Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  “Your time is up tomorrow, right?” I’m so quiet that it’s questionable if Joy can hear me.

  This whole spreading of rebel secrets would be so much easier if a witch hadn’t spellbound me upon my incarceration. A magical buffer of air around us would mean that vampires couldn’t eavesdrop even if we spoke in normal tones.

  A flash of happiness crosses Joy’s face, but she’s quick to temper it. Joy isn’t one to rub things in, and she’s aware that many of us—myself included—will be locked up for much longer.

  “Yeah,” she breathes. “Where will I go?”

  “Denver—so just outside the mountains. There’s a sting operation planned against the Justice Hall next Friday. If you’re serious about joining us, I recommend you start there and learn the ropes. Someone will be waiting for you in the town down the road to give you tickets.”

  Joy nods. “I was skeptical about the rebellion before, but after being imprisoned . . . Let’s just say I see the need. So, Denver it is. Do you have an address?”

  I rattle off the location my twin sister provided me with, and a description of the lieutenant stationed in the Mile High City.

  Joy leans back and closes her eyes. I can tell she’s trying her best to memorize the information I gave her. After a few seconds, she opens her eyes and meets mine. “How do you do it, Skye? You’ve been locked up for months, and yet you know exactly what’s going on. I guess what they say about the Borges witches is true—they’re connected to earth, water, fire, air, and everything in between in ways other witches can only dream of.”

  “It’s how we’re made,” I say with a shrug.

  Joy might become the next star fighter of the rebellion, but no one can know how I get my information.

  If the prison guards found out that I could communicate mentally with my twin despite being spellbound, I’d never emerge from under the thumb of the royal vampires.

  Even though I can’t read their minds because their powers of compulsion protect them, they would still consider us a threat.

  Or, more likely, in the eyes of the Tenebris dynasty, valuable slaves.

  Misty and I would never risk it, especially when our gift has proven even more valuable since I’ve been incarcerated.

  Prison is a place rife with recruitment opportunities. According to Misty, the rebellion has seen a steady influx of recruits since the monarchy locked me up. While I would much rather be free and contributing to the cause, it’s nice to know that I’m helping.

  It would suck to be here for the rest of my life with nothing to do. I shake my head and stand, not about to allow myself to veer down that path. Self-pity serves no one. A Borges least of all. We are doers, creators, leaders of the North American rebellion against the royal vampires.

  We do not wallow in pity, for gods’ sake.

  Joy follows me and deposits her tray at the bussing station. “What are you up to this afternoon? Feel like a game of poker before the nightly lockup? Or maybe a run through the Gauntlet to get the muscles working?”

  “I’m busy,” I say and leave it at that.

  Joy just nods.

  Everyone in the prison is used to me denying social activities. They think I’m super into meditating or something, which suits me fine. I don’t want anyone aware of what I’m really doing, which is listening for Misty.

  The fact that we can still hear each other, even if Misty has to be within a certain range to make it possible, is remarkable. It’s like my elemental magic, bound up tight inside me, is giving my mental powers an extra boost. I never miss when Misty tries to reach me, and she said she’d be back tonight.

  “I’ll catch you before I leave tomorrow,” Joy says and disappears down the dank prison hall.

  I turn the opposite direction and make my way toward my cell. I’m about halfway there when a soul-shattering hiss makes me stop dead in my tracks.

  “Unhand me! I command you!” Another hiss follows the demand.

  A vampire is nearby—one who apparently is used to being in command, and is seriously pissed off.

  I wait, not wanting to run right into the vamp. I’m a witch and well-trained in combat, but I’m also no dummy. I’ve been stripped of my powers and have little chance of defending myself against the fangs of an enraged vampire.

  I press my lips together in annoyance. I hate that I have to rely on the prison guards to protect me.

  I can’t dwell on my situation for long. The serpentine hissing grows closer, sending chills up my spine. Suddenly, I realize that the vampire is just around the corner.

  As if my thoughts conjure him, he materializes a second later.

  As with all vampires, he’s beautiful, but that’s not what captures my attention. First, my gaze goes to his chained ankles and wrists. That detail allows my heart to slow. At least until I notice that his eyes are glowing a brilliant gold.

  I suck in a breath. Gold irises.

  This is no everyday vampire criminal. He’s a royal—or some very close relation.

  I cross my arms over my chest. I will not show fear to those who helped kill my parents. I refuse to be cowed.

  The vampire, who has continued to snarl and yell insults at his handlers, immediately notices my change in stance, and stills. He turns to face me, and his gold eyes run over me as he sneers.

  This asshole probably thinks I’m just some witch who will grovel at his feet. That he can treat me like dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

  Fangy doesn’t understand who he’s dealing with.

  “Don’t tell me I’ll be staying in the same wing as the witch riff-raff?” the vampire drawls.

  His voice is distinctive. Almost as if he had been born in the American South and never quite lost the accent when he left. Depending on how long ago he’d been turned, that could have been centuries past or mere months. The only thing I’m sure of is that this vampire is no newblood. Newly turned vampires can’t handle being around witches. The magic in our blood calls to them too strongly. This guy would have already tried to drain me dry.

