Four choked gasps punctured the air. The guard’s already white face bleached whiter, his yellow eyes bulging. Ezryn snarled. It seemed even bleeders knew who Ezryn Navarr was. The claws in his arm were retracted, somewhat, leaving behind a dull ache Ezryn pushed from his mind. He swung his gaze back to the looming mansion before him. “I am here to see my brother.”
The guard to his left swallowed, and the grip on Ezryn’s arm tightened again. “The…overlord cannot be disturbed.”
Ezryn flashed his fangs at the vampire. “Harry already is disturbed.”
The guard flicked his stare to his three companions, and Ezryn could practically taste their nervous uncertainty. He bit back a snarl. He didn’t have time for this.
With a silent hiss, he threw them off. “I do not wish to harm you,” he stated, “but I will if you force me to do so.” He fixed them all with a stare full of flat promise. “I need to see my brother.”
He stalked toward the mansion’s double-door entryway, a distant part of his mind noting the guards did not follow. Good. He did not want to shed more vampire blood tonight than he must.
A dull, cold pain skimmed his consciousness—Jacob’s pain—but he ignored it. Retracting his fangs, he forced calm through his body. He needed to be at his most composed and focused. He needed to keep control or his general would suffer the consequences of his brother’s vengeful ire. Pushing the doors open, he stormed through the opulent interior, knowing exactly where his brother was. Family blood called family blood. He could feel Harry as well as he could feel Jacob, his twin’s presence like an oil slick tainted with decay. It sickened him.
Vampire after vampire scurried aside as he headed for the ballroom—Harry’s groveling cronies, their baleful glares drilling into him even as their awe-struck fear leached from them in stinking waves. He put them out of his mind. They were of no consequence.
One thing mattered. Getting Jacob out of his brother’s hands.
The heavy doors to the ballroom loomed before him. He pushed them open with one hand and strode over the threshold into the massive room. The stench of wax and smoke curled into his nose, and he flicked a contemptuous snarl at the hundreds of lit candles lining the hall. His brother and his dramatics. It was time to end this whole fucking charade.
He scanned the room, stomach churning. In the far corner, five naked, chained human females cowered against one another, their bodily excrements turning the air rancid. He studied them, disgust coating the back of his throat. How had he let it come to this? How had he let his brother’s depravity debase the vampire kind for so long?
He bit back a growl. Jake was nowhere to be seen, but he was close. The American vampire’s blood stung his senses. Nostrils flaring, he fixed a flat glare on his brother perched upon the ridiculous throne domineering the end wall of the hall. “Where is he, Harry?”
His low voice echoed in the silence, and it was only the complete lack of noise following his snarled question that told him he and his brother were alone in the room.
His stomach tightened. It was unlike Haral not to surround himself with fawning underlings and guards. That he did so now spoke of an arrogance even greater than Haral’s usual conceit.
Haral gave him a smug smile. “Ho, Ezryn.”
Ezryn brought himself to a standstill five paces from the overlord. He took a deep breath, never taking his eyes off him. The stench of blood both stale and fresh flooded his nostrils, poured over his olfactory nerve. Anger crashed through him.
Jacob’s blood drenched the air.
Fucker.
Haral’s smile faded, replaced with a condescending pout. “No friendly words for your twin brother, Ezzie?” He pulled a contemplative expression. “Actually, now that I come to think of it, probably not, given the situation.”
Ezryn kept himself motionless. “Bring General Ford to me now, Harry, or—”
“Or?” Haral cut him short. “Surely you remember our agreement? Four nights to kill the Principatus or I begin slaughtering those who opposed my ascension?” He raised his eyebrows in another melodramatic show. “What better vampire to begin with than the one who opposed me most ardently?”
Ezryn’s anger turned to blistering ice. He narrowed his eyes, barely keeping his fangs in check. “I will tear your head from your body, Haral, if you truly have been so stupid.”
Haral studied him, eyes revealing nothing. “Yes,” he murmured, fingers stroking the armrest of his throne. “You would do just that, wouldn’t you?” He ran his tongue over his fangs. “If given half the chance.”
“Enough,” Ezryn snarled. “Bring Jacob to me now.”
