Читать книгу Lord of the Vampires - Gena Showalter - Страница 10

They called him Nicolai. He didn’t know if that was his real name. He didn’t know anything about himself, really. Whenever he attempted to remember, his head throbbed with unbearable pain and his mind shut down. All he knew was that he was a vampire, and the females here were witches. That, and he despised this kingdom and its people—and he would destroy them. One day. Soon. Just as he’d destroyed one of their precious princesses.

Anticipation rushed through him. His captors thought him weak, ineffective. They kept him on the razor edge of hunger, giving him a drop of blood in the morning and a drop of blood at night. That was all. He was teased and tormented constantly. Especially by the Princess Laila. So highborn, but look at you now. At my feet, mine to do with as I wish.

Highborn? He would find out.

They assumed, just because he was chained and starved, he could not harm them. They had no idea of the power that swirled inside him. Power that was caged, like him, but still there, ready to burst free at any moment.

Soon, he thought again, grinning darkly.

They’d had their healer bind his powers, as well as wipe his memory, and they made no secret of those facts. Why they’d done the latter, however, they’d never said. What did they not want him to remember? Again, he would find out.

What they didn’t know was that the witch had lacked Nicolai’s inner strength, and already a few of his abilities had seeped through that mental cage, allowing him to summon a woman who could set him free.

A woman who had at last arrived. Urgency and relief rushed through him, driving him to pace, back and forth, back and forth, his bare feet pounding into the cold concrete, his chains rattling. Even his guards were shocked by the miracle of Princess Odette’s appearance. Or rather, the girl they assumed was Princess Odette.

The real Odette was dead. He’d made sure of it. He had drained her, stabbed her, then shoved her over the cliffs outside this palace. Excessively violent, perhaps, but an enemy was an enemy, and his temper had been roused. And, as he’d known, not even the most powerful of witches could recover from that. Hurry, female. I need you.

Nicolai had spent countless days, weeks, years—he wasn’t sure—with Odette before he’d killed her. She was the one who had purchased him at the Sex Market, after all. She’d been a cruel girl, with a taste for delivering pain, unable to reach her climax until her unwilling partner screamed.

She had never climaxed with Nicolai.

Remaining silent had been a source of pride for him. No matter the instruments used on him, no matter how many males and females the bitch had allowed to touch and use him, he had only ever smiled.

When Odette took him outside the palace, threatening to throw him over the cliffs if he continued to defy her, he was finally given an opportunity to strike. She’d made the mistake of leaving his muzzle behind. She’d also made the mistake of stepping within his reach, chained though he’d been. He’d fallen on her, pinned her and sunk his fangs into her neck. Starved as he’d been, he’d drained her in minutes. And after that last, life-ending gulp, he’d stabbed her with her own dagger, just to be sure, and shoved her over the precipice.

Too late had the guard realized what had happened, and Nicolai had turned on him, ready for another snack. They’d fought like animals. More beastlike than most, Nicolai had won. The guard had never stood a chance, really. When provoked or hungry, vampires became frenzied and ravenous—unpredictable, uncontrollable predators who scented prey.

As he’d drained his second victim, Princess Laila had swooped in. Having coveted her older sister’s right to the throne, as well as her possessions, including Nicolai himself, she had watched Odette, waiting for the perfect time to act.

Nicolai had inadvertently given it to her. She and her guards had moved faster than his gaze could track, unfettered magic giving them strength and speed, and though his first meal in weeks had rallied him, the chains had slowed him down. He’d been overpowered with embarrassing ease.

Footsteps suddenly sounded, followed by the waft of something sweet in the air, both catching his attention. Nicolai stiffened and stilled, his ears twitching, his mouth watering. Absolute hunger bathed him, his stomach twisting. Must … taste … female …

The desire did not spring from his mind, but from deep inside him. An instinct, a need.

Usually those footsteps heralded the arrival of Laila’s servants, sent to drag him up the stairs and into her bedroom. This time, a plump redhead rounded the corner. He inhaled deeply, growled. Not her. She was not the source of that sweetness.

