Page 133 of Princess Avenged

“Fuck!” I yell into the dark void that’s clearly an interrogation room. Shit. It’s got to be DEFTA, the biggest and most powerful vampire syndicate in the North East—hell, the entire country. How the hell did they snag me this time? I can think of several reasons as to why…

Using my night vision I confirm my suspicions, spotting DEFTA’s coat of arms on a plaque at the end of the room—a lovely little number featuring a seventeenth century carving of a man, ridiculously wearing a tall, wide brimmed hat and fancy long coat while wrestling a bear.

The Dutch and English Fur Trading Alliance publicly rebranded themselves as DEFTA during the anti-fur movements of the last century. Not that DEFTA was much involved in the fur trade for the better part of two hundred years before that.

Instead, the syndicate has been in the business of controlling the vampires of the Philadelphia area and beyond, under the guise of protecting us from humans and their wooden stakes. But humans are easily tamed—evidence the thirsty wench I fucked last night. These DEFTA assholes are just out for power and they hate vamps like me who refuse to join their little club and play along with their rules.

But humans have become a more lethal annoyance the past couple of decades. The unveiling of vampires as real has made it more challenging for an honest vamp to get a tasty meal without hassle. Dishonest ones like me, too.

Past several years, humans have gotten better at spotting us, more proficient with stakes, and have started using unfair tricks like silver netting, and I sure as shit hope humans don’t know about whatever got into my bloodstream last night.

Lights come on, and I blink against the sudden change.

Behind me, a door opens and the distinct scent of two vampires enters the room—presumably along with their actual bodies. I grin at my unspoken joke.

One of the vamps positions himself in front of me and, dressed in an overstuffed business suit, he spreads his muscled legs beyond hip width, like some kind of power stance. What a joke.

Slowly, as if I could care less, I let my gaze drift up his body, finding his arms crossed over his chest—typical—and I glare with hatred when my eyes reach his gloating face, framed by unnaturally blond hair, even though it’s been that color for the couple of hundred years that I’ve known the asshole.

Diederik Van de Berg, DEFTA’s chief gorilla.

“Hello Ricky,” I say to the security head. “Nice place you have here. Thanks for having me over.”

The side of his mouth quirks up in a half grin that develops into a full on sneer. The vampire’s eyes are a dull hazel made even more dull by his personality.

I tug up on the bindings. “Is this really necessary?” I fight my reaction to the pain and the smell of my burning skin.

“Can I trust you to behave?” Diederik asks.

I want to smack the arrogance right off his face. “Don’t I always behave?”

“If you did, I wouldn’t have had to resort to such measures.”

“Touché.” I glare at him, but he makes no move to release my cuffs. “Who’s your buddy?” I ask. Whoever else is in the room, it’s another vampire, male, and standing just out of my sight, even when I look over my shoulder.

Diederik shifts his gaze to his companion and a tall vampire with smooth, light brown skin steps into view. He’s also dressed in a business suit, but his is way fancier and so pristine it’s like it’s hanging on a mannequin. I wonder if he’s ever sat down in the thing.

“This is Zuben,” Diederik says, “Senior Vice President of Research and Compliance.”

The expressionless man is carrying a tablet in his left hand, and standing so stiffly he might have a literal pole up his ass. His skin is smooth, his features perfect and striking, and it’s hard to believe that he’s real. I much prefer my fuck partners to be female, but even I can’t deny this guy is hot.

Given the name Zuben, he’s probably Egyptian, or was at some time in the past. But he doesn’t seem old, definitely not one of the Ancients. The guy can’t have been a vampire more than a few hundred years. I’d guess we’re contemporaries in terms of time spent sucking blood.

I lean toward Diederik. “Cute robot.”

“Very funny, Ryker,” Diederik replies.

“I’m a veritable barrel of laughs.” I stretch a leg forward, or rather I try to, but discover they’re bound as well. At least my leather slacks partially shield my ankle from the pain. “Take these fucking things off.”

“My security team is watching the room,” Diederik says. “If you try anything?—”

“What would I try?” Lifting my fingers, I shake my head. “Seems this time you’ve outsmarted me, Ricky.”

His lips twitch, and I try not to grin. Yes, he did capture me, and I may currently be trapped inside his little room—and I hate being trapped—but we both know who has the upper hand, who always has the upper hand. That would be me. Even if I don’t play my trump card.

Reaching back to the desk behind him, Diederik touches a button, and the silver cuffs snap open around my wrists and ankles.

Gripping the arms of the cast iron chair, I bite down on the hiss that escapes my mouth when the burning metal leaves my skin.

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