The Supernaturals of Las Vegas Books 1-4

by Carrie Harris

  The feeling overwhelmed her, but as they approached the dais, she shook free of it as best as she could. It wouldn’t do to stand before the king for the first time with her head full of fancies. She was the daughter of Dagmar Lorensson, not some swooning nightgowned girl in a vampire movie.

  They approached the steps, and for the first time, she looked upon the king of the vampires. Viktor Valdemar had the stereotypical vampire king look down pat. His long black hair was tied back into a neat knot at his neck, and dark brown eyes glittered in his pale face. An archaic yet tasteful suit adorned his slim frame, with pristine white ruffles at neck and wrists. As he stood from his throne, his hand rested on the head of an ornately carved cane topped with a wooden serpent’s head, fangs bared as if to strike. Jewels sparkled in the eyes of the serpent in a display of understated wealth, underscored by the winking gem in his signet ring.

  He smiled at her, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. They were as cold and dead as the snake’s.

  “Ah,” he said, his voice low and rich. “The newest Lorensson girl.”

  “Anneliese,” said Gregor, releasing her with a flourish, as if setting loose an exotic bird of prey to hunt for the first time.

  She moved to the very edge of the dais with a certainty borne of hours of practice, and dropped into a graceful curtsey, head bowed before the king. After a moment, his cold fingers brushed her cheek. She did not shiver, but she wanted to.

  “Rise, child,” he said.

  She did as instructed.

  “You will soon be joining the executive staff of the Renaissance, will you not?” asked the king, in bored tones.

  Liss knew she should bow her head, and she must not under any circumstances meet his eyes. It would be the height of rudeness. Still, if anyone was being rude here, it was Viktor. She might not be a vampire, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t accomplished. It didn’t mean she didn’t deserve respect. She carried a fourth degree black belt in Muay Thai and a first degree in Capoiera. She’d reached marksman rank in both rifle and pistol. She fluently spoke Mandarin, Spanish, French, Arabic, Portuguese, and Japanese. She was a winner of finance awards and etiquette and deportment prizes at college, and a summa cum laude college graduate. Liss Lorensson was proud and confident and determined to show it. So she lifted her chin and fixed her eyes solidly on his mouth, as far up as she dared to look.

  “Yes, sire,” she said. “I’m a Lorensson. That’s what we do.”

  From somewhere behind her, someone gasped audibly. She hadn’t meant to mouth off, simply to state a fact. But perhaps it had come out more cutting than she’d intended. That wouldn’t do at all. Lorenssons didn’t kick off their presentation to society by insulting the king, accidentally or otherwise. She would have to fix this immediately, but she didn’t know how.

  It all relied on Viktor’s reaction. She searched the lower half of his face. He looked…bemused.

  “Of course it is. But ultimately, you serve me. You, and everyone else here.” His smile turned cruel, edged with predatory glee. “Bow to me.”

  She felt a tingle run over her. When she’d been a girl, she and her friend Oliver had referred to the feeling as “someone running over their grave,” until her mother had explained that maybe it wasn’t the right phrase to use for the daughter of one of the most preeminent thrall families. Certain proprieties needed to be observed. But the feeling passed quickly, and she returned her attention to saving face.

  “Oh, of course, sire,” she murmured, and curtsied deeply.

  When she straightened, she caught glimpse of a strange expression on his face. He looked shocked and afraid, but she had to be reading that wrong. The king of the vampires had nothing to fear, and certainly not from her. The expression vanished before she could analyze it further, covered over with a veneer of urbane charm.

  “Enjoy your first night at court, little Lorensson,” said the king, waving her off.

  “Thank you, sire,” she said, retreating back to where Gregor waited for her a few steps away from the dais.

  Gregor offered his arm, his expression unreadable, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. As he steered her away, she couldn’t repress a feeling of intense relief. She didn’t like the king one bit. At least she wasn’t his thrall, because she wouldn’t have been able to handle spending time with him on a regular basis. He gave her the creeps.