Nicolai stopped breathing, hoping his head would clear, if only for a moment. He was so damn hungry for the one responsible … had to see her. He rooted his feet in the center of his cage, his pallet behind him, thick bars in front of him, waiting. Who would next enter the dungeon?

And then, he saw her. The summoned female. His “Odette.”

He sucked in another breath. Her. She was responsible. A second growl rose, this one straight from his soul. Must taste female.

She did not smell like the real Odette. To everyone else, she would. She would smell of too-strong floral perfume mixed with the raw ooze of a putrid wound—evidence of her rotting heart. But to him … oh, to him … He inhaled again, unable to stop himself. Mistake. The sweetness, thicker now, almost tangible, fogged his mind. Must. Taste. His fangs and gums actually ached with the need to sample her. Must taste.

He studied her, his blood practically on fire. Anyone who looked at her would see the mask his shifted glammor had created. The mystical illusion of being someone else. Hair as dark as the Abyss, eyes of vivid emerald, skin as pale as cream. But that was where the gift of her father’s famed beauty ended, and the cruelty of her mother’s ugliness revealed itself. Odette was tall yet thickly built, her cheeks puffed from excess, her jaw squared with jowls. Her dark brows were substantial, and nearly connected in the center. Her nose was long with a definite hook.

What Nicolai saw, however, was the woman his summoning had chosen. The one from his dreams. Dreams in which she stood off to the side, watching him, never speaking. Dreams he had not understood. Until now. All along, his magic had known what he needed.

She was just as tall as Odette, but reed slender, with hair the color of a honeycomb. Her eyes were seductively uptilted, a shade darker than her hair, and filled with haunting secrets. Her skin was slightly bronzed and radiant, as if the sun was hidden underneath. Her cheeks were perfectly sculpted, her chin stubborn and yet delicate.

Delicate, yes. That’s what she was. Amorously delicate, utterly fragile and delightfully feminine. Almost … breakable. Would he kill her when he drank from her? And he would drink from her. He would not be able to resist that scent for long.

The protector in him rose up—a part of him he had not known existed, not for some stranger—demanding that he sweep her away from this and save her from the horror to come. Horror he would be responsible for. Not only from his dark embrace, but also from the evil of those around her. The people of Delfina wouldn’t savor her blood if they learned the truth of her identity. They would spill it and kill her. Painfully.

Do you want your freedom or the girl out of harm’s way? You can’t have both.

He hardened his heart. He wanted his freedom.

Their gazes locked a second later, a shock of awareness blasting him. Perhaps she felt it, too, for she gasped, stumbled. She righted herself and stopped at the bars, her amber eyes wide, her lush, pink mouth open, revealing straight white teeth. She held a book.

Taste her.

He wished he could see her tongue. Wished he could capture that tongue with his own. His desire surprised him. How long since he’d experienced true, willing arousal?

“You’re real,” she whispered, gripping the metal with her free hand. She squeezed so tightly her knuckles bleached of color. “You’re really here. And you look exactly as I dreamed.”

He nodded stiffly—and that wasn’t the only stiff thing about him. His cock filled, lengthening, thickening. “I am real, yes.” She’d dreamed of him, as he’d dreamed of her? He liked the idea.

He motioned to the servant with a tilt of his chin. Get rid of her.

Her attention whipped to the girl, and she uttered another gasp, as though startled to find they weren’t alone. “You may go, Rhoslyn. And thank you for bringing me here.”

“Anything for you, princess.” Expression softening with her relief, Rhoslyn curtsied. She raced around the corner and pounded up the stairs.

“You are confused,” Nicolai said. How harsh his voice was, pushing through his teeth and slicing up his tone.

A shiver slid down her slight frame as she faced him. “Yes. One minute I was at home, reading a book—about you! The next I was here. How am I here? Where is here? At first, I thought I was hallucinating or that this was a joke, but that isn’t right. I know that isn’t right. I’m calm. I see, I feel.”

