The Vampire King

  “What has that got to do with me?” she asked, rubbing her chin gingerly and glaring at him with everything she had.

  “You’re going to change that, Evie. You will be the first one created since the start of D’Angelo’s reign. And you’re going to be mine.”

  Evie stared at him.

  “You will repeat those three words and effectively cast the spell,” he told her, giving her the command as if she were a recalcitrant child. “Then you will take my blood.” He smiled a devilish smile. “And I will take yours – to the very last drop.”

  Don’t faint, don’t faint, don’t faint.

  “And when I’ve finished with you, Evelynne Grace Farrow, you will become the first mortal turned vampire in three thousand years.” He laughed, the sound harsh and ugly in the clean air. “And you will break Roman D’Angelo’s precious heart.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I’m sorry, My Liege.” Saxon’s deep voice was the first thing Roman heard as the world returned him to consciousness. “I returned to the mansion to speak with you about sending a few of your men after Ward and when I arrived, you were under attack.”

  Roman sat up, all senses and awareness slamming into him at once as if he were a magnet. The safe house was in ruins. Glass and debris decorated the floors and walls, as did blood and other bodily matter. Roman saw his reflection in one of the shards of glass beside him on the floor; he was whole and didn’t bear a scratch. But he knew damn well that something had hit him hard. Only the worst kind of injury could have taken him out in such a manner.

  Evie!

  “Evie,” he whispered.

  “She’s been taken, My Lord.”

  “Hunters?” he asked as he quickly came to his feet, his dark gaze scanning for any sign of his future queen. He could smell her – cherry blossoms and blood - but despite the rage it opened up inside of him, she wasn’t there.

  “It would appear that way, but something doesn’t add up,” Saxon said as he joined Roman in surveying the damage. Roman had no time for finesse or permission; he scanned Saxon’s thoughts and memories in order to see the attack from a new set of eyes.

  But it didn’t do much good. There was the flash of Saxon’s re-materialization after a transport spell, the other vampire saw Roman and Evie standing together, he called out to warn Roman – and then the world exploded in shards of glass and bullets. A split second after Roman went down, Saxon did as well, most likely from the same kind of wound.

  Roman shook his head. “Does the son of a bitch think I was born yesterday?” he asked, to no one in particular.

  “My Liege?” Saxon questioned.

  “This was Ward,” Roman growled. “He took Evie.”

  Saxon considered this a moment, turned in place, and seemed to sniff the air. “He poisoned her.”

  “Yes,” Roman agreed, his blood boiling.

  “And took her to the astral plane,” Saxon surmised.

  Roman was beyond words. So much rage simmered inside of him, he felt as if his veins were carrying lava. How the hell had this happened? How the fuck had Ward gotten in and out of the safe house grounds without tripping any of the alarms or shield spells?

  Curses poured through Roman’s soul, burning him up from the inside out. At his side, Saxon took a step back, drawing Roman’s glance. The blond vampire looked concerned – and impressed – and rightly so. The air around Roman was crackling with angry energy as if he were a barely contained storm.

  “My Lord, can you not travel to the astral realm?”

  “I can,” came Roman’s simply reply. He was the only other living being in the world who he knew could do so. And in a fair world, he would be able to make it into that other plane, find Charles Ward, and rip out his traitorous, kidnapping, black-magic-using spine.

  Unfortunately it wasn’t that easy. The astral plane was enormous, consisting of one long valley of multi-colored nothingness and air and twenty million doorways. To make matters worse, Ward was able to manipulate the plane the way the Shadow King manipulated darkness. He could steal Evie away through a labyrinth of ether so vast and complicated, it would take one of two things for Roman to find Evie. It would either take a miracle, or it would take forever.

  Forever wasn’t an option.

  A miracle was in order.

