The Vampire King

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Roman was not a celibate man by any means, but Lizbeth was right about his more meaningful relationships. There had only been the one.

  Thinking on it now, Roman realized how vastly different infatuation felt than love.

  Love?

  His ancient heart slammed against his rib cage. He’d just admitted it aloud to his entire court. He hadn’t felt this way about Ophelia. At the time, he would have sworn up and down and left and right that she was the one for him, even that he loved her.

  But he’d never called her his queen. He’d never even told her he was a vampire, much less the vampire king.

  But with Evie, here he was, prepared to send an entire vampire nation out after the man who threatened her. He had never loved Ophelia, and what Evie meant to him went beyond words.

  Lalura had told him about her vision. Thirteen kings on a chess board – and thirteen queens. The witch felt that Evie was the first of many to come. The first queen.

  His queen.

  Roman met five gazes one by one and held them steady. So many questions…. And it was nothing compared to what he would no doubt be up against when he presented the vision to the other twelve kings at one of their meetings.

  He opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could mutter a sound, he stopped. The air had shifted. It actually felt as if the lights in the room became brighter to him. He caught the faintest scent of cherry blossoms, and at once, he was pushing out his chair and standing.

  “Court is adjourned,” he said swiftly as he made his way to the door. The silence remained behind him, and he ignored it. He made it out of the room and into the hall just as David materialized in front of him.

  “She’s awake,” Roman said before David could speak. David’s brow raised, and the corner of his mouth twitched, but he simply nodded his assent. “Accompany me,” Roman said as he cast up his transportation magic and the hall around him began to warp away.

  He and David reappeared moments later in the hall outside of the master bedroom in the safe house. The sensation of Evie’s distress hit him like a tidal wave. He strode through the door and into the room, preparing himself for whatever he might encounter, but the only other presences he sensed were Jaxon’s and Lalura’s.

  Evie’s distress was internal.

  Lalura looked up at him as he entered. Evie was sitting in front of her on the bed with her eyes closed, breathing deeply. A split second passed, in which he automatically attempted to brush her mind for the information he needed before he remembered that it wouldn’t work with her. Evie’s eyes flew open.

  They were glowing.

  They looked like honey-colored suns in the lovely frame of her face, stark and beautiful and all too telling. She was indeed something more than human, and if he hadn’t already decided on that, this would have clinched it.

  “She’s a seer,” Lalura told him. “Among other things, I believe, but this is the first of her abilities to rear its head.”

  Roman looked over at Lalura and waited for her to go on. But before she could, Evie inhaled quickly and said, “Roman, I know who killed that girl.”

  Roman turned back to her. “You saw him.”

  Evie nodded. “I saw the whole thing.” Her face was so pale, and there were dark circles beneath her beautiful eyes. Her sleep had been troubled in a truly terrible way.

  “His name is Charles Ward,” he said softly. “I know.”

  “What you don’t know is that he was at the coffee shop with me the other day,” she went on.

  “I’m guessing that’s why she smelled coffee at the morgue,” Lalura said.

  Evie spoke up again. “I think he killed that girl because she looked like me.”

  Roman swore internally. So much for trying not to scare her. Yes, he did know that the girl’s murder had something to do with the similarity in their appearances.

  Wait. Roman made his way to the bed and peered down at Evie with eyes he knew were beginning to heat up. “What do you mean he was with you at the coffee shop?”

  “He was watching her from across the store, Roman,” Lalura said, her tone reprimanding. “It wasn’t like they were on a date, so cool your jets.”

  Roman blinked, both taken aback and ashamed that Lalura was on the money. Roman had been jealous.

  Again, he swore on the inside. He needed to be more careful; Evie was capable of bringing out his monster with the slightest provocation.

  The fact that Charles Ward had been in the same room with Evie, much less that he had been watching her, wasn’t doing much to ease his temper. He’d gotten closer than Roman had thought. If he’d managed to do that, then what else was he capable of doing under Roman’s radar?

  “My Liege, might I bring you and the lady some tea? Chamomile?” Jaxon suggested from behind them.

  Evie immediately straightened in the bed and raised her hand as if she were a child in a classroom. “Okay, I'm sorry,” she said, “but what the hell is the deal with him calling you his liege all the time?”

  Beside her, Lalura stood, wobbly but strong, and grabbed her swan-tipped cane from where it leaned on the wall next to her. She stepped aside, limping slightly. It crossed Roman’s mind that she’d never used a cane before. She was getting older ever more quickly, and Roman realized that it was something he didn’t want to think on.

  “Jax, come with,” she said, gesturing for Jaxon to accompany her. “I think it’s time we be moving along. I need a decent chair to sit my rump in and you mentioned your wonderful tea. A piece of pie would be nice as well. Think you can manage?”

  David and Jaxon both moved forward to help her, taking the old witch gently by her elbows and leading her toward the door. Jaxon took everything in expert stride. “For you, Miss Chantelle, of course,” he said softly. The three of them moved out into the hall, and closed the door behind them.

