Lothaire

55

“Package!” someone cried from downstairs.

From Ellie’s temporary room, she heard what sounded like a dozen Valkyries speeding down the stairs.

—“Who’s it for?”

—“Gotta be me!”

—“Shut up!”

—“No, you shut up!”

Ellie sighed, still marveling at how acquisitive her Valkyrie jailers were. She’d seen them stealing clothes in complex heists, sword-fighting over jewelry, pouncing on each other to wrest away new weapons.

Now that she’d learned how to trace, Ellie considered teleporting down there and scooping them all, but she didn’t have the energy. Her appetite had deserted her. Not to crave food—or blood? But compared to the rich flavor of Lothaire’s dark, dark blood, the bagged stuff was nauseating.

It’d been over three weeks since she’d been brought to Val Hall, and still she waited for him to come rescue her.

In that time, Ellie had forgiven Lothaire for turning her into a vampire. Though she occasionally felt like a circus freak—with her eyes growing black and her fangs sharpening for seemingly no good reason—being a vampire wasn’t too bad.

On occasion, she even liked being this strong. Such as when pummeling mouthy Valkyries.

Ellie had forgiven him for a lot of the things he’d done, once she’d realized that what Lothaire said and what he did didn’t always mesh.

Though he’d mocked her for being a lowly mortal, he had tried to burn himself to death in order to save her life—and she’d been mortal at the time.

Their last day together, he’d behaved like a tyrant, ridiculing her; yet in the hours before, he’d made love to her as if he cherished her.

When he’d said they weren’t equals, that didn’t necessarily mean he thought she was stupid or worthless. He’d told her, “Bullshitting Dorada? I couldn’t be prouder, Lizvetta.”

Again, she’d kind of been mortal still. . . .

At times, Ellie would dream the briefest taste of his memories, seeing their night of lovemaking from his point of view. Or she’d experience some kind of intense connection to him.

But his thoughts and emotions were always so frenzied, impossible to unravel for a novice like her.

All she knew was that she missed him so much, that it felt like grief—

“It’s for the vampire!” someone yelled from downstairs.

Ellie shot to her feet. From Lothaire? Who else?

Light-headed, giddy, she traced down to the crowd, throwing elbows to get through to the center.

There was just no other way to deal with Valkyries.

Did Lothaire want her again? Was he even now trying to free her? “Let me have it!”

With a casual hiss, one of the younger Valkyries surrendered it.

The elegant packaging was stamped with some royal-looking seal, addressed to her from Lothaire Konstantin Daciano, Sovereign of Dacia, the Realm of Blood and Mist.

Ellie tore open the box, casting everyone an excited grin. Off went the top—

Her fingers went limp. The package dropped to the floor, jostling its contents. A bloody black heart tumbled out.

When it settled at her feet, she shoved her palm over her mouth to keep from vomiting. Why would he do this? How . . . ?

The crowd parted for the steely Cara, Nïx trailing in her wake.

“Read the note, vampire,” Cara ordered.

With shaking hands, Ellie collected the crisp parchment.

Elizabeth,

With my compliments.

You will never get your claws into another one of mine.

Rot in hell,

L

Nïx clasped her hands over her chest, sighing, “He gave you his heart. That’s so romantic. So much better than a candy heart. Those get stuck in the fangs, you know.”

“He’s not coming for you,” Cara said in a disbelieving tone.

Ellie shook her head, numb. “No, he’s not.”

“Then you’re not leverage.” Cara’s violet eyes flashed. “Your usefulness has ended. Nïx has advised me not to kill you. So you’re on your own.”

“You’re freeing me?” You’re kicking me out?

“Why should I keep you here?”

Because I have nowhere else to go! Ellie couldn’t live with her family. She had no close friends but for Thad and Hag, and their loyalties were first to Lothaire.

Ellie had become a vampire . . . for no reason. She’d be all alone in his world. He didn’t even want to talk to her, to discuss what had happened, much less to work on their relationship.

He’d abandoned her to . . . the Lore. After he’d taken her from her family.

At that thought, all her rationalizations about him disappeared. That bastard! Gonna live in this world, Ellie? Then get hard, get mean.

Take care of your own business.

Lothaire had told her, “It takes bold strokes to live in the Lore.”

She could be just as crazy as all these freaks. I’m Appalachian! She would go mountain like they’d never seen!

Ellie whirled around on Nïx. “Can I get a package back to him?”

She saluted Ellie, chirping, “I’ll see to it myself.”

Driven by searing rage, Ellie faced Cara. “Give me a blade.”

Whatever Cara saw in her expression had her tossing a knife. Ellie clutched her fist around the hilt.

Then, to the sounds of a shocked chorus of Valkyries . . .

—“Oh, come on, the vamp won’t actually do— DUDE! She fucking did it!”

—“Ellie’s my best friend.”

—“I liked her before I even met her—you hate her compared to how much I like her.”

—“She’ll never pay cover in the Lore again.”

