Jill had snapped off the tube of blood she had gotten from Phillip and left her with the other eleven from Daemon.
The blood was meant to be used for power matching. It was so important to determine before an addition was made to a harem, a time when a vampire was as likely to mix sex with feeding.
Strong magic matches drove the biological drive to procreate even stronger children.
This was what young witches were taught.
It sounded so much better than the rutting truth. Males were the same, be they, vampires or men.
Nobody needed eleven tubes for that kind of testing. Elizabeth certainly didn’t intend to pursue it. Her mother had already spent a fortune on Jill and Phillip to allow their courtship to progress so early.
She tossed the bloody fan into the garbage and shrugged out of her jacket to scratch the tattoo.
Daemon had claimed her.
She didn’t know if the twins would keep it secret. They’d seemed frightened when they found out, however, so perhaps that would buy their silence.
Phillip was a wild card.
She had thought at first that the royal twins were angry that a nobody witch like Elizabeth had been approached by their eldest brother.
Now, she’d bet her favourite stake that Daemon hadn’t been the one to send them after her.
He really was the monster they all feared. His family wasn’t an exception.
She ought to be more afraid of him herself.
Her investigation, thus far, was only uncovering more questions.
Not only was someone sending demons to the human side, but now the interrogation by the twins in the library made her think someone also knew what their family was up to in Maeren.
That someone may or may not be the same.
Why else had the twins sought her out?
Victor’s surprise at her claim had been real.
Their questions hadn’t really been about Daemon, more concerning things about Elizabeth and her magic. They were digging for something until Victor had gotten burned.
The whole mission was being complicated by the crazy family drama of the royals, which they should have predicted.
Blood harems were notoriously full of scrabbles for position and the royal blood harems were likely the worst, with every clan fighting for representation.
It wasn’t just a fight between witches, it was a battle between families and clans.
The king may have united the clans after the wars, but there were still lines drawn in the sand that even spilled blood would not erase.
Elizabeth’s claim was the cherry on the sundae.
It had faded already like it was weeks old instead of hours. Victor had done something to it, and now, she wasn’t so sure she wanted the claim gone.
There was a kind of protection afforded from it that she never would have suspected she’d need. A connection she didn’t ask for but pulled her all the same.
Daemon would be displeased if he saw her faded tattoo.
She grabbed the fan out of the garbage.
His magic was in the tattoo. It was probably even stronger, straight from his bottled blood.
Only one drop of her blood had been enough for Daemon to slip under her mother’s barrier last night.
So much power in a tiny drop.
She tilted the fan. The blood followed gravity as she wondered how many drops of blood were in each tube. Her analytical mind calculated volume and weight before she tossed the fan back in the garbage.
Normally, a vampire would only claim a witch he had taken into his harem. A witch he was already feeding upon.
Young vampires were known to claim a witch that caught their eye to get her undivided attention, but as common as it was amongst youth, many of those claims never lasted.
Whatever Daemon wanted from her, she doubted it was permanent. He hadn’t even fed on her, aside from a single taste.
He had agreed to her terms. No feeding.
She fished the fan back out of the garbage.
What if she treated his blood like the dreaded orange-flavoured iron from her childhood, so unfortunately necessary for a witch prone to anemia like herself from overusing her power?
Just a drop should be sufficient. Enough to strengthen Daemon’s claiming tattoo on her shoulder, so her magic wouldn’t eat it away too soon.
She eyed the bloody fan again.
Of course, she risked strengthening the blood bond if she tasted Daemon’s blood.
She already had another of those to worry about with her vampire attacker, turned protector, then biter last night.
How was she going to get anything done if there were all of these males connected to her that could potentially follow her around?
She threw the fan in the garbage again.
It wasn't like the blood bond was a real tracking device.
The vampire last night had been trying to frighten her into compliance and impress her a bit at the same time. A bonded vampire would only sense if she was in mortal danger.
Even a claim wouldn’t flare unless the witch was distressed.
That must have been Daemon’s claim flaring in the library.
Were there going to be repercussions?
Although it was said that a vampire could track down his bonded witch to feed, she doubted it meant more than sensing his magic in her when they were close, like in the same room.
Furthermore, if she ingested Daemon’s blood and magic, it would continue to hide her lightning.
Daemon would never know his sweet storm’s real secret. Any other accidental feeds that happened would continue to have that convenient excuse of his blood for the lightning in her veins.
She dumped the garbage on her table. The fan was the only thing in it. The paper was a bit crumpled by her rough handling, but the tubes of blood were intact.
If Daemon’s saliva-laced tattoo set her magic afire, then what would his blood be like?
She freed a tube from the fan contraption and stumbled over to the bed to lie down, while she examined the dark, thick contents. She held the tube out in front of her, tipping it this way and that to peer for its secrets.
It was but a moment of work to unscrew the top. She tipped the bottle to release a ruby drop onto her tongue.
She might throw up.
