Lord of the Vampires and The Darkest Angel and The Amazon's Curse and The Darkest Prison

by Gena Showalter

  Eyes narrowing, he homed in on the house. Jane was inside. He felt her energy, as sweet as her scent and…now blended with his own. He gave a primitive grunt of approval. Mine. He had done more than mark her; he had branded her. I’m coming for you, sweetheart.

  He switched his focus to Laila. She was rotten to her core, with a scent to match. Magic swirled inside her, dark and potent. Ability after ability, honed over centuries of living with such a slowly ticking clock. He rifled through them.

  She could hypnotize others; that could aid him, yes, but she could only entrance one person at a time. She could heal her own wounds. He could already do that. She could cause wounds. Another maybe. She could spark false desire. No. A muscle ticked in his jaw, though. How many times had she used that ability on him?

  Doesn’t matter. He continued his search, discarding…discarding… There! Remote viewing, like what he’d done inside the palace with Jane. Perfect, and now his earlier ability made sense. He wondered how many times Laila had used the ability on him. Watched him without his knowledge.

  No matter the answer, she would never be able to do so again.

  He grabbed on to the ability and gave a soft mental tug, drawing it closer and closer to him. A little more…just a little more… His chest puffed as his every cell suddenly absorbed the magic necessary to see places he could not physically reach. Still he kept tugging, and tugging, and tugging. Drawing the magic away from her and into him.

  Laila wouldn’t know what he was doing. His victims never did, until it was too late. Right now, she would be experiencing only mild fatigue. If he attempted to draw all of her abilities, all of her power, however, she would know and could try to stop him, erecting mental blocks.

  Suddenly his mind opened up. In a blink, he was looking at Jane, as if he were sitting beside her. Only, he saw her through Laila’s eyes. And Laila saw the mask. Saw Odette. Odette’s dark hair, Odette’s green eyes. Her too-long nose and thick jowls.

  Knowing Jane rested under that mask was enough to light his body on fire and soothe the sharpest edges of his fear for her safety. She was alive, unharmed. He would have her again.

  “What did the slave do to you? Tell me before I perish from worry.” Laila ruined the effect of the demand with a yawn.

  Jane fluffed her hair, every inch the princess. “Like you said before, he desired me. I desired him, one thing led to another, and we were steaming up the forest, if you know what I mean.”

  “Did you bespell him to desire you?” Each word was tauter than the last. “You must have. Otherwise, he would be with you now. Yet, I have caught no sign of him. So where is he?”

  “No, I didn’t bespell him.” Jane offered no more.

  “Then how did you elicit his desire? He hated you, tried to kill you. You did something, I know you did. Just admit it.”

  Jane smirked over at her, and it was a glorious sight. “Hold on to your panties, Laila dear, because this might shock you. I—wait for it—treated him with respect. You should try it sometime. You might be delighted with the results.”

  Hate burned through Laila so relentlessly, Nicolai felt the heat of it inside his own body. “You lie. You’ve never treated anyone with respect. I doubt you even know what the word means.”

  “Are we showing our claws now, darling? Because I promise you, mine are sharper.”

  Pride filled him. No one would doubt she was Odette now. Not even the queen herself. She wore confidence as snugly as a cloak.

  “I will ask you one more time,” Laila gritted out.

  “Or what?”

  “Where. Is. He?”

  “Dead.” A casual shrug. “He’s dead.”

  Laila’s mouth dropped open, a strangling sound emerging. “You killed him?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did.” Jane threw her legs over the mattress, and winced. They must be paining her, he thought, wishing he were there to ease her hurts. She straightened. “Now, let’s go home. I’m eager to sleep in my own bed.”

  Laila remained in place and crossed her arms over her middle. “Where’s his body?”

  “I fed it to the ogres, of course,” she replied blithely. “What’s with all the questions, anyway? Nicolai did not belong to you.”

  She was giving him what he’d told her he wanted, he thought. A chance to destroy Laila, undetected. Time to reach Elden, to kill the new king. And yes, the urgency was still there, simmering inside him, stronger with every minute that passed, but he still couldn’t, wouldn’t, leave her.

