Lord of the Vampires

Before the car accident changed her life so radically, she’d studied more than the creatures of myth. She’d studied the manipulation of macroscopic energy, attempting the “impossible” on a daily basis. Like the molecular transfer of an object from one location—one world—to another, and she had succeeded. Not with life-forms, of course, not yet, but with plastic and other materials. That’s why she’d been deemed an acceptable risk for interacting with the captured beings, both dead and alive.

What if she’d somehow transferred herself? But how would she have done so, she wondered next, when the necessary tools were not in her cabin? Latent effects of her contact with the previously transferred materials, perhaps?

No. There were too many variables. Namely, her new, royal identity.

“Rhoslyn,” she said, keeping her narrowed gaze on the girl as she settled her weight on her legs. Her knees knocked together, and her muscles knotted, but thankfully the dizziness did not return.

“Yes, princess?”

She gave herself a quick once-over, blinked with another dose of surprise and had to look again. She wore a lovely pink gown she hadn’t purchased herself and had never before seen. The material bagged around her reed thin body, dancing at her ankles.

Who the hell had dressed her?

Doesn’t matter. She focused on the here and now.

“What do I look like?”

Rhoslyn reached out, and Jane pursed her lips as she darted away. “Please, princess, you have been unwell. Allow me to assist you.”

“Stay where you are,” Jane told her. Until she figured out what was going on, she would trust no one. And without trust, there would be no touching.

The girl froze in place. “Wh-whatever you command, princess. Did you wish me to fetch something for you?”

“No, uh, I just want to grab something from over there.” Jane lumbered forward. The carpet fibers were as soft as they appeared and caressed her bare feet, tickling the sensitive areas between her toes. She moved slowly, allowing the tension to drain from her abused legs. By the time she swiped up the book and turned, she felt normal. Still the girl had not moved, her arm extended toward the bed, shaking now. “At ease,” she found herself saying.

With a sigh of relief, Rhoslyn dropped her arm to her side. “You asked what you look like. Beautiful, princess. As always.” Said automatically, with no real feeling.

Half of Jane’s attention remained on her while the other half focused on the book. She frowned. The dark leather was unmarred. She flipped to the middle. There was no bookmark, and the pages were new, fresh. Blank. “This isn’t my book,” she said. “Where’s my book?”

“Princess Odette,” Rhoslyn replied smoothly. “To my knowledge, you did not arrive with a book. Now, would you like—?”

“Wait. What did you call me?”

“Pr—princess Odette? That is your title and name. Yes? Did you wish me to call you something else? Or, perhaps I can summon the healer, and have her—”

“No. No, that’s okay.” Princess Odette, returned from the grave. Jane had read those very words. She’d also read, “You, Jane Parker. You are Odette.”

She twisted and leaned into the vanity, watching her reflection in the mirror. The moment she came into view, she stiffened. Light brown hair flowed over one shoulder. Her hair. Familiar. Her dark eyes were glassy, crescent-moon bruises underneath. Also familiar.

She reached out. Her fingertips pressed into the glass. Cool, solid. Real. If she lifted her gown, she would see the scars that marred her stomach and legs. She knew it.

She hadn’t morphed into Princess Odette overnight, then. Or, hell, maybe she and the princess looked alike.

“How did I get here?” she croaked, swinging back around to face the girl.

I need you, Jane.

Nicolai. She sucked in a breath as his name suddenly filled her mind. Nicolai the enslaved vampire, chained, abused. Nicolai the lover, sliding into her body, her legs parting to welcome him, then squeezing to hold him captive.

Come to me.

Come to him, as if he knew her. As if she knew him. But she’d never met him. At least, not to her knowledge.

Such a thing was possible, she supposed. Paradox theory suggested—damn it. No. She wasn’t going to hypothesize about paradox theory until she had more information. Otherwise, she’d be lost in her head for days.

Rhoslyn paled. “Yesterday evening a palace guard found you lying on the steps outside. He carried you here, to your bedchamber. You’ll be happy to note it is in the same condition you left it.”

Falling asleep at home, waking up … here. Princess Odette, returned from the grave, she thought again. Alice in her Wonderland.

