Khent never lost control. He rarely grew angry. Annoyed, yes. But enraged?
Yet he recalled hissing at the necromancer in his dream. How odd.
He’d seen her, the real her, and she’d been so much prettier with her dark hair and dark eyes, her body curvier yet still petite. He liked her small size, just as much as he’d liked dominating her in his bed.
He swore as his erection returned. Khent didn’t mind sex, though he’d never been all that keen on mating. Many of his kind viewed procreation as entertainment, but reapers saw it as a means to an end. A need to populate the species.
Though vampires could only sire one progeny, and they only kept the boy child as only males could become vampires, the duty was held sacred. Sex felt pleasurable, but after centuries, it had waned for him. Too busy serving his clan and learning all that he could, Khent had never felt such affection for a female, none of them coming close to being his equal.
It had nothing to do with gender and everything to do with other magir and humans being so much weaker than his kind.
Which made him recall the small human taking him by the throat.
Morpheus, that bastard, must have planted the notion in her feeble mind. Allowing a human to get the better of one Of the Bloode, even in a dream, was ludicrous.
Khent might just need to kill the god after all.
Annoyed, he mentally reached out to Mila, only to see her watching a familiar house he’d visited before. How interestingthat his prey was hunkered down in the site of a previously demon-infested, black magic sacrifice.
Did Valentine Darkmore think to take over where a rogue sorcerer once had? She had talent. She must have known the place wasn’t safe.
After dozens of lycans had been killed to bring forth an evil entity, two of Khent’s kin and a berserker had cleared the place. Then their Bloode Witch and Khent had gone over the area with spells designed to keep demons, or worse, at bay.
He supposed it was a fitting spot for a new necromancer to take residence. But as expected, she hadn’t hidden well enough from him.
With that thought in mind, he sat down at his desk and composed a brief note. Pleased with his exquisite penmanship, he called for one of his other ravens to deliver the note for him.
Make sure it gets into the hands of Valentine Darkmore.He sent the raven Valentine’s image.
The bird clutched the rolled note in her claws. He opened the door and let her out, knowing she’d soon deliver his summons.
So Valentine wanted to play. Dreams or not, no one had ever issued Khent a challenge like that and not received an answer for it. He could still feel her silken heat surrounding him, could taste the smoky sweetness of her blood inside him.
Joined in more ways than one.
Annoyed with his ridiculous thoughts, Khent left his bedroom in search of his leader. His patriarch, Varu, would no doubt have some direction for Khent to follow. Go back to the bazaar? Hunt down the source of the demon scent? Or torture answers out of Valentine?
Personally, Khent chose door number three.
He found Varu in the basement with Rolf. They were sparring, taking the time to let out all the lovely aggression that made vampires the very top of the food chain.
Khent took a seat to watch, irritated when the dusk elf sat beside him.
“They’re pretty fast,” Onvyr commented. The fae was tall and filled with muscle befitting a warrior. Unlike his sister, who had light gray skin, Onvyr’s skin and hair color turned at the setting of the sun. During the day, he was pale with dark hair. At night, Onvyr possessed white hair and black skin. Not the brown shades of most humans, but the pitch-black of magir.
Which reminded Khent. “I fought a dark elf last night. He and five of his kin arrived at the bazaar with a hell-threader.”
Rolf turned to him, appearing wounded at the news. “Seriously? And you didn’t call me?”
That inattention cost him. Varu punched Rolf so hard he flew backward and made a dent in the wall.
“Nice,” Onvyr commented. About Khent’s news or Varu’s hit, Khent couldn’t tell.
Onvyr would never be what he once was. Tortured by a sadistic master vampire for years, he’d only started to relax with them all since coming to live with his sister, Varu’s mate.
Though he no longer tried to kill them whenever the mood struck, he had a bad habit of starting brawls around the house, and not just in the gym. Khent found him more annoying than worrisome, though Mormo had on several occasions sent the dusk elf into some pocket dimension to cool off before Hecate saw damage to the house. For a goddess, she seemed pretty attached to material things.
Khent reached into his pocket and tossed a few earrings and a gem to Onvyr. “The dark elf wore these.”
