Lothaire

28

“Oh, you little bitch.” Saroya rose up in bed, staring in horror at her coated belly. So close to taking fruit.

This was why I was compelled to rise. Lothaire’s seed felt as if it scalded her skin, like acid upon her.

Life in every cursed drop.

She rushed into the bathroom of her suite, frantically wiping it away, scouring herself with a wet cloth until her skin was abraded.

How Lamia would laugh.

If Saroya had risen when the vampire had asked, was this what he’d planned for her? Degradation? She’d known she wouldn’t be able to hide her revulsion!

Once she felt relatively clean of his marking, she assessed herself in the mirror. There were bruises on her upper arms and inner thighs. Was there blood in her mouth? He’d cut her tongue with his fangs!

Brute.

Saroya’s first impulse was to recede. But clearly, Lothaire had just been serviced. If he’d remained in the apartment, this would be an ideal time for her to face him. . . .

As she began to ready herself, Saroya longed for the ages when she’d had scores of attendants to bathe, clothe, and adorn her with jewels. Now she must fend for herself.

After applying her own cosmetics, she picked through the paltry number of garments allotted her, choosing a slinky black skirt, stilettos, and a metallic halter.

Satisfied with the results, she strode to his room, finding Lothaire at his desk, staring absently at a puzzle in his hands. Deep in thought? About what had just occurred with Elizabeth?

All around the room was crushed debris. Had he experienced one of the rages he’d spoken of? This doesn’t bode well. Perhaps that was why he’d used the human—to vent his rancor.

He raised his head, casting her a sneer. Before she’d said a word, the look faded. “Ah, Saroya has deigned to rise for me.”

“Why didn’t you mistake me for Elizabeth?” She and the mortal weren’t merely twins, they shared a body.

Ignoring her question, he asked, “When did you wake?”

“In time to find your . . . leavings on my belly. Elizabeth let me rise just to enjoy that.”

He gave a half-laugh. “You deserve nothing less. I waited for you last night, but you refused to join me.”

“And is that what you had in store for me?”

“Depends on how good you are. I don’t come like a fountain for just anyone.”

The gall! “Then she must have been quite talented.”

“Surprisingly so.”

She might have felt vulnerable that Elizabeth had pleasured him so well, but she was Saroya, goddess of blood and divine death. Besides, Lothaire was bound to her.

He could no more forsake her than the sun could keep from dawning.

“Perhaps I would have treated my Bride differently,” he said. “In any case, it should have been you bringing me pleasure.”

Saroya examined her nails. It would never be her. She’d avoided surrendering to a male for twenty millennia.

Only Lothaire would believe he’d be the one to master me. She raised her gaze to him.

The Enemy of Old would do well not to persist in that belief after she was turned. Otherwise, she’d delight in his last pitiful thought: I believed she wanted me.

Lothaire had expected Elizabeth to come marching into his room, upbraiding him about his exit and stinging comments.

Was I even looking forward to it?

Instead, Saroya faced him once more.

He was still furious with the goddess for not showing—but he was even more so at Elizabeth for being so inconceivably sexy.

The way she’d licked his fangs . . . her throaty moans . . .

Her passion aroused him like nothing else he could remember. Far from being disgusted by his seed marking her, she’d seemed excited by it. “Look what I made you do,” she’d teased, nigh beguiling him.

Don’t think of her. Your Bride stands before you.

The one who hadn’t risen for him. “Tell me why you didn’t meet me as promised.”

“Elizabeth didn’t let me rise.”

Pretty little liar. Again, where was the loyalty, the trust? “If so, then she’ll be punished. Severely. Though I do wonder how she prevented you from it—while she slept.”

If Saroya hadn’t risen, then perhaps she’d been afraid to. The goddess of blood afraid to face me? Impossible.

“Are you any closer to the ring?” She changed the subject, and he let her, deciding to drop this, to get past his resentment.

Ivana had told him that he’d be a good and true mate to his Bride.

No matter why Saroya had denied him, Lothaire would begin afresh with her.

“No, I’m no closer in my search,” he said. “But I might see my target’s memories the next time I dream. If not, I plan to capture his Valkyrie female to force his cooperation.” If Declan Chase lived. Lothaire would find out this eve. “As you know, there’s no greater leverage than a loved one.”

Of course, Lothaire might kill Chase’s female the first time she mouthed off to him. Regin the Radiant could try a fey monk’s patience.