“I hope you do not mind, but I bathed and changed you,” Rhoslyn added.

White-hot heat in her cheeks. Plenty of strangers had bathed and changed her over the past eleven months, and she was relieved Rhoslyn had done so, rather than some sweating, panting guy. Still. Mortifying. “Where’s my shirt?”

“It’s being washed. I must admit, I have never seen its like. There was strange writing on it.”

She closed the book and clutched it to her chest. “I want it back.” Just then, it was her only link to home.

“Of course. After I escort you to your mother, I—oh, I’m sorry. I did not mean to mention her again. I will take you to … the study below and fetch the garment for you.” Before Jane could comment, Rhoslyn added through gnashed teeth, “I am so happy—as are all your people—that you have come back to us. We missed you greatly.”

A lie, no question. “Wh-where was I?”

“Your sister, Princess Laila, witnessed your fall from the cliffs what seems an eternity ago. After you were stabbed and drained by your new slave. Though your body was never found, it was assumed you were dead, as no one has ever survived such a drop before. We should have known that you, the darling of Delfina, would find a way.” She flashed a stiff smile that lasted a single second, no more.

Princess Laila. That name, too, reverberated in Jane’s head, followed on the heels of “cruel, twisted desires.”

“Nicolai,” she said. Was he here? Real?

The servant chewed on her bottom lip, suddenly nervous. “You wish me to bring the slave, Nicolai, to you?”

Jane’s blood quickened and warmed, her skin tingling just as before. The girl knew who he was. That meant he was here, that he was as real as she was.

Her mind fizzed and crackled like her favorite candy. The book. The characters. The story, coming to life before her eyes … Jane now a part of it, deeply integrated, though she was someone other than herself. Finally. A puzzle piece slid into place.

The book could have been the catalyst. Maybe, when she’d read aloud, she’d somehow opened a doorway from her world into this one. Maybe Nicolai had somehow sent the book to her, and she was his only hope for freedom.

“Nicolai,” she repeated. “I want you to take me to him.” She had to see him, and was too impatient to wait. Would he know her? Was she right about the events that had unfolded?

Rhoslyn gulped. “But he’s the one who stabbed you, and your moth—I mean, er, the queen does not like to be kept waiting. She visited you once already, but you were sound asleep and could not be roused. Her impatience grows, and as you know, her temper …” Her cheeks flushed as she realized what she was saying. “I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect to the queen.”

Nicolai had stabbed Odette, the woman Jane was supposed to be? Talk about a plot twist Jane hadn’t seen coming. Damn. What if he tried to do the same to Jane?

He won’t, some deep, secret part of her said. He needs you. He said so.

“A few minutes more won’t hurt the queen.” Whoever the queen was, whatever she was supposed to mean to her, Jane didn’t care. Although, the fact that the woman was in charge, her word law and she apparently had a temper, unsettled her.

“Your sister—”

“Doesn’t matter.” She, too, was dead. Although, according to the book, Odette might just have a sister. That other princess. But again, Jane didn’t care. “Take me to Nicolai. Now.” Time to find another puzzle piece.

A breath shuddered through the girl, the seconds ticking by in tension-filled silence. Then, “Whatever you wish, princess. This way.”

Chapter 3

They called him Nicolai. He didn’t know if that was his real name. He didn’t know anything about himself, really. Whenever he attempted to remember, his head throbbed with unbearable pain and his mind shut down. All he knew was that he was a vampire, and the females here were witches. That, and he despised this kingdom and its people—and he would destroy them. One day. Soon. Just as he’d destroyed one of their precious princesses.

Anticipation rushed through him. His captors thought him weak, ineffective. They kept him on the razor edge of hunger, giving him a drop of blood in the morning and a drop of blood at night. That was all. He was teased and tormented constantly. Especially by the Princess Laila. So highborn, but look at you now. At my feet, mine to do with as I wish.

Highborn? He would find out.

They assumed, just because he was chained and starved, he could not harm them. They had no idea of the power that swirled inside him. Power that was caged, like him, but still there, ready to burst free at any moment.

Soon, he thought again, grinning darkly.

