Death Game: Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers Book 3)

by Kelly St Clare

  “Episode nine. Season two.”

  Oh. My. God. “Doctor Khang is forced to complete emergency brain surgery in a basement with one hand tied behind his back.”

  My mouth dried. If Kyros was here right now, I’d jump him. It was that simple.

  Leather squeaked as he shifted. “I set up a romantic dinner equipped with fire and wine at the start of the week and it made you want to sprint in the other direction, but you’re turned on by me watching a show?”

  I didn’t make the rules. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to understand me, Kyros.”

  “I’ll just be happy when you stop wearing pantsuits. Please tell me it’s over at the end of the week? I can handle two more days. Not an entire month.”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  Kyros growled.

  I placed a hand on my hip. “Don’t get growly with me. I’m not messing with Safina for anything. All your siblings will gang up on me, and I still have Francesca’s fashion show to get through on Sunday.”

  And the fifth exchange after it.

  “I’m looking forward to Sunday night,” he said.

  I shifted, suddenly remembering the six gazes boring into my back. “It’ll be a… real party.”

  He groaned. “Gerome just sent me another meme. I’ll let you get back to your meeting.”

  Snorting, I said, “Okay, see you tonight.”

  Disconnecting the call, I avoided the gazes settled on my face as I sat again. Glancing up, I rose my brows. “Something wrong?”

  Their faces were smooth. I saw those expressions on their faces all the time. Just not usually directed at me.

  Dame Burke was the first to break the tension. “That was Kyros—crown prince of Clan Sundulus?”

  I nodded. “Correct.”

  Sir Olythieu met my gaze. “How close are you with Sundulus?”

  My own gaze cooled. “Close enough to be invited to their innermost meetings. What are you implying?”

  The six oldies exchanged looks.

  Lady Treena watched me from beneath hooded eyes. It was the look she gave me before trumping me in Scrabble. Her vocabulary was legit. “Basilia, the way you just spoke to him…”

  “And I’m still not certain what your question is,” I answered mildly. “Stop beating around the bush.”

  Mr Dithis broke first. “Is what we just heard an act or is it real? You were discussing a television show? You scolded him like a child.”

  I did?

  “Don’t get growly with me,” Dame Burke quoted.

  Shit. I did say that.

  In my defence, it was really hard to remember others were in the room with the state Kyros and I were in.

  Maybe I should just tell them about the mating thing.

  One look at their hard faces decided it for me.

  “Some of it was an act,” I said. “Not all. Your experiences with them have led you to believe they’re all monsters. That’s not the case.”

  It was like I’d slapped them. Mrs Syrre reeled back.

  “Led us to believe,” Mr Hothen said.

  I straightened. “Yes, led you to believe. And you can’t be blamed for that. That’s what they wanted you to think. So you’d obey without question.”

  These weren’t narrow-minded people I was talking to. They used emotion as data, but emotion didn’t dictate their decisions. Yet how could a person not hate creatures who’d forced them to live in fear for decades on end?

  “I’ve spent a lot of time with them in the last three months,” I continued. “Whether you wish to accept my words or not, their… kind is as varied as our own. Very few are wholly evil. Very few are wholly good. Humans think differently, I grant you. I often struggle with some of their ways. But for the most part, what motivates our race also motivates theirs.”

  Sir Olythieu slammed his cane on the table. “Listen to the words coming out of your mouth, child. Are you their servant now? Is that what this is? Have you lured us in to betray us and your own grandmother?”

  “Bartley,” Lady Treena gasped.

  I held up a hand. “It’s okay, Lady Treena. I am aware of how this looks. That’s why I tend to listen to talk of killing them all or dropping bombs without comment.”

  Tilting my chin, I stared across the table at my grandmother’s most trusted friend.

  “I will uphold my grandmother’s legacy because I loved her. I believe in what she started. Bluff City is not a game board. The humans within it are not pawns. I say that with absolute conviction.”

