Sever the Crown: Vampire Reverse Harem Complete Series

by Mysti Parker

  “I guess…” She shrugged. “I mean, she promised me I’d have everything I never had with a mortal life.”

  “I think she promised lots of people lots of things. I’m sorry for what she did to you.”

  Her eyes searched mine. “Who are you? You seem so…familiar.”

  “I’m just someone who cares. That’s all.” I squeezed her hand. Her fingers squeezed back. The drug was wearing off. “I’m sorry for the extreme measures, but Ravana’s hurt a lot of people. This will help us figure out how to make things better for people like you. This is important.”

  “Important enough to threaten my life?”

  I nodded. “Yes, unfortunately. But if all goes as planned, I promise you will be rewarded very, very well. You’ll never have to work a day in your life again unless you want to.”

  That seemed to appeal to her. She nodded. “Fine. Then how do I contact you?”

  “You don’t. Do you have a cell?” Zac asked.

  She nodded.

  “Good, give me your number. We’ll text you when we need to contact you.”

  “Okay. So, what are you going to do with me?”

  Ashe pulled another pouch of blood from the bag. “You can eat, and once you’ve regained your mobility, we’ll take you back so you can plant the plastic chip on the queen’s dog. Deal?”

  Elsie Mae stared at the pouch of blood and licked her lips. “Deal.”

  Chapter Ten

  Charles

  “We’re live.”

  Those two words from Yoga started a very tense three-night stretch of listening in to Queen Ravana from the chip on her dog’s collar. Tense because the annoying little furry fuck kept barking. Tense because the slightly nasal sound of the queen’s voice set everyone’s fangs on edge. Tense because she spent most of her nights bashing Wren’s mom.

  Like the first night.

  “Singing. Always singing, aren’t you,” she said once in passing to a female plumber fixing her toilet. “You have the voice of a dying eel, just like my sister did.”

  The glass of blood Wren held shattered in her grip, and her gaze lit with fiery fury. “She’s dead, you fucking bitch, and that’s how you talk about her? Your own sister?”

  Yoga and Ashe shot to their feet on either side of her on the couch and guided her to the kitchen to clean up, to get her away.

  I didn’t blame her. It was hard as hell listening to the woman responsible for both my dad’s death and Queen Bronwen’s, but I forced myself to sit here and take it.

  A loud gulp sounded through my phone, which was recording everything the chip picked up. “I-I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

  “Damn right you are,” the queen hissed. “Enough with the singing or I’ll shut your mouth for you with silver screws.”

  What a dick. A dick with tits. A real piece of work, this “queen.”

  Since that first night, Wren had been vibrating with anger. I knew she wanted to listen in, but Ashe kept her distracted. I could hear her moans all the way down here from one of the bedrooms upstairs, the thud-thud-thud of the headboard against the wall. I had to hand it to Ashe—he seemed able to fuck the anger right out of her, because sometime after they were done, she’d laugh. And then thud-thud-thud, the headboard would start up again.

  My tattoo lit up with heat every time they went at it, pulsing in time to my throbbing dick. That right there was why I stayed seated, listening. To them and to Ravana.

  The sting of jealousy went bone-deep, but I needed to get over that shit fast. Ashe and I were both serving a purpose at the moment. As part of the true queen’s harem, we would serve that purpose forever. Time enough to get over my jealousy.

  The rest of the first night while Yoga dozed by the fire, I listened to Ravana drone on and on about purses for her terrible excuse of a dog through my earbuds. Did dogs really need a purse? I had no fucking idea.

  “Look at this bedazzled one,” she demanded.

  A deep hum sounded, a male, someone who seemed just as interested as I was in dog purses. “The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep,” he intoned. “John 10:2.”

  “What?!”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re not even going to pretend with me anymore, are you?” she hissed, then much, much louder, “Get me another of my ABCs. One who actually cares. Like Alessandro.”

  “He’s busy.”

  “Well, make him un-busy and send him in here.”

  The second night, she mentioned Wren. Yoga and I froze from our seats on either side of the couch and stared at each other.

