Court of the Vampire Queen: Part 1 – Chapter 2

I think I blackout. I must, because one moment I’m lying on the cold marble floor and the next I’m blinking up into a darkened bedroom. I go perfectly still out of habit, forcing my heartbeat to slow and my breathing to stay even. I can see well in the dark, courtesy of my vampire blood, and I pick out the features of a bedroom that must have been the height of luxury sometime in the last few hundred years. It hasn’t been kept up in the meantime. There’s dust on every surface of the heavy wooden furniture and the canopy overhead is filled with holes and worn nearly transparent.

I count to one hundred slowly, and then do it again.

Nothing moves in the room except for the steady rise and fall of my chest.

I can’t lay here forever, no matter how much part of me wants to curl into a ball and wait for this all to be over. Maybe another woman in my position would. Maybe the last sacrifice sent to this place did.

It’s not who I am.

My life has been hell since I was old enough to realize my position within the vampire colony my father rules. I am the worst of all things. Magic-less. Bastard. The product of my monster of a father and one of his human mistresses he pretends is there of her own free will, rather than an exotic pet he likes to keep to prove his power. Unlike other dhampir children of bloodline vampires, I have no magic to speak of. I fit nowhere, and so every move I made was an insult deserving punishment.

For years, I didn’t understand why he resisted killing me and getting me out from underfoot once and for all.

Now, I do.

This is where he planned to send me all along. A sacrificial lamb. A womb just waiting to be filled with one of the failing vampire bloodlines my father holds so highly. And if I die before accomplishing that? He’ll lose no sleep over it.

Under other circumstances—mainly, if I’d inherited his magic like I should have—my getting pregnant would make me his heir. Now, he wants me to serve as a vehicle to bring another bloodline under his control. It seems particularly cruel, but I’ve long since stopped expecting anything resembling kindness from my father.

I let rage propel me to sit up and gingerly touch my neck. The bites are small puncture wounds. The vampire didn’t so much as tear my skin, though I’m not about to thank him for it.

Him.

Malachi Zion.

If my father is to be believed, this vampire can trace his bloodline back to one of the original seven vampires. There are only two types of vampire. Turned and bloodline. Over time, the number of turned vampires has far outnumbered the bloodline ones born—something rare even before vampires withdrew and hid away from humans, and now practically non-existent—which means those family lines are in danger of dying out.

Which is supposedly where I come in.

I sigh and climb carefully off the bed. My thigh aches, but my busted knee aches worse. The hike did me no favors. I limp to where my suitcase is tucked near the door. It appears untouched, but when I lay it down and open it, I find things rifled through. “Nosy ass vampire,” I mutter. A quick search finds what I feared. He’s taken my knife. I glare at the mess of clothing in the suitcase. “What’s the fucking point? You’re like two hundred years old, and I’m half human. I couldn’t kill you with that knife if I tried.”

If he’s lurking close enough to listen to me rant, he makes no appearance to reveal it. It’s just as well. Even with my vampire side accelerating my healing, I’m a little light-headed from blood loss. I need to eat something, but I might as well wish on a star as hope that kitchen is stocked.

Still.

The alternative is hiding in my room until the vampire starts wanting a snack and seeks me out again. My body hums at the thought, entirely too onboard with the idea. I’d heard bloodline vampires had a pleasurable bite, had even seen it play out during my father’s services when he moves through the room and bites a few of his chosen followers, but I chalked it up to vampire-on-vampire nonsense. The few times I haven’t been fast enough to avoid one of the turned ones’ fangs, it hurt.

I glance at the bed, at the reminder I’m here as more than blood donor. All part of my father’s grand plan to bring the vampire race back to supremacy or some bullshit. He never asked me what I want, but then a bastard magic-less dhampir is more tool to be utilized than actual person from where he’s standing. I clench my fists.

The house will be watched. My father is too smart to leave anything to chance. He figures if he throws me in this place, it’s only a matter of time before Malachi either knocks me up or kills me. Either will suit his purposes. If I do get pregnant, I suspect I won’t live past the live birth. It won’t matter if my child manages to inherit powers or if they are born without magic like their mother. I’ll have served my role.

Fuck that.

I’ll find a way out of here, even if I have to carve my way through Malachi and every vampire guarding this house. I need to bide my time and wait for the right opportunity. I doubt I can kill them, but I should be able to find a way to incapacitate them long enough to get the hell out of dodge.

First thing’s first; I won’t be worth a damn while I’m dizzy and exhausted.

I glance at the bed again and shake my head. Even without the sheer amount of dust and moth-eaten fabric, there’s no reason to make it easier on the vampire. No reason to tempt myself, either. I won’t be sleeping there.

I dig a power bar out of my suitcase. I only stashed a handful, which means I do need to figure out food at some point. Starving to death is not on my agenda. A faint sliver of light trickles through the window. I push wearily to my feet and move to look outside. Dawn is here. And I’m on the second floor. I try to open the window, but it’s been painted shut. Great. Not that I expected much else. If this house has been updated since it was built, I haven’t seen any evidence of it.

Now I’m stalling.

I grit my teeth and open the bedroom door. Nothing happens. Just like nothing happens when I step out into the hallway. It looks just like the entranceway and the bedroom—old and dusty and threadbare. The carpet beneath my shoes is black or purple or maybe gray. It’s hard to determine in the low light and with age fading it. The walls are equally faded, though I can tell they were originally green. Paintings line them, but I ignore the art for now. Getting caught up in curiosity isn’t an option.

I find the front stairs easily enough. This place seems laid out logically, which is a relief in a way. Not that I know what I’m supposed to do with that information. For all my dreams of running, there are several harsh realities standing in my way.

