Shadow Of The Vampire

Alexia watched him turn on his heel and again make for the door. “I will not let you destroy my entire reign before I even get there,” she cried. “Do you hear me?” When Lotharus didn’t reply, a wave of helpless annoyance rode through her. “You cannot deny my orders! I am the ruler here.”

Finally, he stopped and looked over his shoulder, his lips twisting. “Not yet, you’re not.”

Alexia watched in stunned disbelief as he left the room. The moment he was gone, she rushed back to her mother. “Are you honestly going to let him get away with this? He’s trying to start another war.”

The Queen casually took up the bottle and refilled her goblet. “We are already at war. Lotharus is only trying to do what’s best for our horde.”

“You say the words as if you’re trying to convince even yourself. What is best is to let the prisoner go. You said so yourself only moments ago.”

Catija lifted her head and Alexia couldn’t help but notice it loll slightly to the side, as if it were too much effort to hold it upright. “Why this fierce stance on the dragon’s life?”

“Me? What about you? A minute ago you were begging Loth—”

“How many others like him have you killed for the good of this horde?”

Her question hit Alexia like a bucket of icewater. “Too many.”

The Queen stood. “Perhaps you should be thinking, not enough.” Chalice in hand, Catija lifted her skirt and turned toward the bedchamber door. “I’ll see to it that Marguerite comes to get you fitted for your ascension gown.”

“So that’s it. Are you going to lie down and let him make all the decisions for you?” She exhaled. “Goddess, he has you totally delusional, doesn’t he?”

The Queen spun around, her black eyes flashing. “I will not have you address me so. This is my horde to rule until you ascend, and by the Goddess, I will do what I see fit.”

“I wish you would rule. But you have only two days left. And you better pray the dragon lasts that long.” She sucked in a breath, hoping to drag some courage into her lungs along with air. “If not, when I become Queen, you and your lover will have to answer to me.”

Chapter Six

EVENTUALLY, THE SOLDIERS hauling Declan came to a brace of doors and burst inside without knocking. When they stopped, Declan forced his heavy head up. Bloodred velvet draped the back wall of a lush chamber. Gothic tapestries hung along another. However, he could not keep his eyes off the bed in the corner—off the intricate wooden bed frame at its foot.

The one from the dream.

Vivid images of Lotharus and Alexia flashed behind his eyes. Unbidden, a low growl vibrated in his chest.

Declan felt Lotharus’s cold presence before he saw him emerge from the corner. Although the room did not seem overly masculine, Declan deduced right away that this must be Lotharus’s room. Realized with the little grain of consciousness left to him that Lotharus would want to hold the memory of his murder within his private walls, keep it close, like some sick kind of security blanket.

When the vampire finally stepped fully into the room, Declan’s lip curled into a snarl. Memories of the last time he’d seen that sneering face, of what he’d done to Alexia, clawed to the surface. The hate he’d channeled toward her shifted to Lotharus for reasons he couldn’t explain and wouldn’t explore.

With a primal instinct, Declan yanked his limbs away from the unsuspecting guards and lunged for Lotharus. However, the collar quickly pilfered the strength his fury had given him. Hands descended on his chest and legs, pushing him back until he slammed against a stone wall. At the impact, chains rattled beside him. Declan swallowed an uneasy lump in his throat as the soldiers strung him up, securing that unbearable collar around his neck to a hook on the wall, his wrists and ankles to connecting chains.

He noticed Lotharus had not flinched a muscle during the entire ordeal. He merely stood, watching.

And Declan did not take his eyes off him.

Satisfied with the bindings, the guards slipped back and stood along the walls. Lotharus stepped forward, his black eyes leveled on Declan, no emotion in their shadowed depths. Only blackness, nothingness.

“Now,” Lotharus said, tugging up the sleeves of his black overcoat. “Are you ready to tell me where the crystal is?”

Declan smirked. “Three things I can’t stand…Horde, Thai food and answering the same question over and over…”

Lotharus tucked his arm back, landing his fist on Declan’s nose. Before he had time to recover, another hit blew against his temple. A third slammed against his eyebrow. One for each hate, he figured.

Throbbing pain began a low drumbeat in his skull. Declan gritted his teeth to keep from making a sound, determined not to give the bastard one ounce of satisfaction. He lifted his head to see Lotharus staring down at him. Slowly, he started undoing the buttons of his coat. Shrugging out of the garment, he laid it carefully over the side of the bed before stepping forward.

“You know,” he said, rolling up the cuffs of his black shirt, a sardonic smile twisting his lips. “I don’t think I properly thanked you last night.”

Declan forced his lips into a smile. “For what? Showing your girlfriend how to kiss?”

