Ellowyn Found: An MM Vampire Trilogy Omnibus Edition Books 1 - 3

by Kayleigh Sky

  Half a mile down the highway, his knees gave out, and he dropped on the rocky shoulder with a jolt up his spine. When he looked behind him, trees blocked the rest stop from view. He opened his knapsack, found a bottle of water and a granola bar, took both out, and zipped the bag back up.

  Was he anywhere near the damn house? Why hadn’t they let him out in New Seaside? All he’d have had to do was stay on the highway. But now…

  He swung a look around him, and his head spun again.

  Some seduction he’d put on. He’d probably crumble at the guy’s feet. Maybe the bastard would like that. Would the vamp want to drink from him?

  Well, fuck that.

  No more fangs in his body. Not now. He had to have some say. His neck didn’t hurt, and he didn’t have any holes, but still…

  He imagined the vamp’s teeth sliding into him, trying to be logical about it. It wasn’t like he was going to die. But being food was taking its toll on him.

  He swiped at his eyes, sniffing back more tears.

  What’s wrong with you? You don’t cry.

  Never?

  Well, he’d come close when that vampire from hell, Acalliona, had tried to drain him, but not for real since…

  The betrayal.

  That’s how he’d always remember that night, the night he’d chased after the vampire’s kiss. He should’ve gotten a clue when the vamp had pushed him away and then pretended to be all torn up about it.

  “Not yet,” he’d said.

  The fucking liar.

  Asa closed his eyes and let his chin rest on his chest. His water bottle fell from his nerveless fingers. He slept until his neck stabbed him with pain, then he sat up and gazed around him again. It was still quiet, no cars on the highway. Had anybody noticed him? Too busy to stop? He lifted his bottle to his lips, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He drank, letting his eyes shift around. Nothing moved, but every cell in his body rang in alarm. Was somebody watching him?

  The water, tepid and stale, chilled him anyway. He capped the bottle, put it and the granola bar back in his knapsack, and pushed to his feet again.

  His arms dragged at him, heavy as boulders, but he’d have to fight. He was positive someone was close, though nothing moved, and no strange sounds broke the quiet. No branches snapped. No steps stirred the weeds. But he was sure now.

  Someone was following him.

  7

  A Birthday Party

  Zev took the box Justin passed to him. Thank God. Only two more gifts remained to unwrap. He chided himself for not relaxing and enjoying it, but there wasn’t enough booze for that. All his birthday meant to him was forty years alone. Sixteen since he’d lost his fated.

  He turned the gift in his hands.

  “No card?”

  Justin shook his head. “No, sire.”

  The game room buzzed with conversation and laughter. Vampires crowded together, and a blazing fire threw heat into the room. Sweat beaded his forehead. A look at his empty glass dried his mouth.

  “Justin, would you get me another bourbon and water, please?”

  “Of course.”

  Justin stepped away with his used glass, and Zev returned his gaze to the gift. Eilelia sat beside him. She wore a silver dress that hugged every curve. Her shoes lay at her feet, her bare legs crossed, her toenails purple. She smiled at his box. “Pretty paper.”

  Gilded and glittery. He’d swear strands of actual gold had been threaded through it. On impulse, he set the box on Eilelia’s lap. “Open it for me.”

  A frown creased her forehead. Was that presumptuous for a king to ask? Probably. Something to ask a friend, not a lover of convenience, though her eyes darkened on him, a burn of desire for more under the surface. He let his gaze drop to her lips for a moment. They parted and curved in a slow smile.

  “Isn’t that bad luck?” she asked.

  Was that a human superstition? So many to keep track of. His favorite superstitions surrounded the human lore about vampires. He’d studied it for years now. In a perfect world, he might teach it, but that was not to be.

  “Not if I command it,” he said.

  “Oh.” Her smile widened. “In that case.”

  He surveyed the room while she worked the tape off the paper. A group of vampires had collected around a chessboard and watched the players. It wasn’t the board Zev played on, which stayed in the study attached to his bedroom. He didn’t know if the players across the room were any good. He was, though he usually played alone.