The strong preservative reminded her of the metallic taste of iron from her childhood, but with none of the orange flavour. Surprisingly, that was a bad thing. There was nothing to disguise the cold age of the blood as it hit her tongue with a heavy plop.
She screwed the lid on the tube tight and threw it down on the bed while she forced her stomach not to heave.
Vampires were crazy to crave this sort of thing.
The tattoo pleasantly tingled instead of burning or itching.
At least, that was working.
She closed her eyes. She tried to focus her magic on the ink and power affixed to her skin. If males could place claim tattoos without help, then a witch should at least be able to mend it on her own.
Her sister and mother were more practiced at meditative trances for healing, but surely, a little tattoo wasn’t beyond her basic skills.
The magic of the ink was unmistakable. It wasn’t only that it was set with Daemon’s lightning—the lines were faded now and the magic dulled. What made the tattoo distinct was the maleness of its magic.
She couldn’t think of any other way to describe the complex threads of power intertwined with her own chi. The glow of her magic was muted, encased by male threads that went much deeper than she ever would have suspected.
Tugging on an inked strand, she felt it pull down to the depth of her centre chi.
Her shoulder burned in a warning. Her own magic hummed in response. A tiny bit of air disappeared from the glowing strands of the ink.
This time she could feel the tattoo fading.
Trying to reverse the process, she gathered her lightning into her chest and filled her centre chi.
Even disguised
by the male threads, she was shocked at how bright her magic glowed. It was more powerful the longer she stayed in Maeren. Perhaps it had something to do with the drop of blood she’d stolen.
If that was true, she might have to put up with the taste of Daemon’s bottled vitality.
Getting her lightning into the tattoo to reinforce it proved more difficult.
The male threads wrapped each bit of power she fed to the tattoo in protection but didn’t absorb it, still faded.
She blew out a frustrated breath and stopped focusing on her own magic, feeling for Daemon’s power signature in the ink. She had to find it, then she could trace it in her blood from that tiny, powerful drop she’d tasted.
The tattoo would accept no other magic to reinforce it, bonded to its master.
–so damn hungry.
He’d hurried to meet with Elizabeth at breakfast before feeding, despite what the courtier had said about his hearty appetite.
The royal feeders had been lined up, waiting, with their handlers there to keep a careful watch on him. Weapons were out and magic primed, while he fed the few minutes allotted at each wrist.
Nothing satisfied his craving to pierce her sweet neck.
While she had sipped her tea and argued his claim, he had unbuttoned her prim yellow jacket and bared her neck and shoulders in preparation for punishment.
He would feed on the side she had been marked, but first, he would drive her crazy for it, teasing her body the way her sexy mouth tempted him.
She’d made him so hard that he had to jerk off to the memory of the hot little fantasy she’d told him of fellating him before he could get any sleep.
If she would yield to him, then he would whisper how good he could make her feel, stroke her–
Elizabeth opened her eyes, still seeing Daemon above her, around her, whispering and tempting her to let him claim all of her.
The tattoo burned as she blocked his thoughts with a groan.
She let go of the dangerous male threads of the tattoo.
She hadn’t slipped into a fantasy. He’d been real.
She felt when he’d fed on those witches. His hungry thoughts centred on seducing her into giving him everything she’d denied him last night.
She should have anticipated that side effect of ingesting his blood.
This was beyond the simple blood bond that told a vampire if his witch was in trouble.
Her lightning had connected them without effort.
She double-checked all her mental blocks and locks, the metallic taste of his blood finally fading in her throat.
Daemon had claimed her.
He was going to come for her.
Most important of all, had he felt her?
Too Hot to Handle
Jill had been born to become a princess.
It was a lot to put on a young girl’s shoulders, but Elizabeth thought Jill handled the expectations set upon her with grace and dignity.
To be fair, their mother had worked hard to let Jill choose a different path once they escaped to the human realm.
It had been their father with the dreams of a royal wedding for Jill. He had the connection, a lord with family distantly related to Prince George’s clan. Their mother’s earth side were common, healing folk.
Love, and not a noble lineage, had brought their parents together.
At least, that was what the girls were told. It all came down to magic.
Their father had wanted power. Their mother’s earth and air were both impressive in a family that had been average.
He hadn’t thought about his own weak fire, hoping to breed stronger offspring to catch the royal eye.
So there, Jill stood, waiting in elegant pose upon the raised dais, before the grand throne room.
The other girls paled in comparison to her.
Jill had the requisite frilled dress, shiny jewels, and the favour of Prince Phillip. Everything their father had wanted in power and prestige.
Jill had done it all despite their father. Perhaps that was why Jill didn’t look satisfied.
Her sister was waiting alone in the busy receiving room. Her head was up, back straight, and her feet together. She twirled her fan in an unladylike loop-de-loop as the other young witches gossiped and laughed freely.
No one approached Jill.
Elizabeth should have gotten here sooner to support her sister. She’d already deserted her at luncheon. It had been a poorly thought out decision.