An elbow slammed into his gut before the last word had fallen from his lips. Declan sucked in a breath, groaning when he repeated the action again.

“You may think you’re funny now, but it will be I who is laughing last, Derkein. I assure you.”

“Aw, come on,” he said with a pained grunt as he stood upright again. “I thought that was a good one.”

A booted heel slammed into his ribs, sending him back over, and a fist cracked across his face, followed by another and another. Declan coughed, spitting out the stream of blood flooding his mouth onto the pristine white floor by his feet.

As he watched the red flow between the tiles, a shadow darkened over him.

“That was for drinking from what’s mine.” Lotharus’s knee kicked into his gut, once, twice. Usually, Declan could handle these simple hits. But the collar acted like some sort of muscle relaxer. He couldn’t tighten his abs and block the blows. Instead, each one sank deep into his body, crushing his lung and perhaps a rib or two in the process.

As Declan fought against the bolts of agony wrenching his gut, Lotharus squatted in front of him. “And that is for trying to claim her,” he said before standing and walking away.

Declan smiled through the pain. So that was what this was all about? The girl? His smile turned into a chuckle. The chuckle morphed into an outright laugh. The footfalls stopped. Lotharus held his hands twined at the base of his spine. His demeanor and poise looked calm, composed. However, his actions had already given him away. Something about Declan touching that girl made Lotharus livid, even more so than the notion that Declan had the crystal.

“What do you find so amusing this time?”

Declan laughed again, stretching the cut on his split lip. He ignored the twinge. “I don’t know what’s funnier. The fact that she came to me like a bee to honey, or the fact that you’re jealous.”

With blinding speed, the vampire stood in front of Declan. “I can’t be jealous of what’s already mine,” he spat. “I think it’s you who is jealous. You fed from her once. I can only imagine the rush of power that flowed through you at the taste of her.”

Declan’s smile fled. His fangs itched at the memory. Clamping down on his jaw, he fought the truth of the monster’s words.

“She’s beautiful and ripe for the taking. I imagine you’d like to feel her beneath you again. Like to have those soft lips of hers on your skin. Be able to feel the amazing heat of her body swallow you, as I can—and, believe me, I do.”

Lotharus’s words stabbed through him with irrational precision. Narrowing his eyes, he met the black ones staring down at him.

“At least when I had her beneath me,” he said through clenched teeth, “I didn’t have to force her there.”

A feminine gasp rent the air. Declan snapped his focus over Lotharus’s shoulder. His eyes immediately settled on Alexia. The pale blue, floor-length V-cut negligee and wrapper she wore set off the golden color of her hair. She looked ethereal, beautiful and shocked. And to see her standing beside that bed brought the dream vision back into glaring focus.

“What did you say?” Lotharus’s growled words held the distinctive tone of a covetous male.

Declan switched his gaze back to him. “You heard me, you sick fuck. Are you so pathetic you have to rape to get laid, or do you just get off on terrifying innocent females?”

The anger in Lotharus’s stare multiplied. Shaking with rage, he lunged for the fireplace, grabbing a silver poker from the stand.

Alexia rushed forward, taking his arm. “Lotharus, no—”

Without missing a step, he turned, backhanding her. Instinctively, Declan’s entire body lunged to protect her. His muscles strained against the iron bindings. However, all thoughts of helping her fled when Lotharus swung back around, impaling the poker where he’d landed his fists moments before.

The sharp burst of pain in his gut momentarily debilitated Declan. He couldn’t see, think or hear, but only focus on the blinding agony radiating through his midsection. Lotharus leaned forward, holding his face mere inches from Declan’s. “I will answer to no one. Especially not some flying rat.”

Lotharus heaved back, dragging the poker’s jagged tip through Declan’s flesh. He doubled over, hearing the silver rod rattle on the floor, discarded.

Blinking, he looked up. Lotharus brushed his palms together as if he’d done little more than squash a bug. “Get this thing out of my sight. He’s bleeding all over my floor.”

The soldiers quickly unhooked him and Declan fell limp in their arms. His eyes drifted to the corner of the room, searching for Alexia. He couldn’t make her out. His vision gone foggy, he shut his eyes, not opening them until they had unceremoniously tossed him on the ground, shackled his wrist to the wall and shut the dungeon door.

Declan wrapped an arm around his middle and curled into a ball on his side. Clenching his teeth against the pain, he focused on breathing, on Tallon, on images of home. He knew coming here was a dead end, an e-ticket to hell. As the pain lashed and bit, threatening to choke him, Declan told himself that he would take this suffering and any more the horde could dish out to save his flock.

Just like his parents had.