  “No, Prince Talon.” One of the half-dozen guards answers. “As your father demanded, you have your own wing within the penitentiary.”

  My spine straightens. Talon . . . Talon Tenebris. Now I recognize him now from television. He’s the youngest son of King Louis of North America. A real royal, not some offshoot cousin.

  So what is he doing here?

  To my great surprise, Talon lets out a roar or laughter. “As if Father cares where I lay my head at night.” He turns to me once more, his eyes glowing. “But I am pleased that no lesser beings will disturb me. Witches are only good for one—no, two—things, and this one looks too mangy to satisfy either of those for me.”

  “As if I’d want to,” I say, unable to hold my tongue.

  The prince’s eyes go wide, and for a moment, he looks like he’s at a loss for words. Then the corners of his lips lift in a handsome smile that unnerves me. “It appears I have discovered how I’ll be spending my time behind bars.”

  The guards decide that the prince has said enough, and poke at him to move, which pleases me. Mostly because I’m not sure how to respond to his threats.

  As the golden-haired prince walks away, his eyes track me, and while his threat seems vague, I know one thing for sure.

  Talon Tenebris didn’t mean anything good by it.

  2.

  Talon

  The guards guide me into a cell and shut the door behind me. One of them locks up. He wears gloves to protect his hands from the silver that lines the vampire cells within Supernatural Penitentiary #7. Then the group turns to leave.

  “I demand a female with blood type AB when it’s time for my feeding!” I call as they begin to march down the long hall leading to my private, very secure chamber.

  “You’ll get what you get after a witch stops by to bind your powers of compulsion,” one of the guards responds without bothering to turn around.

  My lips curl back in a snarl, exposing my fangs. Outside th
ese cement walls, prison guards would never dare to turn their back on me—let alone allow a witch to spell me.

  Even though I get to keep my super strength, speed, and senses, I hate that I must lose my power of compulsion—the gift that signals what I am.

  A prince among vampires, someone who others should fear.

  Obviously, things work differently in Supernatural Penitentiary #7, which is no doubt part of why my father and king sent me here.

  He might have been the one to slaughter half a town full of humans, but King Louis of North America would never serve out his own sentence. Instead, my father made me confess to the crime.

  Fuck him.

  I throw myself onto the bed. At least it’s queen-sized, not a twin like those in the smaller quarters we passed on the way here. I’m reassured that at least I am getting some preferential treatment.

  My eyes close. I try to drown out the insistent memory of my father informing me of the months I would spend here. I always seem to be the one who must suffer for his barbaric liberties. He has never asked my older siblings to do the same.

  “Because heaven forbid the favorites step foot in a place like this hellhole,” I mutter, even though I know it’s not fair to think poorly of Kieran or Elisabeta.

  They didn’t agree with our father’s decision. But he is our sire, and we’re bound to obey him—we can be coerced, even. He’s the only vampire whose powers of compulsion supersedes our own, because it is from his blood which our magic stems.

  I wonder when the witch who will strip me of my royal power of compulsion will arrive? Although I do not actually want to be powerless, I wish to take advantage of the fact that inmates have certain freedoms during the day. I want to explore the prison before the nightly lockup. If the witch arrives soon, then I’ll still have a couple of hours.

  Which will be just enough time to find that little raven-haired witch and teach her who she’s dealing with.

  The defiant way her arms crossed over her petite frame when she looked at me does more than make me want to teach her a lesson. It excites me.

  Which is surprising.

  Usually, I prefer my opponents to be more physically challenging, but what can I say? My options are limited here, and she got my attention like so few ever have.

  She is a challenge I am intent on squashing.

  3.

  Skye

  The next day, the prison yard is packed when I exit the building, which is no surprise. Most people like to spend the majority of the day outside. And because witches have spelled the prison yard, making the area almost perfectly climate-controlled, the weather has to be dastardly for anyone to give up a day in the fresh air and sun. Our cells—hell, even the game room—are just too damn depressing to spend much time in. Plus, as we are free to roam parts of the prison between breakfast and nighttime lockup, we are desperate to take what little freedom we have.

  As I stroll through the yard, three witches watch me, and I change direction to meet them. To my knowledge, none of them are part of the rebellion, and I’m always recruiting. A few people at a time.

  Joy, my latest recruit, left the penitentiary that very morning. She went straight to the ramshackle town just down the road and met up with my sister, who arranged transport to Denver. Of course, I didn’t tell Joy beforehand that she’d be meeting up with Misty. It was better that she didn’t know, in case someone got to her. My sister is as big a prize as I am.

  My throat tightens. What I wouldn’t give to see Misty again and not just hear her in my head.

  “Witch. Come here.” An arrogant voice cuts through my thoughts.

  I turn to find Prince Talon Tenebris leaning against a table, watching me. His blond hair gleams in the sunlight, and his pale skin shimmers with vampiric radiance.

  It’s annoying that he’s easily the most beautiful being I’ve seen in months—maybe ever—because he’s also the most horrible.

