Ravenous (Triskaidekaphilia Book 2)

by Wendy Nikel

  It was the same carnal impulse she’d had when she first laid eyes on him sixteen years ago. Despite his newfound political stance, she still wanted him. She wanted him bad.

  A glimmer of green caught Jules’s eye, and—blessedly—fresh anger flourished in her chest as Prince Fabian’s signature cravat screamed at her from his porcelain throat.

  “You.” The word came out as an accusation.

  “Me.” Prince Fabian’s dark eyebrows waggled mischievously, and Jules felt her resolve crumble.

  What the fuck? She was supposed to be angry with him, not enamored.

  As Jules fought another round of libidinous thoughts, she grasped for a new reason to be angry with Prince Fabian. How dare he make her feel this way? How dare he be so delectable in real life that her rebellious side cowed to her carnal desires? It was his fault she felt this way. It was because of him that she was standing there in front of Vlad’s castle, not speaking, a jumble of crazy emotions and mixed up nerves.

  “I must say, your ensemble—casual punk, is it?—is making quite the impression on me,” he said.

  And now he was mocking her. To him, she was the girl who showed up in leather when she should have been dripping in blood red rubies. The frustration in Jules’s chest flared over, and she found her voice, sharp as a blade. “Same here. Only pussies wear cravats.”

  Prince Fabian choked on air as she turned away from him. She stepped forward, but a huge hand closed over her wrist.

  A deep, hearty laugh met her ears. Her hips sizzled at the sound.

  “Did you just call me a pussy?”

  Knowing she had no chance pulling away from the prince’s strong grasp, Jules turned to meet his gaze head-on. She stood up straight, shook her blue hair, and tore her wrist from him. “Yep.”

  Prince Fabian’s eye gleamed with amusement. “Do you really believe that?”

  “Isn’t that what you call cowards?”

  Prince Fabian chewed his bottom lip, and it took everything in Jules’s power not to press onto her tiptoes to suck on it. “I believe it is.”

  “Then the shoe fits.”

  “You think me a coward?” Prince Fabian smiled, teeth and all.

  He’s enjoying this. He likes to be insulted. Fine, let’s do this.

  “You all are.” Jules gestured with her free hand to the palace grounds. “Everyone in the royal court is gutless. You’ve forgotten who you are. What you are. You’ve let it die out.” She delivered her most menacing glare. “You’ve allowed the human race to quarantine us in what used to be Romania, and you think that a little rebranding, a snappy name like the Republic of Vampyrium will mask what it really is—a cage, a goddamn cage.”

  Prince Fabian simply stood there, a gentle breeze fluffing his hair.

  Jules couldn’t stop. The words scrambled up her throat and out of her mouth like bees swarming from honeycomb. “And now we can’t hunt humans—something that’s completely natural for vampires—because we’re actually under the rule of the beings we once preyed upon. And if we step just a tiny bit out of line, our heads might wind up on your fence as intimidating political décor. You’re murdering your own kind—simply because we want to kill humans and embrace our inner darkness. How messed up is that? And don’t even get me started about how we have to play nice and maintain diplomatic relations with the fucking United Nations. Why? Because if we don’t, we face the threat of nuclear annihilation via garlic-infused napalm!”

  Jules didn’t realize how loud her voice had become until she fell quiet and silence roared around her. She also didn’t realize that the royal guard had closed in, forming an impenetrable circle around her and the prince. Their guns were leveled at her. Even Maddox had left his post at the front gate, and now, a sick smile tugged at his lips, his fingers poised to pull the trigger on his gun.

  I’m going to die. Jules’s realization wasn’t panicked, simply resolute. She’d gone too far and she knew it.

  “Stand down.” Prince Fabian’s voice was loud and gruff. When the guards didn’t budge, he repeated his order. “By order of the royal prince, stand down.”

  The guards lowered their guns and looked to Maddox, whose eyes remained transfixed on Jules, taking her in, as if memorizing her every feature. Jules squirmed under his gaze. After a tense ten seconds, Maddox gave a single nod and the guards dispersed, quickly and quietly, reassuming their stations in the dark recesses of the courtyard.

