Lord of the Vampires rhos-1

by Gena Showalter

  Her heart and soul had never been safe.

  Nicolai fascinated her. He was bossy and arrogant, yet protective when it mattered. He was a killer with a lover’s hands. In his arms, she’d come alive, had been utterly undone. He was already a part of her. In her blood, her head, her everything. So, no. No, no, no. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be.

  Whatever had been done to him, he would heal. He had to heal. His roar had probably cut off because he’d passed out or something. Yes, that was it. And since he healed when he slept, that was a good thing.

  Right?

  The beast had to duck to enter one of the caverns, and she forced herself to concentrate. The hallways were narrow, suffocating. Footsteps echoed as he marched, creating a symphony of terror in her mind. She attempted to memorize the path he took, but it was difficult. So many turns, so dizzying. Alice’s rabbit hole, she thought with a humorless laugh.

  Finally they reached a spacious chamber bursting with more of those winged giants. Murmurs of approval abounded the moment she was spotted, and those approvals swiftly mutated into lusty catcalls. Growling, stiff with anger, Ugh-O tossed her atop a pallet in the center.

  Jane scrambled to her feet. More waves of dizziness accompanied the action, and she swayed. When her vision cleared, she spun in a circle, studying her new surroundings. A throne of glittering crystal grew directly from the wall. That throne would have made a majestic sight, if not for the bare-chested maniac seated on top of it.

  His nose was so far out of place, the left side rested against his cheek. One of his eyes was missing, and there was a hole in his bottom lip, as if one of his saber teeth had punched right through. His chest was a mass of scars, like slices of roast beef that had been glued together—but the glue hadn’t held.

  At least twenty others stood beside him, guarding him. All eyes were on her, bright red lasers she couldn’t escape. Sweat dripped between her breasts, even as her blood chilled. Not one of these creatures would aid her. They all wanted, and expected, a turn.

  In fact, only two people in the room were uninterested in her presence. The only other females. Both were naked, old and wrinkled, unwashed, with straggly hair and dead eyes. They’d been well used, multiple times, and were covered in bite marks and bruises. No wonder these guys were so hot for the repulsive “Odette.”

  Footsteps behind her caused her to spin. More dizziness, intent on lingering. Only when it passed did she realize these were the men who had attacked Nicolai. They were bloody, limping, missing a few body parts and barely breathing, but they were here.

  “Where’s my vampire?” she screeched.

  Ignoring her, they fell before their king. “Vampire disappear.”

  He’d disappeared. That meant he was alive. Thank God. Oh, thank God.

  “No fresh meat?” the king asked, speaking up for the first time.

  “No fresh meat.”

  A rumble of angry muttering sprung from the sovereign, and he waved his fingers toward the men. Four other giants stepped forward, palming swords and swinging before Jane could compute what was going on. Heads rolled, stopping at her feet.

  She hunched over and finally vomited. No, not vomited. She dry heaved. There was nothing in her stomach. Laughter and applause abounded as the bodies were gathered up.

  “Fresh meat now. Cook,” the king said with a nod of approval. “We dine.”

  They were going to eat their own kind. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. She straightened, preparing to run.

  Ugh-O settled a hard hand on her shoulder, ending her escape attempt before she’d taken a single step. “I found. I get.”

  The king lost his good humor and frowned. “I give you my hag.” He motioned toward one of the old women. The hag in question stepped forward automatically and bowed. “Now give me yours.”

  “No. I want the fat one.”

  Hisses abounded.

  Telling the king no was a crime, she supposed. “Fight,” she suggested, her voice trembling as much as her body. “Fight over me. Winner gets me.” Fingers crossed they killed each other.

  That dark frown leveled on her. “Fight, yes. After.” He crooked his finger at her, expecting her to close the distance between them.

  After. There was that word again. Gulping, she shook her head. Ugh-O squeezed her shoulder harder, harder still, and she winced.

  “Come,” the king demanded, speaking more sharply now. He waved her over, and if she wasn’t mistaken, next waved to his crotch. As if he expected her to jump on board right here, right now.