  “Saxon, gather as many men as you need, get Samantha’s help, and track down everything having to do with Charles Ward. Search his living quarters, his resting places, and pull all of his files. When you’ve learned everything you can, erase him from existence.” Going through Ward’s belongings probably wouldn’t turn up much, but Roman wasn’t known for leaving stones unturned. If there was the slightest possibility that he and his men could find whatever it was that was aiding Ward with this newfound windfall of power, then it was worth the search. Most of all, however, Roman was pissed. He wanted everything that Charles had ever held dear completely and utterly destroyed. It was the least Roman owed him.

  In the meantime, Roman knew what he had to do. He was certainly capable of traveling the astral plane himself, and while it was true that he was the only living being he knew of who could do so other than Ward, it was the “living” bit that was the important distinction. There were technically other creatures capable of traveling astrally. Getting to them was going to cost him. But at that moment, Roman would have given anything to have Evie back safe and sound.

  Saxon nodded once. “Yes sir. Consider it done.”

  “Good,” Roman said. “There’s someone I need to see – alone. Have David contact me when you’ve finished.”

  Again Saxon nodded. Roman took one last look at the mess around him and spoke the single word necessary to transport him away from it.

  *****

  “Comfortable?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Charles laughed. “Oh in time, sweet heart. In time.” He stood in the cellar doorway, outlined by the light behind him. The basement was new. The stairs leading out of it were new. Even the doorway and the entire house that rested beyond it were new. Charles had created all of them, molding them and forming them from whatever strange substance the astral plane was made of.

  Evie wouldn't have believed such a thing possible if she hadn’t witnessed it herself, but then nearly everything she was witnessing these days was something she would have otherwise thought impossible.

  Now she sat on a bare stone floor against the wall of the basement of a house that shouldn’t exist and she’d been there for what she would guess was an hour. She was cold, which made no sense. The air in the rainbow fog room they’d first appeared in had been the perfect temperature. Clearly either she was transferring some of her misery to the air now or Charles was capable of bringing this illusion to life to the very last uncomfortable detail.

  A while ago, he had magically formed the cellar around her, threatened her again with a showing of his fangs, and then disappeared up the stairs and through the door. Now he was back.

  Evie turned away from his tall outline and stared straight ahead at the dim, dank gray of the concrete room. She heard his footsteps descend the stairs to her level and every muscle in her body tensed.

  “I may not be able to read your mind, but I can hear your heart, Evie. You’re afraid of me.”

  “Congratulations. You must feel like a real man.”

  Evie heard his footsteps draw near, slow, and stop a short foot away. “I’m curious,” he said. “You’re immune to vampire powers. I wonder how you would do against warlock abilities.”

  Evie didn’t even have time to fully contemplate what he could mean by that before he was grabbing her roughly by the front of her shirt and lifting her off of the ground. She made a small squealing sound and her fingers automatically wrapped around his wrist, but of course he was much stronger than she was.

  Her back slid against the stone wall behind her until she was at eye level with him. “Did you know that a warlock can make his victim feel anything he wishes her to feel simply by touching her??
??

  Oh no, she thought. Here comes the pain. God I hope I can take it.

  His gaze narrowed and his blue eyes took on an otherworldly cast as his magic spread out from him and she could feel it ooze over her. The air grew warmer, thicker, as if charged with humid electricity. But that was all.

  Nothing else happened. There was no pain. Only the cold of the wall behind her seeping through her clothing and the ever-present threat in the blue of her captor’s eyes.

  Finally, his lips spread in a smile. “It’s as I thought,” he said, his words, his voice so close, they abraded Evie’s nerve endings. “You’re immune to that as well.” Very slowly, he allowed her to slide back down the wall until she was standing on her own two feet again.

  Evie had the sudden urge to shove at him, to kick him in the balls, to head butt him in the nose – anything that would make him step away from her. But he was relatively calm at the moment, and any violence she showed him would only anger him. She knew damn well she couldn’t really hurt him.

