Page 5 of Little Mate

Mer.

Vampire.

And all with the end prize of domination and the subjugation of each species.

It’s why Moore came to me. Our deal was simple.

I offer protection, and Gabriella will grant me the use of her gift as I please. She doesn’t know about this, our agreement, but I have in my possession his signature and a private letter meant to explain with their family seal as authenticity.

I’m being generous with my attempt to gain her acceptance.

She will be under my rule either way. My new pet.

The witch whimpers then, a pitiful cry leaving the back of her throat, and I look over. Her brown eyes are staring at the almost-perished lump at my feet. He’s bleeding from his neck while both arms and his left leg are crushed from my earlier grip. And yet, the man clings to life. Barely. Chest rising ever so slowly, and every being in this room knows his time draws near.

I can end it quickly.

Or I can force her to watch his painful end.

Her mate was cursed the moment she laid eyes on him—when she decided to get in my way—and I’m making her witness his last choked breaths as punishment.

My mercy lies in her ability to be of help.

And like other donors, she will also quench my thirst after, yet fail to satisfy me.

Nobody has over the last few decades.

Moreover, my sole focus is Gabriella at the moment. On finding the deceased warlock king’s daughter to appease an obligation—my final promise to a friend—while taking possession of someone every asshole alive covets, man and beast. The strong and the weak.

Because we all want the same thing: power.

I also won’t deny that her gifts turn me on. Then, there’s also my curiosity as a man; the predator in me is enticed by the chase.

I don’t know what she looks like. Where she is. But I’ve been left with a you’ll know from a man whose sight is unlike anything I’ve encountered before.

The thought of taming the little witch is a heady aphrodisiac I plan to indulge in. Continuously. Will seduce her without shame.

My need is growing, body thrumming with a fire I don’t understand, yet welcome.

An angry hiss leaves the back of my throat then, the sound full of ire while my fangs drop another inch over my bottom lip. I’m close to my edge, ire brimming; it clashes and fuels my lust—this unyielding need to own her.

Their lack of results is something I’ll never accept.

At the angry sound, they tense a little more. More than a few lower themselves until their foreheads touch the ground and both arms lay palms flat next to their heads. A request for mercy. For leniency.

These cowering statues won’t receive any from me. I survey each, from rank to usefulness until coming to a stop at my two generals. One still holds his head downcast, while the braver of the two turns his face in my direction and meets my eyes.

He disapproves of my quest.

Hates anything outside of our vampiric world.

He’s a fucking idiot. His prejudice will be his downfall one day, but until then, I’ll continue to use Veltross as the puppet he’s become. A mindless killer.

“My Lord, we’ve—” I cut General Veltross off with a single look in his direction and he recoils, his other leg giving out under the weight of my stare. He has balls, yet not much in the area of perseverance. His rank means shit to me.

No one is above me.

My sharp nails tap against the wooden arm of my throne, the clink clink clink loud inside the large room. “Your excuses bore me.”

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