Taken by the Vampire King

  He flew forward in his seat. “Nei. This can’t be.” He slammed his fist against the surface.

  Jakob leaned in the open doorway and rapped twice against the jamb. “Problem?”

  Henrik chuffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. I apparently pissed off the wrong person in a former life.” He tossed the file to the corner of the desk. Jakob could read it for himself. Or not. He was beyond caring.

  Eyeing him warily, his brother retrieved and opened the folder. “Son of a—Her father was a member of The Electorate Council? Jesus, Henrik, that probably means she would’ve—”

  “I know.” He held up a hand. He didn’t need the male to finish the sentence, to tell him that, had her father lived, Kaira very likely would’ve been trained among the ranks of the Proffered, as so many of the daughters of The Electorate were.

  The Council was comprised of influential human allies who assisted in the prosecution of their war against the Soul Eaters. In exchange for the humans’ silence on the vampires’ existence, their assistance in conducting the war when necessary, and their providing of the Proffered, the vampires gave them protection and blood, which cured many diseases and extended their lives.

  Henrik’s debate about offering Kaira his blood roared back to life in his mind. Could his blood cure her leukemia?

  “Does she know this?” Jakob asked.

  He blinked away his thoughts. “What? Oh. I think not. She was genuine in her surprise about our existence.” Only eight when her parents had died in a car accident, no doubt she hadn’t yet been made privy to that part of her father’s business. And apparently neither had the mother’s sister who raised her.

  “Brother, this changes things.” Jakob tossed the folder to the desk.

  Weary and heartsick, Henrik reclined into the chair and propped his feet on the corner of the desk. His boots thumped against the wood. He crossed his ankles and got comfortable. “It changes nothing. Pour the akevitt, will you?”

  Jakob crossed the room to the small bar in the corner. Norwegians reputed the grain alcohol to be the “water of life.” If only.

  “Bring the bottle,” Henrik said.

  His brother settled the bottle and two shot glasses in front of him. The warm scent of the spiced spirit reached his nose as the golden liquor filled the little glass. They clinked and tossed the alcohol back. Heat ripped down his throat and pooled in his gut.

  But it still was not enough.

  He placed the glass next to the bottle and didn’t have to tell Jakob what he wanted. He poured and they drank again.

  “What happened in there?” Jakob asked, falling into the seat in front of his desk.

  “Just lost control.” Henrik topped off another shot glass.

  “Bullshit. That was the most controlled I have ever seen you in the middle of one of your rages. Hands down.”

  The king shrugged and downed the akevitt. Heat snaked outward from his belly. Perfect.

  “You like her.”

  He threw the glare before he’d thought better of it. He’d all but agreed.

  “She obviously likes you, too.”

  “Nei, she pities me.” He spun the glass in his hand.

  “That’s not what I saw. Not even a little. She stood up to four warriors for you.”

  Henrik’s mind resurrected the image of Kaira approaching him as he fought with everything he had to maintain a shred of his rational self. Holding her bloodied cheek, the neck of the johnny askew over the ruins of her lovely gown, wayward strands of blond hanging down from the remains of the stylish twist she’d worn the night before. Beautiful. Brave. Fierce. He’d been bone-crushingly terrified for her. “She has leukemia, Jakob. She needs her medicines, her doctors, her whole life around her.” He gestured with his hands, spilling a drop of liquor on his shirt.

  Jakob flew out of the chair and loomed over the desk, hands braced against the hardwood surface. “Jesus, if that’s the case, you could heal her and you could both get what you need.”

  He poured another drink. “There are no guarantees, brother. You know that. None at all. Except that enough of this fine spirit will cure what ails you, even if only for a few hours.” He raised the glass in salute and threw it back.

  “This solves nothing.” His brother grabbed the bottle and marched it back over to the bar.

  The office phone rang before Henrik had time to protest. He stared at it a minute and decided whatever it was could wait. As it continued to ring, he clomped his boots to the floor and shoved out of the chair, throwing a glare at Jakob for good measure.