With a flourish of purple-velvet-swathed arms, Haral stood, smug smile firmly in place. “Come, brother mine. Let us walk.”
He descended the raised dais, smiling at Ezryn as he strode with a casual pace toward an unassuming door almost hidden by the wax-laden candelabra to the left of the throne.
Ezryn watched him cross the floor, nerves strung beyond taut. Fury threatened to unravel his control. The urge to leap on his brother, slam him to the black granite and tear his dead heart from his chest almost undid him. His fangs extended. His curled his fingers into fists, knuckles popping.
Control, Ezryn.
Blood roaring in his ears, he crossed to Haral, his full attention on his brother’s eyes.
Until Haral pushed the door open.
The smell of Jacob’s blood crashed over Ezryn. Suffocating and overpowering. Without hesitation, he shot into the darkness, his gut rolling as his stare locked on the silent, blood-soaked body hanging limply from a whipping post in the center of the room.
Dark Ones… Jake.
He spun to Haral, glaring at his twin where he stood in the open doorway. “You’ve crossed the line, brother.”
Haral raised an eyebrow. “I gave you an order, Ezzie, and you failed to follow through. Unless you intend on killing the Principatus in the next two hours, General Ford will be, I’m afraid to say, the first of your loyalists to be destroyed.” A contemplative expression crossed his fleshy features, melodramatic and mocking. “Wait, that’s not right. Unless you intend on killing the cunt in the next two hours, General Ford will be, I’m delighted to say, the first of your loyalists to be destroyed.”
Ezryn’s throat slammed shut. Murderous rage pumped through his veins. “You cannot do this, Haral.”
Haral gave him a smug smirk. “What did you think I was going to do? Twiddle my thumbs until you decided to stop fucking the very Principatus I commanded you to kill?”
The urge to leap at his brother and rip his tongue from his mouth overwhelmed Ezryn. But he held it in check. Barely. Instead, he gave Haral a bored snort. Haral wanted him off-kilter. Angry. For that very reason, he couldn’t be. “Perhaps you should be taking notes, Harry. I’ve heard your performance in bed is just as woeful as your performance as overlord.”
Haral’s answering sneer was contemptuous. “Still, it is I who fucks whomever I want in our father’s bed.” He flashed his fangs in a sneering smile. “Not you.”
Ezryn cocked an eyebrow, keeping his face calm. “You really need to address this sibling rivalry problem you have. After three hundred years, it’s getting a bit old.”
“Sibling rivalry or not, the more resourceful brother won on the day it mattered, didn’t he?” Haral snorted. “You may have had our father’s undivided attention, you may have had the loyalty of the numbers, but it meant nothing when the oracle spoke, did it? Tell me, how did it feel, hearing the Oracle’s Voice moan my name in complete rapture fifty years ago? You never told me and I’ve been most curious.”
“I heard the oracle wheeze your name, Haral, the way I’m sure he did most nights. What the human virgin being sacrificed for your power lust said to him is another matter altogether.”
“It doesn’t matter what the virgin said, Ezzie. It was what the oracle proclaimed she said that was important. And that was what I wanted her to say. I know how to play the game, Ezzie. Our father might no
t have been bothered to teach me, so preoccupied with the prodigal son, but I watched. And I learned.”
Ezryn let his lips part in a cold grin. “Which explains the power-drunk ego and utter lack of humility, I guess.”
Haral’s face flooded with fury at Ezryn’s obvious slur. “We can’t all be noble bastards, brother.”
“We can’t all be moronic imbeciles either.”
Haral hissed. “You have always thought you were better than me, but I still outmaneuvered you. When it really mattered, I was the victor. Fuck a Principatus all you like, but I am the one who rules our race, not you. I am the one who will be written about in the Lamia Cruor Libri while you will be just a footnote, the cast-aside son who fled to the bottom of the world to escape his shame. I’ve always wondered why Australia?” His lips twisted in gleeful pleasure. “Did that old fart Kristoph tell you which country to sulk in? Oh, wait. No, he couldn’t have. Your most cherished mentor and advisor was already dusted before you left, wasn’t he?”
Incredulous rage punched through Ezryn’s chest. When had his twin become so vile?
