mistress is all I am to you, I don’t deserve to be by your side at such an important event.”

  He cocked his head as though she’d said something intriguing. “Is there more you wish to be?”

  More? What more could she hope to be as an elf? There was nothing more for her. Not unless he made her become one of them. “No.”

  Nero sat on the bed next to her and tucked her hair behind her ear. “There is more…”

  She shivered at his touch, uncertain whether the involuntary movement came from her fear or the growing desire she fought against.

  “You could be.”

  “No,” she said, more firmly this time. “I don’t want to be a vamp—”

  His teeth sank into her neck, and she was lost to oblivion.

  Miria scrubbed the rag against the metal pot harder in an effort to rub away stains that no longer existed. The pile of dirty dishes to her left had grown larger throughout the night, but she hadn’t made any attempt to speed up her efforts. At the rate she scrubbed, she’d be stuck at the wash basin all night, which was fine with her. She’d told Azalea she would stop by her study in the tower later that evening so they could spend some time together, but she wouldn’t mind using the dishes as an excuse for why she wasn’t able to make it. After the ordeal at dinner, seeing Azalea wasn’t worth the risk of running into Nero again so soon.

  A wooden spoon rapped against Miria’s knuckles, and the pot in her hand clattered to the floor. She spun around to see Farraine standing behind her, hands on her hips. The other workers must have returned home for the evening, as only she and Farraine remained.

  “What the fuck?” Miria rubbed her fingertips, wrinkled from the lukewarm water, on her knuckles.

  Farraine picked up the pot, rinsed it off, and moved it to the drying rack to the right of the wash basin. “Pick up the pace! I’d like to get back to my room and get some sleep tonight. We’ve got a long week ahead of us with Lord Nero’s guests here. Not to mention the big party he’ll be hosting at the end of it all!”

  “Sorry,” Miria muttered. “I guess I’m a little rattled from waiting on the vampires. I’m not used to doing things like that.”

  Farraine sighed and leaned back onto the counter. “True enough. It’s a bit overwhelming the first time. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so rough on you. You came straight here from the Third District, after all.”

  Miria dropped the dish,
and a loud clanging noise echoed through the kitchen. “He wanted to…feed from me.”

  Farraine stepped next to Miria and began scrubbing another dish alongside her. She wasn’t going to get a verbal apology, but it was clear enough that Farraine felt guilty for how she treated Miria earlier. Either that, or she just wanted to get back to her room sooner.

  “That’s wonderful!”

  Miria paused long enough to scowl at the kitchen head. “It’s really not.”

  “He’s a surface vampire. If you bonded with a surface vampire, there’s a chance you could get out of here. It happened once before the last time a group of surface vampires paid Lord Nero a visit.” She lowered her voice, even though there was no one around to listen. “It’s why Irena was so upset about being sent back to bed. The ambassador had been eying her up, and she thought there was a good chance he’d want to feed from her.”

  The idea that throwing herself at a vampire was all she would have to do to escape was a tempting one, even if it meant willingly allowing a vampire to feed from her. Still, she wouldn’t be able to save Azalea if she did that. And besides that, the surface vampires scared her in a way Nero never had. Nero was dangerous, of course, but even he seemed to have his own rules.

  The surface vampires didn’t seem to have any such convictions. She recognized hatred and violence when it stared her in the face, and the leader of the surface vampires had both.

  “Well, I never intend to allow a vampire near my neck.” Miria’s hand closed around the handle of a knife from the pile of dirty dishes. It was long and thin, bladed on both sides.

  It felt just like a dagger in her grip.

  She washed it and one identical to it slowly, eying Farraine as she did so. If she’d just look away, even for a moment, Miria could tuck the knives away and sneak them out of the kitchen.

  Farraine seemed determined to deny her that opportunity. “You’ve fed them from your vein before, though, haven’t you?”