Thrall of the Vampire King (Blood Fire Saga Book 4)

by Bella Klaus

  I gave him a hard shove in the chest, which did absolutely nothing to ruffle his composure. “What is wrong with you, Valentine Sargon?”

  “Three.” He leaned back, his eyes lingering on the cups of my bodice. At that moment, I swore I could see the man calculating how he would pull down my spaghetti straps and expose my breasts. He ran his tongue down the length of his fang.

  “Valentine?” My voice shook.

  “Four. Change of plan. I will lay you flat on the table—”

  “Fine.” Curling my fingers into his lapels, I raised myself off his lap and positioned myself over his crotch.

  Valentine sat back in his armchair like a sultan and spread his arms wide in a help-yourself gesture. I rolled my eyes. Great Britain was on the brink of a supernatural war, a Light Lord was trawling around the room for bloodthirsty allies, and young people were getting their magic stolen and being turned into preternatural vampires.

  The Supernatural World was going to shit, yet all Valentine could think about was drinking my blood while I rode him like a cowgirl.

  I reached down, letting the heat of his arousal guide my hand, and wrapped my fingers around his erection. It pulsed as though welcoming my touch.

  Before I could wonder how a man with no heart could circulate blood, he shifted his hips, brushing his thick, hot tip over my folds. My eyes fluttered shut, and the band’s jazzy number drifted into the ether.

  Valentine held my hips steady as I slid down his length, taking him inch by delicious inch. At this angle, the stretch was incredible. Pleasure swept through my insides like a firestorm, making me clench hard around his girth.

  I panted like I’d just completed a strenuous tap-dance, clutching at his broad shoulders for balance. Only his tip had breached my opening, and it was already setting off a chain of reactions that would end in a climax.

  “Take it easy,” he murmured into my ear.

  “Right.” I bit down on my lip, waiting for my core muscles to stop quivering. Heartbeats later, I slid down a few more inches. On the way down, I moulded myself around his every vein and ridge, feeling him expanding within my grip.

  A moan slipped from my lips. We had never had sex at this angle, and it was proving to be my favorite.

  After what felt like several minutes, I’d completely engulfed that enormous length and sat flush on Valentine’s pelvis, with my arms around his neck. Panting breaths heaved in and out of my lungs as I clenched and spasmed around his girth, feeling pleasured beyond reason.

  “You’re such a perfect fit,” he growled into my ear. “I wish everyone could see that your grip is tighter than a fist.”

  Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I turned toward the stage to find the bubble still covering the booth.

  Valentine held my head in place. “Keep your eyes on me.”

  A whimper reverberated in the back of my throat. Under-the-table fellatio and now semi-public sex? We were already in a red room. All I needed were a few accessories on the walls, and my life would be something out of a romance novel.

  Valentine’s large hands slid across my bare thighs, sending tingles up my spine. His fingers curled around my ass cheeks, their pads digging into my flesh.

  “Move, Innamorata. Ride me hard.” He ran his tongue up and down the column of my neck. The length of his fangs rubbed against my skin, their tips dangerously close to piercing a vein.

  A breath caught in the back of my throat, and excitement rippled through my insides as I waited for him to bite.

  When Valentine didn’t so much as nip, I raised myself off his hips, feeling my muscles tighten around his length as though trying to keep him in place. My heart pounded in time with the rapid beat of the bass drum, and the tip of his erection stretched me wide once more. Licking my lips, I lowered myself, making every nerve ending tingle as though it had been personally stroked.

  Valentine stared at me through heavy-lidded eyes, his lips parted a little to expose his fangs. Right now, he looked as docile as a sated feline but it was only a matter of minutes before he would strike.

  Pushing that thought to the side, I steadied my palms against his shoulders and circled my hips, relishing how I could make his breathing quicken with the barest squeeze. Valentine probably wasn’t aware of his intakes of breath or maybe the movement of his lungs was muscle memory from when he was alive, but he felt so warm beneath my touch that it almost felt like he was.

