Page 26 of Stalked By Seduction and Shadows

I knew that other than the infamous magickal tattoos that Rune’s turned clan donned, what made vampires recognizable were their fangs and heightened speed, strength, and beauty. Turned vampires were frozen in time, some younger or older, but all had an unmistakable allure and attractiveness gained from their mysterious transformation process. How humans became vampires was a strictly kept secret, but of course, rumors were rampant, and everyone thought they knew the real answer. The witches in Crescent Haven swore up and down it involved a deal with Lillian and some sort of ritualistic sacrifice. The one common thread from all theories was that turning was both difficult and risky, a process that only a percentage of willing humans survived.

Because born vampires had never been human, rather immortals descended from Lillian herself, they held no regard for mortal life. Ironically, being closer to the gods only made them more animal than man, no matter how ethereally captivating they appeared. Born vampires reached adulthood and then halted, immortalized in their prime: beautiful, psychopathic, and inhuman.

The world had needed the turned. They were vampires and therefore never to be trusted, but they’d fought with humans, shifters, and witches in the war against the born. They’d fought for themselves, for power and supremacy too, but at least now there was some semblance of protection for the mortals of Valentin.

Or maybe there was only the illusion of protection. Because my sister had been plucked from dry lands to be treated like livestock, and Rune’s city was overflowing with wealth, beauty, and desire—the perfect distraction from an underground network of sin and violence.

There was no way he didn’t know, not when he and his clan were the most powerful force in Valentin. Not when he sent mortals to the ground in a mess of piss and fear at his mention.

Not me, though.

If I ever saw the lord of the vampires, I would demand he enforce his own laws and find my damn sister.

By the time I’d found Adair’s landlord friend, bartered a decent monthly rent, and found myself in a tiny third-floor unit in a tall stone building on a bustling street, I was slammed with a wave of exhaustion.

Yet, as I collapsed against a bare mattress, I listened to the steady flow of voices and laughter outside my window with an uncontrollable smile.

My lips twitched, faltering. It was wrong to be grinning when my sister was currently enduring unspeakable torture at the hands of soulless demons.

But I was depleted and boneless, slap-happy with raw adrenaline and whiplash from this abrupt reality shift. And there was this unmistakable energy in the air that I couldn’t put a name to—like endless possibility, infinite paths that intertwined and converged—and I was right in the center of it all.

By city standards, I was broke. I had little practical knowledge of Aristelle after Jaxon and I willfully ignored it in all of our planning and studying. I was an untrained, physically weak and small-statured human, and apparently vampires loved how I smelled. Which was ew and also not a great sign.

But I was here. I was inside a cramped but acceptable apartment, and the city had welcomed me into its fold no matter what jaded rural mortals said about it. I hadn’t had my throat ripped out yet, and that was encouraging enough to hold fast to hope.

I wasn’t delusional, or, at least, I was self-aware of my own delusions. I knew that finding my sister was about as likely as sprouting firebird wings and flying off into the sunset. I also knew that both of us making it back to Crescent Haven alive was so far out of the realm of possibility that telling anyone my intentions was out of the question. No one needed to know my current state of insanity but me.

As my eyelids drooped, I thought about the feathery weight of our parents’ ashes in our small palms. I knew, under my layers of shock and impulse, that I couldn’t save my sister on my own. I also knew that she didn’t deserve my martyrdom, and that she wouldn’t have come to Aristelle if it had been me who’d been taken.

There it was—the gnawing, icy, suffocating truth of it all.

It should have been me.

15

RUNE

“I’ll let them know you’ll be coming in tonight,” Race said with a nod before departing the dining room.

Mason stared at me from across the long wooden table. Several of my top clan members sat between us on either side. Chalices were full of fresh human blood, and platters of food were placed artfully around tall black candles and equally dark onyx roses. Mason cocked her head slightly, and I stared at her blankly in response to her silent probing.

“Blowing off some steam?” Uriah asked, my third-in-command. He smirked at me as he shoveled steak and roasted vegetables into his mouth. His shoulder-length honey blond hair fell into his face, and he pushed it behind his ears as he chewed.

I sipped blood from my cup. It was already losing its richness, its vitality. Blood was most nourishing straight from the tap. Our willing donor was in the next room getting her wrist patched up by a healer witch. We could’ve passed her around and fed from her delicate neck instead. She would’ve enjoyed that. But I needed this meal to maintain some level of focus and decorum, and open wounds were distracting to any vampire no matter how powerful and well-trained.

Well, all but me, of course.

“I’m ensuring that those who run our most profitable asset see the consequences of any mismanagement in the flesh,” I said. My gaze swept over the table, all humor draining from my curved lips. “Traffickers are getting bolder. As is Durian. He’s no longer bothering to hide his connection to the flesh trade. He’s gotten cocky.”

“The born thugs are calling him Lillian’s chosen son,” Gerrie said, one of my most slippery and all-seeing eyes. His black hair was a sharp contrast to the impossible paleness of his skin. “His influence has become more than just economic. It’s also become both religious and political, creating the most dangerous of trifectas.”

“Ah yes, because it’s so like the Dark Goddess to bless some nobody slum lord to carry out her divine will,” Uriah muttered. “Let’s flame the motherfuckers.”

“The kingdom is sending dignitaries our way in one month,” Mason reminded all of us. “As much as I want to see the creepy blond fuck and his demon scum burn, we have to avoid escalation. Violence needs to happen behind closed doors only. It cannot under any circumstances make it to the streets. Not right now.”

“Yes, mother,” Uriah said, pouting his lip and crossing his arms. “We will commit atrocities in the designated torture and killing zones only.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips turned up at the thought of teaching Durian his long-awaited, gruesome lesson.

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