  “Sire.”

  Zev accepted the glass Justin offered and took a long swallow. It was warm in his mouth and burned going down. Couple more of these and who cared if it was his birthday? He’d forget about it. Forget another year had gone by without getting what he wanted. But at least he had Otto Jones working for him now.

  “Asa,” Zev had said. “His name is Asa.”

  “Last name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who is he?” Otto had asked.

  “I have no idea anymore. Just find him.”

  Skittish and brave. A young human with his heart in the right place.

  And Zev’s fated.

  The crackle of paper brought him back. Eilelia peeled it away from a white cardboard box and rested her fingers on the edge of the lid. “You sure you don’t want to do the honors?” she asked.

  “I’ll open the last one.”

  She shrugged, her thin, dark eyebrows following the motion of her shoulders before she lifted the lid on the box and let out a sigh. “Oh, that’s beautiful.”

  Cerulean colored tissue paper set off an ornate mirror.

  She lifted it out, and Zev took it from her. The thing looked like somebody had stolen it from a human fairytale. The gilding outshone the shiny wrapping paper, and diamond dust encrusted the flower design on its back. Zev held the mirror in front of his face. There were fucking shadows under his eyes. His stomach knotted at the reflection. It worried him to look so out of sorts. He was a king. He was supposed to have all the answers.

  “Oh. Here’s the card.”

  Eilelia reached back into the box. More gold appeared in the lettering scrawled across a sheet of heavy parchment. Eilelia laughed as Zev took the card and read out loud—

  “Magic mirror, hear my plea

  Spell-touched and bewitched—

  I call on you to summon the loveliest flower amongst the vampires.

  And pray, magic mirror, who will answer that call?

  Who is the loveliest vampire amongst us all?

  It is me? I am the loveliest?

  Oh, I blush, sweet mirror. Though I know my beautiful liege is a close second…

  Happy birthday, Majesty.

  Your humble servant,

  Malia Senera”

  He shook his head with a smile, happier than he’d been in days, and took another swallow of his drink.

  “No respect,” he murmured.

  “She’s a princess,” said Eilelia, “and it is a beautiful gift.”

  “A spoiled princess.”

  What in God’s name was he going to do with this though? He had no shortage of mirrors.

  “Ha!”

  He looked across the room. His cousin, Moss, stood, staring down at the chessboard, face screwed up in concentration. He was a lousy player. Zev wasn’t sure he even liked the game and didn’t just consent to it for Zev’s sake. Now, he looked as if he was trying to memorize a near winning move in order to give Zev a run for his money next time they played.

  No such thing as second, cousin. You win or you lose.

  One of the players cursed and moved his king out of harm’s way. At least for now. The moves to checkmate were obvious to Zev, though probably not to him. Moss scowled at the other player, who gave him a smirk and picked up his bishop. Zev lowered his gaze to the mirror again.

  “I’ll get your other one,” Eilelia said and crossed to the round table in the center of the room that had been piled high with gifts at the begi
nning of the evening. The one that remained was tall and narrow.

  Forty years old.

  Still young enough, though the shadows under his dark eyes dulled their glow. Were the creases alongside his mouth deeper? Soon, he was going to look like the solemn and loyal Justin, who, at fifty, had the drawn, spare look of a monastic.

  “Here you go. Your turn.”

  Eilelia dumped the box on his lap as she stepped past and sat beside him. It wasn’t heavy, but something thudded against the side of the box. A burgundy fabric embossed with the images of silver coins covered the box itself. A black ribbon tied the lid in place, and a card, hanging from the ribbon by a silver cord, read: In commemoration of service – Comosoro Leaders.

  Zev felt the blood drain from his body, grabbed his glass and drank, then raised it when Justin looked over. After he set the glass down, he lifted the lid on the box and looked inside.

  Eilelia drew in a breath. “Lucky I didn’t break it.”

  “Feels sturdy,” Zev said, lifting the cup into the air.

