Bonds of the Vampire King (Blood Fire Saga Book 7)

by Bella Klaus

  Kain shuffled forward in his seat. “Is that—”

  “Kresnik.” The word fell out of my mouth like a curse. He’d escaped. Escaped after less than three days behind the ninety-nine wards. Escaped and wanted to lash out at the faker pretending to be his creation. With hands that wouldn’t stop trembling, I set the teacup down on its saucer.

  “Should we call someone?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” I said, but my hands made no move to my phone. Maybe terror had taken control of my limbs—maybe it was a morbid curiosity about what Kresnik would do next. Maybe I couldn’t move until I’d seen Sarah punished for doing something that could potentially earn me a permanent cell not nearly as nice as Valentine’s.

  One of the studio employees rushed up to Kresnik, holding a mic. Why, I had no idea, when his bellow had been loud enough to fill our speakers. Kresnik shot out a fiery arm, knocking the man several feet in the air. He landed in a twisted heap, his headphones melting onto the floor.

  A security guard approached Kresnik with his palms up and said something I couldn’t hear through the new-age music. Kresnik flicked his wrist, making the man drop down like a broken marionette.

  Sarah remained on the stage, her fiery illusion frozen. The camera zoomed in to capture her open-beaked expression of shock, but the woman’s eyes darted from side to side with the kind of desperation that told me she was trying to break free from an enchantment.

  The pulse between my ears thudded louder than the commotion of knocked-over microphones broadcasted across the speakers. What was he going to do to that woman?

  People in black leather jackets invaded the studio, pointing guns at the ifrit advancing on the fake phoenix.

  “Are those what enforcers look like to humans?” Kain asked in a small voice.

  “Their magic must work on recording equipment,” I muttered.

  Pools of lava snaked out from beneath Kresnik’s feet toward the enforcers, who stepped out of the camera’s frame. He raised his hands, filling the speakers with the pop and sizzle of searing meat.

  “He killed them,” Kain whispered.

  My stomach roiled with anxiety, a boiling, bubbling sensation that made me want to hurl. Sarah’s legs and wings thrashed from where she was stuck against the pole, but who knew if that was the enchantment or her flailing limbs.

  “You.” Kresnik pointed at someone off camera. “Red lips. Come to me, or everyone here will face the wrath of your god.”

  She stumbled into the frame, looking like a reluctant lamb painted and primped for sacrifice. “This is Annie Chong from BBC Score.”

  He placed his balled fists on his hips. “Interview me.”

  The presenter gaped.

  “Now,” he growled.

  As if self-preservation had slotted into place, Annie straightened. “Viewers at home,” she said in a trembling voice. “We have an exciting development in our quest to find the fire angel and her rider.”

  “Wrong,” said Kresnik.

  She flinched. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You have found God.”

  “And your name is?” she rasped.

  “I am.”

  Annie leaned forward, her eyes wide. “You are…”

  “Do not test me,” Kresnik growled.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “It’s something we learned in RE—the story of Moses and the burning bush.” Kain paused long enough for me to remember he was talking about his human school’s Religious Education class. “God. Lots of cultures believe there’s only one god, and He used that phrasing to introduce himself.”

  I nodded, having seen the classic movie starring Charlton Heston as Moses. “Kresnik’s pretending to be Him.”

  “England is C of E, so yeah.”

  “C of?” I asked.

  “Church of England.” He glanced at me and frowned. “King Henry the Eighth broke off from the Catholic Church because the pope wouldn’t grant him a divorce to marry his mistress.”

  Any other time, I would have asked more questions about the king who set up his own church. I might also have asked why he didn’t just keep the woman as a mistress like most nobles did instead of setting up a whole entire religion, but Kresnik was talking, and I had to listen.

  “People of Great Britain and beyond, you may call me Father and My Lord, for I am your creator. It was I who made you all from clay.”

  “That’s a bold claim.” The woman’s face fell as though she couldn’t believe she’d just challenged a lunatic.

  Gasps filled the speakers. My stomach plummeted into the wood floor, and my own features mirrored her expression. Kresnik would strike her down for heresy or some other term to describe her contradiction, such as blasphemy.

  “That’s alright.” Kresnik raised his flaming palms. “The lady is entitled to ask questions on behalf of the viewing public.”

  I could barely understand what he said next. It was old English, but he was reciting some sort of religious scripture that made no sense to anyone but himself. Annie gaped at Kresnik, her body drifting toward the edge of the camera’s frame, but he beckoned her closer.

  “You have questions for me?” he asked.

  She glanced over her shoulder at someone off-camera then turned back to Kresnik. “Why have you come?”

  “Because enemies are nigh,” he said in a voice that echoed across the speakers. “Monsters and demons who wish to destroy everything I have created, including humankind.”

  I leaned forward, my mouth falling open. Was he trying to stir up trouble against the Supernatural World?

  Annie cleared her throat and dipped her head toward the studio floor.

  “You have a question,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I’ll get struck down.”

  “Speak.”

