I looked to the nightstand for a phone. There was none. Though to be honest, who was to say if Bennet would be at his home, or if the number I recalled still belonged to him?
“How do I reach Bennet Pierce?” I asked.
The two stood there, looking at me. The brown-haired guard pointed to the nightstand. I didn’t understand.
“You can use her phone,” he said.
I looked again. The only thing on the nightstand was a rectangular piece of glass.
The guard lifted it and handed it to me, clearly as confused as I was. Then realization shone as his face relaxed. “Need me to show you how to use it?”
That tiny rectangle was her phone. “Please.”
He touched the screen quickly, in a sequence of places, speaking about each, then handed me the phone. It was on speaker, and ringing.
“Yes?” The voice was Bennet’s, the tone—cold.
“Bennet,” I said, “it’s me. The queen has been poisoned. Bring Hannah to the estate immediately.”
“On it.”
The line clicked, and I handed the phone back to the guard. I looked between the two, grateful for their help, then back to Ashley, whose condition worsened by the minute. What happened next would determine her fate. My resolve was absolute—I would save her.
Chapter Ten
Ashley
The fire roared, heating the great room until my skin glistened. The velvety velour of the chaise lounge tickled the bare skin of my arms, and the back of my neck. My chest heaved with every divine flick of his hot, wet tongue between my legs.
His face was buried beneath puffy layers of my black tulle skirt, but when I closed my eyes, I could picture his face. Gorgeous green eyes, sharp like emeralds, stared straight into my soul. His clean-shaven cheeks lifted just a hint as his full lips curved into a knowing grin. He somehow captured a look of hard lines and tough masculinity with the smooth skin of youth. I was hopelessly drawn to him, and happily at his mercy.
When I opened my eyes, he was there, on top of me, his kind, green eyes were flooded with passionate, fiery red. His fangs sank deep into my neck, while his cock shoved deeper inside. It was so right, and so wrong. I pushed him over, Tyr Ulfhednar, King of Scarlet Harbor, and rode him at the pace I set. For I was his equal. I was his queen.
My side ached, my chest, my ribs. Something was wrong.
I blinked and saw him, not on the sofa, not on top of me, or beneath me. Instead, he stood by the doorway. His eyes were kind, and sad, and a gentle shade of meadow green. There was no fire in them.
I blinked again, and realized where I was, in bed. In my room. Or his room, or whatever. And he wasn’t mine, I wasn’t his. I’d never even touched him. I felt the heat in my cheeks as I tried to figure out exactly why I was here and what had really happened.
I’d been going down to the basement to talk to him. Geez, I’d never even gotten to speak to him.
When I tried to sit up, my side burned in agony. I leaned back and settled for a half-sitting position, but never took my eyes off of him. His shirt was soaked in blood, but wasn’t torn. There were no cuts, no wounds. He didn’t seem to be hurt at all, but that single little line on his forehead told me something was wrong. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was concerned—about me.
“Oh, thank god.” Hannah wrapped her arms around me. I hadn’t even realized she was there, next to me in the bed.
“Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“You scared the shit out of me,” she said, putting herself between me and Tyr. My gut reaction was to ask her to move. But I knew that was crazy. I shouldn’t have been staring at him anyway. He was probably here to take the throne while I was recovering from whatever had happened. He’d been the one I’d been looking for. He’d been in the basement. Hadn’t he? Was the blood on his shirt mine?
Looking at Hannah, I asked, “What happened?”
“You should ask him,” she said, and pointed to Tyr.
I met his gaze. There was an intensity there that left me uneasy about my hold on the throne and a little embarrassed about the dream I’d just had.
“He’s the one that saved you,” Hannah said. “Well, he called me here to heal you.”
I looked at my best friend, and didn’t like the way she looked back at me. It was like I was a sick kid or something. Fragile. I didn’t care for that at all, even if it did come from the concern of a loved one.
“I’m okay,” I said.
“So what did happen?” Hannah asked, staring needles at Tyr. “She’s awake. Time to spill.”
He ignored her and stared at me. It was as if there was only me. And it was much like the expression he had worn in my dream. I felt the heat rise up in my cheeks, and my ears, and I was pretty sure I was looking mostly like a wounded tomato.
“First I must speak to the queen,” Tyr said. “Alone.”
I cleared my throat. “I think he and I should talk.”
“Ashley—” Hannah sounded both surprised and concerned.
I appreciated that she was here saving my life in the middle of the night, I really did. And I loved her, and wanted to share everything with her. Just not right now.
“I’ll tell you everything later,” I said. “I promise.”
Hannah frowned, and her eyes sparkled in a way that said she just might yell at me, or hold me and cry. I didn’t think I was up for handling either at the moment.
“You better.” My best friend squeezed my hand before she hopped down from the bed and walked out the door, glaring at Tyr with every step.
When it was just the two of us, Tyr approached. With each silent step closer, I grew more nervous. It was silly. He could have let me die, so he meant me no harm. And I was no stranger to having men with me in bed, so why did this feel so different? Why did his gaze feel so intimate, so significant? And why was that so intimidating?