  It was made of a heavy, scarlet glass and resembled another from years ago.

  “I’ve seen one just like it,” he said.

  “It was the king’s.”

  Zev looked up. Horror etched even deeper lines into Justin’s face.

  “It’s just a cup, Justin.”

  “But what can it mean?”

  Zev grinned. “That I’m not universally popular.”

  A crowd of guests drew around him. Zev took his fresh drink and sipped now, though he wanted to down it in one swallow and board himself up in his room. Preferably with Eilelia to distract him. Not that he was afraid to die. Royal intrigue was a vampire pastime, but he’d only been royal in name until he took the throne.

  “Why do you say that?” Eilelia asked. “May I?”

  He passed her the cup and watched her twist and turn it. The flecks of gold sparkled in the light, the flow of red swirling like hot blood in his beloved’s veins. Zev’s mouth went dry, and a flood of foreboding rushed through him.

  Eilelia balanced the glass on her palm, fingers holding the cup steady. “It’s certainly fit for a king.”

  “Not this king,” Zev said, taking it from her. Which, he supposed, was the point of the gift. A reminder of the true king. But that king was long dead.

  He returned the cup to the box, picked up his drink, and rose from his seat. Moss stood at the bar now, gaze fixed on him. Zev poured himself another drink.

  “Have you told Otto yet?” Moss asked.

  “Told him what? That people sent me birthday gifts?”

  “You know better than that.”

  Zev took a swallow of bourbon, half-closing his eyes before he sighed and set the glass down. Good way to end up a drunk.

  “I don’t know enough,” he murmured.

  The cup wasn’t the first sign of danger. Someone had sent him a series of intricately designed cards, each with a depiction of one of the seven royal necklaces. A week later came another postcard, that one of two ceremonial swords called Ryzoks. He hadn’t seen any since Qudim had made his enforcers use them again after the Upheaval. Bloody things that tore through flesh like cloth.

  None of those things were gifts to a king, but reminders that Zev was an imposter in a king’s place. His family had always served the Seneras, and the Ryzok was a weapon of execution. God knew he already felt like an imposter.

  Nerves crawling, he looked at his glass, then the chess set. “Play me,” he said.

  Moss scowled but agreed. “Well, it’s your birthday. I suppose you get to win at something.”

  Zev laughed. “Maybe this is your night.”

  Moss opened by moving a pawn to g4, and Zev swallowed a sigh. Somebody wanted him dead. And before the dark took him, he wouldn’t mind a good game. Someone to jerk him onto his toes and breathe hope back into him, even if it didn’t last.

  He moved a pawn to e5 and settled his chin on his palm, elbow on the table. From the corner of his eye, he watched Justin circle the room. Suspicion dug fissures into the vampire’s austere face. Occasionally, he opened the door for the other servants, but so far, no assassins had burst in. Before the Upheaval, Qudim’s enforcers had fought off their share of killers. Masked and donned in black. Always for hire. No family sent one of their own members to murder a king. But times had changed, and when Zev let his gaze circle the room, other than Justin and Moss, he confidently named no one a true friend.

  After finally letting Moss win a game, Zev rose, and Justin extinguished the lights until only candles and the fire burned. Zev stood at the door as his guests filtered out, chins dipping, until only Moss remained. Then he leaned against the wall with a smile. Moss smiled too and approached until they stood face to face.

  “If you don’t tell Otto, I will.”

  “You are not a good servant.”

  Moss grinned. “No. But I am a good friend.” He kissed Zev’s cheek. “Goodnight, sire.”

  Zev chuckled. “Goodnight, Moss.”

  When the hall was empty, he pushed away from the wall and returned to the study. After he fixed another drink of mostly tonic, he picked up the cup in its box and strolled down the long dark halls to his room.

  A fire crackled there too, pushing back the autumn chill that pressed with the fog at the windows. It flickered gold red on the walls, the only light in the room. He took a swallow of his drink, set his glass on the mantle, and removed the cup from its box. Holding it in the light from the fire, he stared at the gold twinkles, then brought it to his nose and sniffed. An odd smell emanated from it.