  Meanwhile, Jules’s legs had turned to jelly, and it took all of her energy to stay upright. She couldn’t bear the thought of tumbling headlong into Prince Fabian’s chest again—although he had saved her life. Jules peered up at him, wondering why he’d called off the guards.

  Prince Fabian cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “May I invite you inside so we can talk more about your delightful grievances—in private?”

  The mocking twinkle in Prince Fabian’s eyes did her in. Was this a joke to him? Or, worse, a setup? Was he inviting her in so he could kill her in private? She’d nearly been shot down by the royal guard, and for what? For the prince to mock her or lure her into a fresh trap? Not today.

  Despite Jules’s rational mind screaming at her to just get out of here, her instincts shouted at her not to let his mockery stand. She bent her knees, kicked back her right foot, pulled her leather ankle boot off, and flung it at Prince Fabian’s head. “Drop deader!”

  As Prince Fabian ducked, the crowd gasped and began shouting and pointing. Jules sprinted to her motorcycle and revved the engine. Despite Prince Fabian’s shouted, “No! Let her go!” she nearly ran over five guards leaping toward her as she flew through the tall, pointed gates that hoisted the skulls of the king and queen’s enemies high into the air.

  They were a cruel warning to all who entered: Be careful what you do to us because we’ll have your head.

  Riding home with one shoe on and one shoe off was difficult, but the emotional stew of fear, anger, and lust coursing through Jules was even harder to bear. She had no idea how much sway the prince had over the royal guard, but after several minutes, she was confident they had heeded his command not to follow her. To calm her nerves, she traded thoughts of survival for thoughts of Prince Fabian and nearly wiped out envisioning his hair, finger-combed by the breeze. She almost bit it a second time as she recalled that stupid, condescending expression on his face that made her feel the size of an ant.

  When she arrived home, she hopped off her motorcycle, blew through the front door of Cassandra’s two story house, and bee-lined to her lab in the basement. She had to busy her hands. She had to do something to stop tumbling into Prince Fabian’s blue eyes. And if members of the royal guard were on their way to murder her by royal decree for her inappropriate outburst, at least she’d be industrious in her last few hours.

  She didn’t even bother taking off her other shoe, choosing instead to hobble around her lab with a self-imposed limp.

  Jules made two batches of Blood Boiler, whipped up an orange-pomegranate infusion, and started experimenting with a lemongrass recipe when the door to her lab banged open. The sound startled her, and she dropped a tube of synthetic blood. The glass shattered at her feet, and red liquid spread.

  Jules listened as a single individual descended the staircase—with aggressive intent. Each step sounded like a gunshot. She knew she was in trouble—and at the hands of someone she’d given no thought to as she’d ridden home. Cassandra’s wiry frame floated into the harsh light. She’d tried to tame her frizzy red hair with rhinestone-adorned clips for the Crimson Moon Ball, but little wisps stuck out around her head, making her look aflame. Her lips puckered in a tight scowl, and her green eyes blazed with fury. For a heavy moment, she simply stared at Jules the way someone stares right before they pummel you.

  When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter than Jules anticipated. “You have disgraced this family and put us all in danger.” With dreadful clarity, Jules realized Cassandra’s words were tight and low because she was consciously holding
herself back. Her forced calm made her that much more frightening. “You will leave immediately.”

  Jules had managed to escape the palace unscathed, but she hadn’t succeeding in dodging the very consequence she’d feared the most only a few short hours ago. She wasn’t surprised, given her wily, defiant behavior at the ball. Her outburst was the final straw. Still, the finality of Cassandra’s decision stung like bitter wind. She took a breath, ready to apologize.

  An orange fingernail sliced through the air and pointed at Jules. “Don’t say a single word. Your mouth is what got you into trouble this evening. Don’t embarrass yourself further.”

  Another pair of shoes pattered down the staircase, and Lavinia appeared in the doorframe.

  “Go upstairs, Lavinia.”

  “I want to help Jules pack up the lab.”

  “Pack?” Cassandra laughed, a rigid, heartless sound. “Everything in this lab is, technically, my property.”

