Sever the Crown: Vampire Reverse Harem Complete Series

by Mysti Parker

  “It’s a shield. To keep you from getting close to anyone.”

  Marlowe held my gaze for a moment before he looked away.

  “I understand how that feels, being afraid to let anyone get too close.”

  “I should get back to work, call the office about Vivian.” He stood in one stiff movement but didn’t go anywhere, just stared at the door.

  Slowly, I got up and came up behind him, close enough that he could feel my nearness without me touching him. “I spent nearly twenty years on my own, guarding myself from everyone. No one even knew I was a vampire until Zac found me. I hid behind my stage persona. Melody Songsmith was my mask.”

  He remained still and silent. His part of the tattoo surged with electricity and pulsed like a rapid mortal heartbeat. He could feel this thing between us, and I wanted him to feel it. More than that, I needed him to feel it.

  I took the chance and eased up against his back, lightly settling my hands on his waist. “Now that I have people around me all the time, you’d think I’d never feel alone, but I do. No one really knows the real me. There hasn’t been enough time, and to be honest, I don’t think I even know myself. All I know is running and killing and doing gigs when I need the money.”

  “What do you want from me?” His voice was hoarse, uncertain.

  I wanted to show him what we both could have if we let go of our masks long enough. I stalked around him until we were face-to-face, unaware of the tear that escaped my eye until he caught it with his thumb and wiped it away.

  “I don’t want to be alone anymore,” I whispered.

  “You’re not alone. You have mates already.”

  “And you? Do I have you?” I started to unbuckle his belt, but he held my wrists.

  “Wren…”

  I moved in until my face was just a hair’s breadth from his and waited there. His reaction would determine my next move and whether or not I could count on him to be at my side.

  “Fuck.” He let go of my wrists.

  Relieved, I unfastened his belt, then his jeans, and lowered myself to my knees as I exposed his hard cock.

  His was beautiful and thick. I could easily imagine him burying it deep within me, but not yet. That would cement our bond, and I had to be sure he wanted me first. I would not force anyone’s loyalty. That could only lead to heartbreak and resentment down the road. Though I didn’t know how my mother had lost Devin’s loyalty, I knew I couldn’t make the same mistakes. All our lives depended on making sure I had the right mates.

  With a glance upward, I caught the slightest quirk of a smile on his lips. That was the signal I needed. I took him into my mouth, deep into my throat, moving gently at first until he grasped the back of my head with both hands and jutted his hips to meet every stroke. It didn’t take long for a growl to rumble deep from within his chest. He stared down at me. Red and yellow flickered in his eyes, kind of like...flames? Surely his dick wouldn’t catch fire. But I could tell he was close, so I took the chance. Marlowe’s fangs glinted in the fluorescent lights as his mouth parted. He finally let out a long, low groan and came.

  I took it all, swallowed it down, and didn’t stop until I drained him dry. Then I withdrew, wiped my mouth with a towel I swiped from a nearby chair, and cleaned him up. He stood there, shell-shocked while I fastened his pants and rose to my feet. We searched each other’s eyes. I hadn’t completely scaled his wall of distrust yet, but I’d put a few holes in it. That would have to do for now.

  I expected him to just walk away and pretend it had never happened. Instead, he pulled me into a tight hug.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he whispered.

  “I know.”

  Nestling my head against his neck, I took in his scent, like cedar with a hint of lime. He could still decide to walk away when all was said and done. And though I didn’t know him as well as I wanted to, we shared a common bond in our pain, our need to hide behind masks. It was that connection I’d have to focus on if I wanted him as part of my harem.

  And I did want him. Not just because he had a sob story like mine but because he’d taken care of my father all these years, even though he didn’t have to. He could have washed his hands of anything to do with my family, yet he hadn’t, because he cared.

  Marlowe pulled back, stroked my cheek, and brushed his lips against mine. The towel I’d tossed on the floor suddenly caught fire.

  “Hold that thought,” I said, putting my finger to his lips. I grabbed a fire extinguisher on the wall nearby and put out the flames.