  “Ride,” he growled, the sound going straight to my hungry core.

  Up and down I went, taking pleasure from his larger body, and wishing I could touch his bare flesh instead of getting hints of it beneath his tuxedo jacket and over his shirt. I loved running my hands down his broad, muscular chest, touching him any way I could and having him reciprocate.

  Valentine’s hands remained beneath my dress, keeping me steady as I rode him hard. Pressure built around my core, which seemed to suck him in, demanding more and more.

  I leaned into Valentine, brushing my lips against his, and he captured my mouth in a possessive kiss. His tongue slipped through my parted lips and delved into me, devouring everything I had to offer. Still riding that glorious erection, I met Valentine’s tongue stroke for stroke, moaning each time I lowered myself onto his thick length and my swollen nub ground against his pubic bone.

  As the kiss heated toward boiling point, so did the pleasure swirling around our joined bodies until it felt like my core had been reduced to molten ecstasy. Valentine’s kisses were bold, possessive, adding fuel to the furnace in my core and sending me hurtling toward a climax.

  His hands tightened around my ass cheeks, and he thrust into me with long, hard strokes that intensified the friction and rubbed against a spot that sent tiny explosions of stars behind my eyes.

  I cried out, but Valentine swallowed the sound of my pleasure with his kiss.

  Sweat gathered on my brow, as the pressure built until it edged the tightrope between pleasure and pain. I tried to pull away, to ease off, but Valentine’s eyes glowed red, indicating that he was ready to feed.

  Anticipation skittered up my spine. This was going to be explosive.

  With a warning growl, he released my lips and sank his fangs into my neck. All the pleasure building up around my core erupted into spasms upon spasms of ecstasy. I couldn’t stop convulsing around his girth, couldn’t stop moaning. Valentine continued those merciless thrusts, holding me steady as he drank.

  This time, there was no surge of cold liquid—just the heat of my orgasm and the organ swelling around my quivering core. With a hard thrust that made my eyes roll to the back of my head, he roared his climax in an explosion of warm fluid.

  My own orgasm continued just as fiercely, not stopping when I slumped against his shoulder, panting through my parted lips. My heart clattered faster than a pair of tap shoes, overtaking the rapid tremor of my climax.

  “What have you done to me?” I moaned.

  “You enjoyed it more than you thought,” Valentine said through his mouthful of neck. He shallowed his thrusts, rolling his hips, as my orgasm continued.

  The audience exploded in a round of applause that snapped me out of my stupor. An attack of paranoia made me wonder if they were clapping for me.

  As much as I wanted to turn around to confirm my suspicions, Valentine held me in place, his fangs remaining deep within my throat. Even through the claps and cheers and wolf-whistles, my ears filled with the sound of his gulping.

  I melted around his hard body, feeling too safe in his embrace and too sated to even care. My eyes fluttered shut. That had been one of the most pleasurable experiences of my life, and it was too late to have regrets.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning, I awoke to a throbbing headache and the scrape of a rough tongue against the side of my face. Sunlight streamed through my eyelids, making everything feel a hundred times worse.

  Memories of last night blurred after the blood loss and imbibing too much of that bubbly drink, but I was sure Valentine and I had s
ex in the back of the limousine. Whatever else happened that evening at Gourmande must have gone well because I was still alive.

  The tongue moved on to my hair, making me wonder what kind of predicament Valentine had gotten me into this time. I raised a hand to push the vampire off, but my fingers sank into warm fur.

  My eyes snapped open. I rolled onto my back to meet the jewel-green gaze of the largest and cutest leopard in existence.

  Sunlight streamed through the curtains of the four-poster, bringing out the golden highlights in his fur. The whiskers on the sides of his face glowed brighter than candle flames, making me wonder if this was part of a thrall-induced vision.

  “Macavity?” I blinked several times, trying to focus.