  At the bar, he set out a row of shot glasses and filled each of them to the top, not worrying about the liquor spilling into the spaces between. The phone stopped ringing. He braced his hands against the edge of the marble surface and heaved a breath. “When you are king, you can decide what does and doesn’t work. Until that time—” He tossed back the first of the shots. “—I will make that call.” He slammed it down and reached for the next. The telephone unleashed its screech again—at least that’s what it sounded like in his head. “Dra til helvete,” he muttered. Go to hell.

  Jakob rounded the corner of his desk.

  “Don’t answer it,” Henrik mumbled.

  He ignored him. “What?” Jakob answered. Henrik rolled his eyes. A lotta good being king did him. “What? Put him through.” His brother held out the hand piece. “Kael MacQuillan for you.”

  Henrik crossed the room, a strange foreboding crawling into his belly. Or maybe that was just the akevitt. First light marked the end of a vampire’s day, which made it an odd time for his royal counterpart in Northern Ireland to call. Unless somewhere in their world the shit was hitting the fan.

  He pressed the receiver to his ear. “Kael, it’s Henrik. How are you, brother?” he said in English.

  “I’m well. Sorry to disturb you at this hour.”

  “I am always available to you. Are you well? Shayla? Everything okay at Dunluce?” Kael had mated with one of the Proffered three years before.

  “Aye. Thank you. My family is well. It’s not my news I’ve called to share.” Anticipation hardened into a rock in his gut. “Yingjie Fēi is dead, along with half his inner circle of warriors.”

  Henrik sank into his chair. The Warrior King of the Eastern Vampires dead? “How?”

  “Soul Eaters,” Kael spat.

  Henrik nodded. He read the intelligence reports religiously. The war had been escalating all over Eurasia for the past two years. “Jesus. He wasn’t prepared for succession, either.”

  “No. China’s a mess. Which is why I’m spreading the word on their behalf.”

  “I appreciate the call, Kael. I just wish it brought better news.”

  “Me, too, old friend. Me, too.”

  They said their goodbyes and Henrik returned the receiver to its cradle. He cut his gaze to Jakob. “Fēi’s dead.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sonofabitch.”

  His brother braced his hands on the edge of the desk, his head hanging. And among his grief for their fallen brethren, Henrik knew without question what else Jakob was thinking, what else weighed so heavily on his shoulders.

  Now there were six. Just six vampire kings and warrior forces to fight a worldwide battle against a reckless enemy in an ancient and escalating war. Who knew how long it would take China to reestablish order and authority?

  Six.

  And, if Henrik died—which was a total certainty except for the when—there would be five.

  Five.

  An absolutely impossible situation—for the vampires and the humans, too.

  Anger and regret flooded through him. He knew what he had to do, and he wouldn’t make Jakob be the one to say it. “Gather the warriors in the council room. They need to be briefed. I’ll meet you there.” He made for the door and battened down all his emotional hatches. This had to be done. It was bigger than either of them, now. “I need to inform Miss Sorensen there’s been a change in plans.”

  Chapter 9

&nbs
p; Kaira sat in the chair, chin resting on her knees, and stared at the huge iron bed that dominated the center of the chamber to which Henrik had earlier moved her.

  Right after he’d finished informing her she wasn’t free to go after all.

  That he would be feeding from her, and that, for a vampire, feeding usually entailed sex. So Jakob would remain in the room with them to keep it just about the blood. Unless she desired the sex, too.

  Oh, if she wanted, she could drink from his vein in return. It could possibly cure her leukemia.

  He’d been precisely that dry and mechanical about it, barely evincing an emotion on his face or looking her in the eye.

  Afterward she’d had the chance to shower and change, though she’d put on an old, familiar outfit from the bag Jakob had retrieved from her hotel, not the white silk robe that had been laid out on the bed.

  Hours later, there she sat, butterflies keeping her stomach in a constant state of flip-flop and anticipation of his return unleashing alternating waves of fear and desire. At least her fever and aches had abated.