  Many guards, half of which I don’t recognize, hover behind him. I suspect they’re royal guards. Muscle to protect the prince, rather than to protect others from the strongest vampire in the prison.

  Our society is so fucked up.

  Talon is watching me, expecting me to heed his command, so I make a show of looking around. There’s no one around me. There never is. I’m as notorious as Talon, although for entirely different reasons.

  I’m respected, not feared.

  Talon shifts off the table and comes two steps closer. “Did you lose your hearing since yesterday, witch?”

  I lock eyes with him. “Not at all. I simply couldn’t believe that you were speaking to me in that tone. I don’t allow it.”

  Talon tilts his head back and roars with laughter.

  My lips purse, and I wait for the show of toxic masculinity, amplified by vampirism and a scourge of selfish prince, to be over. When he finally quiets, I still don’t speak.

  Silence is one of the few powers left to me in the penitentiary, and I make sure to use it to my benefit.

  “Impetuous,” Talon says and takes a few more steps toward me.

  The faint scent of cedar and leather washes over me, and for a moment, I’m surprised. Vampires don’t usually smell so . . . good.

  “Unfortunately for you, what you allow doesn’t apply to me, witch. Don’t you know who I am?”

  He’s right in front of me now, and a sizzle of magic pulses just beneath my skin. My power is bound, but that doesn’t stop it from begging for release.

  “Answer me,” Talon growls. “Who. Am. I.”

  I don’t answer. I won’t give the prince an inch.

  Even if we weren’t being watched by everyone in the yard, I wouldn’t answer. I’m a Borges, and we don’t give in. The only way he could make me talk is to use his powers of compulsion, and I have good information that the binding witch declawed Talon upon entry.

  So instead of giving in, I smirk.

  There’s a rush of air, then strong hands grasp me, and before I know it, the prince positions his fangs over the tender skin of my neck.

  His guards blow their whistles half-heartedly, and footsteps approach. Somewhere farther away, I can hear prison guards yelling my name with much more fervor. But Talon is so close that neither group would be able to save me if they wanted to.

  “Who am I?” Talon rasps.

  I’m well aware that, at this moment, he wants nothing more than to sink his fangs into my skin and drink my witch’s blood.

  After what I’m about to say, he’ll want it even more.

  “You’re Talon Tenebris, Prince of North America.”

  I can feel the smile bloom on his face. In true rebel style, that’s when I sink in my proverbial stake.

  “Which means nothing to me, Skye Borges. Because no matter how much you posture, you are not above me, vamp.”

  A growl rumbles up his throat, and Talon’s fangs graze my skin for a heart-stopping second before the guards rip him back.

  Talon doesn’t struggle, but his eyes are wild with recognition. “A Borges, you say?” My last name drips off his lips like venom. “I pictured a heartier stock. More muscle and bulk. If the rest of your clan is like you, that’s a bit of a disappointment.”

  “Size isn’t the best indicator of power,” I retort and gesture to him. “Case in point. You’re massive, and yet you’re here with the rest of us. Clearly, your size and prestige did you no good, vampire.”

  A few of the guards’ eyes grow round at my use of the term ‘vampire’ rather than Talon’s title, but Talon gives me a smug smile.

  “Even those in the highest echelons of power must repent for their sins. My father insisted I come because he is a fair man who cares about all our citizens. Even those gutter-brains rebellion leaders who believe they know how to lead better than him. At least . . . he cares for them for a while.”

  The fucker is speaking of my family and the other rebels. He’s turning the tables on me to get a rise out of me. But I don’t take the bait. I zero in on something else entire
ly.

  “So your father, the one man who can actually get his child out of a prison sentence, is who sent you here?” I bark out a laugh. “You’re even less important than I thought.”

  For a moment, an emotion I cannot pinpoint—is it sadness?—flashes across his face, but it’s quickly replaced when Talon’s lips pull back, exposing his fangs.

  Because I do not crumble under threat, I apply more pressure. “Or it could just be that your father is incredibly cruel—which I don’t doubt.” I arch an eyebrow. “Either way, you don’t intimidate me, Talon Tenebris. And you never will.”

  “That’s where you’re—”

  I don’t hear the rest of his retort, because I turn my back on the prince and walk away.

  4.

  Talon

  The witch’s black hair sways from side-to-side as she strides away. Behind me, I can hear guards sniggering. The prison-appointed ones, no doubt, for the royal guards who showed up at my cell this morning would not be so foolish.

  I have half a mind to deal with them, to whip around and rip their throats out. Lucky for them, my attention is diverted by the witch.

  Something inside me is bubbling to the surface, and it’s hot and frantic. My body trembles, and I can feel the inner killer inside me rising too.

  How dare the witch turn her back on me? How dare she think she can have the final word?

  It strikes me that I can still change her final misconception.

  Without a second thought, I’m off, running after Skye. My long legs devour the ground beneath me, and I’m behind her in seconds.

  Somehow she must sense me, because as I reach for her, the witch whirls about just in time to thrust her useless, spellbound arms out.

  A grin spreads across my face as I hurl her into the side of the building she was about to enter. A whoosh of air leaves her, filling my nostrils with her pungent scent of hyacinth and honey.