Reign of the Vampires

by Rebekah R. Ganiere

  Danika pushed her feet under her and stood. Her legs felt like lead in her high-heeled platform boots. The lack of feeding left her heavy and burdened. No time to think of that now. She would deal with it later. Right now she had to go down and pick out a new slave. As soon as she’d bonded him to her, she’d be able to feed till her strength returned. Danika just hoped she’d find a human who would be up to the task.

  She walked to her adjoining bathroom to stare into the mirror. Her reflection was fading. Another sign that she hadn’t fed enough. Her skin appeared thinner than it should’ve, and her eyes were sunken in. Turning her head, she checked her hair, which she’d pinned up in a chignon before coming to work. Her fitted, black jacket sucked her in and pushed her out in all the right places. Straightening her pencil skirt, Danika picked off a stray red hair and put it in the trash. Lastly she grabbed up a tube of clear lip gloss, dabbed it on her ever-full red lips, and then swept a new coat of black mascara over her long dark lashes. She powdered her nose and spritzed herself with perfume. It was no good. Any Vampire with half a brain would notice she was starving. It didn’t matter; it would add to her control freak, Ice Queen, appearance.

  Danika crossed to her modern wooden desk, grabbed her one remaining Versace purse from the top drawer, and slipped her cell phone into it.

  She ran her fingers over the soft leather. So many of the finer things had been destroyed during the outbreak. Companies had gone under left and right with their CEOs dying off. It’d been utter chaos for years. The Vampires had hoarded their favorite things. Designer clothes and purses, shoes and watches, wines, artwork, anything they could get their hands on. Some of the companies had come back from the brink under the Vampire’s reconstruction plan. But many had not, especially within the realm of the arts.

  Swinging open the frosted glass door to the outer office, Danika moved her gaze over the desk right outside. It stood in perfect limbo, as if waiting for Xenock to return from the bathroom. Absently, her hand moved to her neck where the marks from his almost-fatal bite no longer sat.

  A wave washed over her and conflict gnawed at her once more about getting a new slave. It was as if she were ordering Xenock’s execution all over again.

  The ergonomic chair was cold beneath her touch.

  She turned away. She’d done what she had to, to save her life, she told herself for the millionth time. Using him for comfort had been wrong. But she’d had no idea he was going to take it as a personal rejection when she ended it. Within a year, he’d succumbed to Rogue Syndrome. She’d just begun to try and figure out where to send him for a detox, when everything had gone wrong.

  This is why she was not getting a minion. She was buying a slave. She couldn’t afford another disaster like that. This time she would make the right choice.

  * * * *

  “Do you think it’s even possible to help him, Doc?” Danika asked.

  “Depends how far gone he is.”

  “Make the arrangements and I’ll find Xenock. In his state, he won’t go quietly.”

  “I’ll get Siad and a couple others to help.”

  “Give me about an hour.”

  “Certainly, Lord Danika.” Doc turned and walked out her bedroom door.

  This was going to work. It had to. She wouldn’t let Xenock go crazy from the thirst.

  She called down to have a car brought around, and then went to the closet. Her hands shook as she removed the long black cardigan from its hanger. This was her fault. She never should have started sleeping with him.

  She walked to her nightstand to grab her purse. When she turned, Xenock stood at the foot of her bed. Danika froze at the sight of him.

  “Xenock, where have you been?”

  “Out.”

  “Yes, but you’ve been gone for days. I was coming to find you.”

  “Were you really, Kitten? Did you worry about me?”

  His eyes gleamed red and wild. Full of an anger and pain.

  “Of course I was worried about you. You’re my friend.”

  “Friend,” he mused. He began pacing.

  Her hand rested on the drawer of her nightstand. She watched every movement he made. She slid the drawer open and put her hand inside. Xenock stopped moving. He scanned her body and his gaze lit on her hand in the drawer.

  “Xenock. You need help. Let me help you. Then when you’re better—”

  “No!” he shouted. “I won’t go away. I won’t be parted from you. You’re mine!”

