The Queen's Protectors (A Throne of Blood Book 1)

by Scarlett Snow

  Copyright © 2019 Scarlett Snow

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction and is for mature audiences only. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, including electronically or mechanical, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Edited by Meg West at Stylized Precision

  Cover Design by Jay Aheer at Simply Defined Art

  Interior Design by Champagne Book Design

  Interior Artwork (chibis) by Sarah Jo Chreene

  Proofread by J. A. Cummings

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Preview

  About the Author

  Other Books by the Author

  For my cowifey, Loxley Savage.

  With special thanks to my Sexy Slaves: Promiscuous Prancer, Naughty by Nature, Seductive Stapler, Dirty Deb, Cinder, Kinky Minx, and of course, Master of the Slaves.

  “It is bigger, babe. It’s world domination.”

  —Snow and Savage, Together 2019

  If I had arrived a moment earlier, my mother’s head would still be attached to her body. I glance down at my trembling hands, stained by her crimson blood. Droplets splash onto my ivory dress and ripple the puddle forming around my knees. When I look back at my mother, her gaping eyes are fixed on me.

  I struggle not to vomit on her kitchen floor. In a delirious and sick way, I can still hear my mother’s voice warning me not to ruin her expensive tiles. I was looking forward to surprising her and receiving the grand tour of her new home in upstate New York. Instead, I’d barely stepped over the threshold when her screams rang out from the kitchen, and I was confronted by this.

  A firm hand squeezes me on the shoulder. “Violet. It’s time.”

  Time? Time for what?

  Ronan’s velvety voice echoes through my mind, urging me to move, to look away, yet I can’t seem to tear my gaze from my mother’s severed head. This is my mother—one of New York’s most influential vampires—butchered by a creature quicker than I was able to unlock her front door. How could this possibly be happening?

  “She was just here,” I manage to say, though my voice comes out a hoarse whisper. “We saw her through the kitchen window. Who could do such a thing?”

  Ronan tightens his grip. “Come on. Let’s send your mother off with the dignity she deserves. We don’t have long left before it starts.”

  Oh. Right. Leaving a deceased vampire uncremated is a fate worse than death.

  I can already see the ebony veins working hard underneath my mother’s flesh, turning her creamy skin into a ghastly shade of black. In a few minutes’ time, she’ll be nothing more than a revenant—a brainless monster with only a deep hunger to consume another creature’s flesh. Vampires, shifters, humans, animals. Anything with a pulse. She won’t be my mother anymore. Just an empty, ravenous shell.

  Somehow, I manage to pull myself up from the pool of blood, and I help Ronan lift my mother into the garden. He managed to create a makeshift pyre in front of the pond—my mother’s favorite spot to lounge once the sun went down—and soaked the wood in a generous amount of gasoline. The overpowering smell infects the cold October air and sends a chill through my body.

  Ronan races back into the house while I adjust her bed of twigs. It’s a little ridiculous, really. I move and adjust briars as if I’m tucking a warm blanket around her. It’s not like my mother is simply resting for the day. She was just murdered in her own home, and I was powerless to save her. Not even Ronan, who always remained one step ahead of everyone, was able to intervene. We were too little, too late, and my mother paid the price.

  Her hand twitches in the corner of my eye, and my stomach coils. The transformation from vampire to revenant is taking place quicker than I expected. It’s probably because of how powerful and old she was.

  I wipe the tears from my eyes and step back. She didn’t deserve to go like this. As I stare at her transitioning, I feel like I’m under a spell and forced to endure my worst nightmare. Losing a parent, regardless of one’s age, feels like losing a part of your soul. I can’t believe I’m standing here about to cremate my own mother.

  I vaguely notice Ronan placing her detached head on the pyre. I don’t recall seeing him throw a match onto the wood or my mother’s body combusting into a gorging fire. But he takes my hand, his touch familiar, and that I do feel. I glance up at him and witness a solitary tear slip down his ashen cheek. My proud, vampire lover, shedding a tear for the woman who anointed him as my Protector long ago. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him cry. I pray it will be the last.

  I give his hand a gentle squeeze, and as I watch the fire devour my mother’s rotting body, I make a vow that I’ll find out who killed her. I’ll make them pay for slaughtering her in such a barbaric way.

  I am the daughter of Eloise Sinclaire, after all. I refuse to let this betrayal to my family go unpunished.

  “I will avenge you, Mother, no matter what it takes, no matter what the cost. You have my word.”

  The car ride to our hotel is uncharacteristically silent. I keep opening my mouth to say something to Ronan, but no words come out. I suspect I’m still in too much shock to speak.

  Ronan eventually cuts the engine and throws open his door. Ever the gentleman, he opens my door and offers me his hand. A loose strand of blond hair drifts over his emerald eyes, and I notice how he looks paler than usual. I place my own in his much larger grip and step into the biting wind. I offer the doorman a weak smile as we head toward the sleek building. He raises his brows at the blood smeared over my dress, hands and legs, but he thankfully doesn’t say anything as he lets us through the entrance.