  “Remember when you told me she was dead?” Ravana accused someone named Rand. A member of her Royal Knights, maybe? “It’s a wonder I kept you alive after that bald. Faced. Lie.”

  “My apologies for the thousandth time, Your Highness. I am truly a disgrace for leading you astray, but I thought she was dead. She seems good at hiding, just until recently when this Ashe character broke out of jail, and no one can find them again. Not that I’m trying to make excuses, Your Highness.”

  “And yet you are,” she said, her voice as lifeless as her cold, dead heart. A slight rustling, and then, “Show me why I keep you around again.”

  And the guy did. The blood sloshed in my stomach. I almost felt sorry for him having to go down on her. No visuals needed for me to know that, thankfully. The sounds were terrible enough. Ravana had complained about dying eels, but she sounded like one when she came.

  “Fucking disgusting.” Yoga shook his head and then stood to refill his whiskey glass.

  The third night, someone came to visit her. Someone with a gravelly voice that rubbed like sandpaper over my skin.

  “The stage has been set,” he said.

  “Tell me more,” Queen Ravana demanded, and I didn’t miss the hint of excitement in her tone.

  “It’s the biggest concert The Southern Clan has ever seen. Tickets sold out the first night, and 40,000 vampires are expected to be in attendance. Including you and your mates, Your Highness. Boxed seats.”

  “And you’re sure the VIPs will be in their seats at the appointed time?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. They’ll be well distracted with DBDs.”

  “Good.You’ll make sure we have plenty of advance notice to leave quickly, won’t you?”

  Yoga and I shared a look. Advance notice to leave quickly why? Before what? Dread crawled over my shoulders because I seriously doubted I’d like the answer.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Is our star performer ready?”

  “I filled Miss Bravo in on exactly what to say afterward. She’ll deliver, make it look like it was an act of jealousy, that the two had a past. She can even cry at the drop of a hat to make it look believable.”

  “Good. She was always my favorite, unlike her slovenly sister.” Some chomping noises followed, as though she’d fed her pooch a doggie biscuit. “Bronwen was our mother’s favorite. Did you know that?”

  “No, Your Highness.”

  “If Mother had only known…” More chomping noises.

  “The concert starts at midnight,” the man said. “The timers are set for twelve thirty.”

  I swallowed, my throat suddenly too dry. A timer. Nothing good ever came from a timer at a concert.

  Yoga shifted uncomfortably on the couch and rubbed his jaw.

  “And the evidence?” Dick-Tits asked.

  “Planted, though that took some doing. She doesn’t have a police record despite all the crimes she’s committed and has lived mostly off-grid, so it took some creativity at The Sundowner’s Bar in Silversage, Alabama. I got the bar’s manager to let me on stage to sweep for prints. There were several on the microphone and in her dressing room, all the same. Since she was the only one who sang there, I’m sure they’re hers.”

  Wren. They were talking about Wren. My gut dropped and bottomed out somewhere below my kneecaps. Yoga jumped to his feet so fast that he knocked into the heavy coffee table and didn’t even seem to noti
ce. He immediately started tapping on his phone. Hopefully not blowing up our mole.

  Timers at a concert. That could only mean one thing. An explosion. Mass murder of thousands of innocents. And a plan to pin it all on Wren so she couldn’t take the throne from Queen Ravana. Even if the plan failed and Wren’s fingerprints were still discovered around these timers, it would plant the seeds of doubt in the Southern Clan about Wren. Make them reject her even though the throne was hers before she even had a chance to take it.

  I picked up my phone off the coffee table to look up concerts, my sweat-slicked hands sliding over the plastic and nearly dropping it, even as the queen’s voice slipped through again.

  “I killed the last guy I hired to do a job like this, you know. I wanted that Ashley guy framed for murder, and all I got was his lousy sister taking the rap for it and providing proof.”

  Liar. The last guy she hired to do a job like this was sitting right here, very much alive, or as alive as I could be. She’d never admit to that failure – the kidnapper she’d hired who ended up being part of the true queen’s harem. If she could find me, though, I was sure that would change.