  The older man relaxed.

  I raised my voice. “With that said, don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re speaking to my grandmother when you’re dealing with me. Her ideals are largely my ideals, her power is my power, but her experiences are not my experiences. I will act how I see fit based on the position I hold and the information I am privy to.”

  I stared at each of them in turn. “If you can’t accept that my opinion of them is different to your own, that’s fine. Though I respect each of you, I don’t need your approval. I loved my grandmother. I risk my life every day for her. I’ve killed twice to avenge her death. Her approval is all I’m after, and don’t you fucking dare insinuate that I won’t do what needs to be done.”

  Gathering up the few files and my phone, I strode to the door and glanced back. “Call me child again, Sir Olythieu, and see what happens.”

  13

  Something was buzzing.

  I whacked Kyros. “Bumblebee.”

  “It’s your bumblebee,” he grumbled, rolling over me.

  The buzzing stopped, and I relaxed.

  “What?” he snapped. “You woke her up.”

  An irritating whining replied.

  “Mosquito.” I decided, nuzzling under the blankets.

  Kyros snorted. “She thinks you sound like a mosquito.”

  I cracked an eyelid open. “Whosit?”

  “Frannie.”

  Frannie was too innocent a name for that demon. “Make beeping sounds and hang up.”

  Kyros was straddling me, chest bare, firm muscles on display. Holy shit. Not a bad way to wake up.

  “Oh, the fashion show,” he murmured, grimacing my way.

  I shot up, glancing at the alarm clock.

  The vampire pushed me back down. “She’ll be there in thirty.”

  “She better make it twenty.”

  Kyros disconnected, and I tried to sit again. He gently shoved me back down.

  “I’ve got to shower,” I said, batting at his hands.

  His mouth covered mine, and I forgot the rest of my argument as I threaded my hands through his toffee strands.

  I moaned into his mouth, arching upward and eliciting a hiss from him.

  Snarling, Kyros broke away, lowering his head to the neckline of my silk camisole. Lower.

  He sucked my nipple into his mouth, and I choked, writhing under the blanket between us as my entire body filled with fire.

  “Ky—” I gasped, trying to kick the blanket barrier away.

  His tongue lapped and he latched onto the other side, making me choke on a scream.

  And then he was gone.

  I sat, shoving away the thick blanket to chase him.

  He stood across his lair, the circle sofa between us, grinning.

  “Something to think about before tonight,” he said, disappearing into the bathroom.

  Bastard.

  Motherfucking bastard!

  The shower turned on, and the sound of his low whistling filled my ears. Even that turned me on at this point.

  Staggering toward the kitchenette like the R-rated version of Bambi my life had become, I filled a glass with water.

  The fashion show.

  Exchange blood with vampire.

  I sipped on my water. “Fuck. What a day.”

  At least Kyros was happy about it. Then again, what guy wouldn’t be happy when guaranteed sex was on the horizon? The thing was, we hadn’t had our usual discussion about the terms o
f this exchange.

  And we needed to.

  He exited, a towel wrapped around his hips.

  Focus, Basi.

  “Kyros?”

  “Yes, mate.”

  My stomach fluttered. “We need to talk about the exchange. I have something I want to run by you.”

  Nerves erupted. None of them mine, and I studied his tense back.

  What? He thought I’d call it off?

  I set my glass down and walked over.

  As soon as I reached him, he spun us so my back was to the wall.

  “Is everything a power play with you?” I asked, folding my arms.

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Being an alpha makes some things necessary, yes. I ease the power in small ways to prevent it exploding in big ways. Does that bother you?”

  “I’m getting used to most stuff, I guess,” I mumbled, trailing off as I stared at the drop of water rolling down his neck.

  He dipped his head down. “You had a suggestion.”

  I frowned up at him. “Yes.”

  “What was it, my beauty?”

  It was…

  Oh, yeah.