  The crowd gradually broke into smaller groups. Some danced; others chatted or schemed or pretended to be chatting when they really were scheming. A handful of thralls clustered around the hors du oeuvres table, nibbling on five star delicacies. Liss saw her father near the orchestra, chatting with Chandra, the king’s steward. He gave her a little wave as she poured herself a half glass of white wine. She didn’t intend to overindulge, but she’d heard that the vintage served at court was excellent and couldn’t resist trying it for herself.

  “May I have this dance?” asked Gregor, with an understated bow.

  “If you require,” replied Liss. “I am at your service, of course.”

  “I don’t require my thralls to dance. Tait would step on my feet.” When Liss laughed, he gave her an arch look. “You think I am kidding, but I am not.”

  “I believe you,” she said. “And I would be very pleased to dance.”

  “Milady,” he said, offering his arm.

  Chandra tapped her staff on the floor and called for a Fledermaus Quadrille. Liss couldn’t keep from smiling. She’d always loved dancing, and she knew she excelled at it. It would be good for the rest of the court to see her dance with Gregor. A politically sound move. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was handsome and alluring and surprisingly funny.

  The couples paired off, with Liss and Gregor placed opposite her closest friend, Oliver, and his patron Countess Isabeau. Oliver looked like the love child of a rock star and a romantic poet, all tousled brown hair, pale skin, and bedroom eyes. Isabeau had a heart shaped face, elaborately styled hair, and a pallor that put most vampires to shame.

  Oliver and Liss had gone to the same college, and it had been nice to have at least one person there who understood the reality of how things were. Most of their classmates had assumed they were a couple, but it had never been that way. Liss had been honestly happy—if a little worried—when Oliver had graduated a few months earlier and immediately fallen for his master. She’d quizzed him on the situation mercilessly when they’d talked on the phone, and she was eager to meet Isabeau and develop her own opinion. No one was good enough for her friend, but from Oliver’s rapturous descriptions, Isabeau came close.

  She gave them a surreptitious once over and was pleased to see that Isabeau was giving her beau as many adoring glances as she was getting. Oliver gestured toward Liss and Gregor, and Isabeau gave her a pleasant smile that set Liss further at ease. There would be no ridiculous jealousy over her friendship with Oliver, which would be just fine with her.

  The music began, and the couples moved in graceful concert through the archaic forms of the dance. Liss and Gregor were quiet for the first few seconds, concentrating on the steps. But soon enough, Gregor broke the silence.

  “I owe you a word of apology,” he murmured in her ear.

  “You do?”

  “I do,” he said firmly. “I thought to buy you a birthday gift, but I didn’t know what you’d like. I thought I’d wait until we became more thoroughly acquainted and get you something later, but I’ve just realized that this might come off as carelessness on my part.”

  Liss felt a strange, fluttery sensation. Her cheeks heated. Why was she so flustered? She couldn’t explain it.

  “No, that doesn’t seem careless at all,” she said faintly. “You’re very kind.”

  He instantly picked up on her change in demeanor. “Are you okay? Would you care to step out of the dance?”

  Once again, she spoke without thinking. Being with him seemed to do that to her, and it was dangerous.

  “Why?” she asked archly. “Have I been ste
pping on your feet more than Tait usually does?”

  After a startled moment, Gregor threw his head back and laughed. Heads swiveled in their direction as people searched out the source of the foreign, deviant noise. Outright laughter just wasn’t done at court. When they realized it was him, they tried to pretend they hadn’t been looking. It was a good thing Viktor was out of the room, feeding or scheming or both.

  Gregor got himself under control quickly, but his lips still twitched.

  “Shall we step out so I can get some air?” he asked. “I would appreciate it.”

  “Of course,” said Liss, her cheeks still flaming.