  “I’m sorry,” Marlowe grumbled.

  Ashe’s part of my tattoo flared briefly, sending a hot pulse through my arm. I dropped the fire extinguisher, which hit the floor with a clang, and watched the tattoo for any sign of life.

  “What is it?” Marlowe asked, his eyes on me while he picked up the fire extinguisher and nonchalantly hung it back up on the wall.

  My tattoo went dim again, but it still hadn’t gone out. What did it mean? Was he fighting for his life? Trying to get back to me? I wished my mother were here for me to ask whether I had a chance of finding him alive.

  Then it dawned on me. “Albert would know.”

  “He’d know what?” Marlowe asked, checking his phone for the millionth time. To no avail, if the way he crammed it back into his pocket was any indication.

  “If Ashe’s part of the tattoo would still be glowing if he were dead.” I choked up on that last word, like me saying it might will that fate into existence.

  “Then let’s go to him. I can’t guarantee he’ll know anything about it, but he loves it when you visit. I’ve never seen him happier.”

  ****

  Unlike the last time we were there, Albert was in a lighthearted mood tonight. Wind whistled through the bell tower as we emerged onto the floor of his apartment. He waved us over.

  “Come see.” He stood back, gesturing to a painting on an easel.

  It was a painting of someone with short platinum hair from behind, staring at a full moon, with a large crow on their shoulder. It had a very Edgar Allan Poe feel to it, yet the longer I looked at it, the more I could see the vague shape of my mother’s face in the moon…and Albert’s face in the eye of the crow.

  Marlowe stared at it in wonder. “You’re finally painting again.”

  “Yes.” Albert gestured to the empty space next to him. “Now that our daughter has returned to us, I can’t resist. The ideas are flowing like a wide-open faucet.”

  “Remarkable,” I said.

  “I’m glad you think so. It’s you.” He still held his palette in one hand, and a wet paintbrush in the other. “Your mother thinks it’s my best one yet, don’t you, dear?”

  I still hadn’t gotten used to him talking to my mother’s invisible phantom, but it didn’t startle me as much now. My skin prickled as cool air whispered across it. The feeling was familiar, the same as when I’d been near other ghosts such as Chip. But she didn’t show herself to me. Perhaps it wasn’t in her control, who she could appear to or not. Or maybe she wasn’t there at all. But her supposed presence seemed to make Albert happy, so I couldn’t question that in front of him.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  “You should take it and hang it in the bunker. It’s so drafty and dull down there. Your mother never liked it.”

  “She was there?”

  “Only briefly, to oversee its establishment. She never believed it would be necessary to take refuge there. She was rather claustrophobic. Hated coffins and other tight spaces.”

  I nodded, knowing far too well all the tight spaces we had to hunker down in when I was a kid. Hidden rooms, crypts, basements, caves… Perhaps that’s why I felt more comfortable in tight quarters than in wide open spaces. I never realized we were in danger back then. It was in those places where I’d felt the most loved and secure.

  Pulling my gaze from the painting, I focused on my father’s face to bring me back into the present. “Come to think of it, she always did seem n
ervous when we hid out in those small places, though she hid it well. She seemed more playful and happier in a park or a forest, anywhere out in the open. In hindsight, those were probably the most dangerous places we could have been in.”

  “Aye, she loved camping. We spent a week alone in the Great Smoky Mountains, and I had never seen her so free, so willing to give herself to me…” He chuckled and averted his gaze. “I’m sorry, that was TMI, so they say.”

  Marlowe laughed, and so did I, partly because I enjoyed seeing my potential third mate smiling and happy. Also, because he still wore the afterglow from the blowjob I’d given him. I was no BJ amateur, and apparently, I had skills.

  Maybe Albert picked up on that—Marlowe’s glow, not my skills. Sweet vampire Jesus, as Ashe would say.

  He grinned at me. “How are you two getting along?”

  “We’re…um…” Marlowe shrugged.

  “Fine,” I added, holding back a laugh.