  Charles released her shirt and curled his finger beneath her chin. Evie stiffened. “It’s fortunate I didn’t waste time attempting a spell on you at the safe house,” he said. “It clearly wouldn’t have worked.”

  He stared long and hard into her eyes, and when Evie tried to look away, his grip on her chin tightened. “It does make me wonder,” he said, almost conversationally, “what kind of blood it is that runs through your body. You’re obviously not entirely human.”

  That was what Roman had told her. And though the man touching her at the moment made her feel queasy, she had to admit that she was curious about herself as well. It had been swimming beneath the surface of her consciousness since she’d seen the vision of Charles and his murder victim. Why had she seen it?

  She had grown immune to Roman’s mind-reading abilities, apparently in addition to other vampire powers. And now a warlock’s magic was failing against her as well. It was a strange dichotomy of emotions that were evoked within her. The truth was, she felt a little empowered to have this ability against vampires and warlocks. But she was also scared. Because she didn’t understand why.

  Was she about to turn into some kind of monster? Had she been one all along?

  “I think I’ll take a taste,” Charles said then, completely focusing her attention on him once more. His smile broadened, his white fangs glistened in the light from the doorway, and all of a sudden, he was moving back, grabbing her hand, and shoving her long sleeve up her arm.

  At once, Evie tried to pull away. But Charles moved with blurring speed, and she cried out as his fangs sank cruelly into the veins in her wrist, digging deep and holding tight. He pulled viciously, causing her blood to rush through torn skin to meet his demand.

  Evie tried to push him away, but he was a vampire. He had been doing this for so very long, it was second nature to him to waylay the efforts of his victims. He simply grabbed her free wrist, pinned it to the wall behind her, and moved his body so that it pressed against hers.

  She whimpered as he mercilessly pulled again. She closed her eyes, just hoping that he wouldn’t take so much that he killed her.

  I’ll have to remember this, she thought faintly. There is no pleasure in this. I’ve been writing it all wrong.

  It seemed like he drank forever. The pain in her wrist throbbed and spread, enveloping her hand, her fingers, and her arm to her elbow. Her heart skipped a beat, fluttering in her chest. Her legs felt weak once more.

  Finally, as nausea once more churned in her gut, her captor decided he’d had enough and slowly pulled his fangs from her wrist. Evie’s eyes flew open and her teeth gritted with pain. She whimpered; it hurt. Her skin clung to his teeth, ripping fresh tears in her skin until they were finally free and all that remained behind were two gaping holes that oozed precious blood.

  Evie looked from the bleeding arm he still held in a fast grip to the face of the man who had wounded her. His inhuman eyes throbbed between blue and red, and her blood painted his lips. Every muscle in his body was held taut, the vein in the side of his neck stuck out, and his expression was one of great effort. His grip on her other wrist tightened as well, grinding her bones, and Evie could feel the hard evidence of a different kind of need where his body pressed hers into the wall.

  “You…” he said, his voice quaking, “taste like untapped power.”

  Evie held her breath. Terror, cold and heavy, sat inside of her like a rock.

  “I would like almost nothing more than to finish you right now,” he growled. His voice had gone gruff with what she could only imagine was hunger or lust or something in-between. “But then there’d be nothing left for D’Angelo to lose.”

  And with that, he released her, shoving her hard against the wall. Evie’s head bumped the stone, but she caught herself and remained upright even though her legs felt like jelly. Gingerly, she wrapped her fingers around her wrist above the dual puncture wounds he’d left. They continued to bleed, rivulets of crimson staining her hand and dripping off of her fingers.

  Charles’ gaze followed the rivers of red. “We’ll have to do something about that,” he said as he appeared to get himself under control once more. “The downside of being immune to magic, sweet heart, is that it won’t heal you either.”

  Evie glared at him. “So this open wound in my body is my fault.”