  He led her gracefully off the floor without disturbing the other dancers, through the French doors and onto the balcony. One of his hands rested at her waist while the other closed on the tips of her gloved fingers. The night air was cool and still after the stifling atmosphere of the ballroom. From here, the neon glow of Vegas was muted by elaborate latticework privacy screens edged in gold leaf and twined with bougainvillea.

  Gregor led Liss to the far end of the balcony.

  “Shall we sit?” he asked, gesturing to an overstuffed fainting couch tucked in the back of an overgrown nook. Heavy, heady-scented flowers drooped from the privacy screens like ripe fruits, begging to be picked.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said, settling down gratefully. “I’m not used to the heels. I don’t wear them very often.”

  “Why today?”

  “It seemed appropriate. I want to do my family justice…and you.”

  Her eyes rose to his despite her flaming cheeks. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She was always so rational, so collected, so prepared for everything. She had prepared for him. Why hadn’t it worked?

  “I don’t care what you wear on your feet, so long as it pleases you, Liss,” he said quietly. “May I call you Liss?”

  “All of my friends do.”

  “Then I would like that.”

  Their eyes met. He looked so handsome and perfect and…sad. She couldn’t help it. She put her hand to his cheek, trying to comfort him without even knowing what was wrong. But whatever it was, she couldn’t bear to see him suffer.

  He leaned into her hand in slow motion. His hands bookended her hips, denting the plush upholstery of the sofa. They moved together, falling back onto the cushions, their mouths only inches from each other. The air between them was electric with tension.

  “I hadn’t intended this,” he said, his words slow. It took her a moment to realize he spoke that was because he was trying so hard to restrain himself. She could see the faintest shadow of one of his fangs, a testament to his excitement. “I just wanted to get to know you.”

  Her hand still sat on his cheek, and it clenched at the collar of his suit without her even meaning to.

  “Don’t stop,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  She nodded, and his mouth fell upon hers, devouring her greedily. She answered in turn, pulling him closer and closer, until they were pressed together. The hard length of his body curled against hers, and she answered, driven by an insatiable hunger the likes of which she’d never felt before.

  A tingling thrill rushed through her veins, and her head began to swim. Although she knew somewhere deep inside that this was just the narcotic effect of his saliva, she found that she didn’t care. She felt drunk and reckless, and she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything. Her hands went down to her body, hiking up her dress to bare herself to him, but the pesky shapewear was in the way, and she couldn’t think clearly enough to remember how to remove it. She pawed at it for a moment and then gave up. Instead, she tilted her head back, baring her neck to him. She wanted him inside her, any way she could get it.

  “Bite me,” she said, her voice shaking.

  He leaned forward, fangs sliding out. But then he hesitated. “No, I shouldn’t.”

  “Please,” she begged, trying to pull him closer. He was too strong; it was like trying to move a skyscraper.

  “You’ll be sorry later,” he said, but his eyes were fixated on her pulse, and his voice shook with need.

  Her hand slid to the hard length of him, and he darted forward, unable to restrain himself any longer. His fangs slid into her skin, and she whimpered once before bliss swept her away. Bright colors popped behind her eyes as she climaxed.

  She arched, her body curling against his in a way she distantly realized would embarrass her later. But she didn’t care. This was everything she’d ever wanted. He had to feel how right this was, how they were meant to be together. This felt too good to be anything but true love.

  He sucked her blood until the world turned white.

  Chapter 4

  After it was over, Liss lay sprawled on the fainting couch. Although she wasn’t unconscious, she certainly wasn’t in any position to be seen by the rest of the attendees at court. Anyone who took one look at her rumpled clothing, disheveled hair, and general pallor would know what had just happened. Gregor didn’t want to advertise it, although he couldn’t quite pin down why. Maybe because Viktor had treated her like nothing more than a meal ticket, and he wouldn’t have that. She was a Lorensson. The accomplishments of his thrall line had always been a matter of pride for him, and he had the strong suspicion that Liss would blow them all out of the water.