  She shook her head. He was going to feed from her. His mouth against her skin, his hard chest against her breasts, his hands holding her tight. Twice before, he’d drunk from her. Both times, she’d become aroused. And the memory of the incredible orgasm she’d had—just from kissing and touching, no less—made her core clench and tingle.

  Overwhelmed didn’t begin to cover it. If it was just his feeding or just curing her leukemia or just losing her virginity that was up for discussion here, she might be able to deal. Okay, that probably wasn’t true either. Any of those, on their own, would still be a lot to consider. All together? She dropped her forehead against her knees.

  How in the world did she find herself in this situation?

  Sadness pricked at her eyes. Looked like she wasn’t going to be allowed to have that dream of being a professional photographer fulfilled after all.

  A flash flood of anger flowed in behind the sadness. And confusion, too. Because while she was pissed at how unfair it was to have her life stolen out from underneath her, a part of her she didn’t understand felt like she was right where she was supposed to be. How crazy was that?

  Across the room, a door clicked open. Kaira lifted her head as Henrik entered wearing a floor-length black robe, the trim and sleeves edged in a bold silver knotted pattern. He wore the hood drawn over his head, casting his face in shadow and preventing Kaira from seeing his expression or his eyes. Didn’t keep her heart from leaping into her throat, though. Bare feet emerged from under the bottom of the robe as he crossed toward her, making her wonder if the rest of him was equally bare.

  Oh, what did she care? She was mad at him, mad at this entire situation. She had no interest in knowing more about his big, broad, powerful body.

  Also wearing some sort of a ceremonial robe, Jakob secured the door behind them, then stayed where he was.

  Kaira remained in a ball in the chair.

  Henrik moved to stand in front of her, finally allowing her to see his eyes under the top of the robe.

  Despite herself, she gasped and pushed to her feet. “Your eyes changed again.” Slowly, she reached up and pushed the hood off his hair. A soft blue, they weren’t as bright as after the first time he’d fed from her. The thought that she was responsible for restoring the color to his eyes... It was as heady as it was scary. What else would change for him if he fed from her in earnest?

  A ticklish sensation skittered over her left palm and she scratched her short nails across the skin to make it go away. His gaze dropped to the movement, and the sensation got worse. What was wrong with her hand? It had been doing this on and off for hours now. She forced her fists to her sides.

  Henrik grabbed her hands in his and slowly sank to his knees. “I know you don’t want this, and I don’t blame you. And I know there’s no way for me to make this right by you. Something about your blood cures whatever deficiency flows through mine. Still, I was prepared to let you go—”

  “Then what changed?” Her tone was harsher than she intended, especially since his words were so soft and repentant. And she thought herself confused before. Oh, what was right in this situation?

  His eyes flashed, a hint of that brilliant anger she’d seen in the hospital room earlier. Then he schooled his expression. “I received word that one of the other vampire kings was killed last night.”

  The news made her throat go tight, like the loss was her own. So, now, only six vampires like him remained? “I’m very sorry,” she managed.

  “If I die—”

  “I get it,” she said quietly. And she did. She hated feeling like she was a tiny cog in some larger machine, but she wasn’t so selfish she didn’t understand that the stakes were bigger than her. Without these vampires, the other kind—the ones that attracted darkness and smelled of decay and attacked unsuspecting women on the street—would overrun society.

  For a long moment, she let her brain play with this information, and it wasn’t long before a sort of peace settled over her. Saving him meant something and it was something no one else could do, apparently.

  “Okay. So, what do we do? Should I—”

  “Just have a seat, kjære.” He gestured to the chair she’d been sitting in all day.

  Oh, the endearment in that low, sexy voice. Did he really hold her dear to him? Taking a deep breath, she did as he asked, her heart already sprinting before her bottom hit the cushion.

  “If you’ll pull up your sleeve,” he said, his deep voice rasping with hunger. “I will drink from your wrist. That will help make this...less intimate.”