  “But you, though…” she continued. “You’re different, I can tell. You will be rewarded handsomely for this if it all works out like I hope it will.”

  Like hell he would. I would make sure. Yoga, too, judging from the way his knuckles cracked as he formed fists at his sides.

  But how many timers were we talking here? Was the concert tonight? Would we even be able to get there in time to stop it?

  “You are my queen,” the gravel-voiced guy said. “Not some orphan with a death wish who thinks she can take your place because she’s the daughter of a queen who failed.”

  A creak sounded from the staircase, followed by a sharp hiss. Wren stood on the steps, still as a statue with a blanket wrapped around her naked shoulders. But instead of the savage anger I expected to see written across her gorgeous face, I saw sadness, as brutal to my heart as any kind of second death I could imagine.

  “Good,” the queen said from my phone. “If the little bitch wants a war with me, let’s see how she handles this battle.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Wren

  Orphan with a death wish. Had there been times I wished I was dead? Sure. I’d even planned to accidentally-on-purpose fall on a wooden stake once I had eliminated all my mother’s killers, but that was before I knew there were more lives on the line than just mine. I had two mates and three more out there somewhere counting on me to set things right and thousands more who deserved a fair and just leader rather than a tyrannical murderess.

  The transmission went quiet, except for whistling snores I assumed meant Ravana’s dog was napping.

  I threw off the blanket. It fluttered like a wilted parachute to the floor below. Three pairs of eyes locked on my naked body. “We’re going. Find the location.” I turned and marched back upstairs, past Ashe who stood riveted on the landing.

  “Uh, hang on a minute. What? Where are we going?” He’d missed most of the part about the concert. “Can you all fill me in?”

  I didn’t answer but went straight for the shower. The guys would try to stop me or insist I stay here while they go and check it out. But that’s not what a true queen would do. If Ravana really was trying to pin a terrorist act on me, if I just sat here like a scared rabbit, she could convince everyone I was guilty. Convince them to turn their backs on me. I finished quickly and dressed in a robe.

  They were arguing as I came down the steps.

  “We can’t risk taking her in the middle of another big crowd. We’re lucky we were able to escape the last one, and it was small compared to this,” Ashe was saying as he paced the room.

  “The bigger the crowd, the better,” Charles said. “We can wear disguises again. It’s really easy to blend into a big crowd.”

  Ashe shook his head. “We don’t have tickets.”

  “They’re sold out,” Zac said, scanning his phone screen.

  “Where is the concert?” I asked.

  Their attention snapped toward me as I rounded the couch and went for the fridge. Inside were six more pouches of blood Zac and Ashe had bought for us to have later.

  “Nashville.”

  Ashe zipped over, his hand on my back. He wore only his jeans and looked dead sexy with his mussed-up hair, barefoot and without his shirt. “This is too dangerous. It could be a trap for all we know.”

  “It most likely is a trap,” Zac said. “But it’s an older stadium on the outskirts of town, once used by the Tennessee Titans, now known for hosting lesser-known performers, rodeos, and the like. I’ve got some colleagues in the area. They’re on their way to check the place out. If there are bombs, we’ll find them.”

  “That is if they find them in time,” Charles added.

  Zac nodded and pulled out his laptop from the case that lay on the coffee table. “The main attraction is a vampire singer named Vivian Bravo. Initial reports from my colleagues say she’s desperately trying to make it into the mainstream entertainment industry. She probably thinks Ravana will help her do that.”

  “So she’s willing to sell out to Ravana’s demands to make it happen.” I found a small cooler under the sink and put the blood pouches in it. We’d need to stay fed to keep our wits about us. “Figures. Too many people in this industry willing to be slaves to whoever can boost them to the top quicker.”

  “I think someone should tell her that playing with Ravana can only get her burned,” Charles said.

  “I think you’re right. And that someone should be me,” I said, grinning as the idea snowballed into a plan in my head.

  “I don’t like that look,” Ashe said. “What are you planning?”

  “What if we pay my aunt a visit?”

