The Kings, book one: The Vampire King
A Big Bad Wolf spinoff series
And a Big Bad World book
By Heather Killough-Walden
Prologue
It hurts, she thought. God, it really hurts. Gingerly, Evie cradled her gauze-wrapped wrists against her chest and closed her eyes. Her heart was doing tricks in her chest now, the beat uneven and faint. Her head hurt and her legs felt numb. When she took the time to think about what it all meant, despair threatened, and she choked down a sob.
“I can take the pain away from you,” he said as he watched her curl in on herself against the cold basement wall. “Why do you continue to defy me?”
Evie felt tears on her cheeks and marveled at her ability to form them after all the blood he’d taken. But these were the same tears that had been threatening to escape since he’d brought her here. She’d been strong enough… she could allow herself this.
Evie dropped her head onto her bent knees. I’m not really here, she tried to tell herself, though the pain fought her attempt. She wasn’t supposed to be there in that dark basement under a house in the middle of an impossible nowhere. Two days ago, she’d lived in another world. Two days ago, she’d been an author with a normal life and at least another thirty or forty years ahead of her.
But now….
Now, as she hugged her small body against the damp gloom of the horrible space that had become her waking nightmare, she felt a wretched anguish poke at her outer casing. That casing had become fragile and thin, like the shell of an egg. Any second now, any god-awful minute now, one of those tap-tap-taps would break through, and she would crack. Just like that.
It was what he wanted, the man who had ripped her from her happiness and thrust her into this hellish darkness. It was what he was waiting for. What he apparently would do anything to acquire. Anything….
A part of her still clung to disbelief, despite everything she’d witnessed over the last few days. The rest of her was transformed, however. Born again. She believed. It was the overwhelming proof that did it – proof that Roman D’Angelo had given her when he swept her off her feet and pulled her into his amazing, fantastical world.
And it was proof that Roman’s enemy now ruthlessly inflicted upon her over and over again that had finally bent her perception of fact and fiction. She could no longer hide from the truth of what had been laid before her.
Roman was a vampire. Her kidnapper was also a vampire. They were real.
They were real.
And that meant that there was no way out. A human was fallible. A human could be tricked or overtaken. But a vampire was….
There was no way out. None that she knew of, anyway.
Roman… Evie thought. She couldn’t help it. Where was he now? The tall, dark, intense man who had changed her life forever. It was pointless to yearn for him. Vampire King or not, he could do nothing to help her now. Her captor had seen to that. At least, that was what he told her, and she believed him. She had no choice, because Roman wasn’t here… and she was dying.
“Just say the words, Evie. For the love of God,” her captor said as he knelt in front of her and took her chin once more in his hand. She kept her eyes closed, unable or unwilling to meet his gaze even one more time. “You can make all of this stop,” he told her. “You can make it so that you never have to feel pain or fear again.”
Evie moaned softly in response. Her body hurt so much. Her captor released her chin and Evie’s head fell back against the wall. She felt colder than she had ever felt before.
She almost said the words then. She almost surrendered and gave him what he wanted. She just wanted the torture to stop.
All you have to do is say three little words. Just three little words.
Evie shook her head, dizzy as it made her, and pushed the thoughts from her mind. No, she told herself. Just hang on a little while longer.
Her heart seemed to flutter, as if sighing in helpless response.
Oh God, Roman, she thought miserably. Please hurry.
*****
Charles Alexander Ward sighed heavily when he’d returned to the living room and re-locked the basement door. He sat on the couch and leaned forward thoughtfully, resting his elbows on his knees.
She was a tough one, and he had to admit that this last part of his plan was taking a lot longer than he’d anticipated. But he could hear the dawning despair that laced the edges of each of her breaths. The tide was turning. It wouldn’t be long before she either broke – or died.
He wondered how much time he had left with her. D’Angelo had no doubt been scouring the world for his love. Charles could imagine the Vampire King’s edict spreading far and wide in no time at all. He could imagine the king’s eyes and what they must look like at that moment. The thought gave Charles an uncommon chill.
But it didn’t matter. The king couldn’t reach him here. Charles just needed a little more time… an hour, maybe, tops. He just needed his precious captive to say three short words.
Offspring were creatures born of the union between an enigmatic, dark, and dangerous race known as the Akyri and the infamous mortals of magic, the warlocks. Because of this combination, Offspring were beings of magic above all else. Every vampire in existence possessed the intrinsic powers of a warlock – and the innate legerdemain charms of the undead.
However, they were also a cursed race. The inherent darkness of their parentage tainted the blood in their veins, and over the years they’d come to know themselves by another name: vampires.
The rules a vampire had to live by were few and uncomplicated, but difficult at best. The sun was caustic, no deadly, to an Offspring. However, despite the popular Hollywood portrayal of their kind, in reality, living in the dinge of night was neither an appealing nor acceptable choice for vampires, so they turned to their magic to fix the problem. Through the use of spells or items imbibed with the power of said spells, Offspring cleared the way for their kind to walk beneath the rays of the sun.
