Allure of the Vampire King: A paranormal romance (Blood Fire Saga Book 1)

by Bella Klaus

  Allure of the Vampire King

  Blood Fire Saga Book 1

  Bella Klaus

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Also by Bella Klaus

  Night of the Vampire King

  Copyright © 2020 by Bella Klaus.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  www.BellaKlaus.com

  Chapter One

  There were two types of vampires in this world, preternaturals and supernaturals. Right now, I couldn’t work out which of the two followed me through the dark.

  I pulled up the collar of my leather jacket and strode down the path, cringing at the smoky magic hovering behind me like a wraith. It didn’t matter which kind had tracked me down to Grosvenor Square in London—I had hoped to never see a vampire again.

  Supernatural vampires were alive and only required the smallest amount of blood for sustenance, while the preternaturals were undead and needed blood to avoid reverting into unmoving corpses.

  While a preternatural vampire could drain your blood and leave you an exsanguinated corpse, a supernatural vampire could break your heart.

  My gaze darted across the lawn and into the trees that bordered the garden square. He could be anywhere, waiting for his opportunity to pounce. I could sense most magical beings, but I didn’t wield an ounce of power, which was unfortunate because immense speed and strength would be useful for getting me out of my current predicament.

  Echoing footsteps synchronized with mine, and a ripple of anxiety ran down my back. It was an October morning, hours before sunrise. I’d been foolish—I realized that, now. Three years of never seeing or sensing a vampire, and I’d almost forgotten that the creatures ever ventured into the human world. But the hackles rising on my back could only mean one thing:

  He was getting close.

  I quickened my pace through the paths, my gaze darting side to side, both hands clutching the Dharma salt I kept in my pockets—a habit Aunt Arianna instilled in me at a young age.

  My aunt was a witch, as was everyone else in my coven who lived in the supernatural city of Logris. Me? I was a Neutral—a powerless mortal who moved out to start a new life in London. I was also the magicless mortal about to become a vampire’s snack.

  Shadows lengthened across the lawn that made up most of Grosvenor Square, intersecting the path ahead. Maybe it was a supernatural vampire, the harmless kind. Sunrise was less than an hour away—a preternatural wouldn’t risk getting caught out in the middle of daylight. But why would a supernatural stalk a human?

  My breaths became shallow, and my pulse roared between my ears. Thirty more feet. Thirty more feet and I would leave this empty square and enter the relative safety of the streets.

  At this time of the morning, postmen made deliveries, security staff in the surrounding embassies changed shifts, and people traveled into work around the streets. All I needed were a few more steps, and I’d be free of this stalker.

  Pulling out fistfuls of salt from my pocket, I broke into a jog. The vampiric presence at my back kept at the same distance. If it was a preternatural vampire, it would snatch me out of the square and soar into the sky. At least that’s what I thought they did.

  Nobody I knew had ever encountered an undead creature. According to what they taught us at the Academy, they were extinct.

  If I reached the crystal shop without getting clawed or bitten or eaten, I promised myself never to venture outside in the dark. At least not without an appropriate magical repellent or an Uber.

  A yellow DHL van slowed through the trees and parked outside the entrance. As the driver opened the door and walked around to the trunk, I broke into a sprint and bolted out into the street.

  He staggered back and clutched his chest. “Blimey, you gave me a fright.”

  “Sorry.” A nervous laugh bubbled up to the back of my throat.

  As I walked around the van and crossed to the other side of the street, the presence behind me stopped moving, as though observing me from within the park. I didn’t dare to turn around and look.

  Releasing the salt from my right hand, I rifled through the pocket of my leather jacket for my keys.

  Salt crystals stuck to my damp palms. I ignored them and jogged the fifty feet along the square, passing the Crystal Shop’s side display, rounded the corner of Upper Brook Street, and reached the entrance.

  At six-fifty-five, Upper Brook Street was a hive of activity with people streaming into the Starbucks at the end of the block and to the Pret a Manger sandwich bar across the road.

  While none of the humans fetching their morning coffee could help me fend off any kind of vampire, they carried enough recording devices to deter any otherworldly attacker.

  The Crystal Shop was a glass-fronted store with its insignia emblazoned in calligraphic script. Large amethyst and citrine geodes stood in the display among rose-quartz spheres and delicate-looking pieces fashioned into protective bracelets and amulets.

  As I hurried into its doorway, the keys slipped from my trembling fingers and fell onto the doorstep with a clank.

  The presence within the park shifted, making my skin tighten into goosebumps. Cold terror barreled through my insides, and a curtain of red hair fell across my face. I dropped down to my knees, snatched the keys off the ground, and jammed the key in the lock.

  Somehow, I managed to unlock the door, nearly crying with relief at the warm, frankincense-and-myrrh-scented air wafting through the shop’s interior. After staggering inside, I locked the door and glanced through the glass display across the road into the empty park.