  He drew back to his side of the bed, making a low meow that sounded more like a growl. It was only when his large paws upset the mattress that I remembered that Valentine hadn’t given me any thrall the night before, and the leopard really was in bed with me.

  “How did you get inside?” I rasped.

  Macavity flicked his head toward the door.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose. My brain wasn’t working because part of me was expecting a full answer. After rephrasing what I really wanted to ask, I opened my eyes again, meeting his curious gaze.

  “Did Valentine bring you inside?”

  He nodded.

  “Right.”

  I raised myself up to sitting, propping my upper body against the cushions. The last time I saw Macavity, he ran away from Valentine, making me wonder if the hellcat knew he was under the control of an enemy. It looked like they were friends again.

  “Did Valentine explain why?” I asked.

  Macavity flinched, and his ear rotated toward the door. In the blink of an eye, he turned into a Bengal cat.

  “Did you hear something?”

  He flicked his head toward the exit.

  A knock sounded on the door, then it creaked open. Martika from yesterday stood in the hallway, clad in a denim minidress that showcased her slender figure. Her red curls lay in a tangle across her freckled features, looking like she’d been out in the wind.

  My cheeks heated. She probably saw me ride Valentine in the booth.

  “Our Lord wants you downstairs,” she said with a wide grin.

  My muscles stiffened. I’d hoped my display of obedience had proven to Kresnik that I wasn’t going to interfere with his quest for power anymore, but maybe he didn’t want to give up on me until he stole back the phoenix flames.

  “What does he want me for?” I asked.

  “He didn’t say.” She raised a shoulder. “But a few others are getting their power assessed. Come down soon, alright? He isn’t in the best of moods.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and swung my legs out of bed, knocking aside a Bengal-sized Macavity, who yowled a complaint. How much did I want to bet that Kresnik had sent Valentine to a far-away prison to abduct new recruits for his preternatural army? With no vampire general growling because his toy was under threat, Kresnik would know for sure if I had taken back my power.

  Martika glanced down at the cat and smiled before waving goodbye and stepping away from the door.

  “Hey,” I said to her retreating back.

  She returned to the doorway, remaining beyond the ward. “What’s up?”

  “Do you have fire magic?” I asked.

  “I’m a manticore shifter.” She turned around, and a scorpion tail emerged from beneath her miniskirt, its stinger glowing with fire. “Why?”

  “Just wondering. Wait for me?” I rushed into the dressing room, tore off my nightgown, shimmied on a pair of jeans, and flung on a shirt. After shouldering on my reaper cloak, I stepped out into the hall.

  Tiny footsteps padded after me, but I turned and shooed Macavity away. If Kresnik decided to attack, the cat would transform and try to protect me. I couldn’t let that happen. Poor Macavity hadn’t fared well against Jonathan, even though I believed he might win a second round. But even a hellcat couldn’t face down a being with the combined power of dozens of people who could also transform into a dragon.

  Martika shot the portraits admiring glances and placed a hand over her heart as though she and Kresnik had spent a lot of time together. I kept my gaze on the wooden floor, not daring to pry in case she told the Light Lord.

  As we reached the top of the stairs, I glanced toward the room, finding Macavity standing in the middle of the hallway seeming like he was trying to decide between his instinct to protect me and obeying my order.

  “I’ll be back soon with something tasty.” I gave him a cheerful wave.

  “Aw, is that your cat?” Martika asked.

  “Isn’t he cute?” I said with a broad smile. “He must have followed us in when we left the wards.”

  Martika continued down the iron-and-marble staircase. “I’m more of a dog person myself.”

  As we descended toward the turquoise downstairs, Martika told me that she came from a pride of lion shifters and had been the odd one out since birth. My eyes narrowed, and I thought about Petra, the little girl we had retrieved from Logris, who was the only redhead among a family of dark-skinned people with black hair.

  “What exactly is a manticore?” I asked.

  “They’re not supposed to exist, but when I first shifted, my head remained human-shaped, with a lion’s body and a scorpion tail. And my fur was red.”