The second quintessential truth of being an Offspring was that blood was also a necessity. A vampire had to feed. How often the feeding had to be done was dictated largely by the environment chosen by an Offspring. It was healthier to live in humidity, near the ocean, and preferably shaded by forest. For this reason, places like Louisiana and the northwest coast were very popular for vampires. Those who either chose to live in the desert or were given no choice due to their careers were forced to feed more often, as if to make up for the lack of moisture in the air.
Feeding fell into two different categories. Long ago, vampires automatically killed their victims while taking their blood. It was easiest that way, and it wasn’t as if humans were very skilled at tracking down killers – when they cared at all.
Since D’Angelo had been king, however, the ritual of feeding had taken a positive turn as far as humans were concerned. Vampires were taught to take only what they needed from a victim. Eventually, a kill was necessary. Offspring did not last long without imbibing of a victim’s last drop. But now it was more seldom. Younger vampires could go for a week or two without killing. Older vampires, several months.
Lastly, there was only one way for a vampire to create another vampire.
And it was a secret.
The Offspring were just that – offspring. In general, they were born, not created, and within the social circles of his kind, no set way of turning a mortal into an immortal had ever been officially documented.
It was possible to use vampire blood to keep a mortal young. Such a thing had been done by the vampire princess, Isabel Marie Wraythe; a steady ingestion of her blood had kept a certain werewolf young for give or take five decades. At the same time, that blood had tainted the inside of Byron C
aige’s veins, causing him to be sensitive to sunlight.
The “taint” of vampire blood was well known. The Offspring had used their blood to heal mortals in the past, and when this happened, there were always side effects. It was best to draw the blinds after sharing with a human. At least for a little while.
But the act of sharing blood and its side effects did not, in and of themselves, create another vampire. “Turning” a human into a vampire, as mortals would refer to it, was impossible.
Or, it was supposed to be. That was what Roman D’Angelo would have everyone believe.
Malachi Wraythe, the late Warlock King, had been Charles’ oldest and closest friend. Over the years, Charles had learned much from Malachi. He’d been given much. After the warlock king’s also-dead daughter, Charles was listed first and foremost in Wraythe’s will, and one of the gifts he’d been bequeathed was a book – filled with secrets.
Wraythe had been a lot older than he’d looked. His daughter was a vampire, the Offspring of Wraythe and his captive bride, the Akyri queen. Hence, part of his seemingly eternal youth was most likely due to borrowed vampire blood. However, black magic was also very useful in these endeavors. In truth, Wraythe was very old, and in that time, he’d acquired a lot of knowledge.
Knowledge in general was powerful. However, warlock knowledge was particularly potent; an evil edge could make anything so. Charles now had access to warlock spells that had been hidden from the sight of man for hundreds of years. It was how he remained hidden from his king now. And that wasn’t all.
He also knew how to turn a mortal into a vampire. The secret had been hidden away by the Vampire King eons ago.
It was so easy. So simple. The taking of blood was necessary, of course. That was to be expected. Even werewolves had to do it. But when a werewolf claimed his dormant, he whispered words to her that sealed the deal. So, why wouldn’t it be different for an Offspring? It turned out that it wasn’t different. Charles was surprised none of them had thought of it before. Or perhaps some of them had and just hadn’t known which words it would take.
Charles smiled now as he thought of this. He knew.
The words were ancient, so old that they had yet to be translated from their original language. Yet, it wasn’t this that made them difficult to produce. It was the speaker, the person who had to say the words, that made transformation from mortal to vampire so unlikely.
A werewolf could claim his mate. As he took her, he became the dominant, the one with the power, and in this power he made her his. Offspring had not been given this luxury. With vampires, it was so much more complicated, but not because there were more steps. It was more complicated because for a mortal to become a vampire, he or she must want it of their own accord. They must accept it through their own will.
And say the words.
Addo nox noctis. Bring the night.
Down in the basement, young Evelynne Grace Farrow, known as Evie to everyone close to her, most likely struggled with her inner demons, and Charles caught the faintest sound of a shuddering sob. His lips formed a decidedly cruel smile.
He’d played his hand very carefully over the past few weeks, and the cards had fallen perfectly into place. The warlock seer had been right about everything so far.
Several weeks earlier, Charles had visited the old woman in the darkness of the underground cavern she dwelled in, and he’d told her he wanted revenge. It was as simple as that. She wasn’t surprised. For a warlock, there were few other reasons. Hatred, revenge – the ilk of that murky, painful clan – were the driving forces that brought people to their doors.
So, she took his blood and cast a spell….
Charles clenched his teeth together behind closed lips as he brought the blade in a quick slash across his palm and squeezed his fist over the warlock’s black stone bowl. He could feel her excitement as she watched the blood pour from his wound to fill the vessel beneath it. Within seconds, the cut began to heal, but he’d filled the bowl half-way, and apparently that was enough because the warlock seer raised her hand in a stop gesture.
Charles lowered his fist and stepped back. The seer in turn moved forward.
