Читать книгу Twisted - Gena Showalter - Страница 12

ADEN STEPPED INTO THE throne room, his bare footfalls silent against the plush red carpeting that formed a path directly to his throne. Black wards were woven into that carpet, and for the first time he could feel the full force of the power wafting from them, slithering around his feet. With every step, that power twined higher and higher, around his calves, his thighs, his waist. His stomach, chest and arms.

He breathed deeply, the constant buzzing in his head finally quieting. The power swirled, forming a halo that lifted strands of his hair, as if he’d just stuck his fingers into a light socket.

He experienced a startling moment of clarity. Of … emotion. Suddenly he was Aden, not the cold-hearted vampire king he’d somehow become. He felt. Guilt, joy, remorse, excitement, sorrow … love.

He reached back, extending his hand, needing to touch Victoria, even in so small a way. He knew she was behind him, each of his cells aware of her every move, her every breath. Every second that passed.

A momentary pause, a gasp of surprise. Her fingers tentatively twined with his, meltingly warm and familiar. “Aden?”

“Yes?”

Her step faltered, and she stumbled into him. He stopped and wrapped his arm around her to hold her up, loving the way she fit against his side. Like a puzzle piece he’d been missing.

“Your eyes … they’re normal.” Hope bubbled in the undertone of her voice.

Normal? “I take it that’s a good thing.”

“Very good.”

He glanced around. Black candelabras lined the front of the concrete bleachers stretching at his sides. Between them were thick marble columns. “I can’t believe this,” he said, shocked that he was really here. “Forget the danger I caused by using the horn. I summoned everyone in here to prove a point, and that point could kill them.”

“What point?”

“I’m too embarrassed to say. I … need to sit down.” He kicked back into motion. When he reached the throne, he eased down, more candles flickering around him, smoke swirling from the tips.

The buzzing in his head started up again. A split second later a grumble sounded, subdued, yet all the more savage and brutal because of that. And just like that, the veil of emotion lifted, leaving him feeling both a biting cold and a sizzling heat, neither of which could surpass his determination to lead his vampires to victory against Vlad.

“I’m so happy, I could cry. How human of me, right? But then, I’m becoming more human by the second, I think. And that’s okay. Yes? That’s good?” A grinning Victoria crouched in front of him, resting her palms on his thighs. “Let’s go back to my bedroom and talk. We’ll …” Slowly her grin faded. “Your eyes.” Her voice was now flat.

“What about them?”

“They’re violet again. Dead.”

He shrugged, unconcerned. “Do I have Chompers inside my head?” The grumbling had tapered off as suddenly as it had begun, but he knew there was something—someone—at the edge of his conscious, waiting, listening … controlling?

If not Chompers, who? Or … what?

A frown as she straightened. “No. He’s with me.”

Aden looked her over. She wore a long black robe, thin straps tying the material on her shoulders. Two tugs, and that robe would drop to the floor, and he could drink from her neck, her chest, even her thighs. Any place he wanted, really.

He gripped the solid gold arms of the throne to ensure his hands behaved. Where were these thoughts coming from? Earlier, he hadn’t been able to decide if he even liked this girl. Now he was imagining undressing her and feasting on her?

“You’re sure about Chompers?” he croaked.

“Completely. I’m warded from neck to ankle just to keep him under control, but I can still hear him.”

A miracle he didn’t ask for proof.

“Let’s talk about this tomorrow, after your medication has worn off,” she said on a sigh. “All right?”

He watched her lips as she spoke. They were red and lush, and he wanted to bite them, too.

Maybe he hadn’t taken enough blood from the human. Wait. Scratch maybe. He hadn’t. Otherwise, his mouth would not be watering. His gums would not be aching, his muscles clenching.

“Aden?”

He almost leaped from the throne and threw himself at her. If he didn’t look away, he would throw himself at her. “Stand behind me.” Please.

The demand was harsher than he’d intended, but he didn’t apologize.

Shock rather then affront claimed her delicate features. Then her eyes narrowed, and she pivoted, standing beside him rather than behind him as ordered.

He could still feel the heat of her body, the warmth of her breath trekking over him. Close vicinity of any kind was also a problem, then. But before he could send her away, a female moan echoed, followed by the grunt of a male. Instinctively Aden reached for the daggers strapped to his ankles.

There were no daggers strapped to his ankles.

Didn’t matter. He stood, surveying his throne room. His subjects had yet to enter—he could hear them gathering outside the room, speculating about what he desired. How long would they—

A couple locked in a heated kiss entered through the far left door. The male had his back to Aden, was walking the female toward a column, pressing her against it. Aden saw dark hair in disarray and a T-shirt ripped along the ribs. Saw jeans worn loose and bagging around lean hips. In fact, the only things holding up those jeans were the girl’s legs.