They’d had their healer bind his powers, as well as wipe his memory, and they made no secret of those facts. Why they’d done the latter, however, they’d never said. What did they not want him to remember? Again, he would find out.

What they didn’t know was that the witch had lacked Nicolai’s inner strength, and already a few of his abilities had seeped through that mental cage, allowing him to summon a woman who could set him free.

A woman who had at last arrived. Urgency and relief rushed through him, driving him to pace, back and forth, back and forth, his bare feet pounding into the cold concrete, his chains rattling. Even his guards were shocked by the miracle of Princess Odette’s appearance. Or rather, the girl they assumed was Princess Odette.

The real Odette was dead. He’d made sure of it. He had drained her, stabbed her, then shoved her over the cliffs outside this palace. Excessively violent, perhaps, but an enemy was an enemy, and his temper had been roused. And, as he’d known, not even the most powerful of witches could recover from that. Hurry, female. I need you.

Nicolai had spent countless days, weeks, years—he wasn’t sure—with Odette before he’d killed her. She was the one who had purchased him at the Sex Market, after all. She’d been a cruel girl, with a taste for delivering pain, unable to reach her climax until her unwilling partner screamed.

She had never climaxed with Nicolai.

Remaining silent had been a source of pride for him. No matter the instruments used on him, no matter how many males and females the bitch had allowed to touch and use him, he had only ever smiled.

When Odette took him outside the palace, threatening to throw him over the cliffs if he continued to defy her, he was finally given an opportunity to strike. She’d made the mistake of leaving his muzzle behind. She’d also made the mistake of stepping within his reach, chained though he’d been. He’d fallen on her, pinned her and sunk his fangs into her neck. Starved as he’d been, he’d drained her in minutes. And after that last, life-ending gulp, he’d stabbed her with her own dagger, just to be sure, and shoved her over the precipice.

Too late had the guard realized what had happened, and Nicolai had turned on him, ready for another snack. They’d fought like animals. More beastlike than most, Nicolai had won. The guard had never stood a chance, really. When provoked or hungry, vampires became frenzied and ravenous—unpredictable, uncontrollable predators who scented prey.

As he’d drained his second victim, Princess Laila had swooped in. Having coveted her older sister’s right to the throne, as well as her possessions, including Nicolai himself, she had watched Odette, waiting for the perfect time to act.

Nicolai had inadvertently given it to her. She and her guards had moved faster than his gaze could track, unfettered magic giving them strength and speed, and though his first meal in weeks had rallied him, the chains had slowed him down. He’d been overpowered with embarrassing ease.

Footsteps suddenly sounded, followed by the waft of something sweet in the air, both catching his attention. Nicolai stiffened and stilled, his ears twitching, his mouth watering. Absolute hunger bathed him, his stomach twisting. Must … taste … female …

The desire did not spring from his mind, but from deep inside him. An instinct, a need.

Usually those footsteps heralded the arrival of Laila’s servants, sent to drag him up the stairs and into her bedroom. This time, a plump redhead rounded the corner. He inhaled deeply, growled. Not her. She was not the source of that sweetness.

Nicolai stopped breathing, hoping his head would clear, if only for a moment. He was so damn hungry for the one responsible … had to see her. He rooted his feet in the center of his cage, his pallet behind him, thick bars in front of him, waiting. Who would next enter the dungeon?

And then, he saw her. The summoned female. His “Odette.”

He sucked in another breath. Her. She was responsible. A second growl rose, this one straight from his soul. Must taste female.

She did not smell like the real Odette. To everyone else, she would. She would smell of too-strong floral perfume mixed with the raw ooze of a putrid wound—evidence of her rotting heart. But to him … oh, to him … He inhaled again, unable to stop himself. Mistake. The sweetness, thicker now, almost tangible, fogged his mind. Must. Taste. His fangs and gums actually ached with the need to sample her. Must taste.

He studied her, his blood practically on fire. Anyone who looked at her would see the mask his shifted glammor had created. The mystical illusion of being someone else. Hair as dark as the Abyss, eyes of vivid emerald, skin as pale as cream. But that was where the gift of her father’s famed beauty ended, and the cruelty of her mother’s ugliness revealed itself. Odette was tall yet thickly built, her cheeks puffed from excess, her jaw squared with jowls. Her dark brows were substantial, and nearly connected in the center. Her nose was long with a definite hook.