  Despite my half-vampire, half-shifter strength, I’m relieved to be aided by Ronan, for my legs feel like jelly, seconds away from liquifying on the floor. I’m not accustomed to this level of vulnerability—an inefficacy to stay strong and harden my exterior. I just want to curl into a ball and scream from the top of my lungs.

  The flowers I bought my mother, and forgot to bring with us, lay on the sculpted coffee table in our lounge. I sweep by them and into the kitchen, my stomach knotting again.

  “I just can’t believe she’s gone,” I say and drop onto one of the breakfast stools. “I mean, in all honesty, I guess I knew this would one day come. I just didn’t think it’d happen so soon. She was only three hundred and two.”

  Ronan opens the fridge and withdraws a bag of blood. “You knew this day would come?” he repeats, lowering his voice.

  “My mother hardly had a shortage of enemies. She always told me about clients wanting to overrun her business. Rintarou. Nikhail. Lord Daemon. Any one of them could be responsible. When she stopped contacting me two years ago, I figured she was trying to protect me from som
ething. I just never knew what.”

  I watch Ronan poke the bag with a straw and extend his arm. Shakily, I devour the contents with voracious thirst, my eyes trained on him. I’ve always gone to Ronan when I had need for counsel. He’s been the one person I’ve trusted my entire fifty-eight years. Thankfully, I only look to be in my late twenties due to my vampire genetics. Ronan is more than just a bodyguard and lover to me. He, too, is like a part of me. Tears well into my eyes at the thought of losing him. I don’t think I could bear that; it would be like living without my heart.

  He catches me staring, and his eyes darken. In an instant, he’s at my side and wipes away a tear on my cheek with the side of his thumb. “I promise we’ll get to the bottom of this. We’ll find out who killed your mother, Violet, and we’ll avenge her.”

  “But we don’t even know where to start.” I toss the empty feeding bag onto the counter, and I grimace at the violent tremors that still wrack my hands. “I guess we could start with Nikhail. He’s always been a creepy sleaze.”

  Ronan removes his hand and shifts nervously under my gaze. He averts his eyes, or at least tries to, but I reach for his jaw and lock eyes with him. He’s hiding something from me, that much is clear, but what? And why? I’ve never seen him so unsettled before, not even when we are alone and the rest of the world ceases to exist.

  “There is something you must know,” he tells me, running a hand over his shaved cheeks. He looms over me, his tall, lean, and muscular body as rigid as stone. His blond hair drifts lazily over his forehead as he glances down and then up again. The laugh lines at his eyes deepen. “I was under oath not to tell you until your mother’s passing. I fear she knew her life was under threat and that’s why she cut contact with you. With us both. She wanted to protect you, Violet, above everything.”

  I scrunch up my face. “What do you think she was trying to protect me from? Her sleazy clients?”

  Ronan pauses for a moment, seeming to debate whether or not to tell me.

  “My mother is—she’s gone, Ronan, so you can tell me now.” I meant to sound authoritative but my voice cracks toward the end, and I can’t even say the word. Dead. My mother is dead.

  Before Ronan can answer me, he whips his head to the side and inhales the air deeply. I follow by extension, wondering what scent he’s picked up, and then I smell another vampire.

  Ronan sprints into the lounge. By the time I catch up, he’s holding a knife to a stranger’s neck and has the elderly man pinned against the door.

  “What. Do. You. Want?” Ronan seethes, pressing the edge of the blade into the man’s throat. A droplet of blood trails down the man’s neck. “How did you get in here?”

  “I suggest… you remove that blade… want to… hear the will…”

  “Ronan, stand down,” I command, my hardened voice now ringing with the authority I struggled to muster. It’s not like the portly, weaker vampire will be any threat to us. He stinks of animal blood, and at such a vulnerable age, I doubt he’s capable of launching a successful attack against either of us. I fix my gaze on him, my voice cold as I demand clear answers. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  Ronan releases his grip with exaggerated reluctance, though he keeps a wary eye on the vampire and shoots daggers into his skull.

  The old vampire dusts a liver-spotted hand down his crumpled, pale blue suit. “The name’s Arnold Digby. Your mother’s lawyer. We have something important to discuss.” He gives Ronan a sharp glare of his own and then settles into the leather sofa. “I don’t have a lot of time, but your mother’s will is a matter of urgency.” He places his leather satchel on the coffee table and finds my gaze. “I am sorry for your loss, Miss Sinclaire. I came as soon as I knew.”

  Ronan snarls at him. “She died not an hour ago. We were the only ones there. How did you know?”

  “Let’s just say I was more than Eloise Sinclaire’s lawyer. I also work part-time for New York Mystique’s surveillance unit.” He withdraws an iPad from the satchel, unlocks the screen, and presses play on a video. “Unfortunately, I, too, was unable to save her. Please be warned that this footage is rather graphic, as I’m sure you know, but it’s imperative that you see.”

  With a deep breath, I sit beside him on the sofa, and I watch my mother unlock her front door. Instead of removing her outdoor clothing and heading toward the stairs, like she always does, she enters the kitchen. She moves at a bizarrely slow pace—strange for a vampire—as though something is weighing her down. She stands in the centre of the kitchen for at least three minutes, just staring out the window, then she turns around and hunches over, coughing up pints of ebony blood. The doorbell rings repeatedly, but she makes no effort to answer.