  Relief bathed Laila, bleeding into him, but the emotion was as quickly schooled as the hatred. “I found the ogre cave. Nicolai’s body was not there. Others’ were, which has to mean he killed them and escaped.”

  Jane didn’t miss a beat. “Wrong. I massacred the ogres. After they finished with him.”

  The shock returned. “How?”

  A buff of her nails. “A girl never reveals her fighting secrets. She might need them later on.”

  A heartbeat of silence. A low growl.

  “How dare you!” Laila shouted, no longer able to contain her emotions. She jumped to her feet, stomped her foot. “He was mine.”

  Jane got in her face, putting them nose to nose.

  “Actually, you spoiled brat, he’s mine. Was mine.”

  Tension thickened the air, practically vibrating between them. Long moments passed, the only sound that of their breathing. Finally Laila backed down. She stepped away, widening the distance.

  “Of course. You’re right.” Grudgingly offered. “So tell me. Why did you kill him?”

  “I no longer desired him.”

  Even though Nicolai knew why she said what she said, his inner beast did not like hearing those words. Later, he would have to be soothed. Later, he would have to explain his past with her and apologize for what he’d done.

  Would her claim then become true?

  “Now, then. Let’s return to the palace,” Jane said. “Guards. Move out.”

  They hesitated.

  “Now!” she screamed, her patience clearly gone.

  This time, they scrambled to obey. Jane followed them, forcing Laila to trail after her. Nicolai could feel the princess’s desire to stab her sister in the back. But she didn’t, and as they marched out of the town, he skulked after them.

  Soon…

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EVEN THOUGH, AS A PRINCESS of Delfina, she was carried on a plush velvet lounge, the sun blocked by a canopy of dark netting, Jane much preferred traveling with Nicolai. Where was he? Close, she thought. She could almost scent him, a hint of magic, a pinch of seductive spice. She prayed he’d opted not to follow her.

  Laila thought he was dead. So, in a way, he was finally free of the bitch. He could travel to Elden, and do what needed doing. And Jane could deliver his vengeance—a special care package of lethal—for him.

  The princess had killed an innocent woman for no damn reason. No wonder the people in town had been afraid of Odette. The royal family abused their power, and Jane wasn’t going to let them do so anymore.

  Then she and Nicolai could be together again.

  When Laila finally decided to stop for the evening, Jane’s legs were stiff from disuse. Not as stiff as they could have been, at least. In fact, not even close to what she was used to dealing with. No throbbing pain, no bone-crushing aches. However, a walk would have been nice.

  Sadly, a walk wasn’t in the forecast for some time to come. She had to continue to lounge as the guards erected her tent. And decorated the inside. And carted in her trunks. Trunks Laila had brought with her, perhaps hoping to bribe her for a night with Nicolai.

  When they finished, bowing before her and awaiting dismissal, Laila climbed down from her own raised lounge, stepping on their backs to reach the ground.

  “There will be a celebration of your return,” the princess announced with a clap of her hands. “We will dine in my tent. My slaves will dance for us, and you may choose whichever you desire to warm your furs.”

 
Gee. Thanks. “Sorry, but I’m tired.” Jane climbed down, too, feeling guilty the entire time. Although the guards blinked with surprise at her slighter weight and that sparked a kernel of fear. “I wish only to bathe and sleep. And eat. I haven’t been fed properly in days.”

  “Bathe, yes. Then join me. I will feed you. Since your return from the grave, there has been too much friction between us. I do not like it, and long for the ease of our former relationship.”

  A lie, Jane knew. Laila hated Odette with the same passion she had craved Nicolai in her bed, but to protest was to, perhaps, act against the real Odette’s character. “Very well,” she said on a sigh. “I’ll join you in an hour.” A small reprieve, but a reprieve all the same. She made her way to her own tent.

  A long soak in the portable tub did much to appease her aches and pains. A tub Rhoslyn had filled. The girl was a surprisingly welcome sight.

  Jane scrubbed from head to toe, using the floral-scented soap that had rested on the rim. “Did Laila demand that you come on this journey or did you volunteer?”

