Sever the Crown: Vampire Reverse Harem Complete Series

by Mysti Parker

  Just inches away from plowing us down.

  With a growl, I shoved Wren out of the way. I snatched the short sword hidden in my pant leg and pivoted on my toes, the front bumper just grazing my knee as I slipped to the side of the Rover. With my sword gripped tight, I crouched and slashed the tire as it whizzed past. Then I punctured the gas tank and yanked the blade down through the second tire.

  The car swerved wildly and skidded on its two intact wheels, tipping and spilling gas everywhere.

  I dropped my sword and whipped out my Glock, firing in rapid succession right at the gas tank.

  The Rover rolled, and a line of fire cut down the center of the car’s bottom. It kept rolling, the flames building higher and higher, and then the car overturned and plunged off the edge of the rooftop. A thunderous boom filled the night as it exploded. The force knocked both our feet out from underneath us, and we slammed down hard.

  Already, my head felt ten times better.

  Wren sat up, her purple eyes wide with shock, her black wig slightly tilted. “Do you think she’s dead?”

  “I have zero pain in my head, so I’d say yes.”

  “Well. This is some date. Crash a half-million-dollar car, blow a witch up. You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

  I sprang to my feet, feeling much lighter now, and held out my hand. “And the night’s still young.”

  She grinned as I helped her up. “But how are we going to get to the party?” She waved around her. “Hotwire one of these?”

  “We’ll get an Uber, have it drop us off right outside.” Probably should have done that in the first place, but I really was trying to make this into a date of sorts. Silly me, trying to be normal and all. But the amazing thing was that Wren really did seem to be having fun. She’d never be a sit around and knit sort of queen. Just my kind of woman.

  “We might need a car for the kidnapping in case the quadruplets’ portal falls through.” She straightened her wig and stared at the spot where the Rover had disappeared. “Not an Uber unless we plan on kidnapping the driver too.”

  “Got it covered. This party we’re going to?” I pulled her closer and kissed her cheek. “It just so happens I know one of the valet drivers.”

  “What a coincidence. I do too.” She laughed as she took my hand. “And the bartender and waiter. And you with your hidden sword. Where have you been keeping that?”

  I winked. “I’d tell you but I’d have to kill you.”

  “I guess I’ll never know, then,” she said, bringing the back of my hand to her lips. “Come on. Let’s go save the world.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wren

  When we pulled up to the curb of the Victorian mansion on the corner of 5th and Pembroke Streets in Timberlake, I donned my black silk gloves. They not only matched my dress perfectly, but also hid my harem tattoo – which would be a dead giveaway. I wasn’t too concerned about my other tattoos, since I rarely showed them off in public, and never since discovering who I really am. The only pictures in the wanted posters of me were fuzzy captures from security cameras in a variety of disguises. At least I still had the upper hand in that area.

  Hawk paid the Uber driver, and we stepped out. The home was red brick with round, turreted rooms on both front corners. A small strip of garden space surrounded the home, while a black wrought-iron fence did little to contain the English ivy spilling over the retaining walls and onto the sidewalk.

  Marlowe stood there blinking at us as the car drove away. “You didn’t bring your own car, sir?” He flicked his eyes up to his left where a security camera was pointed right at us.

  “No, it’s in the shop,” Hawk said stiffly. “Besides, my lady and I might not be in any condition to drive if this party is anything like the last.”

  “Indeed.” Marlowe gestured toward the stone steps and walkway that led into the house. As we passed by him, he whispered, “Exit through the back door and into the rose garden. The quadruplets will provide cover and a portal.”

  I nodded and took Hawk’s arm. We climbed the three steps and walked down the mossy walkway. Muffled music and laughter came from inside. Ashe had prepared each one of us a unique blend of pheromones mixed with essential oils that we slathered all over our skin to change our scent. Everyone but Hawk, that is. Loose stones shifted under my heels. I stumbled a little, but Hawk steadied me.

