Blood That Binds: A Vampire Romance (Blood Legends Duet)

by Melissa Winters

  He leans over once more, saying something that has the Crown’s mouth tilting up into a smile. What is he up to? They walk from person to person, grabbing each of their hands and saying something that appears to relax each of the creatures. For the first time since this pair entered the room, the bidders leave their side and take to various corners and alcoves. Why are they suddenly uninterested in these two?

  I watch them continue to command the room, but as they do so, the guests they’ve already spoken to, the ones who ventured off from this twisted party, begin acting strange. Their red eyes no longer glow brightly; they’re muted and almost . . . foggy. It’s as if they’re in a daze, movements mechanical and stiff.

  What did they do?

  A man runs his hand up the leg of his date, pulling the material of her skirt all the way up her hip. The fact that she isn’t wearing panties is obvious as he reveals a patch of hair between the woman’s legs. My eyes widen as he shoves his fingers inside of her roughly. Somehow, he manages to undo his pants and they pool at his feet. It isn’t long before her hand is around his length, pumping up and down. She throws her head back as his fingers slide in and out of her. I watch as the scene unfolds, my mouth dropping to the floor in shock and disgust. They are blatantly about to have intercourse right here in front of everyone.

  “What the hell is happening?” the blonde next to me asks in a high-pitched squeal.

  “I have no idea,” I admit, unable to look away.

  I hear the other donors gasping and murmuring their revulsion as we’re all forced to watch the obscene actions unfold. Nobody in the room—with the exception of us—is bothered because they are all in their own states of pleasure. They have no cares in the world as to who’s watching. It’s turned into a freaking orgy in a matter of minutes. As ashamed as I am to admit it, I’m transfixed. It’s a menagerie of sex and I can’t tear my eyes away. It can’t be helped. I’m an unwilling voyeur, but as I watch, I become aware that my body demands to take part.

  Heat pools in my core—foreign and intoxicating. Lust envelops me like a lover, and I am suddenly desperate for something I don’t understand. Nothing good can come of this, yet I don’t turn away.

  An invisible magic weaves through the room, championing the desire and threatening to pull me under. The man Ratilda called Crown looks up at me, watching, knowing. He doesn’t turn away as more people paw at him. Instead, his eyes remain on me, his gaze intent and fiery. I’m wet in places I should not be, and my breath is coming out in unsteady spurts.

  The man’s throat contracts as he gulps, seemingly affected by my current state of arousal, the simple move only making it worse. Tingles have me tightening and contracting, needing a release I’ve never once felt before. The tension builds low in my belly, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think I was going to c—

  Oh God.

  My hands fly to my mouth as the horror of what’s happening sets in. How? Why? As I shake off every last bit of the heady feelings, self-loathing takes hold. Why would my body react like that? More concerning, why am I attracted to the man that rules this world of darkness and death?

  Jerking my eyes away from the suited royal, I suddenly feel sick at what I’m seeing.

  He’s caused this in some way.

  From the moment he walked into the room, all sensibility was wiped away. His looks have me acting like an idiot along with everyone else. For that I hate him even more. A tear slides down my cheek and I wipe it away, angry. My chin drops to my chest, eyes closing to drown out the room.

  “Close your eyes,” I yell to my fellow donors. “They’re doing this. Don’t watch it.”

  My lids slam shut as I refuse to be forced into seeing this. He’s to blame and I know it. I’m not sure how he’s managed it, but whatever he said to these creatures, his words, it did this. I have no idea of his motives, but I won’t succumb to his wicked game.

  “What’s your name?” That masculine voice has my head jolting up. My knees quake at the closeness of the two newcomers. Unsure of their motives, I’m desperate to escape.

  “What’s your name?” the man Ratilda had called Lawrence repeats, a little more forcefully the second time.

  “You can f—.” The words don’t come. I can hardly think, let alone form sentences. I’m frightened. My finger flops down at the number affixed to the floor in front of me.

  “I dare say, brother. She’s ignoring us.”