  He flew at her, his arms outstretched. She raised the gun and shot him in the chest. The bullet did nothing to slow him, and he was on her in a second, pinning her to the ground. Blood flowed from his wound, pouring over her and onto the carpet.

  “You’re mine. I deserve you. We belong together.” He bit into her neck, tearing her skin.

  She screamed. Her blood poured from her throat. She gasped for breath as he drank from her. Her adrenaline surged and anger took over. She kneed him in the groin and bucked beneath him. Turning to the side, she rolled on top of him and punched him in the jaw. His eyes went glassy for a minute and she ran for the door. Footsteps rushed up the stairs. Xenock grabbed her around the waist, throwing her into the middle of room, locking the door. She clutched at her neck as he turned to her once more. His face twisted into deranged smile.

  “It’s you and me, Kitten. Now and forever.”

  “My lord, we’re just around the corner.” Paul, the driver, shook her back to the present. She scanned the area, trying to remember where she was. Lincoln High School came into view before they turned onto Burling Street.

  The images in her mind made the incident fresh once more. The same panic she’d felt on the night that Xenock attacked her lit inside her still. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath trying to calm herself. It had been a memory. It wasn’t real.

  The lack of sleep over the past months was causing her mind to wander more and more frequently to places where she didn’t want to go. Replaying her attack by Xenock was no longer contained to sleeping. It was obvious just how much she needed a blood slave. Hiring a vamp or vampyr minion wasn’t the same as buying a bonded human slave. Unlike a minion who had rights, a slave would be her property. And there was no chance of Rogue Syndrome.

  Regency House was surrounded by tall walls of iron rods, topped with razor spikes, so no one climbed in or out. A small arc of light blue electric current snaked over the fencing top. A human might be able to get by one, but not both. The beautiful front area with large flowing fountain was littered with dogs. Several ran at the fence, barking. Two guards stood on either side of the entrance to the large cream brick house. There were at least six more, heavily armed, walking the perimeter, all trained by the Vampire elite Tracking Squad. It had been one of the Tracking Squad warriors who’d saved her from Xenock.

  Danika shook her head, ridding herself of the memory. She needed a clear head tonight. Go in, find the right one, get out. Then tomorrow, after the auction closed, she’d bring him home, bond him and feed, forever putting to bed the awful memories and sudden appearances of Xenock.

  The lights were on in every widow. Creamy curtains hung inside of black shuttered windows. When the car stopped on the street in front of the house, Paul opened her door and offered Danika his hand. She slid from the backseat and stepped onto the sidewalk, breathing in the cool midnight air. A familiar scent hit her and she scanned the area. A tremor of fear itched over her skin. She sniffed again and the scent was fainter. The shadows hung thick upon the expansive lawn and gate. She saw little, yet something told her she was being watched.

  “Lord Danika, are you all right?”

  She turned toward Paul and stared at him for a moment. “Yes, thank you.”

  She straightening her skirt and walked through the gate to the entrance. The two guards inclined their heads to her; in turn, she acknowledged them with a nod.

  She’d never been inside Regency House, although she’d approved C
live’s application to open the auction house in her city. White marble and blood-red carpet runners stretched in every direction. Ancient tapestries adorned the walls, depicting battle scenes from long ago.

  Danika took a step into the wide entrance hall. She strolled from tapestry to tapestry, studying each in turn. The needlework on them was most exquisite. Each scene illustrated a champion’s victory in battle. The victors were slightly different, but their features were similar; each had the same flowing blond hair and green eyes. It was obvious they were of Nordic descent, and the slight changes in armor heralded the time periods in which they’d lived.

  A human female shuffled toward her and curtsied. The girl was pretty, for a human. Her brown straight hair pulled up into a ponytail, accented her tanned skin and brown eyes. Thin, almost as tall as Danika herself, the girl wore simple, neat clothing. Clive was fair and took care of his slaves. The same could not be said for some society members, unfortunately.

  “I’m Jenny.” The girl’s voice shook. “My master is with the other humans and asked me to bring you down when you are ready. I have a drink—”

  “No thank you, I’d like to move this along.” The truth was the longer she stood in the auction house, the less she wanted to be there. Out of the corner of her eye, Xenock’s image lounged against a wall.