  Our plan sounded simple enough. My aunt’s mates would be there soon. We were counting on them arriving first, and we only had a short window of time to make our move. Get inside, quietly capture one of the mates–Disaster, if I had my druthers – and get out where we could kill him. That would show her that I’m not fucking around and force her into a face-to-face confrontation. And an ultimatum – give up the throne and die quickly, or don’t, and die like my mother did in agony.

  “Nervous?” he whispered.

  “A little.”

  “Don’t be. We got this.” He squeezed my hand, which helped tame the anxious energy sizzling through my tattoo through all four sections. We all must have felt it, that buildup of tension, so thick it felt like running across quicksand before it could swallow us.

  But would killing my aunt keep the world from ending? I had no idea, though my gut told me she had everything to do with it. Perhaps Phineas’s vision of the world ending because of me meant that the world ended because I failed to stop it.

  I was so swept up in my thoughts that I barely noticed we had stepped onto the porch, where an armed guard like the one at the first cult party blocked our path.

  “Your invitation?” he asked.

  Shit. I hadn’t even thought of that. I assumed Hawk would have an open invitation.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to kill the guy because Hawk pulled out a folded paper from inside his tux jacket, unfolded it, and handed it over. The guard looked both of us over with narrowed eyes before scanning the paper. He pulled out a mini UV light and shined it on the corner, where the cult symbol—two inverted Vs with a circle on top—lit up with a purple glow, along with the anagram T.W.A.T.S. Clearly there was no quality control department involved with the cult propaganda. I pressed my lips together to hold in a laugh.

  “Your mark?” the guard asked.

  Shit times two. That’s the question that led to us killing our way out of the last cult party.

  Hawk held out his wrist – not the one with our tattoo on it – and the guard shined his light over Hawk’s skin. The same cult symbol lit up. The guard turned to me then. If he saw I had no symbol, our cover would be blown before we ever made it inside.

  “She’s with me,” Hawk added. “As a recruiter, I’m allowed to bring one guest per party.”

  Recruiter? Surely he didn’t recruit people into the cult. I glanced at him, but kept smiling like a demure southern lady, holding my clutch tightly against my stomach.

  The guard nodded. “Gotta check your bag, too.”

  Shit times three. The drugs disguised as mints were in there, with a few loose ones in my dress pockets. Well, maybe we’d get lucky again. I handed it over. The guard shuffled through the lipstick, tissues, and cash and finally found the round tin of fake mints. Hawk and I both stood silent as the grave. My tattoo buzzed again with his nervous energy and mine.

  Opening the tin, the guard sniffed them, then took one and popped it in his mouth.

  Well, now we were fucked. Would the Devil’s Breath render him paralyzed like it had us?

  “Hmm, not bad,” he said, crunching it before swallowing. “Spearmint?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I looked at Hawk as the guard’s eyes glazed over, and he stared straight ahead.

  “Take a break.” Hawk took the guard’s hand and shook out a few more mints into his palm. “Give one of these to each of your friends guarding the exits and take them with you to the Denny’s at the end of the block. Ask for Marge and the all-you-can-eat DBD special. Tell her Hawk sent you.”

  The guard nodded slowly and walked down the porch steps, down the pa
th, and past Marlowe, who had just taken the keys from a fat bald guy who pulled up in a Porsche. Marlowe watched wide-eyed as the guard strolled down the sidewalk and disappeared around the corner.

  “What the actual fuck?” I whispered. “That either went incredibly well or incredibly bad. I can’t decide.”

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “Why didn’t he fall down paralyzed like we did with the Devil’s Breath?”

  “It works differently when ingested. More intense when it’s inhaled.”

  “Figures. But a Denny’s? Really?”

  “Oh yeah, big DBD bar in the basement. The blood’s just as shitty as the food, but Marge will keep them there until the drug wears off. Then they won’t remember why they came.”

  “Sounds like you and Marge have quite the understanding.”

  Hawk flashed a bashful grin. “We have a past. But it’s in the past. There’s only one woman in my present. And only one woman I want for the rest of my life.”

  “Oh, and who’s that?” I asked, butting him with my hip as he knocked on the door.