  Roman and Evie were now alone.

  “Evie, there are some important things we need to talk about that have taken a back seat in the wake of the attack and the murder,” Roman said, knowing that there was no better way to breach these particular subjects than to run head-long into them.

  “Like what?” Evie asked, at once wary. He could hear her heart rate kick up and smell the slight adrenaline increase in her blood. Noticing it was a mistake. The thought of her blood made him feel strange inside, hungry and aggressive. He was no fledgling vampire, and he managed to tamp the rising fierceness in him down, but it was less easy than it should have been.

  Roman looked down at the thick plush carpet beneath his shoes and walked toward the hearth along the opposite wall. “I think Jaxon might have had the right idea,” he said softly. “Tea might help.”

  He leaned against the mantle, lowered his head, and closed his eyes.

  Control yourself, he reprimanded.

  Behind him, on the small coffee table that rested at the center of the large master bedroom, a serving tray complete with steaming tea pot shimmered into existence.

  He heard Evie’s stillness behind him. She was trying to digest everything, this latest evidence of his magic no different.

  Finally, she sighed. “Sometimes I still think I’m dreaming.”

  Roman looked at her over his broad shoulder. She was staring at the tea pot, her expression lost. She looked so beautiful, so vulnerable sitting there, it tore at his heart. “You’re not dreaming, Evie,” he said. He straightened and faced her once more, waving his fingers at the empty hearth as he did so. A fire leapt to life behind him, the perfect size, the perfect flames, the perfect amount of light and heat.

  It crackled merrily in the otherwise quiet, and Evie gazed at it with what must have been numb comprehension.

  “No,” she said. “I know I’m not.”

  “Evie,” Roman began, striding slowly toward the waiting tea pot and mugs. He lifted the pot, poured some of the steaming liquid into one of the mugs, and went to her side. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

  Evie looked at the mug, said, “It needs cream,”
and then looked up at him.

  Roman stared down into those beautiful amber glowing eyes and almost laughed. If he’d been able to read her mind, he would have known she wanted cream. Instead, he was having to fumble through this like a human.

  He glanced at the mug and it automatically filled with rich white cream, mixing perfectly with the black tea. This was how Lalura liked it as well; he was betting that the two had more than a few things in common.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the mug from him.

  “You’re welcome. It’s not coffee, which I know you’re much more fond of, but it might be better for your panic attacks.”

  Evie stopped mid-sip, swallowed hard, and looked up at him. She hesitated a moment and then asked, “How did you know about my panic attacks?”

  Roman blinked. He thought fast. “I believe you were having one just before I came in.” It was something he’d learned about her when he was watching her several day sago, but it was also something he’d pulled from Lalura’s mind upon entering the master bedroom – thank God. “I could hear it in your heartbeat and… smell it in your blood.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

  Evie seemed to consider this. “Oh,” she finally said and continued to drink her tea. “I get them sometimes. I have since I was little. But coffee doesn’t make them worse, actually.” She took another swallow of tea and smiled. “This is good.”

  “I’m glad you approve,” he said, meaning it. Then he backed up, took a deep breath, and said, “You wanted to know why Jaxon calls me by the names he uses.”

  “It’s like you’re his king or something,” Evie remarked, lowering the mug.

  “That’s because I am.”

  The silence stretched for several beats. “You’re what?”

  “I’m his king, Evie. In fact, I rule as sovereign over all of the vampires, the Offspring, on the planet.” He paused, took a breath to steady himself, and said, “I have for a very long time.”

  Whatever Evie was thinking then, it kept her quiet. Her expression was unreadable, and Roman would have given just about anything to be able to skim even the smallest of thoughts from the top of her head.

  “How long?” she finally asked, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

  Roman sensed the trouble coming then. It felt familiar now, and he knew that answering this question would open the door to it and let it inside. But there was no hope for it. He couldn’t lie to her. “Three thousand years.”

  More silence, but for the ever increasing thumping of her little heart.

  “Give or take.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Summoning and trapping an Akyri was risky business. Normally, it was the Akyri who located the warlock. Their lives depended upon a symbiotic relationship with the dark magic users. For this reason, they were drawn to the call of the power, the certain vibrations in the air, and before long, a warlock was presented with a deal. Sustenance for servitude. It happened the same way every time.

  However, the problem with warlocks is that they achieved their reputation as black magic users by using black magic. They could never be trusted – Charles should know. He and Wraythe had pushed the envelope when it came to the darker spectrum of spells. The werewolf community had suffered all too well the result of Wraythe’s labors: A spell to change a made wolf back into a dormant? Done. A spell to remove a mate’s mark from a dormant? No problem.

  Others enjoyed the silver lining of a warlock’s forbidden brand of magic: Bringing back the dead was a walk in the park for a well trained warlock.

  A warlock could make a victim feel anything he or she wanted that victim to feel by doing no more than touching them. That was the kind of power a black magic user wielded. It was wicked, unpredictable, and awesome.