  Even if whoever had stalked me was gone, it was too early to feel safe. Preternatural vampires needed invitations to enter people’s dwellings, but the rules about stores where the owner lived upstairs were shaky.

  Just in case its preternatural magic deemed the crystal shop a public space, I rushed to the counter and picked up a two-foot-tall pillar of Dharma salt.

  Most human crystal stores sold Himalayan salt, a rose-pink substance they used in cooking, to make lamps, and in spa treatments. Dharma salt came from a monastery in the same mountain region, but the monks who mined it were mages who blessed the crystals with the power to absorb evil.

  If a preternatural vampire tried to cross the threshold, the salt would suck out its corrupted magic, leaving it an unmoving corpse.

  At least that was the theory. Nobody in recent history was powerful or crazy enough to create a mindless blood-drinking monster with an insatiable thirst.

  Supernatural vampires were bad enough. I squeezed my eyes shut and exhaled a long breath. How many times had I told myself not to think of vampires? Especially one in particular whose very name made my veins sear with anger.

  I stormed across the shop floor, picking up a pamphlet that had drifted down from a stand. Even if supernatural vampires didn�
��t leave people bloodless husks, they certainly left them loveless.

  “Mera?” Istabelle’s muffled voice drifted down from the upstairs apartment.

  “It’s only me,” I shouted back. “Did you sense the presence in the square?”

  “What?”

  I walked around the counter and stood at the door separating the shop from the hallway that led to Istabelle’s home. “Something followed me across Grosvenor Square.”

  “What?” she repeated.

  “Never mind,” I shouted in a louder voice. “Where’s the delivery?”

  “It’s coming at eleven.”

  “Right,” I muttered. Last night as I was cleaning up, Istabelle had told me the delivery man was on his way.

  Exhaling my exasperation in a long sigh, I leaned against the counter and glanced around the shop’s interior. The only reason I’d come early was to unpack the important shipment in time for opening hours.

  Apart from being a little sketchy on details, Istabelle Bonham-Sackville was a great boss. After the grand disaster that had caused me to leave Logris, I’d become an embarrassment to my coven and a cautionary tale to others on the dangers of loving above one’s station.

  Istabelle hadn’t cared that I’d made myself a public spectacle. She understood what it was like to be born without magic and live among supernatural beings.

  I exhaled a sharp breath through my nostrils. We weren’t completely magicless, it was just that our power was neutral—completely unusable, which meant we appeared on the outside as humans, regardless of our actual supernatural race. Istabelle had even taken me as her apprentice and taught me crystal and herb healing.

  Aunt Arianna said she was at least a century old, but Istabelle looked no older than sixty and traveled the world searching for magical objects. Her ability to sense power meant that she could also harness magical stones for basic protection and healing.

  Istabelle even found me an apartment around the corner from the shop—something out of the reach of a twenty-four-year-old with zero family wealth.

  Sure, it was tiny and consisted of one room, but it was in the heart of Mayfair and within walking distance of Hyde Park, Bond Street, and a whole host of other London attractions.

  By now, the sun had risen, and pedestrians streamed down Upper Brook Street on their way to work. After lighting the incense sticks, I unlocked the cash register, replenished the smudge sticks, dusted the dream-catchers, and reached under the counter for the key to the basement, where Istabelle kept the grimoires and other ancient books. With two-and-a-half hours until opening time and no deliveries to unpack, that left plenty of time to catch up with my reading.

  I turned toward the basement door, and a frantic banging on the glass sent my heart tightening with panic.

  If that was my stalker… Shaking off those thoughts and putting my faith in the Dharma salt, I peered over my shoulder.

  Beatrice stood in the doorway, her mahogany hair blown in all directions by the wind. Like me, she stood five-five, but unlike me, she had gorgeous, tanned skin and the curves to fill out a Dolce and Gabbana suit. I wasn’t so well-endowed, with nervous energy that kept me thin.

  I jogged across the shop floor, darting around the stand of postcards and pamphlets. Beatrice was my best friend in London and knew nothing of the Supernatural World. We’d met in my first month here at a speed-dating Meetup and ended up finding each other more interesting than the men.

  Beatrice beckoned at me to hurry. I glanced down at my watch and frowned. Seven-thirty? She worked for an international tax consultancy around the corner and didn’t start work until nine.

  I unlocked the door and pulled it open, letting in a rush of cold air. Beatrice barrelled into the shop with a chuckle, and bumped her stilettos into the Dharma salt pillar I’d left at the entrance.

  “What are you doing in Central London so early?” I asked.

  “Oh. My. Aftershocks.” She raised her arms, wiggling her fingers in a jazz-hands movement.

  I took in her flushed cheeks, sparkling brown eyes, rumpled shirt, and creased skirt. She’d worn that navy blue suit yesterday, and her hair looked like someone had backcombed it with large fingers.