  He leaned in and placed a soft, warm kiss on my lips. “I think you know her. She’s kind of a big deal.”

  I laughed as we crossed the threshold, where a very handsome butler wearing a black feathered mask held the door open. The aroma of blood, perfume, and alcohol swam up my nose and made my eyes water. I snapped out of the sudden odor onslaught and noticed the two masks Ashe jutted toward us.

  “Your masks,” he said in a deep, somewhat British accent.

  “Oh, um, thanks? Didn’t realize this was a masquerade,” I said, donning the same kind of black feathered mask he wore. It reminded me of Angelo’s feathers. Hawk took the other one.

  “I didn’t, either, madam,” he said pointedly and glanced around the main hall.

  Everyone who mingled about wore identical masks. That would make it difficult to identify anyone, especially Ravana and her mates. They all wore similar tuxes and cocktail dresses in black or various shades of gray. Classical music drifted out from speakers in the walls. I’d half expected to see a full-on orgy as soon as we entered, but already, I could see the beginnings of an evening filled with debauchery.

  Some guests chatted quietly, glasses filled with cocktails and some with either wine or blood – it was hard to tell. On a plastic-covered settee, a DBD moaned in ecstasy, her head lolling around on the back of the seat, clearly high off her ass. A female vampire was latched onto one wrist, while a male vampire sucked hard from the other one. Their hands pumped in and out under the skirt of the DBDs dress.

  “Way less classy than Bette,” I whispered to Hawk.

  “My queen deserves better.”

  I squeezed his arm, feeling like the luckiest queen ever to have such awesome mates who wanted only the best for me.

  The high-ceilinged space was sparsely furnished, with velvet-cushioned furniture covered in clear plastic along the walls. The floor was black tile. Easy to clean and didn’t show stains. Clearly a home designed for schmoozing and bloodletting.

  “You should get a drink at the bar in the ballroom,” Ashe said and gestured toward the stairs. An obvious cue that we needed to move up a level.

  “Thank you,” Hawk said, slipping on his mask, even though he’d be easy to recognize from his size alone.

  We slowly climbed the stairs.

  “We need to scope out the place and get the layout,” I murmured.

  “I got it. Just follow me.”

  A lanky man in an expensive suit was coming down at the same time. He held up a hand in greeting. I could tell from the sleazy smile that it was none other than Senator Kinky Friedman.

  “Hey!” Kinky shook with nervous laughter, which splashed some of the vodka from his martini glass. Sweat beaded across his yellow forehead above his mask. “Glad you could make it. And who’s the lovely lady?”

  “Senator Friedman, this is Delilah Jericho,” Hawk said, grinning down at me.

  I pinched my lips together to hold back a laugh. Delilah as in the Biblical lady who’d brought down the world’s strongest man simply from cutting his hair.

  “Of the Atlanta Jerichos?”

  “The same. She and the rest of her family have prime real estate along Lake Lanier they’re willing to part with if she likes what she sees here.”

  “Well, you be sure to show her around. The games are on point tonight. Welcome to the fold, Miss Jericho,” Kinky said, holding out his hand.

  I shook it but had to resist yanking away from the sticky feel of his cool, sweaty palm. Who knew where that hand had been this evening?

  “Likewise,” I said in a high-toned, breathy pitch that I knew his type loved.

  Drunken lust gleamed from his glossy orange eyes behind the mask.

  He turned more serious eyes toward Hawk. “I hope you’re not all business tonight?”

  Meaning, he hoped Hawk wasn’t there to rip his spine out and strum it like a guitar.

  “You know what they say. All work and no play…” Hawk smiled and shrugged.

  “Right…yeah. Well, plenty of play to be had here.” He started back down the stairs, giving Hawk a tentative pat on the shoulder as he went. “Grab a drink from a DBD and take part in anything you want. My treat.”

  We continued upstairs.

  “My treat,” I mumbled.

  “He’s counting on a lot of treats tonight, from the smell of it.”

  “Smell?”

  “Big donors. I can recognize several of them by scent.”