  Frizzy red hair bobbed. “I volunteered, princess.” She unfolded a vivid green robe from a trunk. “Just in case we found you, and you had need of me.”

  I should have been nicer to this girl. “I didn’t see you until you entered my tent. Where were you in the procession?”

  “Behind the third line of defense, with the rest of the servants and slaves.”

  “I wished I’d known. You could have ridden in the carriage with me.” Jane emerged from the water and grabbed the towel resting on a nearby bench.

  “I will help you,” Rhoslyn said, rushing over. The robe dangled from her arms.

  “No, thanks.” There were some things she was now capable of doing herself—things she hadn’t been able to do while practically chained to a hospital bed—and she would never again allow anyone to do them for her.

  Dried, she pinched one corner of the robe and lifted. Her lips curved down in distaste. Though finely made, the material was too wide for her, and far too thick. She’d melt from the heat. And, where the robe gaped, she’d fry like battered shrimp when in the sun.

  “I am sorry if the cloth is not to your liking.” Free of her burden, Rhoslyn bowed her head. “You may beat me if you wish.”

  Jane caught the layer of fear in her voice. “Beat you? Rhoslyn, I’m not going to beat you. Ever.”

  The girl continued as if she hadn’t heard a word Jane had said. “I thought you would prefer something durable, rather than enticing. And your sister was quite eager to reach you, so I did not have much time to pack your things. I am not complaining,” she rushed to add. “I simply wished to explain why there are not many robes to choose from, and why I did not bring your very best.”

  “You did great, I swear. I love the gown. Love it. See?” She dressed and twirled. “I’ve never felt lovelier.”

  Rhoslyn offered her a genuine smile. “I am glad, princess. Oh. And I am happy to tell you that I brought your book.”

  Jane paused, her heart suddenly thumping. “Really? Where is it?”

  The girl crossed to the other side of the tent. Slowly, Jane realized, and with care. “Hey. Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself carrying those buckets?” Great. Something else to feel guilty about.

  Rhoslyn stiffened, stumbling over her own feet, before continuing on. “I am fine, princess.” She hunched over another trunk, dug inside and lifted the leather-bound tome.

  Jane gasped with horror. As the girl had bent over, her hair had fallen forward and Jane had caught sight of bruising on her neck. Black and blue and clearly spreading farther down. “What happened to your back?” This time, her tone was firm, unyielding, demanding an answer.

  Rhoslyn’s thin arm shook as she held out the book. “I allowed you to be abducted by the slave. I was punished. As I deserved.”

  Whipped, then. Laila hadn’t given the girl time to pack properly, but she’d damn sure made time to use the cat-o’-nine-tails. Jane claimed the offered item, hating Laila a little more. “That wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped him. Hell, you weren’t even there.”

  No reply was forthcoming.

  She sighed. “I’m headed to my sister’s tent. While I’m gone, I want you to soak in the tub. If you want. If you don’t, don’t. Then, I want you to rest. Do not wait up for me. And that’s an order.”

  Eyes wide with surprise, Rhoslyn gave another nod.

  Jane stepped outside. Overhead, the sun was setting, muted and a deep purple. And yet, it still managed to burn her newly sensitive skin, making her itch all over again. Now wasn’t the time to consider what that meant, either.

  Laila’s tent was a mere ten steps away. At the entrance, Jane stopped and squared her shoulders. You can do this. The sound of laughter and music wafted toward her as she brushed past the flap. She scouted her new surroundings, trying to take everything in at once. To the right, Laila was perched on a hastily constructed dais. Lounging, of course, and eating pastries. There was an empty seat beside her.

  Six naked men slow danced in the center. They were tall, leanly muscled and oiled to a glossy shine. Two blonds, two redheads and two with dark hair. Math at its finest. Hands roamed, and bodies bumped and grinded. Each man had an erection, but Jane doubted they liked what they were doing. Their eyes were glazed and lifeless. Were they bespelled?

  To the left was a band. Well, the Delfina version of a band. A naked harpist, a naked violinist and a naked vocalist. Jane was sensing a theme. And, well, shit. This had the makings of an orgy. Participation had better not be mandatory. Her body belonged to Nicolai, and no one else.

