Page 13 of Fated In Blood

He was so powerfully built he made Bosch look like a schoolboy, but instead of leather and boots, he was dressed in a fine wool suit, shining wingtip shoes, and pressed shirt, his silk tie an appropriate deep red for the occasion.

I realized something else, then.

If either of these males had decided to stalk me through the streets of Thorndale, my silver knives would not have saved me. And even so, I couldn’t look away, not until they were swallowed up by the crowd.

“Fucking hell. Nobody told me the king would be here tonight.Do not move.” Bosch shoved me firmly back in my place, then was gone.

Like…disappeared.

I’d heard vampires could vanish into thin air but had never seen the phenomenon for myself. The vampires I lured to their deaths were always so intent on sucking me dry, they never noticed the silver knives until it was too late.

Probably because the wolfsbane in their systems meant they couldn’t vanish.

I kept my head down, threading my way through the gauntlet of claws and teeth, fighting to keep my heart rate even while the weight of hungry stares stalked me, fear oozing from my every pore.

The king, Bosch had called the male who’d passed through, the crowd still murmuring in excitement. Did that mean they had an actual vampire king who ruled them? Hemusthave been, the way the crowd had parted for him.

I didn’t stop moving until I reached a sheltered spot, hidden from the balcony overhead, out of the path of the traffic funneling straight toward the rear of the castle, presumably where the slave auction was taking place.

I opened my purse, made a big show of applying more lip gloss while firmly plugging in my earplugs, then dropped the tube back in my bag, cradling a small, barely noticeable device in my other hand. Then I headed for the magnificent wooden staircase where two carved dragons serving as newel posts, their sinuous, undulating bodies forming the railings leading up to the second-floor balcony.

The closer I got, the tighter the lump in my throat grew.

They were so beautifully carved every scale was perfectly defined, mouthfuls of vicious teeth on full display, clawed feet gripping the tiled floor, every talon sharp as a razor.

Fucking works of art.

What a shame I was about to lay them to waste.

7

RIORDAN

Ihated this fucking castle, but not as much as Blake did.

His fury grew with every step until a trail of shadow followed him like he’d dragged the night in here with him. I kept moving, past the line of guards loyal only to Lord Tyrell, past the soulless sycophants who were my subjects, measuring me for the slightest sign of weakness.

A weak king presented an opportunity because strength was the only language these foul creatures understood.

They bowed before me and I raked my cold gaze over them like a knife, disgusted by the grotesque display of wealth and brutal depravity.

Every vampire here represented the worst of our species, degenerate enough to attend Tyrell’s quarterly auction. Whether to buy a slave or to simply watch the proceedings, the why’s hardly mattered.

If only I could burn this castle down with everyone inside…but I could not.

God help me, I couldn’t, and I shoved through Tyrell’s office door in a temper, sending the candle flames dancing along the walls.

An entire fucking week this bastard kept me waiting, putting off this meeting until tonight, the one night I did not want to set foot in this godforsaken mausoleum. Did not want to see the atrocities he perpetuated, the careless debauchery my kind was capable of.

We’d been here five minutes and I already felt fucking filthy.

Laurent Marcellus Tyrell was age-appropriately powerful, dark magic seeping from him like an unstoppable winter storm as he waited behind his desk, one hand stretched before him, too long nails drumming against the wood.

Rumor had it Tyrell had been one of Marcus Aurelius’s top generals, that Caine himself had personally turned him but refused to make Tyrell part of his inner circle of Elders.

Given Laurent’s unflagging arrogance, that oversight had to chafe.

The Ancient had brutally aggressive features including a hooked Roman nose and blond hair pulled back from a face dominated by piercing blue eyes that always held the faintest hint of disapproval. He’d been bigger once, but brute physicality had become a different kind of strength, one infinitely more dangerous.

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