  The Crown huffs. “That has to be a first for you.”

  Are they seriously making jokes?

  “Are you afraid?” the man asks with a frown.

  I consider lying, but the way my hands shake at my sides makes the answer obvious.

  “Yes,” I hiss through my teeth. “But I’m pissed too.”

  I’m not sure how I was able to form the last part of that, but it’s not a lie. Pissed is a gross understatement of what I am, but it’s the best I could do given the circumstances.

  “Pissed?” Lawrence says, scandalized. “Is that not a phrase used to describe urination?” He directs his question to the other, who chokes out a laugh.

  “She’s using it as slang to inform us she’s angry.”

  Lawrence furrows his brow. “Pissed,” he mutters.

  “How did you do this?” I ask, looking out at the sexual acts unfolding.

  “Perceptive,” Lawrence says as if proud. “We had to keep them busy so that we could meet the donors.” I growl at the term applied to me and the others, and Lawrence has the good sense to grimace at his misstep. “My apologies. It’s the term the Council has given to those of you they’ve brought here. I’m not sure what else to call you.”

  He seems contrite, which is strange and unwelcome. I don’t want these men to appear good in any way. I’ve been naïve before and I won’t again. “You can call us victims,” I seethe.

  The Crown’s eyes narrow, “Have they hurt you?”

  I blink. Is he serious? Did they hurt me? I clench my hands into fists and allow the anger to take hold.

  “I was taken from my home,” I grit, staring him down with all the hatred my five-foot-seven frame possesses. “Thrown into a dark cell and starved for days. I witnessed a brutal murder and now I’m being paraded around to be sold to creatures that will most definitely kill me. What do you think?” I bite out the words, letting the rage fuel me.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs softly. His eyes don’t leave mine. He stares back, conveying to me that he means it, but it doesn’t matter. He’s allowing it to continue, which makes him my enemy just as much as the others.

  “Unless you plan to do something to stop it, your apology is worthless to me.”

  “Believe me, if I could, I would.”

  I cringe.

  “Did she not call you the Crown? Is this not your auction?” I quiz.

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Lawrence chimes in.

  “Just go,” I say, turning my head away. All hope of help evaporated with his words. He won’t help and we’re as good as dead.

  “Tell me your name,” Lawrence commands, sounding harsh for the first time. I huff out a harsh breath. He doesn’t deserve anything from me, but for some reason I give in. Maybe it’s because I want to hear it one last time. Or maybe it’s some idiotic hope that, like with all serial killers, if I make myself a real person in his eyes, it will be harder for him to kill me. Or so I’ve heard. They aren’t human.

  “Marina Drake.”

  Lawrence inhales sharply, closing his eyes, looking like he’s in pain.

  The other man arches a brow at Lawrence, confused by his reaction.

  “Do you know her, Lawrence?”

  The man named Lawrence raises his head to the other, shaking it back and forth, but not convincingly. Could he possibly know me?

  “No. It’s not that. My head is pounding.”

  “Perhaps you’re hungry. Should you eat something?”

  I recoil at this suggestion, palms beginning to sweat again, and a sheen of perspiratio
n builds at my hairline.

  “Dear God, girl, he didn’t mean you.” He motions toward the cart of glasses. “We aren’t barbarians,” Lawrence says, appalled by my misunderstanding. I don’t say anything.

  “I won’t be sampling anyone today,” he says coolly. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was a hint of revulsion underlying those words. Does he not like blood? Is that even possible for a vampire?

  “Surely you aren’t going to pass up a glass of perfectly aged type O, brother,” a male voice calls from the corner of the room. Every vampire in the room stops what they’re doing and all eyes fly in his direction. A tall man with long, jet-black hair stands menacingly just inside of the door.

  “Marcellus,” the Crown says. “I didn’t think we’d be seeing you this month.”

  Marcellus huffs. “I rarely miss.” He picks at his fingers, seemingly uninterested in having this conversation. “It’s been—what—a century since you’ve participated.”