“Your plans are sound. And Dorada?”

“My oracle searches for her. So far she has not strayed near you.”

He noted her evident relief, but didn’t remark on it. “Now that I have you here, you can spend the night with me. Sit.” He pointed to the settee.

When she crossed the room to follow his order, he traced to his closet to politely don a shirt, as a good male might.

She called out, “How did you know it was I instead of the mortal?”

Lothaire’s hands stilled on a button. He’d known because Elizabeth was . . . prettier.

He’d kid himself no longer—the two females were not one and the same. The goddess caked her face with makeup, covering those charming freckles on her nose. And she walked stiffly, not with that sensual roll of her hips.

Elizabeth’s eyes were brighter. She smiled on occasion.

No, no. Saroya looked and walked differently because she was a goddess. She would comport herself as one. Not commonly like Elizabeth.

When he returned, Lothaire answered, “Surely, I would know my own Bride.” He sat in the desk chair; Saroya perched on the very end of the settee, as far from him as possible. Even Elizabeth hadn’t done that, and she feared him. No matter. “Speak with me, Saroya.”

“About what?”

“Whatever is on your mind.” Earlier, he’d sat with the mortal, matching wits with her. For a time, their bandying had distracted him from other concerns. Could he expect the same from Saroya?

“Very well. I want servants.”

“I can trust no one but Hag.”

“Then give her to me. Make her my servant.”

“I doubt that would work out as you intend. Some immortals do not make good slaves. Alas, she’s one among them. Besides, I need her talents as an oracle.”

“This disappoints me deeply, Lothaire.”

“It is temporary. We make sacrifices now to be rewarded later.” Silence followed. “And is there nothing else on your mind?” That sounded harsher than he’d meant it to.

“My thoughts are consumed with the ring.”

Another bout of silence.

As a male whose existence had almost always been solitary, Lothaire wasn’t used to casting about for things to discuss. “What’s your favorite memory, Saroya?” As good a question as any, he supposed.

“Why would you ask this?”

“Just humor me.”

She gazed at her nails. “Once, for amusement, I chose a pair of my vampire acolytes, a male and his Bride, and threatened the lives of their two offspring. Of course, the parents would do anything to save them. So I made the father vow to the Lore that he would eat his female, bite by bite— starting from the toes.” Saroya sighed. “Afterward, he tried everything to get out of his vow, to circumvent it. At the very least to ease her suffering. But his vow compelled him, and her pesky regeneration ensured that this went on for decades. In fact, he was still at it when I was cursed.”

Those unbreakable pledges to the Lore . . . Immortals depended on them, even as they dreaded ever being trapped by one.

Saroya shrugged. “I assured my acolytes that I would raise their offspring while they were otherwise occupied. But I fondly recall drinking them to the quick anyway.”

Lothaire’s shoulders knotted, any relaxation from earlier vanished. How good a mother would Saroya be . . . ? “You harm the young? You will no longer.”

“You think to order me again, Lothaire? Understand that I’m a goddess—I have no sensibilities about age. My acolytes were merely organisms I used as playthings. Young, old . . . age matters naught.”

“If you target the young, then your enemies will target your own.”

She blinked. “I have no young.”

“But you will. I will.” Damn Elizabeth for planting doubts.

“If such is your wish, vampire. I will endeavor to be biddable to you. That’s what you want, is it not?”

I might want a woman who will take my orders—and then do everything but. He pushed that thought aside. “Say something droll, Saroya,” he commanded.

“What?”

“Are you quick of wit, glib of tongue?” As Elizabeth continued to be. You’re the flyweight to her heavy. . . .

“Lothaire, I enslave others to be those things, so that they may entertain me.”

Silence once more.

He kept recalling that night in the woods with Saroya, how well he’d gotten along with her. Or had he simply been staggered by his blooding? “The first night I found you, we talked for hours. Why is this like pulling teeth now?”

“I’m confused, Lothaire. It sounds like you’re auditioning me for a role I’ve already won. One that is mine beyond any rectification. Has the mortal somehow sown discord between us?”

He made his expression neutral. The mortal has. He’d never thought past the getting of the thrones and the completion of his goals until a human girl had challenged him.

Now he was forced to wonder what eternity would be like with the female before him.

No, no, most immortals had difficulties with their mates in the beginning. Especially if they were from different factions or cultures. Lothaire was to be no different. At least in this.