Charles watched as she bent and whispered over the bowl. The stench of burning blood wafted toward him and the bowl began to steam. He felt his fangs lengthen in his mouth, every muscle in his body prepared for fight or flight.
He was crossing the point of no return by doing this. He knew that. And there was a certain amount of fear that came with knowing you were officially signing your own death warrant, to be sure. But there was also a driving fury, because one didn’t reach the point of no return by accident, and it was that burning rage that straightened Charles’ spine and narrowed his gaze as the wicked witch spat her venomous words into the spell that was his deciding fate.
“A woman,” she finally said aloud, her voice rising to fill the shadows that darkened her cavern’s corners.
Charles frowned. “What?”
The warlock seer turned to glance at him over her black-clad shoulder. “A woman, blood sucker. It is a woman you seek.” She turned back to the bowl, which Charles guessed was carved out of a solid piece of onyx or obsidian, and she peered into the murky, crimson depths of his boiling blood. She seemed to consider something he could not see. Then she exhaled a shuddering sigh and nodded. “A very special woman.”
Charles had never considered himself the settling down type. Malachi had known well enough. The two of them had roughly the same tastes when it came to women and how they should be treated, especially in the bedroom. However, little Evie presented a nuance to his existence that up until quite recently simply hadn’t been there.
She was a lovely thing, there was no denying that. Her thick brown hair was fine and soft and touched with honey-colored highlights that caught the hints gold in her brown eyes. She was small, but strong, with curves that made a man ache to dig his fingers in. And she was smart. It was her intelligence that intrigued him the most. Earlier in the month, he’d spent a bit of time in and out of her mind, listening in on the thoughts she thought were private. They were deep, sometimes intense, and undeniably different than what he was used to. There was an unidentifiable subtlety to her essence that fascinated him. He wouldn’t be able to put a name to it if he tried. Whatever it was, it captivated him.
It made sense. Where he’d been capable of reading her mind before, he could no longer do so now. His warlock magic didn’t work on her either. She’d grown stronger against his kind somehow. She was not at all like other humans.
And the way she tasted made his fangs throb in his gums at the mere memory.
According to the warlock seer, Evie Farrow was supposed to be the undoing of the vampire king. It would take a special woman to bring about the downfall of Roman D’Angelo.
Once he decided what the best and hence most painful course of action for D’Angelo would be, all Charles had had to do was hang back and wait. The seer assured him that Farrow and D’Angelo would meet. She’d been right. And, also just as the seer had claimed, the vampire king had fallen instantly and deeply in love with young Evelynne.
Now that Charles had witnessed Evie’s unwitting charms and even tasted her first-hand, he couldn’t blame his king. He was also beginning to believe that this plan might actually work. Evie Farrow could bring about any man’s downfall.
He’d originally planned to allow the two to fall in love – and then to kill the woman. It would be fast and brutal and the blow to D’Angelo would be immense. However, Roman D’Angelo had lost a loved one to death before. He’d gotten over it and he’d moved on. This would be so much worse. It would be so much better than killing her. The king would never recover.
Charles was going to enjoy teaching Evie the ropes once she’d made the transformation to vampire. She would need to feed. She would probably resist at first, but he’d learned how to deal with resistant women. That part would be fun. She would probably try to escape as well. Aided by the strength afforded to he
r by her newfound vampirism, she would attempt to run, to fly, and even to hide. It was something Charles could both count on and look forward to. Women were so much more enjoyable when they fought back.
Eventually, she would give in, and that would be the sweetest triumph of all. For when she did, Charles would have what the vampire king so desperately wanted for himself. The thing he wanted most of all. His queen would belong to another.
Charles might even have her kill him.
He smiled at that thought. Malachi Wraythe would be avenged. And Roman D’Angelo would be no more.
Chapter One
Three weeks earlier….
It was perhaps the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do, but Charles somehow managed to make it through the meeting without giving himself away. Across the long mahogany table, the Vampire King sat regal and tall, silent and still, ever the imposing figure of dark, steady calm. It made Charles sick. And this sickness would have singled him out to D’Angelo in a heartbeat if it hadn’t been for the spells Charles had cast prior to coming to the king’s mansion.
They were imperative. They were words and phrases and bits of power learned through his friendship with the late warlock king and over the course of ages. They’d taken aggravating years to perfect, but now, as he faced down his enemy, surrounded by minions to the throne, he was ever grateful he’d put in the effort that he had. The ring he wore on his right middle finger protected his thoughts. The medallion he wore around his neck and tucked beneath his button-up shirt protected his heartrate and the smell of cortisol and adrenaline that ran through his blood. Finally, the spell he’d cast upon himself before leaving his flat acted as a shield.
Vampires possessed the ability to use magic. Despite their dark heritage, most of them tended toward the kind of magic used by well-meaning witches in covens across the globe. However, Charles’ magic had always possessed a more unnatural bent. His talents leaned toward the warlock side of the spectrum. It was one of the reasons behind his camaraderie with Malachi Wraythe.