  The presenter flinched. “Some of the viewers—not me, but some of the more skeptical out there—well, they might think…”

  Kresnik leaned forward, making her shrink back. Wet stains expanded from beneath her armpits, one of the perils of spending too much time around ifrits. “If you don’t ask me now, I will select another prophet.”

  “Alright then.” She licked her lips. “Some might say you’re the devil himself.”

  Kresnik threw his head back and laughed, the sound making every fine hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “He’s going to kill her.”

  “I’ll bet he won’t,” Kain muttered. “It’s one thing to attack people holding guns at your head but another to attack her for simply asking a question. He looks like the kind of psycho who wants everyone to love him.”

  “You want to see a demon?” He stepped back, sweeping his arm toward the fake phoenix still stuck against the pole. “Here’s your demon. Show my children your true face.”

  Sarah’s enchantment fell away, revealing a terrified woman in a strapless top and booty shorts.

  “Your true face,” Kresnik barked.

  “But she’s a light mage,” Kain whispered under his breath.

  “I think he wants her to create another illusion to scare the humans,” I said.

  Sarah closed her eyes and transformed into a succubus with red wings and horns that curled back from her face. As demons went, succubi and incubi just looked like extremely attractive humans wearing cosplay.

  “I will ask you once again or smite you where you stand. Show my children your true demonic form.”

  “He wants them to be scared,” said Kain.

  I shook my head. “As soon as he kills her, everyone will look at him like a savior.”

  Kane rolled his eyes. “What a complete bastard.”

  “The Council should have caught up with him by now,” I said. “Where are the Demon and Angel Kings if they’re so superior?”

  “Then that would make them hypocrites for breaking the Supernatural Secrecy Act.”

  “Shit.”

  Sarah transformed into a monster with red eyes, inky-blue skin, and a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth. Oversized ho
rns protruded from the crown of her head and curled out from the sides of her jaw, making everyone in the studio scream.

  Annie clapped her hands over her eyes.

  “You see?” Kresnik strolled to where he’d pinned her on the stage. “This is but one of your enemies. There are many more, all wearing the appearances of humans but with hearts as black as sin. In the name of the Father, I cast thy soul into the pits of Hell.”

  “Wait,” Annie shrieked. “Hell is real?”

  Kresnik produced a sword of fire and cleaved off Sarah’s head. Her body fell onto the stage, wearing the strapless top and booty shorts with her regular-looking head lying face-down. Applause rang out across the speakers.

  I placed a hand over my mouth and sighed. Nobody but a supernatural would know that she’d just reverted to her true form.

  “Father.” Annie dropped to her knees.

  Kresnik turned to the camera and beckoned with both hands. Whoever was operating it got the message and zoomed in on his fiery face. “I offer salvation. Protection from the demonic plague that wishes to ruin humanity. Eternal life.”

  “Immortality?” Annie’s voice shook.

  He inclined his head and smiled. “Those who accept my gift will never know death.”

  Fury burned through my veins. It didn’t take a professorship in Supernatural Warfare to know that Kresnik was building an army to march against Logris. Now that his people had been captured and there was no one to sneak into prisons to steal bodies to transform into zombies, he was recruiting regular humans.

  I turned to Kain, who stared open-mouthed at the scam playing out on the screen. “I need to petition the Supernatural Council for Valentine’s release. Will you be alright here?”

  “What?”

  “Prince Draconius doesn’t give a damn about Kresnik’s machinations,” I said. “He’s going to be more determined than ever to force you to take the throne.”

  Kain ran his fingers through his hair. “Why me?”

  “He couldn’t coerce Valentine’s brothers to step up when he had a bunch of warriors and the power of an ancient vampire. Now that they can team up against him, you’re the only one he has a chance of coercing.” I gave him a gentle pat on the back, hoping he didn’t take my assessment as an insult.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said with the longest sigh. “Why the hell wasn’t I born a half-blood like everyone else?”

  “In a year or two, you’ll come into your power and will swat bullies like Prince Draconius.”

  “That time can’t come soon enough,” he muttered. A heartbeat later, he raised his face to me and smiled, although the gesture froze halfway to his eyes. “Go. I’ll be fine here with all these cakes and burgers.”

  I leaned down, giving him a kiss on the temple. “See you soon.”

  Kain grunted. “It’s a pity old Macavity isn’t here to help me eat these snacks.”

  “He’s not the biggest fan of dogs, and you don’t want to see him when he’s under threat.” I strode toward the door, my hands curling into fists.

  Somehow, I needed to convince the Council that the time for petty politics was over. Now that Kresnik was back, it was all the more important for them to let Valentine out of jail.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I hurried down the pale hallways of Beowulf’s hideout, passing the occasional young shifter woman who glared at me as though I was a threat to her position within her king’s harem. As much as I tried to retrace my steps, I couldn’t find the mirror room, not even when I doubled back and groped through the air with my outstretched hands.

  It was either concealed by wards, or the hideout was designed to keep women from escaping. The rattling of metallic wheels sounded from the distance, and relief spread through my insides.

  “Lydia?” I turned around, waiting for the blue-haired woman to emerge from around the corner.