  “Yeah, we’re fine. I mean, things are a little complicated.”

  Albert set his palette down and plopped his brush in a bucket full of paint thinner. “Complicated? How so?”

  Had he already forgotten about Ravana and our plan to overthrow her? From the look on his face, I guessed that was a no.

  “You are both adults,” Albert said, glancing between us. His happy expression turned serious. “Even though my fatherly instincts tell me to shoot anyone who touches my daughter on sight, it’s important for you to mate. Soon. You don’t have the luxury of a long courtship, not with that harpy still on the throne.”

  “Listen, Dad, I came here to ask you something. My first mate, Ashe, is…missing. But his part of my tattoo is still glowing.” I pulled up my jacket sleeve and showed him. “Do you know whether that means he’s still alive?”

  Albert squinted at it and frowned. His worried eyes met mine. “I’m afraid that—”

  Distant shouts echoed from outside.

  “Hold that thought,” Marlowe said, flashing me a little smile.

  He and I went to the window and peered out. Lights flickered through the trees, coming closer, winding up the curvy drive toward the church.

  I focused in with my night vision. It wasn’t headlights.

  Albert joined us at the window. “Torches. How eighteenth century.” He shook his head and propped a hand on his hip.

  “Shit,” Marlowe said. “This is bad. We have to get you out of here.”

  Figures emerged from the trees. They were men, presumably from the nearby town, carrying guns and knives. A few had cheeks rounded with chaws of tobacco. Cigarettes dangled from a half-dozen mouths. A couple younger men were vaping. Wind picked up their steam clouds, carrying the fake fruity smells of orange and sour apple into the bell tower.

  “Come on. Hurry.” Marlowe nudged us toward the stairs.

  “Is that the only road out?” I asked.

  “Yes, so we’ll have to run through the logging trail in the woods behind the church.”

  Albert tore his gaze from the window and grabbed his latest painting from the easel. “We have to go, Bronwen. No arguing this time. Aye, good girl. Ladies first.”

  He swept his arm forward as though allowing my invisible mother to pass.

  I led the way, with he and Marlowe on my heels. We sped down the stairs and out the door. The men started for the trees.

  But I stopped in my tracks.

  “What are you doing? Come on!” Marlowe rushed to me, grabbed my arm.

  All my senses maxed out. My fangs extended to their full length. My nostrils flared. There, coming up behind the mob, were a half-dozen motorcycle headlights. And with them, the scent of someone I’d been trying to track down for years. I knew one thing. This wasn’t just a mob of stupid rednecks. This was a coordinated attack. We were already surrounded. The torches and foot traffic were just a distraction.

  And then I saw the red bandana, the long, nasty beard, and the pudgy fingers with dirty nails that gripped the handlebars of his old-ass Honda motorcycle. Those same hands had turned my life upside down twenty years ago with a silver net.

  “It’s him.”

  “Him who?”

  I sounded a lot calmer than I felt, though my voice carried an animalistic growl that usually preceded throats being ripped out. “The fucker who held my mom down when they cut off her head.”

  Chapter Ten

  Marlowe

  Just as Wren surged forward, her mouth twisted in a ferocious scowl, four shots rang out over the roar of motorcycles. Four long seconds I wasn’t blocking her in case the silver bullets pelted into her heart. I moved to get there, but even with vampire speed, my legs had gone rubbery.

  She ducked and spun back toward the bell tower. I dragged her behind me, shoving both her and Albert back inside.

  In my periphery, I saw the tires on my SUV had been blown out, one right after the other. Behind it, guns, knives, and the preternatural glow of vampires’ eyes glinted from torches and headlights. They swarmed us, coming up on the bell tower from all directions.

  “Hope you weren’t plannin’ on goin’ anywheres,” a male voice shouted with a heavy southern twang.

  I slammed the door shut and locked it, for what good that would do.

  "This is the only exit?" Wren asked.

  “Yes, but it wouldn't matter even if there was another. This was a coordinated attack."