Haral smirked. “He wasn’t much of a court mentor, was he, ol’ Kristoph? The overlord’s advisors hardly paid him any mind when he petitioned them to deny the oracle’s proclamation.” He chuckled, the sound smug and cruel. “You know, I never understood the human saying ‘squealed like a stuck pig’ until Kristoph and I had a little chat. Very verbose he was, for such a decrepit vampire. Filled me in on all sorts of little secrets he knew about our reverent family. With the right…encouragement of course.” He snickered. “How does it feel, brother, knowing if it wasn’t for one simple piece of evidentiary proof, you would be sitting where I am now?”
He narrowed his stare onto his brother’s face, forcing his voice to stay even. “Sitting where you are now?” He raised his eyebrows, his rage a cold fist in his head. “In crushed velvet with a bloated gut and an even more bloated ego?” He snorted a dry laugh. “Perhaps I should be thanking the Dark Ones your affair with the oracle was so clandestine after all.”
“Oh, you are the funny one, Ezryn, and yet you’re also the one sticking your dick in the cunt of a Principatus. Fucking the mortal enemy of vampires everywhere. Often, from what I hear. Whatever will your loyalists think of that little piece of information?”
Ezryn bared his fangs. “What I do with my dick is my business, Harry, not yours.”
“Tell that to General Ford, Ezzie. He’s the one about to have his heart ripped out and skewered on a silver spike for your business.”
“Christ, Fat Harry,” a low, almost inaudible mumble sounded on the air, “can you…shut the fuck…up?”
Ezryn spun to the whipping post, a loathing so deep he almost buckled under its concentrated force surging through his consciousness. Jacob Ford’s loathing. For the overlord.
Jacob glared at Haral through a veil of blood-mattered hair, his eyes burning fathomless icy hate. “You always…were a…fuck-knuckle. You just got…fatter.”
“Fuck-knuckle I may be,” Haral snarled, his eyes flashing incensed rage and yellow unease, “but I am not the one about to be sacrificed by my master and friend for a Principatus cunt.”
Jacob’s lips pulled into a slow grin, his own blood seeping down his face making the action all the more menacing. “No,” he growled, incisors extending to wicked points. “Neither am I.”
Chapter Twelve
Jacob threw himself forward, tugging against the silver chains binding him to the whipping post. The creature he truly was, the malevolent being feared the world over surged through him, fed by fathomless hate and unending loyalty. He roared, no longer human, completely vampire, every muscle in his body coiled steel. Searing pain sliced into his wrists, up his arms, into his chest. Searing pain incinerated by the full force of his revulsion and hatred for his master’s brother.
He threw himself into the agony, welcoming it. Cherishing it. Feeding on it. And the chains snapped.
“No!” Haral squealed, scurrying backward through the door.
“Jake! No!” Ezryn’s shout scraped at his fury, a compelling voice he could not ignore, but could not obey either. Not at the moment. All that mattered was what had to be done—and what had to be done was the utter and complete decimation of Haral Navarr.
Jacob flung himself at the fat, gibbering vampire, a clear and rational part of his mind noting the horde of guards charging into the ballroom at the overlord’s screech. Their presence meant little. He landed on Haral with fluid speed. Hands fisting in the fat fuck’s velvet collar, feet planting against his disgustingly flabby gut, Jacob slammed him to the ground.
Haral squealed again, eyes bulging. “Get him! Get him!”
The overlord’s wails filled the air, almost drowned out by Ezryn’s roar, “Jake! Get off him! You’re leaving yourself—”
Jacob smashed his fist into Haral’s face, mashing his knuckles against the vampire’s cheek. He felt the bone shatter, and cold satisfaction speared into his incensed hate. “For my wife,” he snarled, smashing his fist into the vampire’s jaw. “For my friend.” He slammed his forehead into Haral’s nose. “For my kind.” He grabbed two handfuls of Haral’s hair to pound his head into the floor.
Haral flailed and bucked beneath him, squealing and screeching like a gutted pig. “Get him! Get him!”
“Jake!” Ezryn roared. “You need to—”
The wet sound of flesh being torn apart slapped against Jake’s consciousness, and he jerked his stare from Haral just in time to see Ezryn rip a guard’s throat out beside him. Two more vampires launched themselves at his master, their eyes wild with fear. In the corner of the room, the chained women squealed. Human women. Defenseless against a vampire’s true power.