  He probably did. She’d heard the unspoken Or else, and rallied her wits. Come on. I can do this. “Take me to your bedchamber.” Never in her life had Jane attempted to seduce someone who repulsed her, and she mentally cringed at the huskiness of her tone. Better she fight this man alone than with all his people watching—and able to join in. “I’ll do things you’ve only dreamed about.” If your dreams involve strangling on your own intestines.

  “Just want your mouth on cock.”

  I would rather die. “And I want to put my mouth on your cock.” Lightning, strike me down. Please. “So let’s go to your bedchamber. Because, and here’s the kicker, I do my best work in private.”

  He was on his feet in an instant, stalking toward her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  NICOLAI’S HEAD WAS a seething cauldron of thoughts, his body a tuning fork of emotion. One moment he’d been fighting the giants, protecting Jane, the next he was shouting in pain, unable to control the turmoil in his mind. Faces, so many faces. Voices, so many voices.

  Clutching at his ears, he fell to his knees. The jarring helped. The faces faded and the voices quieted, allowing rational thought to form. Had to…protect… Jane…again… But when he pried his eyelids apart, he saw that the giants were gone.

  So was Jane.

  He was no longer near the river, no longer in the forest. A barren wasteland surrounded him. What trees he saw were gnarled, their leaves withered. Ash floated in an acidic wind, black snow scented with death and destruction. And he smelled something…rotting.

  He recognized nothing.

  He turned, saw a snakelike vine slither from one of the trees, then another, both headed in his direction. They dove for him, bit at him and, when they tasted his blood, seemed to cackle with glee. When they dove a second time, he jumped out of the way—and onto a pile of bones.

  A need to slay the Blood Sorcerer, the new king of Elden, filled him, consumed him entirely. Was the bastard nearby? If so, this wasteland was Elden. Had to be. Elden. Elden. The word reverberated in his head. And just like that, the faces returned to his mind, forcing their way to the surface of a man somehow unprepared for them. Faces, blurring together, becoming one. A scene built.

  A blonde woman crouched in front of him, studying his skinned knee with soft concern in her green eyes. He was a boy, just a boy, and as she chanted a spell and blew warm breath on his wound, peace and love infused him. The torn flesh knitted back together, blood no longer dripping from it.

  When the healing process completed, she grinned over at him. “See? All better, yes?” Such a sweet voice, tender and carefree. She brushed his frustrated, angry tears away with her knuckles. The tears had not formed because of any pain he felt, but because he’d wanted, needed, to inflict more damage on his opponents. “You have to stop fighting, darling. Especially boys who are twice your age, and far bigger.”

  “Why? I beat them.” And he could have hurt them a lot worse!

  “I know, but the more you damage their pride, the more they will hate you.”

  “They cannot hate if they do not survive.”

  “Besides that,” his mother continued sternly, “you are in a position of power, and they are not. You must be a voice of reason, not a blast of violence.”

  He crossed his arms. “They deserved what I did to them.”

  “And what, exactly, did they do to deserve your claws in their necks?”

  “They hurt a girl. Pushed her arou
nd in a circle and tried to look up her skirt. They scared her so badly she cried. And then they touched her. In one of her private places. Here.” He flattened a palm on his chest. “And she screamed.”

  The woman sighed. “All right. They deserved your wrath. But, Nicolai, my love, there are other ways to punish those who do wrong. Permissible ways.”

  “Such as?” He could think of no way other than what he’d done. Like for like, hurt for hurt.

  “Tell your father what they’ve done, and he’ll lock them away or banish them from the kingdom.”

  “So that they can do more harm elsewhere? Or one day seek revenge?” he scoffed. “No.”

  “And what if you are hurt while you are hurting them?” she demanded.

  “I’ll come to you. You are the most powerful witch in all the world.”

  Another sigh, some of her upset fading. “You’re incorrigible. And your faith in me is very sweet, if somewhat misguided. Yes, I am powerful, but not as powerful as you will be one day. That’s why I want you to be careful. One day, your temper might cause you to accidentally destroy more than a few lives.”

