Page 26 of The Depraved Prince
I close Millie’s diary.I’ve been reading it since I took her.
After Millie smashed the lamp over me, I became enraged to the point where I didn’t have control and blacked out. My memories of that night are of a dark fog. All I know is that her father entered the house shortly after.
I walk into my father’s council room, where he holds intimate meetings. It’s his vampire man cave filled with blood in glasses that have rare jewels decorated on the glass bottles. He's pouring himself a glass of O-negative blood. We usually do this once a week to give into the cravings, to hold the temptations at bay. To prevent us from going into town and slaughtering innocents for their blood.
Our human servants bring them in for us.
“Hayden.”
“Father,” I fleer.
I sit down at the table, throwing my hands behind my head, and slip my feet onto the table, one leg over the other, waiting for him to spill.
“She’s a Valkyrie. I can smell her. Once you entered the state, I could smell her. If the Davenports cross into our regionand enter the state, they’ll know she’s here. They’ll know we’re keeping her, and the first war in centuries will fucking start.”
“I know.” She smells sweet. It’s a cliche way of describing her blood, but it’s the truth. A Valkyrie’s scent is so desirable and thick that it causes any immortal’s fangs to extract just with a slight whiff and our eyes to go feral for it—like a shark in the ocean when it smells blood. A scent that is floral, fruity, serene, and lustrous, begging to be inhaled so much so that we become enchanted.
She’s dangerous.
Valkyries are rare, after all.
“You were right, by the way. There were three Davenports outside her home when I arrived. They ran when they saw me coming.”
“Of course, I was right. This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been around for centuries to know that the Davenports wouldn’t give up on finding her.It was only when they would find her again.” My father sighs.
“They’re cunts,” I spit.
“Hayden,” he scolds. He lifts an impatient brow.
“What? I’m not apologizing for saying it. You’re thinking it, too. Everyone thinks the southern king is a dick.”
“Hayden.” My father’s right-hand man warns me with a low growl. “Disrespect of another king will not be tolerated in this cathedral,” Holland challenges me. His ancient, bony hands curl against the desk until his knuckles turn white. Holland has been around just as long as my father has. He’s never liked me. He’s always favored my little brother Kallum over me. That I can agree with. Kallum follows the rules.
My system of rules results in grey areas. I don’t believe in right or wrong. I don’t thrive in a black-and-white mentality. I believe there’s more to that, and that may be why my father and mother prefer that I take over than the latter…my brother. I lovegrey areas. I love problems. And I love when I get to choose the way I handle it.
“Forgive me, father.” My tone heightens like I’m apologizing, but I’m not. “But I don’t care.” I snarl low. “I’m the only one that shows candor, and I won’t change for you,” I tilt my head towards Holland, “or for anyone.” I lick my lips, leaning over the table. Flashing my white teeth with a big smile that can only be interpreted asI don’t give a flying fuck.
“Enough, you two! Hayden!” My father roars and turns to me. I slowly let my back fall down until it hits the back of the leather chair softly. “There’s only one way to be sure Millie is a Valkyrie.”
I lift an eyebrow. I know what he's implying. He wants to feed on her.
I scoff out a bitter laugh. “Already wanting a bite out of Ms. Flores, father? Mom would find a way to kill you before you sink your fangs into her.” I bite out a laugh, looking at my watch. I’m late for a party and with my midnight fling. Getting drunk and having an emotionless quick fuck, after a long night of traveling sounds like a good time to me, and I don’t want it to go to waste.
"Not me..." He raises a glass to his lips, staring me down with those demanding eyes.
He wants me to bite her?
He's waiting for me to challenge him. Rebel against his order. Anticipating a clash of an argument, but an odd, unfamiliar emotion slithers into my chest.
I’m actually considering it. She’s mouth-watering, after all. Her blood is so rare that wars have been fought over humans like her.
“You want me to bite her? You want me to commit a crime? Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Father?” He’s caught my attention. I lift my legs off the table and rest my elbows onmy thighs, pressing him to tell me I’m wrong, but instead, he nods. He places the empty glass on the wooden table.
“No,” I reply simply, almost robotically. I intertwine my hands together, clenching my jaw.
Once we bite a human from its warm, raw flesh, our emotions go rampant. Anger. Wrath. Lust. When they all mix together, it’s dangerous and can result in their death. It’s why we get it from blood banks most of the time. Over the years, we’ve studied and practiced getting it under control. It’s what makes our soldiers, our warriors, our vampires so lethal.
Control.Strength.Reservation.