People were talking in the hall—Bennet and Hannah. Their voices faded before Tyr spoke.
“Maybe we should begin again,” he said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Okay.”
He was more gorgeous up close, sexier than he’d been in my dream. How was that possible? I could still feel his touch on my skin, though I knew it wasn’t real. And even as this complete stranger stood three feet from the bed, I felt like I knew him.
His dark hair was lush, long enough and thick enough to run my fingers through and grab hold, but short enough to look well-kept. He was tall, and stood with confidence. But at the same time, there was uncertainty on his face. He looked too young to be the oldest of all of us, twenty-something maybe, yet I was disarmed by his aura—power. It was who he was. His wide jaw wasn’t clean-shaven liked I’d dreamed, but speckled with a five-o’clock shadow that made him all the more sexy. I imagined the way those whiskers would feel on my fingertips—rough, masculine.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard about me,” Tyr said, “but I’d like to set all of that aside to work together.”
What I’d heard about him? Nothing but how great he was. And he hadn’t done anything bad to me. Apparently, he’d saved me. There was nothing to set aside.
“Okay, I’ll hear you out,” I said. “But let’s start with what happened in the basement.”
“The vampire from the cell, and the guard who set him free, attacked you,” he said.
“Ronaldo,” I said, though saying his name out loud left a sour taste in my mouth.
“These men you have surrounded yourself with,” Tyr said. “Did you personally choose them?”
“No,” I admitted. It seemed foolish now. Maybe I shouldn’t have left on the guys who had been around since Yeke. And maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that mistake to Tyr. And maybe I shouldn't have made them wear leather pants. If he was looking to judge my rule of the kingdom he’d built, I was admitting a less than perfect handling of things. I was admitting to weakness. Somehow, though, I trusted him. At least enough to tell him the truth, and enough to be alone with him. Maybe my judg
ement was even worse than I thought.
Tyr nodded, suggesting he’d assumed as much.
“Your captive,” Tyr said. “Who was he?”
“Was? As in past tense?” I asked.
“I killed him.”
It was so matter-of-fact, even with that sadness there again in his eyes. It was as if he didn’t care that he’d taken a life, yet somehow he cared too much.
“He was my only lead,” I said. I wasn’t angry, though maybe I should have been—probably should have been. “He was in charge of the assault, when all those New York guys swept in with their ultra purple bullets or whatever and everyone was killing the girls who looked like me.”
Tyr’s jaw tightened. The sadness was gone, though the shift was subtle. Did I say something wrong?
“You know something about the New York vampires?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “No one informed me about the attack.”
Was he concerned about the territory? That made sense. This was his family and his home. He was invested. Maybe I really could trust him, at least in part.
“Well, if you have some time,” I said, “I’m happy to catch you up on everything that you missed. The parts I was around for, anyway.”
Tyr looked at me, crimson swirling in his irises, and it was as if I could feel his skin on mine. “Tell me everything, Ashley,” he said. “And I will protect you.”
If those words had come out of anyone else’s mouth, I might have been pissed. I could defend myself. But from him, somehow those words were different. I wanted him to protect me, even if I didn’t need it.
I was also pretty sure that tomato color was back, and this time my cheeks were twice as hot.
Chapter Eleven
Tyr
The weight lifted a little when I was in her presence. Their faces were all still there—those I had killed, including the two men in the dungeon. But somehow with her, I wasn’t spending every moment reliving all of that pain.
“So Charlie joined the crew before my time. I think in the nineties, but you’d have to ask Walter or him for the specifics,” she said. “Then came Hannah and Bennet’s relationship, and me getting nabbed by Yeke. Getting murdered by that guy turned out better than I could have hoped, because I was kind of vampire-obsessed in my first life. And voila—vampire.”
I smiled. I’d never heard someone talk about being turned in that way before.
“Is it everything you hoped it would be?” I asked.
“That’s a tough one,” she said. “It feels better than I thought it would, with all the energy and strength and everything. I couldn’t imagine that before.”
But she hadn’t just gone from young woman to young vampire—she’d been granted great power and greater obligation. Nothing prepared a person for those burdens.
“It’s hard, too,” she said. “I thought it would be more fun, you know? Like in the movies.”
“It is for some,” I replied.
“Not me,” she said. “I mean, I’ve had my moments, and all. But I didn't think about what I was getting myself into. I thought I’d be out on the streets, living the night life, exploring the undercity. And I haven’t even left the estate.”
“Not once?” I asked.
“Nope.” She fell back onto the pillow, then winced and grabbed her side. Poison would slow her healing, but it was not my place to tell her to take it easy. Even if I wanted to.
“Walter’s got a stick up his ass about that kinda stuff,” she said.
Again, I found myself smiling.
“He’s taken charge of your safety?” I asked.
“He really stepped up to help me out,” she said. “I didn’t know what it really meant to be a vampire, only stuff I read. I thought I knew everything. But Walter took me under his wing, all stiff and structured, and taught me to fight, and what it means to be queen.”
It was no surprise that Walter had stepped up when duty demanded someone do so. But of the two, I would’ve expected Bennet to be the more supportive one, and Walter to be more likely to take her place than guide her.