  Those last three syllables rolled off his tongue with such exquisite promise, her whole body flashed hot. She yanked up both sleeves of her T-shirt and nodded, worried that her voice would express the arousal ramping up deep inside.

  “Jakob?” the king said.

  His brother crossed the room.

  “Jakob is here to ensure I don’t lose control as you saw before, and to make sure I stop before the blood loss becomes harmful to you. He will need to monitor your heart rate. Would you be okay with him holding your other wrist?”

  “Sure,” she whispered, her gaze flickering to the other vampire. He crouched beside her, his expression serious, a little on edge, even. His big hand wrapped its warmth around her right wrist, two of his fingers pressing firmly against the thrumming pulse there.

  Looking into her eyes, Henrik whispered, “Just relax.” His voice was almost mesmerizing, and a calming ease blanketed her body. The tension drained from her shoulders and her heartbeat decelerated.

  He cradled her hand and forearm in his big hands and gently pulled her arm toward him as he knelt closer to her thigh.

  Henrik’s hands were warm, yet cooler than Jakob’s, and big, though thinner than his brother’s, too. The comparison came out of nowhere and made her acutely aware that two men—two male vampires—had their hands on her bare skin.

  He struck, his fangs sinking deep into her radial artery, opening it up, and letting her blood flow.

  It was just as before—a flash of pain erased by the first caressing sucks of his mouth against her flesh. Kaira flinched and inhaled a sharp breath. Her eyes flew toward Jakob, who was studying her with unabashed interest. The heat of a blush bloomed over her cheeks. His nostrils flared. Her heart kicked up in her chest again. The air in the room heated by ten degrees, at least. His brow furrowed and he looked away, staring at her upturned wrist like he suddenly found it fascinating.

  Henrik held her arm tighter and fed from her more urgently, his mouth pressing harder against her skin, his sucking draws coming faster. Appreciative grunts and half whimpers spilled from him, giving voice to his pleasure and satisfaction in her blood. He leaned some of his weight against her thigh, and the heat rolling off him threatened to sear her.

  She unleashed a shuddering breath, and he moaned.

  Breathe, breathe, just breathe, she chanted to herself. Because it was getting h
arder to do so.

  Once again, her body was responding to his feeding—to his mouth, his tongue, his hands. His need was so great it nearly coalesced into a physical presence in the room. And, God, she was so hot and wet for him she could barely sit still.

  Kaira wanted Henrik. His big body climbing up hers, his weight holding her down, him claiming her in every way he could.

  The high-pitched whimper escaped her unbidden.

  Henrik’s drinking eased up.

  She went to stroke his hair, to encourage and reassure him, and forgot Jakob held her other wrist.

  His gaze cut to hers.

  She tried tugging her hand out of his grasp.

  Cocking an eyebrow, he released her. Her hand fell on the silkiness of Henrik’s hair just as Jakob knelt closer and pressed his fingers against the pulse in her throat. The heat of his big hand covered her skin from her throat to just above her breast.

  Henrik growled and twisted without breaking contact to track the movement, his eyes slits of brilliant pale light.

  “Shh,” she managed, petting his hair. His gaze shifted to her for a long moment and, apparently satisfied with what he saw, he returned all his attention to what was happening where his mouth met her arm.

  Her arousal spiked. Everywhere she looked she saw big, muscled male bodies. Each inhalation of breath drew their tantalizing scents into her lungs. And the longer she stroked Henrik’s hair, the more passionately he threw himself into the feeding.

  Each suck tugged at her nipples and pulled at her clit. She forced herself to sit still, to resist the growing need to clench her thighs or shift her hips or throw her head back on a long cry. Hand trembling now, she splayed her fingers through the side of his white hair once, twice, then tucked it behind his ear.

  Which gave her a ready view of his red lips clamped to her wrist.

  Her mouth fell open and she licked her tongue over her bottom lip. She was completely losing control of her body, her needs, her wants. Embarrassment heating her face, she chanced a glance at Jakob.