  Charles laughed, the sound harsh in the cold cellar air. “A vampire’s bite heals instantly on his own,” he informed her, “so long as the victim is not immune to the magic.” He held up his right hand, palm-up, and there was a brief flash. When the light diminished, a roll of bandages remained in his hand.

  “Come here,” he commanded.

  Evie’s instinct was to tell him to screw himself and stay where she was. But he’d already bitten her. If he wanted to do her more harm right now, he would do it whether she obeyed or not. Plus, she was bleeding and he had something that would help that bleeding stop. So, what was the point?

  She came forward and he smiled triumphantly. Then, with practiced skill that reminded her of just how old his kind were, he commenced wrapping her wound. She hissed slightly when he finished, ripped the gauze away from the roll, and applied pressure to wrist. Blood stained the white wrappings and she instinctively tried to pull away.

  This time he let her go.

  “You could have just magicked the stupid gauze onto my arm,” she accused through clenched teeth, cradling her arm.

  “True,” he admitted calmly. “But then I wouldn’t have been able to torture you so.”

  Evie glared at his back as he turned away from her to make his way to the staircase that led from the basement once more. “Enjoy the respite, Evie,” he said as he climbed them one at a time. “Because it’ll be short lived.” He glanced at her over his broad shoulder, and she caught the glint of hungry eyes. “I’ll be back soon for the other wrist.”

  Chapter Twenty

  It had been a very long time since he’d received a visitor in his own home. In his own realm. The meetings of the Thirteen took place in the mortal world, and it was there that Thanatos had last seen the man who approached him now.

  It was not only the rarity of this situation that struck Thanatos, it was the nature of the man who approached. Of the thirteen figures who sat at that particular table, the man Thanatos watched right now was quite possibly the last that the Phantom King expected to walk through his door.

  The visitor was tall and broad-shouldered, and in the harsh desert light, his notably handsome features were white-washed. The wind brushed by, sending dry dust into the air and tumbling a Russian Thistle across the empty expanse. Wind chimes hanging from Thanatos’ porch tinkled against one another, the sound lonely and lost.

  Thanatos, known by Thane to those closer to him, looked back down at his bike, finished tightening the screw he had a handle on, and then dumped his wrench into the tool box beside him. He wiped his palms on the front of his jeans and stood.

  His uninvited guest made
his way toward the small, weathered garage and Thane watched him come. There was a measured grace to the man’s step and an aura of absolute power surrounding him, but his normally pitch-black eyes were glowing red – and his fangs were showing.

  Thane waited as the Vampire King stopped in the doorway to the worn-out garage and gazed inside with those burning eyes.

  “A desert ghost town,” D’Angelo said. “Subtle.”

  Thane almost smiled. “What is it that brings the man who would defy death to death’s door, D’Angelo?”

  Roman D’Angelo had clearly seen better days. His dark suit was of the finest make, Thane knew, but the tie was missing, the suit coat was open at the waist, and the entire outfit was smeared and dotted with blood. The effect was that he appeared a little like James Bond fresh-from-the-fight, but for the fact that he was obviously a vampire.

  “I’ve come to ask for your help,” D’Angelo said as he made his way across the threshold of the garage and into the shade. “One of my own has betrayed me and killed an innocent.”

  Thane’s stormy gaze narrowed. “You forget who you’re talking to. I know all about the mortal woman your vampire killed.” He turned away from the other king and gave his bike a once-over. “I dealt with her just yesterday.”

  D’Angelo fell silent, seemingly contemplative. His power brushed against Thane’s, rather more unchecked than it normally was.

  Thane straightened and glanced at him over his broad shoulder. “The last time you came to my home, you were looking for a woman you thought you loved.”

  “Ophelia,” Roman acknowledged, shadows crossing his handsome face.

  Two hundred years ago, Roman D’Angelo had come into Thane’s realm in search of a woman who had apparently died before her time. Since Thanatos ruled over the spirits of people who had died wrongful deaths, D’Angelo assumed she would be under his care.