. . . Ellie made Lothaire a heartfelt gift of her own.

“Is he sane today?” Stelian muttered as he and the other royal males traced into the council room.

They’d asked to meet with Lothaire tonight to evaluate his new rule.

Yes, his coherent and stable nights had been surprisingly frequent; tonight wasn’t one of them.

Lothaire rubbed his tongue over a fang. I’ve got your evaluation.

In the council room, there’d once been an ornate round table, indicating equality among those seated.

He’d had the table destroyed, replacing it with a rectangular one. A throne dominated one end. No chair at the other.

And if Lothaire got any pushback on his redecoration, there’d be no council at all.

He was actually getting pushback on other things. Stelian was often too drunk to be afraid of Lothaire and so foolishly spoke his mind. Mirceo usually thought Lothaire was kidding, believing he could jest with his uncle.

Without his Bride, Trehan cared not whether he lived or died. Viktor longed to battle his king, taking every offense in the mean spirit with which Lothaire intended it.

Kosmina adored her new “foulmouthed but well-intentioned uncle.” Because, as she put it, “Perhaps we aren’t meant to understand him. Perhaps he’s as much a puzzle as he is a puzzle master.”

Hear, hear, Kosmina. But I’m still sending your ass to Louisiana.

Maybe the royals needed to witness a demonstration of Lothaire’s unmatched power. As yet, they merely thought him a besotted fool who’d been laid out by his female.

Still reeling . . . After weeks in Dacia and numerous days of dreaming, Lothaire still had none of Elizabeth’s memories. His consciousness seemed to sidle at the very edge of them.

He knew that vampires never saw anything in their visions from which they couldn’t mentally rebound.

What lies in Elizabeth’s memories that could scar me worse than I already am?

Stelian cleared his throat. “Before we get started, we’d like to talk to you about your queen.”

Lothaire steepled his fingers. “Obviously, I have none.”

Mirceo said, “You’re a monarch with a Bride, my liege. That means she’s our lady, and we serve her. Right now, she’s a target for your enemies.”

An eighth of an inch of tendon. “I don’t bloody want to hear this!”

Stelian said, “If for no other reason, you require your Bride for heirs.”

“I need none. I plan to live—and rule—forever.” So heirs were unnecessary. But what about simply having children? He’d grown pleased at the idea of offspring with Elizabeth. Yet another thing she stole from me! He narrowed his eyes. “You scowl, young Viktor? My ruling for eternity doesn’t delight you?”

The towering vampire stood, his fists balled. “Your agenda is not what we envisioned, Cousin. You seek to plunge us into a new war and believe we should reveal ourselves to all in the Lore? This will no longer be Dacia.”

With his quiet intensity, Trehan said, “We vowed allegiance to a king and a queen.”

Viktor added, “We swore to protect Queen Elizavetta—”

In a flash, Lothaire lunged out of his chair, tracing forward to slam Viktor’s head against the table. “I told you never to mention that name to me!”

Viktor freed his sword and launched a strike, but Lothaire caught the blade, squeezing it. “If you’re not with me, you’re against me.” His blood gushed over Viktor’s disbelieving face. “You’ve erred for ill.” Lothaire gave a brutal yank, hurling the weapon from him.

When the others drew their own, Lothaire swept through the room with a speed they couldn’t comprehend. Claws bared, he disabled his opponents—rending a tendon in a dominant arm, slashing a hamstring. . . .

Back to Viktor. He palmed his cousin’s head. “Now,” he grated as he began crushing Viktor’s skull. “Do we all concede that we do not fuck with Lothaire? That I might be your relative, but I will always be the Enemy of Old?”

Stunned, reluctant nods all around.

“Above all things, I am your king.” He stared each one of them down as they fought to catch their breath or stanch a bleeding wound. “You obey me. Your undivided allegiance is to me. Vow this.”

Unlike Elizabeth, they’d be bound to him. But I’d wanted her loyalty more than anyone’s, more than anything.

Once each royal had made his vow, he released Viktor, who crumpled to the floor. “Lothaire endeth the lesson.”

They dragged Viktor away, then traced from the room, all but Stelian, who clamped a gushing arm. “You’ve earned a lifelong enemy in Viktor.”

“I’ve earned respect!”

“Viktor’s too much like you to take the lesson you set out to teach him.”

Lothaire absently licked the gash in his hand. “Then he’ll soon perish under my rule.”

Stelian shook his head. “Now that political ambitions have been neutralized among us, your cousins are a good and true lot. They could unite as a family once more, if you would but lead them.”

“You’ve missed the point, Stelian. They might be good and true.” Lothaire bared his fangs. “But I am not.”

Hag strode in then, clad in conservative Dacian garb—stained with hot-pink and neon-green potions. “We need to talk, Lothaire.” She’d told him she’d address him as sire as soon as he called her Balery.

Or when hell froze over.

“What is it, Hag?”

“I don’t know what, exactly when, or how—but the first threat to your kingdom looms . . . soon.”