  I wrestle with the desire to look away and shut out what I know is coming. I don’t want to watch my mother’s final moments endured in utter pain. But Digby said it was important that I see, so I keep my eyes on my mother, hoping I’ll catch a glimpse of the killer. But I don’t. What plays out on the screen shocks me. My mother yanks open the kitchen drawer, withdraws a huge butcher’s knife, and places the item on the marble countertop.

  In a small box in the far right of the screen, Ronan and I continue to ring the doorbell. It’s then she bends over the countertop, lays her head flat on the chopping board, and picks up the knife. She hacks into her throat, her arm repeatedly striking down without hesitation, until at last her head rolls to the side and her convulsing body drops onto the floor. I appear not seconds later, collapsing beside her, screaming for Ronan to help.

  Digby pauses the footage and stares at me, his beady eyes expectant.

  I swallow the lump gathering in my throat; a dam I do not wish to unleash. Not here. Not now. Not ever. I cannot—

  —will not show signs of weakness.

  I’ve got to stay strong, for my mother, for Ronan, for myself.

  “Suicide,” I hear myself say, tightening my features into a grimace.

  Digby shakes his head. “Possession. Your mother had a very strict routine once she retired from work. Anyone who knows her, knows that the first thing she does after walking through that door is—”

  “She goes for a shower,” I interject. “My mother always showered after coming home from work. She said she was washing away the trials of her day. Then she would eat and sit by the pool while drinking a bloody margarita.”

  Digby lowers his head, his grey hair falling over his shoulders. “Precisely. She was a creature of habit, a lot like myself. I daresay it’s one of the reasons she hired me all those decades ago.”

  “Get to the point,” Ronan spits at him, crossing his arms.

  I reach for his hand again, a simple means to reassure us both.

  “Yes, yes, yes.” Digby waves a dismissive hand. “My point is that—look here, at the footage.” He rewinds back to when my mother enters the kitchen, pauses, looks at me again. “Do you see the mirage around her? It’s very obvious that your mother was possessed by another entity. An evil one, at that.”

  Possessed by which kind of evil entity, he doesn’t say, and I have a sinking feeling he won’t elaborate. Or perhaps he can’t. Whoever, or whatever, killed my mother was clearly of the powerful sort and Digby doesn’t want to be the next on its hit list. In spite of my resentment, I can hardly blame him.

  “Can you please read the will, Mr. Digby?” I ask, hoping the content will provide some kind of insight or explanation.

  “Indeed I shall. It’s the reason for my visit.” He unfolds the will, clears his throat, and begins to read. “In case of my untimely death, I, Eloise Henrietta Sinclaire, declare that all my assets, including my estates in North America and Europe, shall pass on to my daughter and only heir, Violet Sinclaire. My company, Club Mystique, shall also be inherited by my daughter with the hopes that she continues to see my work thrive and never cease to grow as she, herself, I hope, will continue to do so.’” He looks up from the paperwork, his bushy, white eyebrows raised. “That is all.”

  “That’s
all?” I glance up at Ronan and then back to Digby. “What do you mean that’s all?”

  “That’s all your mother’s will stipulated. I do, however, have something else for you.” He retrieves a velvet jewelry box and hands it to me. “Your mother’s most treasured possession, I believe.”

  Carefully, I open the lid. On a dark cushioned surface, I find a silver necklace with a breath-taking, heart-shaped jewel, encrusted in a bed of roses. It might look like any ordinary heirloom, but I can feel the magic vibrating inside the ruby, shooting through my fingertips the moment I touch the stone. My heart squeezes as I brush my fingers over the gem. Rubies were my mother’s favorite. Blinking my tears away, I place the necklace down and pick up a small note written in my mother’s elegant handwriting.

  Blood binds for eternity, my darling.

  I have yet to learn the significance of the necklace or the note, but with my head consumed by so much information and grief, I know that will come in due time. My mother never did things on a whim.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say, closing the lid with a faint smile.

  “And powerful,” Ronan whispers. He turns his attention to Digby again and grimaces. He’s never been fond of surprise visits. He likes to be in control of everything so that he can plan ahead. I mean, not only does the vampire iron his socks, he has a specific pair for each day of the week. Nothing irritates him more than unexpected guests. It’s probably the bodyguard in him. “What else did you receive? Were you given any further correspondence?”

  Digby lifts the will up and shakes. “No, I’m afraid not.” He gathers his paperwork into his satchel and straightens from the sofa. “Eloise and I had been friends since I was a dashing young human fighting in the Revolution. I… I never expected this to happen to her of all vampires.” He turns to me. “My sincere apologies, Miss Sinclaire. If there’s anything at all I can ever do for you, you will let me know, yes?”

  I rise from the sofa and shake his hand. His grip is limper than I expect. It’s probably due to his lack of real sustenance. Animal blood isn’t the same as human blood, not that I kill to eat anymore. There’s no need when Ronan goes to a private blood bank at least twice a week.