  And now Charles used that magic to perform one of the most vile functions a warlock could engage in. It was cruel and it might have terrible consequences, but at this stage, Charles barely cared.

  He knew that time was up for him. Roman D’Angelo had suspected him for some time. The feelings were there, the suspicion an egg that merely needed to hatch. And now young Evelynne Grace Farrow had apparently developed the abilities of a seer and ratted him out.

  Charles had to smile at that. It was a nasty smile.

  He was right to suspect that Evie was different. He’d known deep down that his attraction to her had to do with something more than her lovely features and the fact that the king had fallen for her. He wanted revenge, yes, and he would damn well have it. But there was no reason he couldn’t get something out of it for himself in the process. Evie Farrow promised to deliver.

  The six Akyri he was now summoning and entrapping were going to help him on that front.

  For the moment, Charles stood alone on the top of the craggy hill overlooking the sea on one side and a crumbling cemetery on the other. The night whipped at his hair and clothes and the moon reflected in the stark blue of his eyes. There was no sound but the distant crashing of waves on the rocks far below and the wind howling against the cliff face and whispering through the sparse tall grasses.

  Before him on the ground rested a circle of stones. He’d built it himself, large enough to comfortably fit six humanoid forms, but small enough to contain them well within the grasp of his magic.

  In his left hand, Charles held the black leather bound book that Wraythe had left him. Its cover was devoid of decoration and it bore no lock or clasp to secure its secrets. It didn’t need them. Every word inside had been written in Wraythe’s blood, scribed with the essence of his being, and no one but the appointed would be able to pry apart its covers and read what graced its pages.

  Charles gazed down at the book for a moment, allowing the night to get used to him and preparing himself for what lie ahead. Then, with his right hand, he flipped the book open to a certain page – and without hesitation, ripped that page completely out of the journal. There was a flash of separation, the book closed on its own, and the torn page began to glow red. The symbols etched upon its surface illuminated, casting a blood-like glow across Charles’ right hand and arm.

  The warlock vampire closed his eyes, whispered a magic word, and released the page. It hovered in place for a moment, the wind having no effect on it. Then, with the gradual deliberation of a spell taking hold, the page floated forward, riding on an unseen force until it was suspended in place directly above the center of the large circle.

  Charles could feel the magic pull on him then. It sucked at his spirit, draining him from the core of what he was. He was stealing six lives, taking six will powers and stifling them, binding them to him in the most unnatural manner. Non magic-users would have automatically assumed resurrection to be the most difficult spell possible. Or perhaps some form of heavy telekinesis or even transportation.

  But this – this grabbing of the strings of fate for half a dozen strong individuals and pulling them into a knot in his hand – was much, much harder. A bead of perspiration broke out upon his brow. Charles ignored it, focusing his strength toward the center of the circle and the page that floated within it.

  He forced the final words, hissing them through clenched teeth and fangs that had extended in pain. The wind rushed by once more, stronger than before. And then it settled and something inside of Charles clicked like a lock sliding into place.

  He opened his eyes to find six pairs of glowing orbs staring back at him.

  Charles released an exhausted breath and looked them over. They glared from where they stood, every one of them male. That was good; it was as he’d intended, though it had made the spell that much more difficult. He needed all of the extra muscle he could get, and the fact of the matter was, female Akyri were too smart, too cunning. He couldn’t chance having to watch over them that closely when there was already so much on his plate.

  The Akyri males were tall and strong, and as was customary for Akyri, their hair color was dark and they were dressed in black from head to toe. In their anger, their eyes were rimmed with red.

/>   They said nothing, only stared at him with cold, handsome faces and glowing, angry eyes, but Charles knew that they would have given anything in that moment for the chance to rip him limb from limb. There was little that an Akyri, who under normal circumstances willingly gave his or her loyalty in exchange for the simple right to continue living, liked less than being entrapped with a spell. Akyri were not meant to be bound; it abraded their spirits and drew out their wrath like nothing else could. For them, it was a violation of their trust and a breach of their natures.

  Charles would have to maintain absolute control over the half a dozen “demons” before him, or he would wind up in straits as dire as he’d intended for the Vampire King.

  However, fortunately that control wasn’t going to be a problem.

  “I have a series of commands for you to follow,” he said now, keeping his voice calm and allowing the power in it to ride the winds around the circle. “Once you have completed the tasks I set forth, I will have no further use for you. When I have no further use for you, I will return you to where you came from.”

  The men continued to gaze at him in hatred-filled silence. Charles pressed his right hand to the cover of the book he still held and unleashed one final rope of power. “To ensure your obedience,” he said softly, knowing full well they would hear him anyway.

  A blast of red energy shot from the book to the necks of all six men. They fell to their knees, gritting their teeth in pain. Their hands went to the sides of their throats, but it was too late. The mark had already been branded there, scrawled across their flesh in blood-red magic-laden ink. It would bind them to him irreparably. His commands would compel them as nothing else could, and should any of them raise a finger to harm him in any way, their efforts would backfire on them and they would be destroyed. It was as simple as that.