Just like Jacob’s wife.
“Get him!” Haral screeched, thrashing beneath Jacob, hot spittle spewing from his mouth in thick tendrils, blood pissing from his nose in ropey snot. “Kill him!”
Jacob hissed and smashed his forehead into Haral’s shattered nose again. “I should have done this fifty fucking years ago,” he snarled, smacking the wailing vampire’s head to the tiles over and over again. “But better late—” he slammed his fist into Haral’s jaw, his cheek, his temple, “—than never.” He grabbed two fistfuls of Haral’s hair and sank his teeth into the side of the overlord’s face, biting deeply into the cold flesh before yanking his head away and tearing half of Haral’s cheek off.
Stare locked on Haral’s mashed, oozing face, he spat out the chunk of cheek muscle. “For my Melissa,” he whispered, an icy calm falling over him. He pulled back his arm and opened his fingers, his nails growing into long, hooked claws. Perfect for tearing a deranged, sadistic, walking corpse’s dead heart from his fat, fleshy chest. Perfect for killing the overlord.
“N…no…no…” Blood bubbled past Haral’s split lips. “D…don’t.” His head lolled, eyes rolling.
“Jake!” Ezryn yelled. “Stop! You can’t kill the overlord, no matter how much he deserves it. You have to stop. Now.”
Jacob bared his fangs in a silent snarl. “Good riddance, Harry.”
Haral’s head dropped to the side, bleeding eyes focusing on something behind Jacob. “Kill…him.”
“Stop!” Ezryn roared. “Don’t shoot!”
A sharp sound splintered into Jacob’s fury, and he jerked his stare up from Haral’s face. To find three vampires surrounding him, aiming stake-cocked crossbows straight at his chest.
“I am Ezryn Navarr.” Ezryn’s growl ripped at the silence, powerful with command and menace. “First born of the First Family, true and rightful overlord, and I order you to lower your weapons and stand down.”
Jacob glared hard at the vampires standing over him. They flicked each other silent glances, their pale faces draining white.
“Stand down!”
Faces whiter still, they staggered away from Jacob, eyes uncertain, crossbows wavering.
“What are you doing?” Harry thrashed beneath him, spittle sho
wering Jacob’s face. “What the fuck are you—”
“Stand Ezryn roared. “Stand down!” down n—”
Ezryn’s command stopped dead. Jacob swung his head toward his master, cold fear destroying his fury in an instant.
Ezryn’s eyes were wide, his stare fixed on the hall’s closed door. A look of absolute dismay etched his face. “May the Dark Ones have mercy on us all,” he whispered. “She’s here. God’s assassin.”
Ezryn stood motionless, even as the itch in his gut—the bond between him and Inari—burst into a wild inferno. She was here. And she was furious.
A scream rose from the other side of the dark room. Another. Another. Someone screamed something he couldn’t understand, a wailing cry full of abject terror.
A solid thump shook the room, as if something had hit the wall on the other side.
“Kill him,” Haral croaked again from beneath Jacob, but no one was listening to him. All eyes were locked on the gaping door. Waiting…waiting…
“My lover.” The whisper fell from Ezryn’s lips at the exact second the itch in his gut exploded afresh into rabid life. The exact moment Inari Chayse stepped through the doorway into the ballroom, as petite and sexy as always, looking for all the world like a goth Daisy Duke in knee-high boots and a black leather corset.
Her gaze found him instantly, the corners of her lips curling even as her eyes blazed with seismic rage.
Ezryn’s tight throat squeezed tighter. The itch in the pit of his core vanished, replaced by a joy so pure, so elemental he blinked.
Dark Ones, he loved her.
Who? The Principatus or the succubus?
“The Principatus!” Haral cried, thrashing under Jacob’s pinning weight.
The guards’ eyes widened. A collective hiss filled the room, and a warped sense of pride slashed through Ezryn as he watched each one stumble back a step from the unassuming woman standing in the doorway. They were petrified of her. A cold grin pulled at his mouth. Good. So they should be.
“Get her!” Haral screeched. “She is mine!”
Dark Embrace (Principatus) Page 26