“No hallucination, and no joke.” His frown deepened, his fangs cutting into his bottom lip. Just a taste, one little taste. “You were reading a book about me? Is that it?”

Her gaze fell to his teeth, and she gulped. “Yes. Written by you, I think.” Her voice was as soft and delicate as her features. “Or at least, part of it was. But no, this isn’t it. This one is blank. Or maybe this is it, but the writing just hasn’t happened yet.”

To his knowledge, he had not written a book, and had not sent a book to anyone. That did not mean anything, however. The memory of doing so could be buried with all the rest of his past.

He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the scent of her—and felt the ache in his gums intensify. He was walking toward her, determined to grab her, bite her.

When he realized what he was doing, he forced himself to stop. He would scare her, and she would scream. Guards would rush inside to save her.

He could cover her mouth with one hand, of course, and tilt her back with the other, giving himself a wide playing field. He could lick … finally, blessedly taste …

Concentrate. “Do you know who I am?” Again, his tone was harsh, demanding. “Have you met me before? Besides in your dreams?” “No.”

Disappointing. “I will explain everything. Later,” he lied. The less she knew, now and in the future, the better it would be for her. “Right now, we must hurry.” Ever since he’d woken up in the slave market—weeks, months, years ago?—he’d been driven by more than a need to feed and escape. He’d been driven by an urge to reach the kingdom of Elden.

He must get there. And soon. More than that, he must slay the new king. He didn’t know why, he just knew that even thinking of the man filled him with rage. And every day that this man lived, a piece of Nicolai died. The knowledge was separate from his memories, springing from the same place as his need to taste this woman.

Taste. How many times would he think the word?

Countless. Until he got what he wanted, he was sure.

“Give me your arm.” He licked his lips at the thought of touching her, of knowing the texture of her skin. “I will mark you.” A little nip of her wrist, and he would stop. He would make himself stop. For now.

She shook her head, honeycomb hair dancing over her shoulders. “No. Explain now. Afterward, we’ll talk about the marking thing, whatever that is.”

Surely the female was not as stubborn as she seemed. “We might be separated.” Before she freed him. “I want to know where you are at all times.”

“Uh, I’m not sure how I feel about someone knowing where I am at all times. But again, we’ll discuss it.

After.”

All right, she was more stubborn than she seemed.

“As you can see, I have been enslaved. Tortured.” Uttering the words enraged him further. He should never have allowed himself to be placed in this situation. He should have been stronger. He was stronger. But he had no idea how he’d ended up in the Sex Market. “I don’t even—”

“Know if your name is really Nicolai. Blah, blah, blah. I know. I told you, I read a few passages of the book. I just don’t understand this.” She motioned to the prison, to him, to her gown. “‘Jane, I need you,’ you said. How did you know to write to me when we’ve never met?” Desperation wafted from her. “Unless I came here before, but returned home to a time before we’d met, and my dreams were echoes of what was to be. That would mean history is now looping, but of course, that creates a paradox, and—”

“Enough.” Jane. Her name was Jane. Somehow familiar, causing his arousal to ramp up … up. Maybe because the syllable was as soft and lyrical as her strange—though slight—accent. Focus. If she had asked anyone else these questions … “What have you mentioned to the others?”

“Nothing.” She laughed without humor. “I don’t know them.”

“Good. That’s good.” But she knew him, even though they had only seen each other in their dreams? As he had claimed to know her in that book? Something more was going on here. “Where are you from, Jane?” “Oklahoma.”

Oklahoma was not part of this magical realm. “You are human, then? Not a witch?”

A sweep of dark lashes, momentarily hiding undiluted shock. And pride. “I was right. I crossed over, didn’t I?”

“Jane. I asked you a question.” And he was used to getting answers immediately. He felt it in his bones.

“Yes, I’m human, and no, I’m not a witch. But you, you’re a vampire.”