  “It looks like my father’s.”

  Zev spun, his breath leaving him in a dizzying rush. A shape stood in the far corner of his room, lost in shadow.

  Rune.

  8

  The Cup

  The vampire in Zev’s arms hugged him close, then cupped his face between his palms and tapped their foreheads together. A smile tugged at his lips. “Happy birthday, Zev.”

  Zev basked in Rune’s grip for only a second before he took hold of his broad shoulders and pushed him back. “What have you done, Rune? People are dead. I sent Otto after you, for fuck’s sake.”

  Brillen Acalliona’s murder was still an open case, and Rune was the prime suspect, though Zev doubted even Otto believed Rune was a cold-blooded murderer. But he was after the treasure and the last two necklaces that were supposedly the clue to finding it.

  Rune shrugged Zev’s hands off. His smile stayed, though it had turned stiff looking. “I only did what I had to,” he said. “Apparently, you decided you had to send the cops after me.”

  “Not the cops.”

  Rune’s smile turned quizzical. “Otto in particular?”

  “You were never responsible for Jessa’s being a drainer, Rune.”

  Rune’s mouth hardened. “I’m responsible for everything regarding Jessa.”

  “Maybe I thought it was time you let that go.”

  “And you thought Otto could do that for—” Realization dawned in Rune’s eyes. “Mal.”

  “She thought she saw something between Otto and Jessa. I know you weren’t happy with Wen.”

  Prydwen Wrythin’s family was the lowest of the royals, but Wen’s donor center, Comity House, had offered reliable access to the human blood Rune’s little brother, Jessa, needed to survive. For Wen, marrying Jessa was a step up the social ladder. Nobody had expected a love match—not until one happened when Jessa met the irascible cop, Otto Jones, during a murder investigation.

  When Otto’s temper had gotten him kicked off the police force, Zev had put him back on it.

  “I think the human is Jessa’s fated,” Mal had told him.

  True love for Jessa had been beyond anyone’s dreams, especially Rune’s. He’d never stopped blaming himself for Jessa’s predicament, as though he’d made Jessa a drainer himself.

  Rune grimaced and held out his hand. “Let me see that. You don’t have to play games with me.”

  �
�I haven’t seen you alone in three years,” he said but tossed Rune the cup.

  Rune caught it, eyebrows raised. “I’ve been busy. Work mostly.”

  That wasn’t it. Everything to do with Zev injured Rune, because everything was a reminder of what Rune wasn’t anymore. But stepping into the role of king had never been Zev’s idea, and it had never gotten easier.

  “You left me alone.”

  “Never,” Rune said. He crossed the floor to a lamp on a small table under the window.

  “Don’t let anybody see you.”

  Rune shook his head and switched on the lamp, but he stood away from the window and cradled the cup in his palms under the stream of light. “It’s a good copy.” He turned it upside down. “No mark though. I guess they don’t want us to come asking questions.” He brought it close to his face and sniffed at it the way Zev had done a few minutes ago.

  “Do you know what that smell is?” Zev asked.

  Rune nodded. “Lucanith.”

  “Your father’s didn’t smell.”

  “No. Protis made it. There was lucanith in it though. Enough to make the gold shine. Don’t drink out of this. It’s poison.”

  The word, though it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, still made Zev’s heart jump. He caught his breath. “What does it do?”

  “Kills you.”

  “Yes, Rune. I understand the function of poison.”

  Rune laughed, low and soft and too quiet to attract anyone, though it didn’t matter, because Zev had soundproofed the outer walls of his rooms. “It drives you insane. Paranoia. Eventually, your mind dissolves.”

  Rune stared into the cup. The stem was clear, the body a deep, gold-flecked scarlet. And the lustrous gold was richer than any jewelry pieces Zev owned.

  “Somebody removed the pad from under the rug in my bathroom. I didn’t expect it, and it slid out from under me. Justin fired most of the staff because nobody admitted to it.”

  “Hardly surprising,” Rune murmured.