  “I found it high time I attend. It is my auction, after all.”

  Knowing that this is his auction makes me sick to my stomach. What sort of a creature would allow innocent girls to be kidnapped and sold off to sadistic blood-sucking monsters? There are blood banks for a reason. Why couldn’t they do something more on the up and up? There have to be plenty of crazy people out there that would willingly give their blood in order to not be kidnapped, tortured, and killed.

  Yet, there are plenty of willing women for sex, and trafficking is still a thing. Humans can be just as monstrous with their vices. Ratilda confirmed this auction was done for similar reasons as sex trafficking. For convenience and because they can.

  Taking a deep breath, the Crown steps forward, grabs a flute from the tray, and brings it to his nose. In a strange turn of events, the room goes silent. Everyone in the room watches in anticipation. He inhales deeply, sighing at the scent of my blood. A collective gasp rings across the room as every onlooker awaits his next move. Has it been a long time since he drank blood? Why is everyone so entranced by this? What am I missing?

  Despite myself, I’m holding my breath, waiting to see his reaction when he drinks me in. Everyone else appears to be on the same page as they all lean in, not moving, speaking, or even breathing. Moments pass, and the suspense is killing me.

  “What I find most interesting is that you actually considered sampling a donor. Isn’t that against your principles, dear brother?” Marcellus’s brow rises in question.

  Brother?

  These two couldn’t be any more different where looks were concerned. Both are attractive, but one is far scarier than the other. The newcomer has my skin crawling in ways no other in this room has. Not even the wicked couple from before.

  “We are vampires, Marcellus. Sampling blood is our lifeline.”

  “Indeed. Yet, you don’t.” Marcellus’s lips press together in a thin line, eyes narrowing in his supposed brother’s direction. “Don’t let me keep you, Julian. Taste her.” He grins. “She looks succulent.”

  Julian.

  I say the name several times in my head, for no other reason but to remember who I need to take out.

  Keep telling yourself that.

  Julian glowers in the man’s direction.

  “Fine. Fine. If you won’t, then I will.” Marcellus moves toward me and I begin to shake. Being in a room surrounded by vampires would tend to make a human tremble, but something about this particular vampire has me on edge. If I had to guess who’s the worst of the worst, my bet is he’s at the top of the evil hierarchy.

  Julian’s arm shoots out, stopping Marcellus in his tracks.

  “Don’t,” Julian growls, eliciting an eye raise from the evil vamp.

  Julian brings the glass up to his lips, looking pained. His eyes meet mine and I see the conflict. He doesn’t want to, but he’s been called out. I know this as if he himself is saying the words. How, I have no idea . . . I just know. He’s waiting for my approval and I don’t want to give it. I want to refuse, but if I do, will he protect me from his brother?

  I nod my head, giving him permission, as though anything I say matters. I’d rather it be him than the other.

  He tips his head back and the dark red liquid runs into his mouth. His eyes close and I watch as he inhales and exhales. A look of bliss transforms his beautiful face. When his eyes meet mine, they glow red, and I can’t help but jerk back in surprise. I knew he was one of them, but the confirmation makes my insides turn.

  While Julian stares at me, Marcellus grabs a glass, sloshing a bit out the side. Without fanfare he tips the glass back, downing my blood as though it were a fine wine. When he’s done, he groans, licking his lips in satisfaction. Julian’s drinking had done nothing to stop this monster from taking what he wanted.

  “She’s heavenly,” he practically sings. “I do say, Julian, this one may be exactly the distraction I’ve been looking for.”

  I grimace, knowing full well I’d suffer at his hands.

  “It will never happen. They are spoken for.” Julian snarls.

  Ratilda steps forward, like the bumbling idiot she is. “No. No— There are two remaining, and she’s one of them.” I want to tear out her hair for imparting this information to wicked Marcellus.

  “Wonderful. I plan to bid on her. Shall we get started?” Marcellus coos.

