– Nyx –
Okay, so this is cheating.
We couldn’t see everything happening in the castle while we were lying in the mud, my hand on Keria’s ass and her head swimming in a hormonal cocktail that delighted me and infuriated her. But we knew what was supposed to happen.
Here’s what went down.
✦ ✦ ✦
You know how sometimes in movies there’s some kind of council of vampires who control everything, even internationally? Yeah, that’s complete bullshit. Vamps are far too power-hungry and self-absorbed to organize themselves on a global scale, even under duress.
But it’s more than that. They’re seductive as fuck. That’s how they operate—tempt and take. It works really well on humanity. We’re easily fooled by their sultry smoke and mirrors. But one vamp can’t really pull that shit on another.
One, because they know the rules of the con. But two, because they aren’t driven by sex. They’re driven by power. They may drink blood, but it’s power that sustains them at their core.
So there’s no secret vampire council from Europe that orchestrates everything on the planet that individual blood-sucking clans do. Instead, each clan operates on its own. And they only form clans because it’s mutually beneficial to consolidate local power.
Until someone betrays the clan, that is. Someone like Araminta. Always in exchange for more power with another clan.
Even without an international ruling council, Valentine is some kind of super elder. We still don’t know if he has a proper title or if the dead and powerful of the world just know about the oldest, most influential vamps.
What we do know is that he’s been around for centuries. And he accrued a lot in that time. Wealth. Power. Leverage. Even authority.
Plus, he’s fucking strong.
✦ ✦ ✦
The castle was buzzing in anticipation of Valentine’s arrival. Vamps love pomp and circumstance. Almost as much as they love ritual. Someone like Valentine coming to visit was a big deal.
A big fucking deal.
There were 33 vamps in the castle’s clan. While we waited, all of them were busy prepping, preening, and primping. Except one.
We knew who Zillah was, even before Araminta gave us the inside scoop. She ran security for the clan. According to Araminta, she was over 100 years old. Plenty of vamps bite it well before they hit triple digits. (Get it?) But Zillah had proven herself to be wildly adaptable, using all kinds of modern tech to keep the castle safe and secure.
That night, she was doing what she did every night—she was making her early-evening rounds, checking in with each guard, reviewing the AI summary of the security camera feeds, and being visible, both to the castle’s inhabitants and to anyone who might be watching. I spotted her with my binoculars, walking the curtain wall.
Araminta had given us a description. She wasn’t hard to identify. I would have been surprised if there had been another blue-haired mohawk within the complex. Beyond that, she was tall. Her face wore a no-nonsense expression. And she looked positively bored as she made her way along the perimeter.
What we didn’t see was the rest of her routine. But we’d been briefed.
After making the rounds, she would check in with the highest-ranking elders, Ambrose, Montague, and Rosina. Then she would swing back by the main security room, add a quick entry to the security log, and then return to her quarters for a meal.
According to Araminta, she had a blood doll in her quarters. That’s where she fucked up.
That’s where she fucked up.
✦ ✦ ✦
Blood dolls are built different. Some of them are enamored with the mysticism of vampire lore. They think there’s something poetic and romantic about giving themselves over to a vamp. Some are literal prisoners, held against their will. And some hope to be turned.
Zillah’s blood doll was the last kind. Araminta had promised him immortality in exchange for assistance. He was stupid enough to believe her.
We didn’t even ask his name. We knew he was likely to become a casualty, and that was fine with us. The only other realistic outcome was another vamp, and who wants that?
All that really mattered was that he did what he was recruited to do.
Zillah went back to her room and let him out of his cage. It sounds more barbaric than it is. His “cage” was the size of a comfortable room and furnished with everything from a lavish bed and private bathroom to a beefy desktop computer and high-speed internet connection.
She led him to her bed, where he reclined in comfort while she drank from his neck. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to weaken him and revitalize her.
She typically stayed in her quarters with him for anywhere from 15 minutes to a full hour after feeding. While sex doesn’t work as a manipulative tool with vamps, that doesn’t mean they don’t have a sex drive. And Zillah liked hers rough.
That evening, she burned off some anxious energy whipping and then fucking her blood doll. And we’re not talking about some cheap-ass, novelty crop. She used a bullwhip. She drew blood, fucked his brains out, and then fed again.
None of that was unusual. But what happened next was.
Normally, she would cage her blood doll before hopping in the shower after a kinky romp. That evening, he mewed a request. He asked to relax on her bed in the afterglow of their session while she showered.
Zillah was not particularly sentimental, but she liked this blood doll. That was well-known within the castle. Plus, the door to her quarters locked with a keypad from the outside and the inside. It’s not like he could leave.
He was naked, weak, and human. She didn’t see him as a threat of any kind. So she allowed for his request, thinking little of it.
She couldn’t have been in the shower for more than eight minutes, but that was all the time he needed. He attached two small, black, pill-shaped devices to the soles of her boots, nestled discretely against the inside of the heel.
According to Araminta, Zillah rarely sat down outside of her quarters, apart from her time in the security room. No one would notice the addition to the bottom of her boots, and they set the stage for us to get the drop on one of the most prepared and attentive vampires we’d ever encountered.
✦ ✦ ✦
Outside, comfy-cozy in the mud, I nuzzled against Keria.
“Assuming Araminta and the blood doll fuckboy did their jobs, we should be set.”
Keria frowned.
“What?” I asked. “The idea of coordinating with a vamp or the idea of a blood doll?”
“Neither,” she said. “The idea of a fuckboy.”
I nodded agreement. “Fair. I can think of far more fuckable things.”
She narrowed her eyes and grinned. “I’m a thing now, am I?”
I smiled, showing my teeth. “Oh, no. You’re the thing.”
Then I kissed her hard enough to fog her glasses.