As other Lorean males did every day, Lothaire would win over his female. He could be charming, if he chose to be. He could coax her to respond to him. “If not talk, then what shall we do this eve, flower?”

“Hunt. Kill. Spill the blood of innocents.”

Lothaire didn’t understand this need of Saroya’s to kill. If she wasn’t harvesting blood, then what was the point? He understood murdering his enemies and political obstacles. Reveled in it.

But Saroya slaughtered her prey for no reason. And Lothaire had vowed not to let her kill. “No hunting. You’re completely hidden from my enemies only here and at my oracle’s,” he told her honestly, though he could have taken her out, half-tracing with her to keep her invisible to others.

And there was a druidic tattoo she could wear that would render her untrackable. He could acquire the ink from one of his debtors. But I’ll keep that information close for now.

“Regrettably, Saroya, there’s a bounty on your head—”

“A bounty!” she exclaimed. “Return my godhood, and I shall smite all your foes, afflict them with madness and plague until they boil and fester, groveling at your feet for mercy!”

His lips curled. “I do enjoy when you get like this.”

“I will make a fearsome queen for you, as soon as you find the ring for us.” She studied his face, couldn’t mistake his interest—

“Until then, enjoy Elizabeth,” she said. “You seem to be rubbing along well with your mortal toy.”

“Rubbing along?” When she writhed as he’d ejaculated over her? “Yes, I suppose we do that quite well. It’s a good thing you’re not jealous—because the two of us were debauched together.”

Show displeasure, female. Give enough of a damn that this bothers you.

Instead, she was incredulous. “The two of you? You didn’t have to force her to slake you?”

Mildly offended, he grated, “Look at me, Saroya. She can barely keep her hands off me.”

“But she just went along with it? Even knowing you’re pledged to another?”

“How pledged am I when you direct me to use a substitute for you?” Saroya was clearly feeling none of the vampiric bond that he did. Only one way to kindle that. In bed. “Besides, Elizabeth has taken it into her head that she can win me from you.”

“That amuses me immensely.”

“Does it? I couldn’t tell. Why don’t you smile, then?” No expression. “Come, you have a pretty smile.”

“You mean Elizabeth does. Does she grin coyly for you, Lothaire? Are you besotted? Perhaps you do prefer her over me?” she scoffed.

Might Elizavetta be mine? Her name yelled to the sky had felt . . . right.

The thought was so abhorrent, he immediately banished it. “I am dangerously close to harming you, goddess.”

“Surely the great Lothaire wouldn’t be growing foolishly attached.”

Was it Elizabeth’s abandon that had aroused him so—or merely his Bride’s body? Time to find out. “Attachment? As it so happens, I’m keen to sample her replacement.”

“The gall! Do you think I won’t remember these snide insults?”

“Come to me, and I’ll make them all up to you.”

“I can read that look in your eyes. Strange. I thought you’d be spent for the night.”

“I can go a dozen rounds if I’m inspired. Come to me. Now. That was not a request.”

Though her eyes slitted, she did rise and trudge to him. He dragged her into his lap, but she remained tense. “Relax, Saroya.”

When he’d lain next to Elizabeth with his leg thrown over hers, his arm draping across her soft breasts . . . they fit.

This was like shoving two mismatched puzzle pieces together, forcing them. No, no. Disordered mind. “I will be easy with you. Do you not desire to kiss me? To know my touch?”

“You will hurt me. Elizabeth isn’t aware of your boundless strength, but I am.”

“I’ve managed not to injure her. Twice.”

“You’ve used her twice? And she never fought you?” Again she was disbelieving.

“Allow me to demonstrate to you why she acquiesces.”

“You say you haven’t injured her, but I’m in pain right now,” Saroya said. “Bruised and battered. Tell me, Lothaire, do you have any wounds, any twinges?”

“Of course not.”

“I have them all over my body.”

“Then I will be gentler with you, even more careful with my Bride.” Cupping her face, he murmured at her ear, “Just relax, Saroya, and I vow to you that I will only bring you pleasure.”

She will squeeze her eyes shut, her body stiffening, as if a frost grows over her.

He leaned in to press his lips to hers, once and again, teasing with his tongue. He deepened the kiss, and she responded . . .

Exactly as he’d predicted.

He recoiled. “You’ve gone cold.” Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lips thinned. And worse . . . he’d caught himself imagining it was Elizabeth to stay hard. “You don’t want my touch at all.”