  My body trembles at the declaration. I don’t want him bidding on me. In fact, I don’t want any of these vile people taking me anywhere. I’d rather die right here, right now, than go anywhere with any of these monsters.

  “Tonight shall be fun. It would appear we will have a bidding war on our hands, friends.” Ratilda calls out. “Give me a minute to prepare our last two donors.”

  They all cheer in excitement, while I internally melt down.

  “Come with me,” Ratilda barks at Stacey, as she lifts her number from the floor and carries it toward me. “You need to stand next to her and hope to God you bring in as much money as she will.” She blows out a breath. “The fucking Crown is here.” She doesn’t direct this to either one of us. She’s simply talking aloud.

  “Are you okay?” I ask Stacey, as she slides in next to me. Her eyes meet mine, with a what the hell do you think look. “We’ll be fine,” I say mostly to calm myself.

  “What do you make of all this?” she says quietly, so that Ratilda doesn’t hear us talking.

  “I’m not sure, but it looks like the ring leaders of this whole circus are here and ready to bid. Just keep your head held high and try to act like this isn’t affecting you.”

  “Un-fucking-likely,” she bites out.

  “Shall we get on with the main attraction?” Ratilda shouts, eliciting a round of hoots from the crowd.

  Julian nods and steps aside. Lawrence bends down, whispering something into his brother’s ear. Julian’s eyes taper into slits as he listens.

  “Which one should go first?” she coos. “Blondie or Jessica Rabbit?” The crowd snickers at her moniker for Stacey. Looking over, I see her sway, and I reach out and grab her hand, not caring what any of them think. I’ll offer comfort with or without permission. We’re in this nightmare together.

  “I guess it’ll be Goldilocks first,” she laughs, looking at me with a sporting grin. “Bidding shall begin at five million dollars.” She raises a brow in Julian’s direction. “Would you like to claim the first bid?”

  He nods, and she beams in response. My eyes widen at this turn of events. I didn’t think he’d bid on me himself. This is bad . . . very, very bad.

  “Ten million dollars.” the scary couple from earlier say in unison.

  The woman is now seemingly committed to taking me home. I shudder at the thought.

  “Fifteen.” Julian says, furthering this game and driving up the bid.

  “Fifteen,” the announcer repeats. “Do I hear twenty?”

  Julian and the creepy couple volley back and forth in five-million-dollar increments. My heart pounds in my chest. The frightening fact that I’ll
be leaving with one of two evils in a matter of moments has me near hysterics. Sweat drips down my hairline. I wipe it away, stopping my hand at my temple to rub away the impending headache.

  “Fifty million dollars.”

  My eyes shoot to the back corner, where the dark-haired demon stands tall and assured.

  The crowd gasps.

  My hands fly to my mouth in shock, head shaking back and forth as the fear threatens to consume me. Fifty million dollars? He’s worse than the couple. I’m as good as dead.

  My eyes snap to Julian, begging for him to get me out of this nightmare. I don’t know why I think going with the leader of this whole thing is any better, but something deep within me screams that he’s the better option. I might have a chance with him. My eyes plead and my lips move to form the words, “Save me.”

  “One hundred million.” Julian’s eyes remain fixed on mine, but it’s not over yet.

  “Prince Marcellus, would you like to trump your brother’s bid?” Ratilda taunts, and I don’t dare breathe.

  “No.” His snakelike voice slithers over my body, causing me to tremble in response. “I think I’ll give him this one.”

  “What about you?” she says to the couple in the middle of the room.

  The creepy man raises his hands in defeat and everything in me relaxes. I almost fall over in relief.

  “Seven-seventy-six to the Crown, Julian Bellamy, for one hundred million dollars.”

  “Ratilda, I believe that concludes our evening,” Marcellus intones from the corner, arms crossed and brow pinched.

  Ratilda’s lips pull down in a frown.

  “We still have one donor remaining,” she says, confused, if not a little scared.

  “I’ll be taking her for fifty million. I doubt anyone here wishes to bid against me.” He looks around the room, challenging them to argue. They don’t.