  Indignation swirled in Jules’s stomach. She felt her teeth threaten to unsheathe in her mouth. “I paid for everything in here.”

  “Minor detail.” Cassandra fluttered a hand in front of her. “Take me to court if you want. After tonight’s display, I imagine it might be difficult for you to find legal representation.” Her eyes pinned Jules, razor sharp. “That is, if you aren’t executed for treason within the hour.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “The royal guard is efficient. I’m sure they’ll be here by sunrise.”

  Cassandra must have seen the look of unmitigated shock on Jules’s face. “You don’t think King Yanis and Queen Belinda would allow such a demonstration of insubordination, do you? And on their property, in front of all their distinguished guests? Regardless of what Prince Fabian commanded, the royal guard has its own orders.”

  Trepidation, cold and wet, wrung out Jules’s insides.

  “Sunrise is the deadline I’m giving you, too, sweetheart,” Cassandra said, fake saccharine sweetness dripping from her lips. “Your coffin’s already burning in the fireplace upstairs. You no longer have a place here.” She lowered her voice to a menacing whisper. “Get out of my goddamn house.”

  Jules ran her tongue across her teeth and balled her fists by her sides. Pressure accumulated in her chest and her temples ached.

  Cassandra retreated upstairs, each step loud and deliberate. The weight of her words hung in the air long after she’d departed, making the lab feel heavy and polluted.

  “She’s such a bitch,” Lavinia muttered.

  “Sadly, a moot point right now.” Jules gingerly stepped around the glass and spilled blood, crossed the room, and pulled a duffel bag from under a table. “I guess I’ll be traveling light.”

  “Where will you go?” Lavinia asked.

  “I don’t know.” Jules’s voice was small and tight. She took off the boot she hadn’t thrown at Prince Fabian and shuffled into a new pair. Jules was hyper aware of Lavinia’s sad eyes watching her, yet she was unable to meet them.

  She crossed the room to a small refrigerator and stuffed the bag with her latest batches of infusions. She threw her lab goggles in the bag out of sentimentality. Jules ran her fingers over her lab coat, considering whether or not to take it.

  “For what it’s worth, you were the highlight of the night.”

  Jules froze and stared at the floor.

  “I thought the ball would be fun, but fuck, I nearly choked on all that desperation and fear. And that was just in line.”

  Jules huffed air out of her nostrils and half-smiled. “You made it inside then?”

  Lavinia sighed. “Yeah. They took a blood sample at the door.”

  “Good.” Jules fished in her jacket pocket and produced Lavinia’s phone. She held it out to her sister.

  Lavinia crossed the room and took the device. “I heard whispers of people calling you a hero, you know.”

  “What?” Jules’s eyes found Lavinia’s.

  “People were talking after you left. Sure, out loud, a lot of them called you a traitor and said they’d like to see you staked…”

  Jules grimaced.

  “… but as I walked past the line when I was leaving, I kept hearing, ‘Finally, someone’s saying what I really think.’ They enjoyed your rebellion. Especially the shoe part.” Lavinia paused and looked up as if recalling a memory. “If only that boot had hit him.”

  “I guess I need to work on my aim.”

  “You should.”

  Jules zipped up her bag. “Did you get to bite Prince Fabian?”

  “I wanted to, on your behalf, but no.” Lavinia paused. “You know you can always call me, right?”

  “I do, but… Vinnie, you should come with me. You said yourself, Cassandra’s a bitch. Let’s get out of here. Together.”

  Lavinia shrugged.

  “It could be like old times. Metallica. Ripped jeans. Tequila. Not giving a fuck.”

  Lavinia smiled. “I’m tempted, but…”

  “But what?”

  Lavinia sighed. “Cassandra turned me, and you know how strong that blood bond can be. Though I hate her at times—okay, most of the time—we’re connected. For as long as she lives. Even during our heyday, I always went home to her.”

  Jules couldn’t deny it—the blood bond between a maker and a new vampire was forged in dark magic. Newbies felt a strong, intrinsic pull to their makers, something Jules had decided was a twisted Darwinian trait. Makers were tasked with teaching new vampires how to function as a member of the undead, so it made sense that the newly-turned felt a strong connection to them. And while the magnetic pull lessened over the millennia, the connection could never be completely severed until one of the twosome died.