He nodded. He knew this realm coexisted alongside the mortal world—a world mostly ignorant of what surrounded them.

Crossing over, as she had mentioned, happened more often than it should. How and why, though, no one knew. One moment you would be talking to a shifter or fighting an ogre, and the next moment a human would be in his place. And if not a human, a useless, bendable object.

Disappointment nearly felled Nicolai. Why had his magic chosen this woman? What good was a human here? Even so luscious a human? If Jane were asked to perform a ritual, as Odette had often been asked, she would be unable. She would fail. Everyone would know she was not who she claimed to be, before he could get what he wanted.

He had to act faster than planned.

“Listen. I summoned you here, and I am the one who protects you.” A small truth meant to pacify her. “Trust no one else. Only me.” A lie meant to save him. For once she set him free, he truly planned to leave. This palace—and her. As unstable as his abilities were, he could not remove the mask that made her Odette while they were together without the possibility of sending her home. Plus, he needed her able to travel freely through this palace as only a princess could. What a princess couldn’t do was travel unfettered outside these walls.

The moment she let him go, Jane would have nothing but her wits to shield her.

Guilt filled him. Before the emotion had time to settle, develop roots and grow, he ground it into powder and scattered every speck. He could not soften. No matter how desperately he craved this woman’s blood.

“So, you wield some type of magic?” she said. “All right. I can roll with the idea of a magical vampire. But really, a lot of people assume science is magic, so are we talking about planar, natural, runic, divine or metaphysical, because I can—”

“Jane.” She was a babbler. He found the trait … charming. He frowned. Charming? Truly? The need to taste her must be clouding his judgment.

Abashed, she smiled. “I’m sorry. Curiosity and puzzles are my downfall. At least, they used to be. I thought I’d come to hate them, but, well, as you can see, that’s no longer the case.”

That smile … had he ever seen so open and innocent a sight? Another spark of guilt ignited in his chest, but again, he quickly ground and scattered it. Easier done this time, as the force of his arousal intensified, becoming his sole focus.

No. Only escape mattered, he told himself.

“Why me?” she asked. “I mean, how did you know to summon me?”

He’d wanted a female susceptible to the lure of a vampire, one untainted by the evil of the Queen of Hearts, one who was not afraid of blood, who would understand his plight. He told her none of that. He knew women—or, at least, thought he did—and knew it would not please her. “Order my release. Now. Hurry.”

Frustration suddenly radiated from her. “How?” she demanded.

“Summon the guard,” he said. “Tell them to unchain me, that you wish to take me to your bedchamber. Then, tell them to bring the healer to us.”

“The healer?” Her concerned gaze swept over him. “Are you hurt?”

No. But the healer had bound his memories and powers, and so the healer could easily free them. And, he mused darkly, he wanted to kill the bitch. “I do not hear you calling for the guard, Jane.”

“Then your ears are working perfectly, Nicolai. So, the guards will do what I tell them?” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that?”

“In their minds, you are the princess Odette. Oldest daughter of their queen, and soon to be their ruler.” Nicolai finally allowed himself to stride the rest of the way to the bars, his chains rattling. Closing in … “They will do anything you tell them to do.”

She released the metal and backed away before he could touch her. As if he were dirty, unworthy. He probably was. “Yes, but why do they believe I’m Odette?”

A muscle ticked below his eye. Her continued questioning irritated him, yes, but her distance irritated him more. When close to her, the scent of her was nearly overpowering and so delectable he was probably drooling. “Because.”

“Because why?”

Stubborn baggage. “Because my … vampire magic made them,” he said flatly. To tell her more was to, perhaps, send her running. Humans were so easily frightened by what they did not understand.

For the moment, he needed this woman on his side, and calm. Although, to be honest, she’d handled things very well so far.

“How?” she insisted.

He shook the bars. “Do as I told you, Jane. We must hurry.”

She arched a brow. “You’re cute when you’re ordering me around, you know that?” The color in her cheeks brightened, and her breath became shallow. “And you … you smell like sandalwood.”