She’d been flustered by Phillip, outside of the library.
The second prince still presented the perfect opportunity for them. He had fire that matched Jill and air that matched Elizabeth. His overlarge harem, with his flirtatious ways, could be considered a gift. There was no need to peek further under the wrapping of what he presented.
Jill had planned to nudge Phillip, again, about including Elizabeth in his harem after he spent some time with her at lunch, letting him see how her older sister could be a harmless addition.
Even Elizabeth could have managed one meal without stabbing anyone, right?
She should have gone.
It had been one kiss. Some cultures greeted others with a friendly buss on the lips.
Jill wasn’t in love with him, despite her teasing this morning.
Hiding in her room, after the library, had been a mistake. Elizabeth couldn’t afford any further mistakes.
The courtier made it clear that Elizabeth had already screwed up with Daemon. If she didn’t get herself into another harem, quick, the eldest prince was going to keep on pursuing her publicly.
She only had his word that he would keep his claim on her private.
Whoever thought a demon might be allowed to start a harem?
She felt like she had barely escaped the sharp teeth from a trap snapping shut by making Daemon promise to stay mum on the claim. It was a sword of Damocles over her.
His lightning was a constant threat to her disguise.
Phillip was probably the only vampire in the kingdom that would risk angering his older brother by blatantly ignoring a claim. He had the most strategic harem for Elizabeth to enter.
William, the third prince, hadn’t really been a choice. He didn’t have a harem. Being the only prince without fire, he was not afforded the same privileges. Like Daemon, he was expected to make do with the royal feeders.
Most of those feeder witches were picked for their fire first in deference to the demon brother’s needs, leaving only a few witches with weaker, secondary magic to meet William’s requirements.
The feeders made up in numbers what they lacked in power, or else, William would have been greatly limited by the arrangement.
Of course, now she knew that William had his pick of Phillip’s harem as well.
George was the fourth prince. He was a perfect match to Jill’s earth and fire but possessed a dark reputation that had scared them to even consider him. Besides, he didn’t have any air. It would make him unlikely to allow Elizabeth into his harem if he accepted Jill.
The youngest prince, Victor, had been warned off of Elizabeth by discovering Daemon’s claim. Not that they had really considered him. His fire and water also left him without air and unlikely to accept Elizabeth.
It looked like she was going to have to follow the courtier’s advice and take the opportunity to attend the next tasting ball in hopes of finding a kind, noble benefactor.
Ha. If those buffoons knew better, they would run screaming from her family.
Elizabeth could use lightning to fry their brains. Jill could use earth to crush their cooked brains from their skulls, like overripe melons.
Their mother, no doubt, knew some dark earth potion that used stupid, male brains as an ingredient.
Darkly amusing herself with the thought of cooking up all the troublesome males in her life to take care of them, she finally made her way over to Jill.
The fan Jill was doing loops with bopped her on the thigh and she stopped swinging it. Jill was so stiff, she l
ooked like a gentle breeze could blow her over on her teetering heels.
Darn it.
Elizabeth walked up to her from behind. She would always have her sister’s back.
She couldn’t help but overhear the surrounding witches gossiping about them, picking up on the cause of Jill’s distress. Her sister wasn’t deaf, although she was pretending to be unaffected.
“She’s from the Norwood family. They were in the edge all of this time. Their father burned down the castle over some scandal. Nobody knows why they were invited.”
“Fire, of course. The royals are desperate enough to consider commoners if they have a spark in their blood.”
They had as noble a connection as the rest of them here.
“She’s hardly competition. A timid thing for a fire witch. Prince Phillip didn’t claim her. She’ll be like all the others, forgotten in a week.”
“Did you see her wet wick sister? She fed a demon!”
“It was shameful. She threw herself at Prince Daemon like a blood whore. The eldest is hardly a Norwood, with no fire. I’m surprised they let her in. The feeders are kept in the servant quarters.”
Jill let her fan loop-de-loop again, except this time she allowed her fire to streak from the edge of the fan as she twirled it around. The flaming blue circle floating in the air announced Jill’s power was magnitudes stronger than anyone else present possessed.
The gossip stuttered nervously and stopped.
Elizabeth touched Jill on the shoulder to get her sister’s attention.
Jill extinguished her fan, pretending to blow the flames out. Her control must have slipped a bit because the end of the fan was singed.
“What did I miss?” Elizabeth asked her.
“Class hasn’t started yet.”
“Who are we smiting?”
Jill looked tempted. “Could you slam all the doors shut?”
She pictured the mice scattering across the room. “Out of air,” she admitted.
Jill started the loop-de-loop again. The only way a witch ran low on her magic was either using it herself or feeding it to a male. Jill was smart enough to figure it out.
“Where were you at lunch?”
“Reading.”
“Any interesting books?”
Every Witch Demon but Mine (Maeren Series Book 1) Page 20