She opened her eyes. “I would never be able to relax for fear you’d harm me. Lothaire, imagine going into battle in a mortal state. With no regeneration, no power, no speed. Imagine being defenseless. Would you be so keen to rush into the fray—no matter how much you love warring?”

She had a point. Convince yourself, Lothaire. You can’t lie to others, but you can lie to yourself.

“When I am a vampire, things will be different,” she insisted. “For now, I beg your patience. I beg understanding from my male until then.”

Yes, when she’s a vampire . . .

And still he refused to accept that his Bride was sexually cold? No, Saroya could be made to want him. “Does your mortal body feel nothing but pain? You must have needs.”

“No. Apparently you’ve satisfied any of those urges recently.”

Blyad’! He’d wasted that pleasure on Elizabeth!

Saroya awkwardly patted his shoulder. “You’ll soon find the ring, and then I’ll be yours in all ways. For now, use your mortal.”

“Not concerned that I might become infatuated with her?” he asked, though he knew the answer. Saroya simply could not comprehend that someone might not desire her above all others. Her arrogance prevented doubts like that.

And he couldn’t help feeling as if there was a lesson inherent for him to be learned.

“Not in the least, Lothaire. If you chose her over me, you’d have to renounce all your aspirations to the Horde throne, everything you’ve worked for all these thousands of years. Besides, you are so intelligent, I know that you can see through her manipulations. You would never let us be the pawns of a lowly mortal.”

A pawn. He and his mother had been pawns to a mortal before. “Beseech Olya’s forgiveness . . .”

Never again.

“You’ve seen Elizabeth’s family,” Saroya continued. “Those would be your in-laws. She would want to live among them.”

He stifled a shudder.

“I barely survived living in that trailer. How well would you fit in there?”

Lothaire would rather die.

“I have an idea, vampire,” Saroya suddenly said. “Take me to your oracle.”

“Why?” he asked, still kicking himself for sating the human.

“You asked what I’d like to do this eve? I want to pose a question to her about the future.”

He exhaled, tracing her to Hag’s.

As soon as they appeared in the fey’s kitchen, Hag told Saroya. “Oh, it’s you.”

Between gritted teeth, Saroya said, “How did you know it was I? Before I’d even said a word?”

“Because of the makeup,” Hag murmured. “The gobs and gobs of makeup.”

Saroya said pleasantly, “You’ve just ensured your death. Once your usefulness ends, Lothaire will bring me your head. I’ll use it as a fly catcher.”

The fey’s eyes turned forest green with anger. “That is not in my future, goddess—”

“This is my Bride, Hag,” Lothaire interrupted sharply, baffled by this hostility. “Not Elizabeth. Some respect, then.”

“Very well.” But Hag’s eyes still glimmered.

“You’ve aided Lothaire in seeing his future,” Saroya said. “I want a question about my own answered.”

“I can only roll so many times in a day.” At Lothaire’s threatening look, Hag added, “But I will try.”

“Ask your bones if the Horde will accept Lothaire as its king if I am by his side.”

“It’s not that simple—”

“It is. He’s part Dacian. They cut away all the extraneous considerations and focus only on their goals. Lothaire’s primary goal is to become king of the Horde. I want to know if I’m the key to the Horde throne.”

“Do it, Hag.”

The fey grudgingly removed her pouch, spreading the cloth. She rolled the bones, read them.

“Well?” Lothaire demanded.

As if the words were pulled from her, Hag said, “The Horde will accept you if Saroya is by your side—and she is a vampire. Tymur the Allegiant and his men will yield Castle Helvita and swear their fealty to you.”

Tymur kneeling before me while I decide if I should decapitate him . . . Lothaire’s eyes grew hooded.

“There, Lothaire,” Saroya said, “as I promised, I shall place that crown on your fair head. You’ll be a king, just as Ivana the Bold wanted. And after you rule the Horde, you’ll use that army to seize the Dacian throne. It’s all so close. We’re only waiting on you, my king.”

King. His chest ached with want. Crowned, ruling, power. He’d build a monument to his mother in Stefanovich’s old castle. If I don’t raze it to the ground, stone by bloody stone.

“Now, Lothaire,” Saroya began, “shall we have more goods and services delivered to the apartment? Your queen longs for rubies. And cat’s-eye diamonds. Perhaps a Roman collar studded with emeralds . . .”