  “Doesn’t sound any different than any other politician. Except for the vampires, I guess.”

  “True enough.”

  On the second-floor landing, another small group mingled, drinks in hand, along with a higher level of debauchery. A vampire woman was down on her knees drinking from the femoral artery of a smooth-shaven male DBD who wore only boxer shorts. The DBD winked at me as we approached. He held a joint in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other.

  A male vampire dropped to his knees behind the vampire woman while she lapped at the DBD’s blood that steadily flowed from the two bite marks in his thigh. The vampire man bunched her skirt around her hips, pulled his cock from his tux pants then proceeded to fuck the shit out of her. One of the bystanders, a chunky, balding human with a very expensive suit, put his drink down and sat beside the DBD. He reached into the DBD’s boxers and pulled out his dick. Then Baldy leaned in and took the whole damn length of the DBD’s dick into his mouth like he’d given blowjobs all his life.

  His eyes met mine as we passed. Seemed oddly familiar.

  “Ever see The Righteous Hour?” Hawk whispered.

  “Him?” My eyes widened as I tried not to laugh. I’d only seen it in brief intervals at hotels when scrolling through shitty early afternoon TV channels when I couldn’t sleep. He was the typical TV preacher whose love of money was evident in his diamond cufflinks as he waved the Bible at the camera and damned us all to hell if we didn’t send money to his ministry right now.

  “Yep, Reverend Pete Shiner himself. For a modest donation of five hundred dollars, you can buy your way into heaven.”

  “Looks like he’s in heaven, all right.” The slurping noises he made while zealously sucking the DBD’s cock made me wince.

  “Wonder if his wife and six kids know about his heavenly pastime?”

  Blues music drifted from a large ballroom to our right.

  “Doubtful,” I said as we wandered inside. “Though his wife might contact you if she finds out.”

  “And he’d totally deserve it.”

  “How do you know so much about these parties? Are you really a recruiter?”

  “Um…” Hawk looked away, and his gaze briefly held on something. I followed his line of sight to see Charles behind the bar on one end of the ballroom. “We’ll discuss that later.”

  Okay, that was disturbing. I knew he killed people for money, but had he actually recruited new cult members too? It unsettled
me. Had I been too quick to trust him? I had to keep a clear head. Now wasn’t the time to be second-guessing my mates. I was down by one and had to level the playing field.

  He led me over to the bar, where we settled on stools at the short end where we could observe the room. The area was once again sparsely furnished, with dark brown faux-parquet vinyl flooring. A few sitting tables and standing mingle tables sat around the periphery.

  Couples danced in front of a small stage to the Cajun-style blues music featuring talented harmonica, accordion, bass guitar, and washboard players. Just like downstairs, I couldn’t really recognize anyone, though I picked up on some vaguely familiar smells. The overwhelming blood, alcohol, and perfume odors masked individual scents too much. And that made me nervous.

  The chandeliers overhead were lit only enough for humans to find their way around. And it looked like every human in the room was either dinner or a sexual partner. On one table, a bony female DBD was spread-eagle, wearing nothing but her black mask and some heels. Two vampires sucked blood from her tits, while two more drank from her thighs. She was turning paler by the minute, her eyes rolling back in her head. Needle marks streaked up both her arms.

  Hawk turned me away from the sight. “Don’t stare.”

  “They’re going to kill her.”

  “Yes. She’s not branded. Homeless addict, most likely. Part of the queen’s Get Off the Streets program – the part that no one talks about.”

  “What can I get for you, chère?” our bartender asked.

  I pulled my attention from the blood buffet to focus on Charles, who wore a shaggy-chic blond wig and goatee that made him look like Charlie Hunnam from Sons of Anarchy. Damn, he looked hot.

  “What would you recommend?” I asked.

  “A bloody Marie would suit your taste, I bet.”

  “You mean a bloody Mary?”

  “Not at this bar.” Charles poured a bit of vodka into a glass, added some chilled blood from a bottle, and swirled in a bit of hot sauce. He topped it off with a crawfish tail and slid it to me. “We’re all about the Cajun up in here.”