Page 29 of Imprisoned with the Vampire King

That's all I was to him—the woman who could get him out of the penitentiary.

If he knew that killing me was the best way to end the magic, would he have done that? Snapped my neck, just to be done with it?

He hadn't technically done anything to deserve his prison sentence, but none of the people who led our city were innocent, and he was one of them. Their particular shades of morally gray were just more publicly acceptable than some people's.

Suddenly, I remembered why I hadn't fucked anyone for ninety-something years before him. Sex was so... vulnerable.

And suddenly, I missed my house fiercely. My small, safe house, full of clay and pottery and solitude. I missed it so badly, my chest ached.

Fuck my moral compass that led me into the prison to rescue "innocent" demon royals.

Dante didn't bite me again while we were locked together.

He did tease my wings just right. Right enough to make me come again.

And again.

Until his knot finally softened, and we had a few minutes to get cleaned up. The buzzer rang too soon, releasing us from solitary confinement.

"Thanks, Angel." Dante said, with a light brush of his thumb over my knuckles while he held my hand.

I didn't respond.

And I was kind of glad when we found three of Reaper's guys waiting for us outside the hallway. Sure, they were slightly terrifying, but I needed space from Dante.

The vampire made a show of kissing me goodbye. I tried not to let him see how much I hated it.

When I followed Reaper's guys up the stairs, I felt more hollow than I had in a long time.

eight

OPHELIA

Reaper was waiting at the top of the stairs. He grinned when he saw me, and I didn't fake a smile in return.

I was terrible at pretending I liked people. There was no point in even trying, because I was genuinely that bad.

"Ready to get started, Pixie?" he asked.

"As long as someone in here has already warned you that my magic is weak," I said, following him when he gestured for me to do so.

"It's strong enough to make a difference for us, and we've got nothing but time."

That was accurate for him, but not for me. I only had a few more days in this hellhole, assuming River could figure out how to replicate my magic. Which was still up in the air.

Reaper would probably demand that I work for him during every one of the last few days, but I could deal with that if it meant staying alive and avoiding suspicion.

He led me into a cell that was stocked with at least a hundred folded blankets, a pile of pillows, and a large bucket full of other random things that they apparently wanted me to fix up for them.

I grabbed the blanket off the top of the pile on my way in, and sat down on the edge of the mattress that waited for me on the floor.

Instead of leaving me to my work, Reaper leaned his back against the bars near the entrance to the cell, and watched. His dark, swampy aura was a weight on my shoulders, but I tried to ignore it.

I wasn't positive how pixies used their magic, but I knew it didn't work the way mine did. We saw power as thin, threadlike strands. When we wanted to achieve something with our magic, we had to weave those strands together in a particular shape.

Learning to use angelic magic was both an art and a skill. It took an atrocious amount of time.

Most angels would've barely touched the surface by the time they reached adulthood, but my father was determined that I would be just as good as he was, despite him having centuries of experience. Learning at my own pace hadn't been an option for me. Mastering my power before I was old enough to leave home had been the only acceptable outcome.