  “Odette,” Laila called, catching sight of her. “Thank you for coming.”

  What ulterior motive do you have? Jane wondered as she closed the distance between them. No way the princess had thrown this little shindig together out of the goodness of her heart. Fact: she didn’t have a heart.

  Jane eased into her chair and stretched out. “My…pleasure.” Something about the princess was off, she immediately realized. No, not off. Different. Yes, that was a better word. She pulsed with power, stronger than before. Had she cast some sort of spell on herself? Could witches even do that?

  Wasn’t like Jane could ask. She was supposed to be a witch herself.

  Laila waved her hand over the tray of pastries. “Have anything you like.”

  Hmm, sugar. Her stomach twisted with hunger. How many hours had passed since she’d had that delicious chicken salad? The same number of hours that had passed since the princess had killed that innocent woman. Goodbye, appetite. “I’m fine.”

  “You must drink.” Laila clapped. “Fix my sister a goblet of wine.”

  The servant behind their chairs jumped to obey, and seconds later, Jane was holding a bejeweled, golden goblet. Rather than refuse it, she held on. Drinking the wine was out of the question, though. She needed her wits. All of her wits.

  If an opportunity presented itself, she was going to deliver her care package tonight. Poison? A stabbing? Whatever method she picked, she would have to be careful. She couldn’t win against the princess’s magical abilities. Especially since she had no idea what the girl could do.

  “Now,” Laila purred. “Enjoy.”

  For over an hour, the men danced and Laila watched, eating and drinking. Jane watched her, studying her like a lab rat. Soon the princess was giggling and throwing grapes at the men. When the giggles subsided, she became aroused. Unabashedly, she moved her hand underneath her robe and rubbed herself between her legs.

  “Touch his chest,” the princess called huskily. “Yes, like that. Now lick his nipples. Oh, good boy. That’s the way.” With her free hands, she cupped one of her breasts.

  Jane blushed. She’d nailed the happenings of the night like most of these slaves were probably going to nail Laila. Any minute now, and every single one of them would be orgying.

  Oh, gross. She’d just turned the word orgy into a verb.

  She was just about to excu
se herself when the tent flap lifted. A new man, a slave, entered, and he was as naked as the others. He, too, was tall and oiled, though he was lean and lanky. Jane didn’t recognize him, and yet, her eyes ate him up. Her heart sped up, her blood heated. Her skin tingled deliciously.

  He had hair so pale it was like falling snow. His eyes were as black as a stormy night, and thickly lined with kohl. He was probably five-ten, his shoulders a little narrow, and his belly flat, almost concave. His skin was bronzed to a mochalike shimmer.

  There was an almost feminine sense of gentleness about him. A gentleness that didn’t seem to fit the hard gleam of his eyes, as if it were a winter coat that belonged to someone else.

  Like Jane had done, he paused in the doorway to take everything in. Anger flared his nostrils. Hate wafted from him, then desire. True desire, overshadowing everything else. He sniffed, gaze panning, then locking on her. He was striding forward a second later. Then he stilled, catching himself.

  Breath caught in Jane’s throat. She might not recognize that face and body, but she recognized that purposeful, powerful stride. Nicolai. He was projecting someone else’s image, she knew it.

  He was here. He was alive, healthy and whole, she thought, giddy with the knowledge. She should have been upset. He was ruining her plan, putting himself in danger. And yet, she reacted to his nearness…needed him. His body, his blood.

  Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d just contemplated. She wanted to drink…his blood?

  Oh, yes, she thought, her gaze zeroing in on his vein. She could see the slight fluttering there and wanted to sink her teeth in. Teeth. Was she…? She ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth. They felt the same, no fangs having sprouted unexpectedly. A wave of disappointment hit her.

  She hadn’t allowed herself to contemplate such an idea because she hadn’t wanted to face that very sense of disappointment.

  Vampires were not able to turn humans into blood drinkers. She knew because testing their blood, mixing it with human blood, had been one of her experiments. Nothing had happened, nothing had changed.