“I'm glad he has been a source of support," I said.
“Mmm-hmm.” Her voice softened as her eyelids drooped. “Walter’s a big scary teddybear.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked.
“All bark,” she said. And with that, her eyes slid shut.
She looked peaceful, and I left her to get the rest she required. Ashley had given me a lot to think about. I sympathized with the burden she’d been handed. She was so young to have so much expected of her, and she had been deprived the opportunities gifted to most young vampires. The sire is meant to teach his progeny the ways of our kind—survival, politics. Walter was not her sire, and not as powerful as the young queen. Attempting to guide her was likely a difficult task for him, more so given their opposing personalities. Now that I’d returned, that burden needn’t fall on him. I was back. I could help her, and in doing so, she could help me.
Ashley King was my purpose.
I shut the door gently behind me, and turned to Bennet and Hannah, who looked at me expectantly.
“So, what’s the story?” Hannah asked.
Everyone wanted to know what the dynamic would be now that I’d returned; everyone wanted my role defined. I had no more answer than anyone else. All I knew was that I wanted to be here, and I wanted to help Ashley.
“There's been a betrayal,” I said. “The current staff is not to be trusted.”
“How come you guys never give a straightforward, easy answer?” Hannah asked.
Bennet smiled down at her, full of adoration.
“The queen’s own guard attacked her,” I said.
“Finally, thank you,” Hannah said. “But what does this mean? Why would one of those leather pants guys turn on her?”
“I intend to find out,” I replied. Then I turned to Bennet. “Clear the guards from the corridors. They will patrol the outer walls until further notice. No one enters the estate without being cleared by an Ulfhednar.”
Bennet smiled wide. “I can do that.”
I considered telling him that I was not taking charge on a permanent basis. I would not take Ashley’s place. This was temporary, a means to restore order. But I knew that look. It mattered not what I said, for I'd issued my progeny a command, just as he wished.
We would all need to figure out where we stood, but not tonight. Tonight, I would purge those who could not be trusted. Tonight, my job was to make her safe.
Chapter Twelve
Ashley
Like Sleeping Beauty—no, like a bear—waking from a long winter’s nap, I stretched my arms and legs. The muscles were tight, and my stomach was hollow. The Sleeping Beauty thing only worked because of the poison, and the sexy prince that saved her. Tyr wasn’t a prince, but vampire king was cooler anyway. The bear thing was better, because I was hungry like a bear. There was the crazy morning hair too—very bear-like.
I looked across the dark room to the empty fireplace. Why wasn’t there a fire burning?
“Ron—” I shut my mouth as quickly as I’d opened it. He was dead. Of course he wouldn’t light a fire. What about Orlando? Or anyone else?
I hopped out of bed and found myself not in pajamas, but a tank top, yoga pants, and a big old corset-like bandage around my middle. It had been a while since I’d felt so gross and greasy. Shower time—for sure.
The best part of getting clean wasn’t the honey cream soap, though the smell was divine. The best part was the heat. The water steamed as it rolled down my skin. The warmth soaked in to my bones. It was glorious.
I looked for traces of injury where the bandages had been. There was nothing. It was like the whole thing had been a nightmare, like it wasn’t real at all. But I knew that wasn’t true. Ronaldo had betrayed me. Evans was dead. There was no chance of finding out more about the attack on the Estate, about the attack on me. It was over.
If only that were true. The information was gone, but there was no way to know if
the danger was over or not. Which was exactly how I’d ended up on house arrest.
I ran sudsy hands over my skin and thought of Tyr, of the way he’d spoken to me, the way he’d cared for me, the way his eyes had grown so intense as he’d promised to protect me. Hot damn, that was, well, hot.
I imagined the sensation of his big hands, the way they’d feel if he was there with me in the shower—gentle yet firm, slow and deliberate. The rough skin on his jaw would scrape my neck, as the sharp tips of his fangs pricked hot, damp skin. His hands would caress as he held me close, first my breasts, prolonging the wait, and making me wet. Then he’d slide his palm down, agonizingly slow, as his cock pressed hard against the side of my bare ass.
“Ashley.” The door opened. I froze. “Ashley, you in here?” It was Charlie.
“Knock,” I said.
“What?” he asked. “Oh, sorry.” The door shut.
I closed my eyes and imagined delivering a swift kick to that dude’s ass. Then I climbed from the shower and threw on a black skirt, a fresh tank, and my biggest, fluffiest sweater.
When I opened the bathroom door, I almost slammed right into the blond-haired doofus.
The air was like ice, and so was my mood.
“You know,” Charlie said, “you’d be warmer if you put on socks.”
I stared needles or butcher knives, or katanas—whichever hurt the most. Poisoned purple bullets. That would sting like no one’s business.
“And uh, sorry again about the bathroom. I wasn’t thinking,” he said.
“What did you need, Charlie?” I asked.
“I’m supposed to help you,” he said.
“With what?”
“Whatever,” he said. “I don’t know. What do those bare-chest guys usually do for you?”
“Everything,” I said flatly.
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