She liked his scent as much as he liked hers, he realized. It aroused her. Her nipples were pearling beneath her robe, begging for a touch, a kiss. Did her belly quiver? Was she already moist between her legs?

His hands fisted at his sides. “I don’t know why I’m here or how they captured me, but I do know that I don’t belong here. I know that if I stay, I will be tortured again and again. Tell me you are not like them, Jane. Tell me you do not like to watch a man be tortured.”

Her dark gaze fell to the metal linked around his neck, then dipped lower, perhaps following the beads of dried blood that rode the ropes of his stomach before stopping at his tented loincloth.

Another shiver from her. “I don’t,” she said on a broken wisp of air. “But what happens if they realize I’m not truly Odette?”

“They won’t find out.” This lie did not leave him smoothly. “All right? All you need to know to aid the illusion is that you bought me at the Sex Market. You own me. Demand my release, and escort me to your—”

The sound of footsteps echoed, and Nicolai pressed his lips together. Jane tensed. An audience, exactly what they did not need right now. Then Laila rounded the corner, a scowl marring her already ugly face. She was as short and squat as her mother, her cheeks just as padded as Odette’s, and her jowls just as noticeable.

Without the hooked nose, however, she was the “beauty” of the family. The length of her dark hair was coiled on top of her head, ringlets hanging at her temples. She wore an opulent gown of bright green velvet to match her eyes, though there was nothing in this kingdom or any other that could make her attractive. The evil of her soul was simply too dark.

A silver timepiece hung from a chain around her neck. She was never without it, and the sight of it never failed to twist Nicolai’s stomach with rage. Why?

She ground to a halt when she spotted Jane, hurriedly smoothing her features into a doting expression. “What are you doing here, sister dear? And in your nightgown, no less.” An anxious laugh. “You should be resting. We don’t want you getting sick, do we? You’ve already suffered so much.”

Her voice never failed to disgust him, either. He’d heard it over him, under him, behind him, her warm breath trekking over his skin. Now, so close to escape, he had to bite his tongue to hold his curses inside.

Soon, he would destroy her.

Jane gulped, looked at him.

Do what I told you, Jane, he projected at her, a part of him resenting the need to do so. He’d never had to beg for anything in his life. He’d always—a sharp ache erupted in his temples, cutting off his thoughts. A memory, dead and gone before it had a chance to live.

“You are Princess Laila. My sister. Yes.” Jane breathed deeply, squared her shoulders, and faced her “sister.” “He’s—he’s mine. I own him.” What she lacked in conviction she made up for with determination.

Good girl.

Laila gritted her too-white teeth, and shifted from one sandaled foot to the other. “Yes, but you were gone, darling. I took over his care. He’s mine now.” She stroked the timepiece. “In situations such as this, Mother always sides with the one in possession.”

“I don’t care. He’s mine.”

“Odette, be reasonable.” How patient Laila appeared. A falsehood. “He attempted to slay you once, and nearly succeeded. He is too much for you to handle and I have grown used to—”

“I said he’s mine.”

Good girl, he thought again. So badly Nicolai wished he could unleash the torrent of power inside him, now rather than later. He would crush Laila, smile when she screamed, laugh when she died, then raze this palace brick by brick and dance atop the rubble.

Soon. The word was a constant inside him.

He didn’t know what powers he could wield, or if they’d be strong enough to do everything he wanted to this kingdom. Absolute, total destruction. But he wasn’t worried. Were his powers not too weak, he would raise his army and they would march—

Another ache tore through his head, another memory destroyed. He hissed from the pain, clearing his mind before he shut down completely.

Both women flicked him a glance before refocusing on each other. But Laila’s attention quickly returned to him, to his erection—still pulsing with need of Jane—and her mouth hung open with shock. “You’re aroused.”

Silent, he reached under his loincloth and stroked his length up and down, taunting her with what he’d never willingly offered her.