What Nicolai saw, however, was the woman his summoning had chosen. The one from his dreams. Dreams in which she stood off to the side, watching him, never speaking. Dreams he had not understood. Until now. All along, his magic had known what he needed.

She was just as tall as Odette, but reed slender, with hair the color of a honeycomb. Her eyes were seductively uptilted, a shade darker than her hair, and filled with haunting secrets. Her skin was slightly bronzed and radiant, as if the sun was hidden underneath. Her cheeks were perfectly sculpted, her chin stubborn and yet delicate.

Delicate, yes. That’s what she was. Amorously delicate, utterly fragile and delightfully feminine. Almost … breakable. Would he kill her when he drank from her? And he would drink from her. He would not be able to resist that scent for long.

The protector in him rose up—a part of him he had not known existed, not for some stranger—demanding that he sweep her away from this and save her from the horror to come. Horror he would be responsible for. Not only from his dark embrace, but also from the evil of those around her. The people of Delfina wouldn’t savor her blood if they learned the truth of her identity. They would spill it and kill her. Painfully.

Do you want your freedom or the girl out of harm’s way? You can’t have both.

He hardened his heart. He wanted his freedom.

Their gazes locked a second later, a shock of awareness blasting him. Perhaps she felt it, too, for she gasped, stumbled. She righted herself and stopped at the bars, her amber eyes wide, her lush, pink mouth open, revealing straight white teeth. She held a book.

Taste her.

He wished he could see her tongue. Wished he could capture that tongue with his own. His desire surprised him. How long since he’d experienced true, willing arousal?

“You’re real,” she whispered, gripping the metal with her free hand. She squeezed so tightly her knuckles bleached of color. “You’re really here. And you look exactly as I dreamed.”

He nodded stiffly—and that wasn’t the only stiff thing about him. His cock filled, lengthening, thickening. “I am real, yes.” She’d dreamed of him, as he’d dreamed of her? He liked the idea.

He motioned to the servant with a tilt of his chin. Get rid of her.

Her attention whipped to the girl, and she uttered another gasp, as though startled to find they weren’t alone. “You may go, Rhoslyn. And thank you for bringing me here.”

“Anything for you, princess.” Expression softening with her relief, Rhoslyn curtsied. She raced around the corner and pounded up the stairs.

“You are confused,” Nicolai said. How harsh his voice was, pushing through his teeth and slicing up his tone.

A shiver slid down her slight frame as she faced him. “Yes. One minute I was at home, reading a book—about you! The next I was here. How am I here? Where is here? At first, I thought I was hallucinating or that this was a joke, but that isn’t right. I know that isn’t right. I’m calm. I see, I feel.”

“No hallucination, and no joke.” His frown deepened, his fangs cutting into his bottom lip. Just a taste, one little taste. “You were reading a book about me? Is that it?”

Her gaze fell to his teeth, and she gulped. “Yes. Written by you, I think.” Her voice was as soft and delicate as her features. “Or at least, part of it was. But no, this isn’t it. This one is blank. Or maybe this is it, but the writing just hasn’t happened yet.”

To his knowledge, he had not written a book, and had not sent a book to anyone. That did not mean anything, however. The memory of doing so could be buried with all the rest of his past.

He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the scent of her—and felt the ache in his gums intensify. He was walking toward her, determined to grab her, bite her.

When he realized what he was doing, he forced himself to stop. He would scare her, and she would scream. Guards would rush inside to save her.

He could cover her mouth with one hand, of course, and tilt her back with the other, giving himself a wide playing field. He could lick … finally, blessedly taste …

Concentrate. “Do you know who I am?” Again, his tone was harsh, demanding. “Have you met me before? Besides in your dreams?” “No.”

Disappointing. “I will explain everything. Later,” he lied. The less she knew, now and in the future, the better it would be for her. “Right now, we must hurry.” Ever since he’d woken up in the slave market—weeks, months, years ago?—he’d been driven by more than a need to feed and escape. He’d been driven by an urge to reach the kingdom of Elden.