First and most insurmountable is the vampires themselves. They’re faster than me. Stronger than me. And all of them, from Malachi to my father to the guards no doubt lingering at the edges of the property, have a vested interest in me staying trapped exactly where I am.

But it’s more than that. The only things I know about human society are what I’ve gleaned from the few servants my father keeps and the books my mother somehow managed to smuggle into the colony. It might be enough to whet my appetite for freedom, but I’m not naive enough to think I’m anywhere near prepared to slip into their world.

Knowing all that won’t stop me looking for an escape, but it’s enough to keep me from doing something truly reckless. Like trying to flee right now, this morning.

The kitchen is slightly more updated than the rest of the house. The appliances look like things I recognize, and there’s power when I flip on the lights. I study the dusty hanging lights. “So the bloodsucker likes a little modern convenience after all.” Apparently he has some way to order in resources, which is useful knowledge to have.

“Such charm you have, little dhampir.”

I startle like a cat, straight up into the air and over a good six feet. The vampire doesn’t move from where he’s standing against the doorframe I just walked through. He looks…amused. And healthier. There’s a flush to his pale skin from my blood.

The thought sends a pulse through my body, directly to my core. I didn’t hate being his snack as much as I want to, and even as I tell myself I’ll fight him to a standstill before I let him bite me again, part of me wants it, and wants it now.

Part of me wants more.

I glare, hating that now my face is flushed. “If you drink any more from me, you’ll kill me and my father will probably make you wait another twenty-five years before he sends a replacement.”

The vampire—Malachi—pushes off the doorframe and takes a purposefully slow step into the kitchen. He looks like he’s concentrating, as if it’s more natural for him to move too fast for me to really see. “You’re here for a reason. Don’t forget that.”

“Why not tattoo sacrifice on my forehead in case I forget?”

His brows inch up. “The last one wasn’t so mouthy.”

“And look what happened to her.” I don’t know much about the stranger who occupied this position before me. Only that she was chosen to continue Malachi’s bloodline and my father was infuriated by her ability to breed—and stay alive. I’m not even sure how long ago it was. “Thanks, but if I’m going to die in this house, I refuse to cower for the time I have remaining.”

His sensual lips curve, and I loathe I notice they’re sensual at all. “Are you mad I didn’t fuck you earlier?”

My jaw drops. “You’re out of your fucking mind!” I throw my hands up when he drifts another step closer. “I didn’t even want you to bite me.”

“Mmm.” Another step. I retreat and he stalks me through the kitchen. He’s edging me back into the corner of the counter, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. He finally stops a bare six inches from me and braces his hands on the counter on either side of my body. This close, it’s impossible not to notice, no matter how rundown the house, his clothing is new and smells faintly of tobacco and something spicy. He wears a pair of fitted pants and a shirt that would be at home on some historical romance about a pirate. It leaves a slice of his pale chest bare, and I can see a number of raised scars there.

It looks like someone tried to hack out his heart.

“I’ve tasted a lot of humans over the years.” He sounds almost like he’s musing to himself. “Even a few dhampirs before you.” His gaze coasts down my body, lingering on my breasts. “None of them tasted as good as you.”

I blink. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“It’s a fact.” He shifts another inch closer. “It intrigues me.”

“Back off.” My voice comes out hoarse. My skin is tingling and I wish I could say it’s tingling with danger or fear. It’d be a lie. I’m fighting not to press my thighs together from the remembered pleasure.

Malachi leans down a little until he’s looking directly into my eyes. His eyes are so dark, they seem to draw in the light of the room. There’s a hunger lurking there, and I can’t stop the horrified suspicion he’s seeing that hunger reflected right back at him when he looks into my eyes.

His lips curve slowly. “You don’t want me to back off.”

“Wait.”

“You keep saying wait, little dhampir. Not stop. Shall I slow down farther?” He lifts his right hand with agonizing slowness. I stand perfectly still as he traces his thumb over my collarbone to the thin strap of my dress. Now’s the time to say stop. I don’t know if he’ll respect it, but I should voice it all the same. Should tell him how much I loathe his touch. How much I never want him to lay hands on me again.

I don’t.

I hold my breath and lift my chin.

He eases the strap off my shoulder and down, tugging it until the fabric falls to bare my breast. The cool air of the kitchen pebbles my nipple. Or that’s what I tell myself as he stares down at me. Using that same exaggerated slowness, he moves to my other shoulder and gives it the same treatment, until I’m naked from the waist up.

Malachi’s gaze flicks to my face, and whatever he sees there has him licking his lips. “You know why you’re here.”

He’s said the same thing to me multiple times last night. As if he’s checking in with me, which is laughable. He’s no different than my father, than all the other vampires I’ve been forced to interact with over the twenty-five years of my life. He wants what he wants, and he’ll mow down anyone who gets in his way. Including me. Especially me.

My anger blooms again, ready and waiting for the least provocation. I glare. “Just call me your resident blood bank and womb. Suck me, fuck me, do whatever you want. It’s not like I’m a real person to you. I’m just a little dhampir, after all.”

“You’re my little dhampir now.” He brackets my waist with his hands, his fingers digging in the slightest bit. I have the borderline hysterical thought he could literally rip me limb from limb right now and there’s not a damn thing I could do about it.

Wouldn’t that ruin my father’s day? I laugh. I can’t help it. It comes out angry and derisive. “I might have been traded like a possession, but I’m not yours. I never will be.”

“I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?” He closes the last bit of distance between us and I lose my grip on my rage. It shudders out of me in a sigh that’s almost a whimper. Malachi’s so strong. I don’t know why that surprises me. All vampires are stronger than they look. Hell, so am I, even if I can’t compare to a full-blood. But there’s something about the way he touches me, as if tempering that strength so he doesn’t harm me sends my body into a dizzying spiral into desire.

I am so fucked.