  “Yes, of course, mistress.” Jenny curtsied again. “This way, please.” Jenny shuffled to the back of the marble staircase and pulled open a metal door. On the other side was a second, secured metal door with an electronic lock. She punched the code into the number pad, and the door swung open.

  Danika descended cement stairs into an underground hallway. There was nothing in the barren grayness but a door, with yet another keypad. This time, the keypad opened and Jenny put her hand inside a small box mounted in the wall. Danika heard a click, and then was hit by the smell of blood. Her gums throbbed where her teeth threatened to burst through. Attacking another Vampire’s slave would be a costly mistake. Someone as connected as Danika would not be punished too terribly, except monetarily. But it was taboo.

  “Lord?” The girl sucked on her fingertip.

  “Let’s keep going.” Danika’s voice was hoarse.

  Jenny led Danika down a short hall that opened into an underground quad. Inside, cages lined all four walls. Six cells on each side, facing inward. The floor and twelve-foot-high walls were solid cement; everything smelled of bleach and soap. Water still trickled down the grate in the center of the floor.

  Clive strode to Danika with his arms open and a smile on his face revealing his ever-extended fangs. He was average for a male vampyr, only about six foot. His pale blue, almost white eyes sparkled with mischief. Long golden hair flowed down his back.

  The family resemblance between Clive and the tapestries upstairs was unmistakable, except for the eyes. He could easily be a half-breed vampyr—the son of a royal Vampire and human—instead of a bitten vampyr.

  “Lord Danika.” Clive grasped her hands, bowing. “I’m so pleased that you could visit this evening. Come, let me show you around.” He offered her his arm. She didn’t need it, of course. She was more than capable of walking around herself, but she let him lead anyway. She slid her hand onto his arm, as a queen might have years earlier. “Shall we start with the females?”

  “I prefer a male.”

  “Yes, of course.” His eyes glinted.

  He walked her to the first cell. The human inside was as tall as Clive. When Danika stepped to the cell bars, he stood and moved to the middle of the cell for her inspection.

  She glanced at the name and photo hanging from the cell: “Whitey.” He wore glasses that didn’t fit well, and his sandy blond hair stuck out in all directions. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and he chewed on his bottom lip. He reminded her of a cornered rabbit, and looked as if the very wind would scare him to death. She smiled in an effort to reassure him. He gave her a small crooked grin before pushing his glasses up his nose.

  His face was round and boyish. He reminded her of a small child. He was not hard-bodied, like a Vampire, but he wasn’t soft, either. He was average. Underfed, but average. “How old are you?” she asked.

  Whitey blinked several times before answering in a small, cracked voice, “Twenty-f-f-four.”

  Danika nodded. “And what did you do in your encampment?”

  He swallowed hard. “I-I...helped out here and there. I fixed things and worked on electronics and stuff.”

  “Can you read and write?”

  “Y-Y-Yes,” he managed before a large swallow.

  She liked him. He could be taught and molded. He would be eager enough to learn and please, and soft enough for her to ply the way she needed. As an assistant, he would work well. He seemed a bit too skittish for a blood slave though. But for everything else, he’d work. “Thank you, Whitey.” She smiled.

  His eyes widened in surprise and he stammered, “Yo-You’re welcome.”

  Clive held out his arm and they walked to the next cell. The man inside was late fifties by human years; he was thin and had a defiant look. Danika approached the cell. He stood six foot one with a stocky build and a short-cropped haircut; his arms were folded tight across his chest. Danika walked even closer to the bars; he continued to stand his ground. The name plaque read “Ike.” She let her piercing gaze sweep over him. He was built well, but that did nothing for the attitude.

  “Marine?”

  “Semper Fi,” he replied in a gruff voice, meeting her gaze for the first time.

  Danika nodded and moved on.

  One by one she walked past the cells. They were old, they were young—one was too young. In Vampire years, he would’ve still been considered a newborn. She worried for a moment where he would end up.