Laila gave a strangled choke, her eyes widening as she faced her sister. “How did you arouse him?”

“I—I—” Jane blushed as becomingly as she smiled. So innocent and sweet, sunlight and moonlight twined together. Taste.

“Never mind,” Laila snapped, all pretense of love and patience vanishing. “It doesn’t matter. Mother’s on a rampage and demands a word with you. She mourned your death for days, and was ecstatic by your return. But that happiness will not save you from a whipping if you continue to defy her.”

A mother, mourning her child for days. How sweet, Nicolai mentally sneered. But then, the Queen of Hearts was known as a brutal tyrant, an unforgiving bitch and a power hungry murderer. Nicolai’s own mother had—

He clenched his jaw against the pain.

“I heard you were on your way down here,” Laila went on, “and came to get you. You don’t want to keep your queen waiting, do you?”

“I—I—”

“No. You don’t.”

Damn this. Jane was letting Laila direct her, proving she had not the strength of will to lead. His one and only chance for escape was withering with every second that passed.

“Laila, no. I—”

“Your poor, addled mind hasn’t yet recovered from your fall, has it, darling? But you like having skin on your back, I know you do. Guards,” Laila called.

Jane twisted her fingers together, clearly agitated.

“I—I—there’s no need. I don’t want to be whipped, but I really need to—”

Two armed guards swung around the corner and stopped behind Princess Laila. They kept their gazes straight ahead as they awaited orders.

If they touched Jane, Nicolai would execute them. He would cut their throats, and spit on their remains. The ferocity of the thought should have surprised him. Jane was here for one purpose, and one purpose only, whether she acted like it or not, and remaining untouched by the citizens of Delfina was not it. Surprised, Nicolai wasn’t. Nothing would stop him from attacking these men in cold blood. Jane was his. His savior, his to handle. Only his. No one else was allowed.

Until he left her.

He bit his tongue so hard he tasted his own blood.

“Muzzle the prisoner and cart him to my chamber,” Laila commanded, and he relaxed somewhat. The men weren’t here for Jane, then. “My sister and I will visit with the queen.”

“No,” Nicolai growled before he could stop himself.

“No?” Astonished, Laila leveled her attention on him. She wrapped her fat little fingers around the timepiece hanging from her neck and squeezed. “You dare issue commands, slave? To me?”

“Odette stays.” Jane might have fooled the servants and her sister, but she would not find the Queen of Hearts so gullible. She had groomed Odette in her image, and no one knew her better. Jane and her odd speech would be found out. Killed before Nicolai could use her.

Heart … hardening.

Softening …

Laila floundered. “You’ll try and kill her again. That’s why you want her here. I know it. That’s why you’re pretending to desire her.”

He flicked his tongue over his fangs. “I need inside her. That’s why I want her here.”

Once again, Jane blushed.

“You … you’re lying,” Laila stammered. “You hate her. You wouldn’t want to bed her.” “I crave her.”

A pause, heavy with tension. Motions clipped, Laila closed the distance between her and her sister and wrapped an arm around Jane’s waist. “Don’t listen to him. He’ll say anything to gain a second chance to harm you. Come now. I’ll protect you.”

“No!” Jane jumped from Laila’s embrace and glared up at the guards. “Take Nicolai to my chamber, but don’t muzzle him. And tell M-Mother that I’m in need of rest. I’ll speak to her later.”

Laila paled as the men leaped into action. Seconds later, hinges were squeaking as the door to Nicolai’s cage swung open. There were more footsteps, then a key was inserted into the metal base that pinned him to the wall.

His relief was palpable.

“But … but, Odette. You are placing yourself in danger,” Laila said, desperate.

“He. Is. Mine. Nothing more needs to be said.”

Wrong words. The claim—he is mine—affected him, giving birth to a savage animal inside him. Hers, he was hers, and he would have her before he left her, no matter the consequences. Over and over again. In every way imaginable. He would drink her, and possess her body.

There would be no stopping him, no reasoning with him. Not now.