He must get there. And soon. More than that, he must slay the new king. He didn’t know why, he just knew that even thinking of the man filled him with rage. And every day that this man lived, a piece of Nicolai died. The knowledge was separate from his memories, springing from the same place as his need to taste this woman.

Taste. How many times would he think the word?

Countless. Until he got what he wanted, he was sure.

“Give me your arm.” He licked his lips at the thought of touching her, of knowing the texture of her skin. “I will mark you.” A little nip of her wrist, and he would stop. He would make himself stop. For now.

She shook her head, honeycomb hair dancing over her shoulders. “No. Explain now. Afterward, we’ll talk about the marking thing, whatever that is.”

Surely the female was not as stubborn as she seemed. “We might be separated.” Before she freed him. “I want to know where you are at all times.”

“Uh, I’m not sure how I feel about someone knowing where I am at all times. But again, we’ll discuss it.

After.”

All right, she was more stubborn than she seemed.

“As you can see, I have been enslaved. Tortured.” Uttering the words enraged him further. He should never have allowed himself to be placed in this situation. He should have been stronger. He was stronger. But he had no idea how he’d ended up in the Sex Market. “I don’t even—”

“Know if your name is really Nicolai. Blah, blah, blah. I know. I told you, I read a few passages of the book. I just don’t understand this.” She motioned to the prison, to him, to her gown. “‘Jane, I need you,’ you said. How did you know to write to me when we’ve never met?” Desperation wafted from her. “Unless I came here before, but returned home to a time before we’d met, and my dreams were echoes of what was to be. That would mean history is now looping, but of course, that creates a paradox, and—”

“Enough.” Jane. Her name was Jane. Somehow familiar, causing his arousal to ramp up … up. Maybe because the syllable was as soft and lyrical as her strange—though slight—accent. Focus. If she had asked anyone else these questions … “What have you mentioned to the others?”

“Nothing.” She laughed without humor. “I don’t know them.”

“Good. That’s good.” But she knew him, even though they had only seen each other in their dreams? As he had claimed to know her in that book? Something more was going on here. “Where are you from, Jane?” “Oklahoma.”

Oklahoma was not part of this magical realm. “You are human, then? Not a witch?”

A sweep of dark lashes, momentarily hiding undiluted shock. And pride. “I was right. I crossed over, didn’t I?”

“Jane. I asked you a question.” And he was used to getting answers immediately. He felt it in his bones.

“Yes, I’m human, and no, I’m not a witch. But you, you’re a vampire.”

He nodded. He knew this realm coexisted alongside the mortal world—a world mostly ignorant of what surrounded them.

Crossing over, as she had mentioned, happened more often than it should. How and why, though, no one knew. One moment you would be talking to a shifter or fighting an ogre, and the next moment a human would be in his place. And if not a human, a useless, bendable object.

Disappointment nearly felled Nicolai. Why had his magic chosen this woman? What good was a human here? Even so luscious a human? If Jane were asked to perform a ritual, as Odette had often been asked, she would be unable. She would fail. Everyone would know she was not who she claimed to be, before he could get what he wanted.

He had to act faster than planned.

“Listen. I summoned you here, and I am the one who protects you.” A small truth meant to pacify her. “Trust no one else. Only me.” A lie meant to save him. For once she set him free, he truly planned to leave. This palace—and her. As unstable as his abilities were, he could not remove the mask that made her Odette while they were together without the possibility of sending her home. Plus, he needed her able to travel freely through this palace as only a princess could. What a princess couldn’t do was travel unfettered outside these walls.

The moment she let him go, Jane would have nothing but her wits to shield her.

Guilt filled him. Before the emotion had time to settle, develop roots and grow, he ground it into powder and scattered every speck. He could not soften. No matter how desperately he craved this woman’s blood.

“So, you wield some type of magic?” she said. “All right. I can roll with the idea of a magical vampire. But really, a lot of people assume science is magic, so are we talking about planar, natural, runic, divine or metaphysical, because I can—”