  “All right, Mother. I will try and be careful, but I can’t promise.”

  “Oh, your honesty…” She flashed a soft smile. “Off you go. After you pay my spell casting fee.”

  He scrunched up his face, leaned forward and kissed the softness of her cheek. “I’m a prince. I shouldn’t have to pay.”

  “Well, I’m a queen, so you’ll always have to pay. Go on, now. Find your brother and study with him, my darling. No more running away from your tutors to avenge the world.”

  With a wave, he was darting off, away from her—but not for the classroom. He had too much energy and needed to swim. Swimming always calmed him.

  In the here and now, darkness swooped in, blanking Nicolai’s mind. Another reprieve. He fell the rest of the way to the ground. One of the vines sliced his cheek, but he hardly noticed. He was remembering his past.

  Why was he remembering? Why were the memories flooding him like this?

  The healer who had bound his powers had not unbound them. Perhaps more of Nicolai’s abilities had found their way free. That would also explain the split-second location switch. Perhaps those abilities had demolished the glass cage.

  Except, a quick mental check proved the cage was still there, his abilities and memories still swirling inside it, faster and faster. However, now streaks of crimson were dripping from the top, eroding the glass. Crimson…blood?

  The guards from Delfina? No. Days had passed, and he’d had no reaction to what he’d consumed at the palace. And while he had bitten the ogres, he hadn’t swallowed their blood, unconsciously knowing it was poison to him.

  The last person he’d drunk from was Jane. He’d gulped from her neck, her taste so decadent he’d wanted to stay there forever. And maybe he would have. Maybe he would have drained her if the thought of losing her had not slammed through him. That, followed by the thought of sampling the heaven between her legs, had driven him to leave her neck and descend. And he’d never been so glad to end a meal. Between her legs, she was sweeter than the nectar of honeysuckle.

  He wanted to taste her there again. Wanted to at last sink inside her, possess her fully, become a part of her. Wanted her passion cries in his ears, her limbs all around him, clinging to him. Wanted her nails in his flesh, leaving her own mark.

  Where was she? Had she—?

  Another memory grabbed hold of his attention, using so much force he could only grunt with the pain. Images, voices, blurring together, painting another scene.

  “Tighten your hold, boy. You’ll lose your sword in seconds with that puny of a grip.”

  He was still a boy, a little older now, standing in front of a tall, muscled man. Black-as-night hair, eyes of polished silver. He wore a fine silk shirt and leather trousers, his boots unscuffed and tied just under his knees. A man of wealth, no question. A man of authority and knowledge.

  A warrior.

  They stood in the center of a courtyard, lovely plants and flowers thriving all around them. The air was sweet, the ground beneath their feet a lush, springy emerald. Smooth marble walls enclosed the entire area, yet there was no ceiling, allowing morning sunlight to pour inside and reflect off the veins of gold. And just above them, balconies opened up from each of the royal bedrooms, welcoming spectators.

  A young dark-haired boy was perched on the ledge of the balcony to Nicolai’s right, watching while twirling a dagger. He wanted to puff up his chest and pound. He was about to be all kinds of impressive for his younger brother. He could toss with deadly accuracy, stab with lethal force and, when he concentrated, wield two swords at once.

  “Nicolai,” the man in front of him said, impatient. “Are you paying attention to me?”

  “Of course not. Otherwise, I would have heard what you said, and you wouldn’t be about to repeat yourself.”

  Dayn chuckled.

  Father was not amused, and did not reward Nicolai for his honesty. “I have meetings to attend, son. Meetings in another kingdom, which means you will be in charge while I’m gone. I need to know you can defend yourself and those you love. Pay attention. Now.”

  “Yes, sir.” He focused on the happenings before him, weighing the metal in his hands. “Why must we practice over and over again? I’m good.”

  “You’re good, but you need to be great. Last time I managed to stab you in the back so badly you scarred!” There was hard admonishment in his father’s voice. “You must learn to work with all weapons, at all times of the day and night. You must work with one hand, both hands, standing, sitting and injured. Without becoming distracted.”