  When they reached the second cell from the end, the male inside stood waiting for her to approach. He had a wide smirk and stood proud as a peacock. Medium-height with a stocky build, she caught his scent from where she stood. He let off mating pheromones at an alarming rate. It made her gums ache with need. Pushing at her hair, she scanned his nameplate. “Jax.” He took off his shirt and threw it on the bed.

  “You want to come in for a taste, mistress?”

  “You, slave, do not speak unless spoken to.” Clive stepped forward.

  “I simply wanted to let the gorgeous creature know I’m willing and able to give her everything she needs.” Jax smiled even wider.

  “How dare you—”

  “No, Clive.” Danika put her hand on his arm. “It’s all right. He wants to show me what he has. Please open the cell.”

  “But Lord Danika—”

  “Clive.” She stared at him. “I’d like to go in.”

  Clive stared for a moment longer and then nodded. The male, Jax, grinned from ear to ear.

  She flashed a smile and straightened her jacket as Clive punched the access code and the door slid open. She stepped into the cell. In her platform boots, she stood the same height as Jax. She strolled around, inspecting him. He worked out, a lot. Of course that would change once he became a slave, unless he was used as a guardian. Like a dog, he’d have to be broken to train the cockiness out of him. She smiled at the thought of being able to do it herself.

  She finished her inspection, standing less than ten inches in front of him. He stared her in the eyes, waiting.

  “Have you ever met a Vampire before, slave?”

  “Not a gorgeous pure-blooded female Vampire like yourself.”

  “Have you ever been fed off of?”

  “I’m a virgin, but you can be the first.”

  “Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “You’d be my willing blood slave? And you think that you can satisfy me in every way?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “That’s an amazing feat.” She trailed a finger from his collarbone to his abs. He quaked at her touch. “Tell me, did you know that while Vampires are in the throes of passion, they can drain a slave dry
in less than two minutes, and a human cannot do anything about it?” She traced her fingers over his shoulders, circling him again. “When a Vampire feeds, it causes a euphoric effect so enticing that the human is completely helpless. I’d drain you while you begged me to take more.”

  She leaned over his shoulder and spoke into his ear. “Only too late you realize that your heart is slowing, and breathing becomes so difficult that you can no longer speak. Your diaphragm tightens to an excruciating cramp and your lungs fail. Then your head begins to pound as the blood drains from it. At that point, you’ll no longer want me to feed from you. You’ll be begging, silently, for me to stop, but you’ll no longer have speech capabilities, nor will you be able to move. You’ll lie still, but fully aware, as I drink from you, with nothing but the thoughts of your death running through your mind. Then, after what seems like eternity, darkness will creep into view. Growing larger and larger until you’re granted a final breath, with which you beg me to turn you. I won’t of course, because you’re not worthy to be anything more than the food you were born.”

  She came full circle to stare at him again. The smile and the blood had drained from his face. “And that would only be the first time. Every day as a blood slave, you would experience that.”

  What she’d told him wasn’t exactly true; slaves were fed on once a week, and rarely to the brink of death. But he didn’t know that. Her fangs extended, there was no hiding it. The thought of being the first to take the arrogant bastard’s blood was almost enough to throw her bloodlust over the brink. She stared at him until he dropped his gaze.

  Satisfied, she turned from him and strode out of the cell, noticing the very pleased smile on Clive’s face. The cells, which had been quiet before, were now silent. Every human gaze landed on her heavily. Unfortunately, she’d probably scared them all to tears with her words.

  A single cell remained, and she was tempted to turn and leave. To tell Clive she’d bid on Whitey and be done with the whole thing. But something pulled her toward the last cell. A scent hit her with force.

  A huge male sat on the floor in the corner. He stared at her as she came into view. He didn’t stand; he didn’t move a muscle. She had to keep herself from sucking in a breath at the sight of him. He had dark brown hair and piercing amber eyes. His skin was golden and tan. His heavy bone structure and Roman nose reminded her of a picture she’d seen of the Greek god of war, Ares. It made her fangs ache to bite into him and taste his blood. Gripping the bars of his cell, she steadied herself.