He stared at the filthy walls of the dungeon with newfound wonder in his eyes, feeling them mist. The idea both his parents might have lain in this very spot—may have felt unbearable agony and loss and yet faced it as it was—brought comfort to Declan and he finally fell into the sleep his body so desperately needed.

THE QUEEN CLOSED THE MAIN doors leading to her hall. Ascending the few steps into the garden, she walked with purpose toward her chamber, her sanctuary. The only one left, she thought. Even the once safe haven of her mind was now lost to her.

Low-hanging leaves brushed against her face and arms as she wound her way through the foliage. When she came upon the statue of Diana, a cold fear seized her heart, tightening around it like a noose. Keeping her head down, unable to make contact with the Goddess’s judging stare, Catija skirted around the fountain and hurried down the path leading to her bedchamber.

The moment the lock on her bedroom door clicked, Catija let out the deep breath she’d been holding. The frantic tempo of her heart slowed to a more manageable beat and the invisible fingers around her neck loosened. Rounding the massive bed commanding the center of the room, she headed toward the far wall at almost a run. An antique polished oak and mahogany trunk sat alongside the wall, its rectangular surface centered by a profile of a maiden. She sat within a bellflower wreath adorned with birds, goblets, riches and urns. Her long hair was braided atop her head in a tight coil, almost concealing the crown above her brow.

Catija stepped closer to the trunk, admiring the strong female. The profile was her family’s crest and the heraldry of Queens past. When her fingers touched the wood, she closed her eyes.

At no other time had she felt the weight, the burden of her pledge and duty more than she had this past year. Although it had become nearly impossible for her to remember even the simplest of things these days, there was one task she would never forget.

Keep moving forward.

No matter the cost to self and sanity, no matter what happened. She had to continue playing, keep strategizing her next move. Life for her had become little more than a chess match. Her existence had no more value than the lowliest pawns on the game board. There had been a time, so long ago she could hardly remember, when she had believed it possible to succeed. Believed she could play this game, traverse her piece across Lotharus’s perverse game board and, not only endure every step, but come out on top. Yet now Catija could barely find the will and strength to get through a single day, much less hope to win.

But it didn’t matter. She had to keep playing.

“Have to keep them safe,” she murmured, pivoting open the heavy wooden top. A golden disc sat in the center of the box atop an antique phonograph.

Play this when you feel lost or alone and know I will always be with you, a familiar male voice whispered through her mind.

Almost in a trance, Catija lifted the tone arm and set the needle on the disc. At once a low hum of music began to pulsate and fill the room. Velvety and subtle, the orchestral notes spoke to her, transported her. A sense of peace rolled through her body with each wave of melody and song.

In a heart-wrenching union of peaks and valleys, the music swelled to a crescendo. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A heartbeat later, a familiar and welcome presence seeped into the room. Heels clicked loud and firm on the marble floor behind her.

“Is he dead?” she asked without turning around. Part of her dreaded the answer. When none came, she looked expectantly over her shoulder at her advisor and the only friend left in her corner. And she felt close to losing even him at times. “Did Lotharus kill the dragon prince?”

“Not yet,” Yuri finally replied, moving away from the door and climbing the few steps toward her. Catija watched her brother cross the room with interest. Although she’d known him all her life, he never aged, his image never changing from the one she remembered so fondly in their youth. He still wore his midnight hair cut even to his shoulders. A perfectly shaped and trimmed goatee framed his lips. And although the style of his clothing may have changed over the centuries, she never saw him wear any color other than black from head to toe. Perhaps that was where Alexia got it from, she thought with a smile. One that faded once the dire consequence of her situation again weighed down her shoulders.

Yuri, however, appeared to carry no such burden. He moved with grace and confidence, his demeanor giving nothing away as he stood alongside her. Warm and firm and real, his hand covered hers. He smiled, giving her a reassuring squeeze, although his words were anything but encouraging. “The dragon may be alive for now. But you know Lotharus. This will be like before. It’s only a matter of time.”

Catija nodded and looked back at the revolving disc. Instead of a spinning blur of gold, images of the last time dragons had resided in her dungeon flashed behind her eyes. A visible shudder quaked through her body, cramping her stomach. Drawing her arms tight around her, she backed up, lowering herself to the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know how much more I can take, Yuri.”

A long, regret-filled sigh echoed in the stillness. The mattress dipped beneath Yuri’s weight as he took a seat beside her. “Times are dark for all of us, dear sister. But you must be strong. This will all be over soon.”

Although she heard her brother’s words, tried to take them to heart, a tremor of helplessness and resentment vibrated deep inside her. “By the Goddess, I’m the Queen of this horde. I should be able to eradicate Lotharus with no more than a flick of my wrist. Yet we play this game of cloak-and-dagger and, at times, I feel I’m losing.”