  The rattling became quieter, and I broke into a run, trying to find the source of the sound. I hurried down a stairwell of wooden banisters decorated by mounted deer heads, down another hallway illuminated by a large window with a view of a forest landscape, and around another corner where I found her mopping the floor.

  “Lydia?” I jogged toward her.

  She turned around, meeting me with a deep scowl. “You can’t call me that in public.”

  I flinched and glanced over my shoulder for signs of eavesdroppers. “Sorry. How do I get out of here? I can’t find the mirror room.”

  “Follow me,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Thanks,” I murmured, my insides fluttering with anxiety.

  Part of me wished I had an app that would allow me to stream human television so I could keep up with what Kresnik was doing in the television studio but I was still sickened by the way he had coerced that woman to make the humans believe that there was a race of demons bent on destroying their way of life.

  We continued down another set of steps to the ground floor, passing a dining room where Freida sat at the head of the table, holding court with seven bored-looking women. There was no sign of Eliza or the other women whom I'd met before, making me think King Beowulf’s harem was larger than I had imagined.

  The women fell quiet as we passed, all of them shooting us venomous glares. Lydia curled her lip and snarled something under her breath that I didn’t catch, and led me to the end of the hallway where there was a heavy door.

  “Put your hand on it,” she said, keeping her gaze low. “If you’re authorized to open it, it will unlock.”

  I leaned into her and whispered, “Are you all prisoners here?”

  “Some women kill to live in this shithole,” she muttered.

  “What about you?” I said, keeping my voice low.

  “You can’t help me.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

  “Come with me,” I said.

  Lydia quickened her steps and disappeared into a room. My insides burned with the urge to chase after her, but the thought of Kresnik being out there poisoning humans’ minds against the Supernatural World forced me to focus on the bigger issue. I placed a hand on the wooden door, and the wards’ magic curled around my wrist, reminding me of the enchantment of the penthouse.

  I pushed open the door to find myself standing in the sauna-like room that contained an entire wall of mirrors and the slimline one that I had stepped through when I arrived. Unlike the mirrors in the palace, and everywhere else I had seen the devices, these had no frames.

  “How the hell am I going to work this?” I muttered under my breath.

  Placing a hand on its surface, I said, “Take me to the Supernatural Council room.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Of course it wouldn’t work,” I said to myself. “It’s not like I’m authorized to enter one of the most secure rooms in Logris.” I turned to the mirror. “Take me back where I came from.”

  Its surface rippled, and I stepped through to the palace’s mirror room, where one of the armed guards helped me set the mirror to Beowulf’s office. When I stepped in again, it was to find myself in a small office similar to Namara’s, decorated with a lion pelt on the wall.

  A pink-haired woman rose from behind a desk, wearing denim shorts and a plaid top that exposed her tanned midriff. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for King Beowulf.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she placed her hands on her hips. “What do you want with the alpha?”

  “It’s related to something he’s doing for the Vampire King,” I replied. “Could you let him know I’m looking for him?”

  The woman cocked her hip to the side, her gaze sweeping down my outfit. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m Wolfie’s personal secretary, and I’m not letting you see him until you tell me exactly what you want.”

  “That information is classified.” At her glower, I raised my shoulders. “But it’s a matter of national security.”

  She pushed a notepad and pencil across the table. “Fill in this request form, and I’ll add you to the waiting list.”


  Every muscle in my shoulders and neck tightened, and I clenched my teeth to stop myself from saying something that might result in a fight for dominance. Sometimes, I really hated the Supernatural Council’s billion layers of belligerent bureaucracy.

  The door opened, and Beowulf poked out his head. “Come inside.”

  My shoulders sagged with relief. Without glancing at the pink-haired woman, I strode toward the Shifter King. “Thanks.”

  Beowulf’s office wasn’t the huge penthouse space of Hades’ but I supposed that was because the Shifter King already had a permanent residence in this realm. It was about the same size as his assistant’s room, with a punching bag on its right side, a bench press, and a set of iron dumbbells the size of tires.

  Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the main courtyard of the Supernatural Council building and the lake beyond. On the far left stood an imposing throne behind a large leather desk, and behind them hung a watercolor painting depicting a black wolf with mismatched gold-and-silver eyes.

  I pushed aside my speculations that this was his shifter form and inhaled a deep breath. “Why are some of the women in your hideout not allowed to use the mirror room?”

  Beowulf whirled around, his shoulders broadening, and a snarl curling his lips. “Is there a point to this line of conversation?” he growled, his eyes turning amber. “I let you in because of King Valentine, not to listen to your feminist rant.”

  My stomach plummeted like a boulder, leaving me reeling from his abrupt change in temperament. I blurted, “It’s time for the Council to release him from prison.”

  He folded his arms across his broad chest, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and stared down at me with eyes hard enough to hammer a woman into submission. “Anything else?”

  Something deep inside me reared up, wanting to rage at him for Lydia’s position, but I held back. I didn’t know all the facts, and Beowulf didn’t seem like the type of man who would listen to reason if it came from a woman, and there was the much larger issue threatening the safety of the Supernatural World and beyond.

  “What is the Council doing about Kresnik?” I asked.