  The part that blew was vampires never got to choose their makers. When they were loathsome people, the newbie was stuck in the equivalent of an arranged marriage that would never work out.

  “Thank God my maker was staked soon after I turned,” Jules muttered. “He was a dick.”

  “And you would’ve been stuck with him, just like I’m stuck with Cassandra.”

  “Being a vampire sucks.”

  “Does it, though?” Lavinia’s eyes sparkled. “I think you made a pretty compelling argument that we’re pretty badass when let out of our cages.”

  Dawn was fast approaching, and Jules needed to leave, but her feet were heavy as bowling balls. Though the vindictive side of her wanted to leave the mess of glass and fake blood for Cassandra, she cleaned it up, simply to buy herself more time in the space she loved. When the floor was clean and she had no further excuses to stay, Jules looked around. Her heart sank. What the hell was she going to do now? How would she survive?

  She needed to find a place to stay. She’d shack up in a motel for as long as she could and find temporary work. A new lab would cost thousands of dollars, and she only had a couple hundred to her name, so the synthetic blood-making business would have to be put on hiatus. The Blood Boiler would sell quickly and provide some financial padding, but…

  Jules sighed. Making sage and white wine infusions suddenly didn’t seem so terrible.

  As Jules forlornly looked at a row of beakers, the door to her lab banged open and she started. She’d procrastinated too long. Cassandra had implied the royal guard was intent on finding her, and as a barrage of footsteps sounded down the stairs, Jules knew the guard had arrived. Anxiety radiated through her like an electric shock, but she took a deep breath.

  If this is the end, I’m going with dignity. Jules straightened and waited.

  Guards filed into her lab and circled her like vultures as they’d done at the Crimson Moon Ball. Each guard held two stakes, one in each hand, the weapons carved expertly into menacing, needle-fine tips. Jules grew light-headed as she thought of being pierced in the heart by one of them. She’d hated needles as a human; the fear hadn’t left her as an undead.

  When Jules was completely surrounded, one additional guard lumbered down the staircase. As Maddox moved into the light, Jules’s resolve melted like a cube of su
gar under high heat. She stumbled backward into one of her lab tables, and she closed her eyes. Perhaps, if she couldn’t see him, he would simply cease to exist.

  But she could feel him. His presence was thick as humidity on a warm summer day. She could smell him, too. The stench of malice, cloying and hot, leached into the lab like billowing smoke.

  Maddox’s loud voice forced her eyes open in shock. “By decree of the honorable King Yanis and Queen Belinda, you, Juliet Hammond, have been sentenced to death by staking for your offenses—treason, causing a disturbance on royal grounds, attempted assault of the crowned prince, lewd and unbecoming—”

  “Captain Maddox, as the crowned prince of the Republic, I command you to cease your sentencing and leave immediately.” Jules hadn’t heard Prince Fabian enter the lab, but there he was, his fine dress disheveled, his eyes full of energy, his voice loud and treacherous.

  Maddox sneered at Prince Fabian, an expression laced with so much malevolence Jules was surprised the prince didn’t spontaneously burst into flame. Maddox cocked his head to the side, the grin widening. For a moment, Jules was unsure as to whether he would obey the prince. Maddox seemed a vicious attack dog—and how much power did his owners have over him?

  Finally, he sniffed and executed a half-assed bow. “As you wish, Your Highness. But you’re simply delaying the inevitable.”

  Maddox winked at Jules, which made her skin crawl, and then his voice boomed through her lab. “Retreat.” Thirty seconds later, the royal guard had exited, leaving her quaking, confused, and in the audience of the prince.

  “Why did you do that?” Jules asked.

  A smile tugged at Prince Fabian’s lips. “I wanted you all to myself.”

  Oh, fuck. He was here to kill her. And wanted the pleasure all to himself.

  Out of sheer panic, Jules yanked a boot off her foot, wound up, and shuttled it across the room. Blessedly, this time, she hit her target. The heel of the boot cracked Prince Fabian right on his pretty chin.