  I took a breath. “Last time, I didn’t like that others saw me during the thrall. It’s normal for Vissimo, but it embarrassed me to be seen like that by your sisters.”

  His face hardened. “You can’t be left alone, Basilia. I won’t be able to handle that.”

  “If you listened, you’d realise that’s not what I’m saying,” I said, glaring at him.

  Kyros quirked a brow. “You just stomped on my foot.”

  Not my problem. I’d given up on getting rid of the petulant stomp. I drove a golf cart around my estate now. Maybe I’d just embrace the hair toss and the hands on hips, too, like the brat I had enough money to be.

  “You deserve it for kissing me and ditching.”

  His voice deepened, and the dreamy haze entered his eyes. “Your nipples are still hard.”

  And they’d probably stay that way until tonight. “I’m showering.”

  He latched onto my wrist. “What were you going to say?”

  I tugged it free. “I was going to ask if you could stay with me during the thrall, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  Kyros’s shock radiated through me, the searing blast soothed by his overwhelming want.

  Slamming the bathroom door on him, I tore off my camisole and sleep shorts, setting the shower to lukewarm. I stepped in and grabbed my body wash left over from the last thrall. I refused to bring any clothing here, electing to bring a bag each time I stayed, so the toiletries were my only possessions in the lair.

  Kyros hadn’t said anything, but I knew he was bursting to demand I fill up one of the drawers in his dresser.

  Lathering the lemon myrtle wash over my skin, I picked up my razor and set to work checking for body hair and ensuring my skin was smooth. Making quick work of my hair, I dried and moisturised my body in record time.

  Towel wrapped tight around my frame, I marched back into the room and grabbed my clothes from the night before.

  “You can borrow some of my sweats,” he said, eyeing the pantsuit.

  I had an understanding with Safina, and a deal was a deal. Plus, I didn’t want to go down the boyfriend and girlfriend sharing clothes route.

  Disappearing back into the bathroom, I dressed, and towel-dried my hair.

  “Laurel is waiting to take you to Green,” he said.

  I looked at him for the first time.

  Whoa.

  Double whoa.

  He wore a burnt-red blazer over a white shirt. Dark blue trousers and a belt that matched the blazer completed the smart-casual look. The sight of him dressed like that made my toes curl.

  “Going somewhere?” I said hoarsely.

  “To Frannie’s fashion show,” he said. “Pissing me off by putting my mate on the catwalk is pointless if I don’t attend.”

  True.

  “And if other men get to see you walking in a fashion show, I’m sure as fuck making sure they know you’re taken.”

  I bit my lip. “Jealous, are we?”

  “With you, always. Jealous of the time you’re not with me. Jealous of the conversations you share with others. Jealous of the way you let your butler do everything for you but won’t let me serve you a plate of food.”

  The words were delivered without a trace of bitterness. What was I meant to say to that? I hovered uncertainly.

  “Everyone will be there,” he said, continuing on as if he hadn’t admitted to being jealous of Fred running around after me.

  I licked my lips. “When you say everyone…”

  “My parents too.”

  I ran my hand through my hair. “Great.”

  “I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” Kyros said as I grabbed my phone and walked to the door. Still shaken, I waved overhead in response.

  The vampire called after me. “Basilia?”

  Wrenching to a halt, I peered back at him. “Yeah?”

  He bowed low. “I would be honoured to join you during your thrall.”

  Heat filled my cheeks as he straightened and fixed me with a smouldering look that I immediately titled Ovary Magnet.

  “Okay. Good then,” I said breathlessly.

  Dammit.

  His lips curled.

  “Bye,” I blurted, turning to run down the stairs as fast as my suddenly feather-light body could carry me.

  My butter-blonde hair was dead straight, falling to just below my breasts.

  Maybe it would cover whatever garish outfit Francesca put me in. As soon as I’d entered the main tent on the cordoned-off main street in Green, she’d marched me to a director’s seat in make-up and disappeared.

