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Faye tucked into bed, glaring at Sparrow. “One time.” She held the ring out at Sparrow. “Charge this.”
“I’ll do it in the morning before we leave.”
Curling under the blankets, Faye debated on what worried her more—being dragged before the city’s ruling court or the possibility of going blind.
Blindness won by a sliver.
Faye glanced out the window, looking up at the full moon that glowed blood red. She closed her eyes, enjoying the softness of the bed and how silky the sheets felt. Dark-bloods were spoiled things. Even the beds for their sick were fancy.
She took a last look at Sparrow, “Goodnight, hooker.”
“Good night, bitch.”
Chapter two
Runewouldneveradmitit aloud, but his existence was lonely. Leaning against the railing of the balcony, he glanced down at the masses who crowded the courtyard below him. The night garden was in full bloom, lending its sweet fragrance to the air. His gaze rose to the Hunter’s Moon. It sang to a vampire’s bloodlust, driving the desire to drink or for sex to a fever pitch.
Rune never experienced such a pull. Not once in over three thousand years. He dreamt of reaching his twentieth year in his youth, wanting to feel it. He heard stories of how blood tasted richer. Vampires warned when he drank beneath the Hunter’s Moon. It would ruin him, that he’d crave it until the following year when he could once again drink under the sway of the moon.
They described sex in the same way. That he should find an accommodating female vampire, so on edge, a brush of his fingers in the right place would bring her off.
“I brought you fresh blood since you’re obviously not partaking,” a woman said. But Rune knew that voice anywhere. Her scent of honey and citrus, covered with perfume deemed popular by the nobles for the time being, filled the space they stood in now.
“Ignoring your guests?”
The string quartet below played an eerie and sensuous melody. It was a hypnotic trance lulling its prey to dance. Rune turned around, his eyes narrowing at her perfect appearance, taking the offered glass. He didn’t participate in the showy preening for the houses and courts established in wealth or nobility. Lyssa seemingly thrived on it, relishing the opportunity to lord her status above others. From her silvery satin gown, tailored for this occasion, to her rich brown hair painstakingly pinned and styled. Despite her outward perfection, Lyssa’s emotions tasted as they always did.
A lusting want soured with fear. He tasted a variation of this on every woman he’d come across. Some men as well.
Rune secretly longed for a woman who didn’t fear him. But after century upon century of disappointment and embarrassment, he ceased looking. He was a Pure Blood, separated from the dancing fools below him as the turned vampires were from their originating species. They were vampires, turned who transitioned in death with vampiric blood in their system.
Pure Bloods were gifted with many abilities: strength, speed, heightened senses, and the ability to taste the emotions of those around them. But cursed with true bloodlust, far greater than the shadowed urges the turned felt.
The Ra’Voshnik was an entity separate from himself yet existing within him. The balance for his dark gifts tied him in a shared existence with a volatile creature he kept subdued.
“I think half of my guests only attend to catch a glimpse of you.” Lyssa glanced in his direction momentarily before returning her attention to the masses.
He found crowds to be exhausting and lived a secluded, private life. When he was forced to attend a public gathering, the Ra’Voshnik picked up the scent of fear, fixating on what it considered prey. Which subsequently moved Rune to mentally hold its murderous urges at bay.
“I believe they are here in hopes of catching the attention of a darker court.” Rune spared Lyssa a passing glance before teasing, “Or perhaps they wish to taste your wares.” He could feel her glaring at him but continued to watch the vampires below. A bell tolled behind them, carrying across the courtyard.
“I should cut out your insolent tongue.”
Rune knew he was undoubtedly a curiosity rarely seen in the flesh, but their presence at Lyssa’s ball had nothing to do with him. This was a chance to see and be seen by other dark established courts.
Courts were a means of protection, typically forming around and led by a woman. Lyssa’s mother, Belind, decreed a single law during her rule as High Queen of Necromia. Rape was punishable by death. The sentence was carried out by the ruler of the realm. Any other dispute, including murder, was to be resolved between the courts. Belonging to a strong court meant protection. Safety. Power.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “You like my tongue when I care to use it.”
He half expected another barb or a possible knife between his ribs. Lyssa quieted, folding her hands on the railing. “Will you see me tonight?”
Rune‘s gaze lifted to the Hunter’s Moon. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He’d been her consort once, over a dozen centuries ago. He tended to her now and again at her request, after he relinquished the title of consort.
More than a decade had passed since the last time he obliged her. She’d taken other lovers but always came back to him. His attempt to make light of their past prompted her to ask him to visit her bed.
“I think you should find a man who feels the same way toward you, that you feel toward him.” He wasn’t purposefully being unkind. This was for the best.
It didn’t matter how well she masked her fear or schooled her expression. He could taste it on her. And with the taste of fear, his body refused to respond. The part of him she wanted most held no interest. He could service her with his hands and mouth, but she deserved more than that.