  “Did you work all night again?” I asked.

  “I had a date with the most amazing man in Berkeley Square.” Beatrice stepped back and beamed. “Can I nip into your flat and change into a fresh suit?”

  “Sure. But what happened last night?” Beatrice kept a few outfits at my place, which made going out after work easier. I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the keys.

  “Thanks, love.” Beatrice plucked the keys from my hand and launched into her story.

  She’d been swiping through one of those dating apps and got matched with a Swiss Banker called Christian. After swapping some pictures and chatting through the afternoon, he asked her out for coffee, which led to dinner at Hakkasan, an exclusive Chinese restaurant five minutes away.

  My brows drew together. “How did Christian get reservations at such short notice?”

  Beatrice waved my question away and went on to describe a steamy evening that made my eyes bulge and my cheeks turn hot.

  It wasn’t like I was a virgin or a prude. I’d been with one person—once, and it had been the happiest and most pleasurable experience of my life. What happened hours after would forever make me link love to heartbreak.

  My spirits plummeted, and I could no longer focus on Beatrice’s exciting tale of leather paddles and cuffs. The buzzing of her phone cut through my morbid thoughts, and she stopped talking to reach into the pocket of her laptop bag.

  “Is that Christian?” I asked.

  Beatrice glanced down at the screen of her smartphone and grinned. “Aw… He misses me already.” She texted something back and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Meet for lunch?”

  “Okay.”

  “My treat!” With a happy chuckle, she jogged through the shop, opened the door, and disappeared around the corner to cut across Grosvenor Square.

  I scratched my head, marveling at Beatrice’s adventurous spirit. The woman was an accountant, but there was nothing prudent about her personality.

  Beatrice said that life was short and the time she had to enjoy her youth was even shorter. Because of this, she seized every opportunity for happiness, no matter how brief or if it would end in disappointment or heartbreak.

  My shoulders sagged, and I clicked the latch. I wish I could be free like Beatrice, but every time a man showed even the slightest bit of interest in me, my mind conjured up images of how things could go wrong. And thoughts like that sent me into a spiral of despair.

  I clutched the amethyst pendant that was supposed to stop negative thoughts and felt for a pulse of power. Empty. No wonder I’d fallen into thinking about what had happened in Logris.

  “Time to hit the books,” I muttered to myself. Next Monday, Istabelle would test me on the properties of somniferous herbs—plants like valerian root, lavender, and chamomile, which helped people sleep.

  If I couldn’t answer her questions on their magical properties, she would be disappointed, and I couldn’t let her down after everything she’d done for me these three years.

  As far as subterranean libraries went, Istabelle’s was pretty cozy. A little larger than my studio apartment, its walls consisted of mahogany shelves that extended from the white-tiled floors to its twelve-foot-high ceiling.

  A pair of bright table lamps provided atmospheric light and were perched on a wooden desk that stood in the middle of the room. On either side of the workspace was a pair of the most comfortable battered leather armchairs.

  As I reached the bottom of the mahogany spiral staircase, I inhaled the crisp scent of preserving crystals. Some of the items she kept down here were priceless, although I never got the chance to see them. Istabelle hadn’t yet given me access to the storeroom she secured beyond a hidden entrance in the shelves.

  My fingers grazed the herbal compendiums, but the memory of t
his morning’s stalking had me drifting to the other side of the room, where Istabelle kept tomes about supernatural beings and a few ancient diaries she had amassed from probate sales.

  Why would a vampire follow me across the square? After my final humiliating night in Logris, I was a joke within the supernatural community. None of them would waste their time tracking me to London just to watch me and do nothing.

  One of the leather tomes along the left of the library caught my eye: THE IMMORTAL VAMPIRE by Magnus Eaglecrest. I tried pulling it off the shelf, but it wouldn’t budge until I gave it a hard tug. Feeling the strain of its weight against my biceps, I clenched my teeth and placed it on the table.

  If this was a vampire movie, it would have landed with a thud and a cloud of dust, but I cleaned twice a week and replenished the library’s preserving crystals monthly.

  After settling into the buttery-soft armchair, I flipped over the first few pages of thick parchment that felt as heavy as leather.

  Like most creatures of the Supernatural World, the vampire may live forever until killed. After thousands of years of living, some vampires tire of existence and allow their souls to ascend the mortal plane. To return, the vampire must undergo three challenges.

  This was all very interesting, but not the information I needed. I turned several more pages, only stopping when my eye caught the following text.

  Should the supernatural vampire succumb to the wielder of flame, his soul will remain in his corpse. Upon death, his heart will putrefy, and he will rise as a preternatural vampire—a being of unbridled evil.

  To prevent this terrible occurrence, the vampire corpse must be tethered to stone, its heart removed and preserved to prevent putrefaction.