  I’d done a few catwalks for charity during my final years in high school. And some of those buy a date type events where they made everyone parade around before the auction.

  “Look up,” the make-up artist said.

  My look was smoky eyes with a deep-plum lip. Nothing like the diamanté crap I’d expected her to subject me to. The artist didn’t bat a false eyelash at the scarring on my neck before covering it with goop.

  “So glad you could make it,” Francesca said on the other side of the curtain.

  A woman sniffed. “You paid me to be here.”

  No. She. Didn’t.

  If there was one voice whinier and more nasally than Francesca’s, it was the voice of Harriet Gregorian.

  “Look down,” the artist said.

  I gladly obeyed in a bid to hide my glare. I loathed Harriet Gregorian for many reasons. At the very top of that list was what she did to Tommy. The other girls may have held her down and ripped her clothes off with varying degrees of enthusiasm, but Harriet was the instigator. She was stupid and vicious to the core. The most dangerous combination in the world.

  “Basilia,” Francesca spoke from behind me. “Do you know Miss Gregorian?”

  My lips twitched. That little brat. She’d done her homework. “The name does ring a bell. One of my maids, perhaps?”

  The artist drew away, and I opened my eyes to witness Harriet’s thin-lipped reaction.

  “I thought you went to school together?” Francesca said, tapping her lip.

  “We did,” Harriet said, recovering. “We moved in different circles.”

  I moved by myself is what she meant.

  Tilting my face to each side to check my appearance, I then winked at Harriet, drawling, “Honey, we still do.”

  Francesca’s blue eyes met mine and her lips curled. She directed Harriet into the seat beside me and disappeared again.

  Yeah, right.

  Like she wouldn’t listen to every word.

  My phone buzzed.

  What’s so funny?

  I typed a reply to Kyros.

  Francesca brought in my high school arch nemesis to mess with me.

  I’d fought off a psychotic vampire and it was hard to be anything but amused by Francesca’s ploy, but maybe I’d dial up my reaction and make
her feel like she’d won. Of all the siblings, Francesca kept me at the greatest distance. This could be a good time to build a bridge.

  “I hope you checked into rehab after the appalling scene at your grandmother’s funeral,” Harriet said as the hairstylist started work on her.

  I smiled at her in the mirror. “Not yet, actually. Maybe you could give me the name of the one you last attended.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Everyone was talking about what you did. What an embarrassment you made of Agatha.”

  “You knew her so well.”

  “Everyone knew her well enough. Most of my childhood was spent at your estate.”

  That was a stretch of the fucking truth.

  Unfortunately, Harriet had latched onto one subject that would get to me. The secret to dealing with rich bitches was to never let them know. “Then you knew what she thought of you, Harry.”

  The curse of being called Harriet—the nickname, Harry. It had always sent her into a tantrum. Her emerald-green eyes flashed daggers.

  “No one knows what anyone really thinks of them,” she shot back.

  I tossed my hair. “You don’t know what I think of you? You sure?” Winking at the man styling her hair, I stage-whispered, “She knows.”

  He smirked, wiping it away when Harriet lifted her glare to him.

  “That Gregorian temper of yours is showing, darling,” I said, inspecting my manicured nails. They’d painted them plum to match my lips. The tone was more severe than I tended to wear, but maybe I should give it a go sometime.

  “You think you’re so fucking above everyone, Basilia. Guess what, you aren’t shit without your name. Being a Le Spyre doesn’t make you untouchable.”

  She was spot on. I wasn’t shit without my last name. Been there, experienced that.

  “You’re right, Harry,” I said, pursing my lips. “On all counts.”

  She didn’t answer me, watching me warily. No matter how many of these verbal sword fights I won, she always came back for more. Like besting me once would be her crowning glory. That was the way of the world I lived in though.

  Pathetic.

  “However, I’m a hell of a lot more without my name than you’d ever be without yours.” I held up a finger. “And yes, in comparison to a Gregorian, I am fucking untouchable. You should remember that.”