As he had when she was young, Yuri wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to his chest in a comforting embrace. Catija fell against him willingly. Slow and gentle, his fingers brushed her hair. The tender act calmed her nerves, a palpable dichotomy to the panic and fear pounding in her chest.

“Yuri, he cannot find that crystal first. Alexia must possess it. I keep trying to push her, to goad her into getting her hands on that stone, but it’s not working. I am at the end of my reign and care not what they do to me. But I don’t want them to kill her.”

“And I don’t want them to kill you,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

Catija opened her mouth to tell him she’d almost prefer death, but stopped herself. The words would do nothing except hurt him, and she’d done enough of that to last them both a lifetime. Instead, she stared straight ahead and struggled to concentrate on her next move. However, a dense fog swirled in her mind these days, making it hard to think and almost impossible to concentrate. Her vision blurred as she tried to focus on the next move Lotharus had planned, until Catija saw nothing but clouded fears for her daughter. But beneath the tide of worry, an undercurrent of pride flowed fast and strong.

“At least Alexia is not fooled by him,” she said, mindlessly rubbing the velvety fabric of Yuri’s lapel between her fingers.

“She is very intelligent,” he murmured, a smile in his voice. “Like her mother.”

“No,” Catija replied. “She’s smarter than I. Not once has Alexia been taken in by him, believed his lies.” She shook her head, annoyed at her stupidity and weakness.

Admittedly, Catija had been reckless and brutal in her youth, spurred on by a wicked family and more than her fair share of demented lovers. Although she’d been too drunk on power, too blind to see it then, she knew now how foolish she’d been. Instead of laying the foundation for those who would follow her, she had spent her early days as ruler gorging on vices, flaunting her cruelty like a preening peacock and placating various men with what seemed like harmless ranks of power beneath her.

Catija could no longer remember many things. Yet she recalled the day she had realized her life was a finite thing. A predetermined cycle with, not only an end, but a specific day her life as she’d been living it would end.

On her daughter, Alexia’s, ascension day.

She realized on that day that she would not be passing the proverbial torch or even a slim version of a legacy on to her child, but likely her demise. She may as well have clothed her in a burial shroud.

“Goddess, I hate what I’ve done. Hate the way I have to treat her. The way she looks at me. But if Lotharus ever suspected her, if she ever found out, he would…”

“Shh,” Yuri murmured, his long fingers continuing their lazy glides through her hair. “That is not going to happen.”

Disbelieving, Catija shook her head. “Between hurting Alexia and Lotharus’s draughts, it’s killing me.” Catija licked her lips, tasting the horrid truth upon them.

“Yuri, I…” She swallowed. “I think he’s killing me. Slowly.”

The hand in her hair stilled, his entire body tensing at her admission. Before Catija could blink, Yuri shifted to kneel before her. His hands gripped her upper arms, forcing her to look at him.

“Sister…”

“No, please. Just listen,” she interrupted, knowing she didn’t have the strength to argue. “The ascension is only days away. If something happens to me before then, you must promise you’ll take care of Alexia.”

Yuri sighed, pausing for only a heartbeat before he clasped her face, framing it in his grip. Dark and glistening, his eyes bored into hers. “With everything I am, I swear. I will keep her safe. I will look out for her as I always have you, no matter what happens.”

At his fiercely whispered vow, a smile parted her lips.

“I believe you, brother.”

And why wouldn’t she? Yuri had already proved he’d do anything to help her. Already made the greatest sacrifice she could ever think of. Once more, Yuri took a seat next to her. Again, he let his fingers continue their lazy path through her hair. However, Catija could not relax this time. Instead, the prick of conscience’s needle stabbed the center of her heart. The unspeakable truth of what she’d forced him to do those years ago bled out before her.

“I have so many wrongs to right, Yuri. I do not think I can ever fix them all.”

Catija tilted her chin to look at him. His jaw set in a firm line, his pensive gaze focused somewhere straight ahead, every handsome feature of his face was taut with unspoken emotion.

“Especially not the unspeakable wrong I caused you.”

Yuri blinked, his stern facade cracking at her words. “You’re rectifying that now,” he replied, dropping his focus to the ground.

“Yes. But is it too little, too late?”

His gaze snapped to hers, warmth and compassion glowing behind his dark eyes. “No, Cat. It’s never too late to make amends.”

Catija nodded and rested her head back on his shoulders, allowing herself one more moment in her big brother’s arms. One more second of letting the pressure, the fear, the uncertainty fade away before she had to once again put on the persona she’d been destined to wear since birth.

The music in the background began to fade. A sense of panic flared to life inside Catija. Her heart beat faster and a cloak of dread tightened around her. She gripped his shirt, clutching him tight as if he might disappear if she let go.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.