“You think Sabina is plotting with Oana and Cedric?” I ask Murad.
“I think we should prepare ourselves for anything,” he replies, grimly stroking his beard. “But if you seek my counsel…”
“You know I respect your advice, Murad.”
“Knowing Waylan and Sabina, I think it’s a lot more likely that she was the mastermind behind this. You won’t get her confession, and Waylan’s word isn’t enough to bind her in chains, however…Waylan is a powerful vampire. But he’s not smart or skilled enough to be a true threat to your reign.”
“Noted,” I answer, considering his words.
With a sigh, I swing the coffin lid open again.
“Do you vow absolute loyalty to me, Waylan Night?” I demand.
“Yes, Crimson.”
“Try again.”
His nostrils flare. “Yes, my king.”
I bend down over him, giving him a glimpse of my fangs. “If I getjust a whiff of your disobedience…just ahintof any treachery from you…I will stake you on the spot, and any others that have allied with you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” There’s a defeated, submissive expression in his eyes. I believe Murad’s counsel was the right one. I still don’t trust Waylan, but I have to be smart. I can’t go staking every single older vampire in my clan, otherwise I’ll have no one left. Better to keep Waylan for now. Perhaps this early punishment will set him right.
And it’s undeniably satisfying to force him to defer to me. Maybe once he’s recovered, I’ll make him kneel before my throne.Thatwould be delightful.
In the meantime, perhaps I’ll find that breather again. The one with the sweet blood and the submissive nature. A wonderful thrill of anticipation springs inside me as I pictureheron her knees, serving me.
But I must be careful. I shouldn’t become overly attached to one breather, no matter how tantalizing she is. It would be dangerous for us both.
I raise my voice. “Alin!”
The door to the dungeon opens, and the younger vampire comes in. He wears thick gloves up to his elbows to protect his hands, but I know his task will still not be pleasant.
“Unbind Waylan and give him some blood,” I instruct, gesturing to the bottles of distilled blood in a crate by the coffin. “He may be freed, but keep an eye on him as he recovers.”
“Certainly, my king.”
Murad and I exit the dungeon, to the sounds of peeling flesh and pained gasps.
“I don’t miss having that job,” I mutter to him as he closes the dungeon door behind us.
“Well, I don’t envy you your’s,” the other vampire replies wistfully.
I grimace. “We’ll have to keep an eye on Sabina.”
“I’ll speak with her,” Murad offers. “Perhaps…”
“No, I’ll do it,” I reply. “I’m not Xavian, I can do my own dirty work directly.”
“Well…” Murad’s eyes flicker back toward the dungeon door behind us. “Notallof your dirty work.”
“Touché.”
Murad retires to his library, and I search for Sabina. She’s not in her office, or in the lounge. This late into the night (early in the morning, really), there are few breathers still awake, so the lounge is quite empty. There’s a small group of vampires and breathers enjoying each other enthusiastically on the larger couches at the back of the room, but it doesn’t appear Sabina is among them.
She could be down in her crypt, but something draws me out into the night, to the courtyard behind the mansion. I don’t come out here often enough. Tonight, the sky is overcast, a thin mist hanging in the air. I recall that the dew used to have a rich, invigorating smell. But the memory is long lost to me. Vampires don’t smell the way that living humans do. Our range of senses is strictly limited to blood, magic, and desire.
A sharp shriek snaps me out of my contemplative mood. It sounds like a vampire, a playful but pained sound. Not an unusual one to hear in our mansion, but the chorus of shouts and jeers that follow it tug at my curiosity, and I follow the noise, relying on my vampiric night vision to navigate the shadowy courtyard.