  But that process would be much more difficult if he allowed Viktor to set expectations for her. Gregor would see the rest of court treat her with respect, and it wouldn’t be particularly respectful to drag her through the ballroom looking like this. There was no other way to get to the restrooms where she could freshen up.

  Luckily, the solution to this problem was an easy one. He pulled out his cell phone and texted Dagmar with instructions to come to him immediately. Such a marvelous device, the cell phone, with such capacity to change the world. And how exciting it seemed to him now, just looking down at it, imagining the message floating across the building on invisible wings.

  He shook his head as if to clear it. What was wrong with him? Earlier this evening, he’d been his usual jaded self, and now he was waxing poetic about technological marvels? He’d always prided himself on changing with the times. He did not get emotional about anything, let alone the latest invention. He knew all too well that it would soon be replaced with a newer and better one.

  But something was different now, and that something sat half drowsing on the sofa with a faint catlike smile of satisfaction on her face. He felt a certain amount of satisfaction himself when he saw the expression, but he didn’t have much time to contemplate it. Dagmar emerged onto the balcony, hurrying without rushing, self-contained as always. She caught sight of him—and the figure on the sofa—and came toward them.

  As she came close enough to speak privately, he felt compelled to reassure her. This was her daughter, after all, and even a Lorensson might quell at seeing a daughter like that.

  “I did not damage her,” he said quietly. “I restrained myself.”

  It was an understatement, to say the least. He’d wanted more. More, in every sense of the word. Feeding for him was usually a necessity rather than a pleasure. He’d fed directly from thralls in the past and had a liaison or ten over the years, but it hadn’t had this effect on him. She was intoxicating in a way he’d never quite experienced before. Not her blood—it tasted the same as all the rest—but something about Liss herself. Something he couldn’t yet pin down.

  “I’m sure you did,” she said, looking down at Liss. She didn’t seem worried, but then again, he’d never seen her angry, and he’d known her for nearly 30 years. “I have a kit packed for just this situation. Shall I fetch Tait or my husband to sit with her while I get it?”

  “I’ll stay for a few minutes more, but then I should take care of my social duties for the evening.” He checked his watch. “Will she be up and moving by the end of court? I would hate to think that I ruined the night for her. She will only be presented here once.”

  Dagma
r took one look at her daughter and then up at Gregor. She nodded once, shortly. “She’ll be fine. Leave it to me. I’ll be back in just a couple of minutes.”

  “Very well.”

  He sat down next to Liss, blocking her from view of anyone who might wander to this end of the balcony. As he waited, his hand crept out as if of its own accord and stroked her hair.

  After Dagmar returned and he ascertained that she needed no more assistance from him, Gregor returned to court. No sooner had he stepped into the room than Lady Antonia approached him, eager to beg his intervention on her behalf. She’d petitioned Viktor for the right to sire a new vampire from her thrall line, a request that had been firmly denied. The thrall was sick, and Viktor’s position on the care and feeding of thralls was widely known. He always said it was much easier to breed a new one than fix a faulty one.

  He did not empathize with Antonia’s evident desire to keep this thrall a while longer due to his musical talents. Once, Gregor himself had been a virtuoso, a violinist without compare. He’d been invited into the great houses of Italy during the Renaissance, and he was beginning to pack the concert halls when Viktor plucked him from his human life without his consent. Maybe Antonia’s case was different, since the thrall knew what he’d be getting into and presumably had agreed with the plan. But it still came too close for comfort. He made a few noncommittal remarks and excused himself as soon as was polite.

  As he skirted the edge of the dance floor, he caught sight of Tait moving toward him from the other side. The two men met near the orchestra, where the volume of the music made it difficult for even vampire ears to overhear. Then they angled their faces to prohibit lip reading. The precautions were automatic, even for Tait, who had only been a part of this society for four years. But that was the way of the vampire court. Newcomers either adjusted quickly or were consumed. Sometimes literally.