  “I know. I was hoping we might be lucky enough to have an underground tunnel or something.”

  I fished my cell from my pocket. "Find something to barricade the door."

  Albert started for the stairs, his movements sluggish and his eyes too wide. Shock was setting in. "I'll go up and ring the bell, make people look out their windows wondering why it's ringing so late so they can see what's happening and call for help."

  The wrong kind of help. Humans would only distract long enough until they were dead. Still, a distraction was a distraction.

  While I dialed on my phone, Wren ripped into action. She blurred back and forth between the stairs, where she broke off huge chunks of banister and the door, grabbed a pile of rope near the bottom of the stairs, and then rushed out the door. It looked like she was going to actually build a barricade, not just wedge the boards underneath the door. Still, it likely wouldn't be enough.

  After the second ring on my phone, the line connected to the nearest SFBI satellite office’s dispatcher. "I need the SFBI Swat team at the Saint Francis Episcopal Church bell tower in Skillet Lick. Hurry."

  After I hung up, I started up the spiral staircase. This particular script with stupid characters making a desperate run upstairs had already been written for horror movies. I hoped to god we would have a different ending.

  "We're just spinning our wheels here," Wren shouted after me, her voice edged in fury. She didn't sound trapped, not at all like she planned on dying today, and for that alone, she deserved respect. "Aren't we?"

  "Hold that door." I leaped up four steps at a time. "Be right back."

  As soon as I was about halfway up, the giant bell above began to swing. The metal clapper struck the side, and a loud ring reverberated down the sides of the tower, clanging my eardrums and shaking down to the very foundation. The whole structure quaked and nearly slipped the narrow steps right out from under my feet. Luckily Wren hadn't taken this part of the banister yet to barricade the door, and I held on to it tightly.

  Once I stepped into Albert's living quarters, the close proximity to the bell drilled the noise right into my brain. I gritted my teeth and passed Albert, who clung to the bell's thick rope with both hands as it lifted him clean off his feet with its pull and then set him back down again as he continued to ring it.

  From my view, I could only see the top of the swinging bell, the sight of such a huge, moving thing unsettling, like a hot air balloon flying much too close to the ground.

  I found Albert's hammer and scooped up several nails to secure some boards across the door below. We only needed to make sure we survived unt
il backup arrived. We could make it. We had to.

  At high speed, I flew down the steps and found Wren already positioning boards across the door. Voices sounded right outside as well as the crack of splintering wood.

  “They’ll get through my spiked barricade in no time,” she said.

  I held up the hammer and nails. “This’ll buy us a few more seconds.”

  “We’re going to need a lot more than seconds.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  I drove the the nails through the boards as Wren held them across the door.

  Satisfied, we stepped away. The door held. For now. But a wooden barricade and a couple of nails wouldn’t keep out vampires. I only hoped backup would arrive by then.

  We sprinted up the stairs toward Albert to stop the bell. At the top, Wren lost her balance briefly because glass shards covered the floor. All the windows had been shot out, the heavy curtains fluttering with the cool night air. Albert seemed unharmed, seeming to have the time of his life as he laughed like a loon dangling from the bell's rope.

  I caught his eye and sliced my hand across my neck, the international sign for stop it already. He did, and after a moment, quiet flooded into my ears like I'd dunked my head underwater. It was disorienting after the shrill ring, and in a strange way almost as loud.

  I dove to the side of a window with my back against the wall and peered out. Circling the tower were motorcycle headlights, and in front of them stood an angry mob. They shoved each other closer while thrusting their weapons and torches in the air in time with their chants, faint from up here, but I could still make it out.

  "The cunt will not replace the queen. The cunt will not replace the queen."

  Wren paled and winced at the vile words being flung at her.

  My fangs elongated as I squeezed my hands into fists. I liked the deafening bell much better now.

  Did they even know what they were saying? Did they truly believe it? Or were they just following Ravana's orders and too dumb to break free from groupthink?

  No sign of flashing lights in the distance. None, even though there was an SFBI satellite office less than ten minutes from here.