  Nicolai raised his chin. “Why can’t I just kill my opponents with my fangs and be done with it?” He’d done so before. Many times. Until his mother’s prediction had come true, and he’d destroyed an entire village simply to punish a man for beating his wife.

  He’d at last taken control of his emotions and hadn’t lost his temper since. That didn’t mean his fangs were useless, though.

  “And if your fangs have been pried out of your mouth?” his father demanded.

  “No one would ever be foolish enough to remove my fangs. Mother says I’m the most powerful vampire in the world. I can walk in the light, and I can steal power from anyone I choose.”

  “No, she says you will be.” His father’s expression hardened. “You are a prince, Nicolai. The crown prince. Many in this world and the other will covet your direct line to my throne. Many will try and hurt you simply to hurt me. You must know how to defend yourself, always, for every situation.”

  Nicolai gave the sword another once-over. Long, thin and polished to a vibrant shine. He was not used to its heaviness, or the thickness of the hilt. “Very well. I will train some more, but why are you not teaching Dayn?”

  “So many questions.” His father sighed.

  “Why must he watch? He’s a prince, too, you know.” And so very eager to learn. Each day, after Nicolai’s lessons, Dayn begged to be taught. Nicolai could never resist him.

  He loved his brother, and would die for him. A boy most in the palace feared. Dayn had an affinity with the animals that roamed the grounds, preferring to run with them rather than to walk alongside his own people.

  Nicolai understood his brother’s need. Sometimes he, too, felt animalistic in nature, most especially when his temper used to overtake him, shattering his control and leaving only a need to destroy, to hurt others.

  “His time will come,” the king said. “Soon.”

  “But not the new princess, right? She’ll always be too delicate.” He sneered the last.

  “Breena is newly born, and she is not a blood drinker like you and Dayn. She is a witch like her mother. You and Dayn must always protect her. In turn, she will heal your people after battle as your mother used to do.”

  Shame had Nicolai looking down at his dirty boots. He was the reason his mother could no longer heal the wounds of others
. He hadn’t meant to, but he had stolen her ability. She hadn’t blamed him, hadn’t even yelled at him.

  He would do anything to return the ability to her. Yet, he could not. Once taken, he could not give back. Ever. He’d tried, over and over again. The only thing he could do, his mother had said, was learn how to control his newly discovered talent for absorbing the magic of others. And he had, remaining in his bedroom for weeks, reading, studying and practicing.

  “Do you think I’ll be a great leader, like you?” he asked.

  “I think you and your questions will be the death of me, boy.” The king held out his own sword, touching the metal against Nicolai’s. “Let us begin.”

  Darkness.

  Nicolai was panting now, sweating uncontrollably. Trembling. His hands ached. He looked at them. He must have clawed at his temples, trying to stop the pain from exploding through him, because his nail beds were bloody, his claws mere stumps.

  His father had warned him.

  His father. The king.

  His name truly was Nicolai. Odette had not lied about that. She’d known who and what he was. They all had. So highborn, Laila had liked to say, and now he knew why. He was a prince. A crown prince, and one day, a king.

  A brother to Breena. His sister. His beautiful baby sister with her golden curls. She’d grown into a lovely woman with a heart of fire, despite the fact that she was always protected, always guarded. Nicolai had snuck her out a few times, wanting her to have a taste of the freedom he took for granted. Where was she now?

  Dayn, the brother closest to him, as dark and dangerous as the night, and just as beloved. Where was he?

  His father, proud and strong. Honorable, determined. Unwilling to back away from any challenge. Where was he?

  His mother, soft and gentle, so nurturing, even in the face of his most violent tempers. Where was she?

  Micah, the youngest son, so full of life. Where was he?

  Nicolai pulled himself into a crouch. Somehow, he had moved out of the forest. He was now in front of a lake. Not the lake he’d shared with Jane. This water was thick and red. Every few seconds, a hissing, snapping, flesh-colored fish would fly from the surface, arch in the air, then dive back in.