  “We can’t risk it.”

  “But you want to risk thousands of lives? I will not be blamed for the deaths of innocent people. I have yet to kill someone who didn’t deserve it. I won’t start now.” Unfortunately, I didn’t have the plan worked out completely yet. I didn’t know the layout of the stadium, so I’d have to play it by ear somewhat. What else was new? “If we can get to Ravana before the show, we may be able to take her out.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that. She’ll have a ton of vampire security around her, including her mates. You’re not strong enough to handle them all yet since you only have two mates.”

  “Then we keep them distracted long enough to get the spectators out and let her and her mates get blown to bits.”

  “We don’t even know if the bomb threat is legit.” Zac tapped a few more buttons on his laptop. “Ah-ha!”

  “Ah-ha, what?”

  “I just did a little website hackery. Whoever’s not already there will soon receive emails and messages that the concert has been canceled.” He sat back with a huge grin and cracked his knuckles. “They’ll even get refunds.”

  “Holy shit, how’d you manage that?” Charles asked.

  Zac shrugged. “Degree in computer technology, among other things. Hopefully this will thin the crowd a bit, but that doesn’t mean everyone will check their messages or that there aren’t already people there. Plus, once the suits find out it’s been cancelled, they’ll un-cancel it, hopefully frustrating people enough so they don’t want to go. Wren, do you have a disguise that will match Ms. Bravo’s look?”

  “I can get close enough. Why?”

  “I think the better plan is to get to the singer. We switch her out for you. You can sing, and we’ll whisk you out before anyone knows the difference. Once Ravana finds out, and she will, it’ll send her a clear message that you’re not afraid of her. Then we could offer Miss Bravo the same deal we did for Elsie Mae. Except this time, we make her speak to the press and tell the truth about her benefactor.”

  “Okay, fine. What about the rest of you?”

  “I’m not going as Colonel Sanders again,” Ashe said.

  “I’ll dress however you want me to, chère,” Char
les chimed in with his Cajun accent, drawing a dirty look from Ashe.

  “I’m good for now. It’s a three-hour drive,” Zac said, “and it’s already eight o’clock. I suggest you get dressed in a hurry so we can get going. We’ll discuss our plan on the way.”

  ****

  About an hour into the trip, Zac got a text from one of his men at the arena. “They’re doing a sweep. No bombs detected yet.”

  “Well, that’s good. One complication out of the way.”

  We arrived at the Hightower Arena about ten thirty. The parking lot was about half full.

  “Still no bombs detected,” Zac said, scanning his phone screen. “So they’re not going to evacuate anyone yet.”

  Ashe spoke up from the back seat. “Maybe Ravana knows we’ve been listening, and she thinks this will draw us out of hiding.”

  Unlike the hump-fest we attended before, this event seemed almost entirely populated by vampires. And unlike most big events at arenas, only a handful of streetlights were lit. The closest one flickered with an annoying buzz. That left the parking lot in near darkness. Besides the cool blue vampire auras from those who were still arriving, the only human heat signatures I picked up on in the parking lot were Zac’s and a couple of roaming security guards in golf carts.

  One of them rolled right up to us and tossed a paper bag to Zac, then drove on by.

  “You know him?” I asked.

  “Maybe.” He grinned and got back in the car. “Stand guard while I change, will you?”

  “Okay, just hurry up,” I said.

  A vampire couple neared, so I grabbed Charles and pushed him up against the window, kissing him wildly. They threw us amused glances but didn’t seem to recognize me. I doubt anyone could tell the difference between me and Ms. Bravo from a distance, but up close, it would be obvious.

  We were dressed in some old clothes we found in the cabin. I wore a pair of ripped skinny jeans over my black leggings and a gray Tennessee Volunteers hoodie with a worn-out orange T printed on the front. The closest wig I had to Ms. Bravo’s hair was a blonde, curly wig that reminded me of Dolly Parton, minus the boobs. Ashe and Charles had a grunge brother look going on—moth-eaten white T-shirts, faded jean jackets, and gray beanies, which both men hated.