Page 7 of Little Mate

“Can we?”

“Father, please—”

“Enough, Daughter. I will not die for that whore.” His words anger me. Ire fills my veins—the blood of my victims runs through me—at his blatant disrespect of what I already consider mine. She will be under my protection.

As the first vampire and king, I was born into this life with a few human traits, although there's nothing within my DNA that is alive. I’ve never been, and yet this gift is one of them. It keeps my temperature warm while my children are cold—unable to fully walk in the light without pain or being drained of all energy.

I feel neither and enjoy the sun.

I need no sleep to rejuvenate.

“They won’t kill us if we remain quiet.” This comes from the man next to her father. He holds a familial resemblance. “We’re their only hope to—”

Before he can blink, I’m in front of him. His horrified expression is amusing a second before his lips drop open, but the sound never leaves them as I rip his head clean off. Blood coats my hands and shirt—the men on either side of him also wear a bit of the crimson liquid.

Taking off the ruined garment, I toss it at the corpse before craning my neck from side to side. A smirk curls at my lips while I run my blood-stained fingertips across my chest and the monarch tattoos that mark my flesh from the day of my birth. From my pecs to my back, the piece is massive and tells you my origins and the demon I am.

At the sight, Lilibeth retches behind me, but I pay her no mind. Taking a step toward the next member of her coven, my eyes meet the shaking form of a younger man, a kid of no more than his eighteen summers.

From her father comes a sound of protest, but it stops when the female soldier drags his eyeball, still attached to her nail, down his cheek from the socket to just the corner of his lips. She’s waiting for my signal to proceed, but a minute shake of my head has her falling back into a rigid formation.

Shoulders back. Face forward and held high.

Those kneeling from his faction flinch at her sudden movement, but it’s the young man in front of me I focus on. “Do you feel safe?”

The lad shakes his head. He trembles. “No, sir.”

“So polite.” My tone is a bit patronizing, but so is the way I study the drying blood on my skin. “I appreciate the manners.”

“Thank you.” His grimace right after is amusing.

“Why are you here...?” I trail off, waiting for his name.

“Christopher. My name is Christopher.”

“And why are you here, Christopher? How are you involved in this mess?”

“Guilty by association. That was my father you killed.” No emotion, though. I sense no sadness in him.

“My condolences.” A lie. He knows it, too, but he’s wise and remains quiet after. Christopher doesn’t meet my eyes now either. Lowering his face, he stares at my boot-covered feet while those around him begin to mutter something in unison.

One by one, the small chant gains momentum while we remain as we are.

No one stops them. No one breaks a jaw to cut off the offending cry.

Louder. And louder.

Revertere ad inferos. Revertere ad inferos. Revertere ad inferos.

Lilibeth isn’t participating, though. Instead, her focus is on the body of her lover brought outside by one of my men. The human is tossed to the ground, and his low groan of pain—the last of his energy now depleted—meets her ears and she goes still.

Her eyes roll back. The leaves around us rustle, lift from the ground and swirl around her and the guard keeping her in place.

She’s angry. Volatile.

Lightning strikes, but it’s nothing more than a soft electrical buzz surrounding my body.

Lilibeth showed her hand; she has an affinity for controlling lightning. A little bit of wind, too, but neither does real damage, which leaves me to believe her power is new or she hasn’t completely learned how to manipulate it to her liking. Nothing else—nothing but the harsh charge of current that strikes unforgivingly, and while I should’ve been burned to a crisp right now, her people are not the only ones protected by magic.

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