  I leaned back, trying to catch another glimpse of the appendage, but she must have put it away. “So there were no fire users or mythical shifters in your family?”

  “None.” She shook her head and laughed. “I can’t tell you what it was like to finally live in peace.”

  “What do you mean?”

  As we continued through the hallway and toward the basement steps, Martika curled her fingers around red hair the exact same shade as mine. “My dad used to come home drunk, bellowing at my mum for fathering the child of another shifter.” She shook her head. “None of the other women in the pride could stop him once he got started. Was that how it happened with you?”

  I blew out a long breath, relieved at my relatively peaceful life with Aunt Arianna. “I didn’t discover what I was until recently. By then, I’d already moved out of Logris and had a life in London.”

  “Our Lord says the gift skips generations and that my great-great-a-hundred-times-grandparent must have been a manticore,” she said with a smile.

  “Really?” I tried to keep my voice neutral.

  Martika opened the stairwell door, and we continued down the concrete steps in silence. If Kresnik could combine himself with Father Jude to produce me with Aurora and had fathered children to mothers outside the Flame, the probability that he or some combination of him and some other sycophant had fathered Martika was looking dismally high. Especially when factoring in that Martika wasn’t just a regular fire user who could make flames—she was special, just like my team members.

  As we reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped through the wards, she gave me a gentle nudge on the side.

  “What’s it like with a vampire?”

  “What’s it like with a Light Lord?” I shook my head. Actually, I didn’t want to know. Before she could answer, I said, “Valentine was my first, so I don’t have anything to compare him against.”

  We continued through the white hallway, where a few of the people walking toward us slowed to stare at us, and my gaze darted to Martika, who preened at the attention.

  “I’m Our Lord’s second-in-command.”

  “Nice,” I said, my stomach tightening.

  What else could I say in a situation like this without getting us both in trouble with Kresnik? I doubted that Martika would be so keen on his attentions if there was a hint they might be related. I ran a hand through my hair. It wasn’t like I knew for sure. I could be worrying over nothing.

  Martika slowed her steps toward a training room, where about half the people from yesterday ran around in circles. Brother
David sat in the middle of the room, clapping a steady beat.

  “Did you see him?” Martika asked.

  I nodded but didn’t comment.

  “Come on then.” She broke into a sprint and disappeared among the runners.

  I stretched out my arms and yawned before dragging my feet. For someone who had been fed upon, I wasn’t feeling too wretched. Maybe it was the lack of thrall. After a minute or so of shuffling and having everyone else overtake me, my head cleared a little and I picked up my knees and jogged.

  Coral slowed at my side. “What are you doing with Martika?”

  “You know her?”

  “Where have you been?” Coral snorted. “You’re never at breakfast these days, are you?”

  I turned to her and furrowed my brow in a silent request for her to tell me what on earth was going on.

  “Now that Aurora’s busy doing some task in another realm, Martika’s been at Kresnik’s side. She’s like his obedient little lapdog. Come to think of it, that describes everyone except us lot.”

  I grabbed her arm, slowing down my steps. “Hey, are you alright?”

  She raised a brow and lowered her head toward my ear. “You mean, am I still sane after seeing a man refuse medical treatment to a bunch of people he got injured because he extracted their magic? And how do I feel after witnessing said man order them injected with vampire blood?”

  “When you put it like that, my question sounds really dumb,” I said.

  “Shit,” Coral muttered. “What the hell have we gotten ourselves into? This situation is dire enough to make me want to sell six months of my life for some faerie-synthesized thrall.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I placed a hand over my pounding head. A heartbeat later, I stumbled into Racon, who had stopped to lower himself into a bow.

  “Sorry.” I placed my hands on his broad back and turned to where everyone else in the room was now bowing low.

  Kresnik stood in the doorway, flanked by a pair of men in enforcers’ uniforms. He stepped into the center of the room, and his enforcers stood by the entrance, letting in another ten similarly dressed men and women.