Chapter 15
15
RIORDAN
M y entire study was still perfumed with Evangeline’s intoxicating arousal from yesterday and the smell was driving me insane.
Warm desert breezes, the spice of carnations, pure power, distilled down to its essence.
Her taste still flooded my senses, feeding this addiction that while controlled, was never far from the surface, always digging its claws into me, urging me to find her, taste her, claim her .
And while I wanted nothing more than to do just that…logic reminded me of what waited for us if I gave into this urge.
Heartache, while everything crumbled to ash.
My cock was still half-hard from the memory of how fucking good I’d felt being inside her. Tasting her. Cradling her warm, soft body against mine, feeling like maybe my life wasn’t a complete fucking hellscape.
But I reminded myself, rulers weren’t meant to be happy.
Ask any queen or king, and they’d tell you wearing a crown equaled loneliness, and duty was all that kept you warm at night. I’d made my peace with that fact the night I’d killed my father and taken his place.
I hadn’t known love since I’d been a boy, almost ninety years ago. I’d survived this long without that worthless emotion; I’d survive another century. Maybe, when the clan was at peace and my kingdom thriving, I’d make the time for happiness.
But for now, my life was a series of strategic, calculating moves against a shadowy enemy and I could not lose. I opened my eyes, I drummed my fingers on my desk, replaying the expression on Romaric’s face when my magic took out half the trees on the grounds of Darkmore in a split second with a snap of my fingers.
Envy. Awe. Calculation.
Everything I’d needed him to feel. Needed him to see with his own eyes.
House Hawksmere was only one out of ten of the Nocturne royal families, but Blake would approach three more tonight. If he swayed them all to our cause…we’d have the beginnings of a kingdom, and this ridiculous coronation-slash-demonstration we were planning might not turn out to be a complete bloodbath after all.
I rubbed my aching temples. Magic rolled and rolled and rolled within me like a mighty, unstoppable ocean, giving the barest hint of the crushing depths of power contained beneath.
The breadth of my new magic was staggering, frightening—if I allowed myself to feel fear—but the only emotion I could afford right now was determination. I had to keep looking forward, had to imagine the royal houses as nothing more than stacked dominoes.
The ones who stood with us, or those that fell before us.
A mindset which was ruthless, and heartless, and reminded me uncomfortably of my sire and Tyrell, but qualities necessary in a king. Over the past decade, I’d carved out all my soft parts, like scooping the guts out of a pumpkin, leaving nothing behind but a steel coating of unbreachable armor.
And thank God for that, since it took every single bit of my strength to keep this magic tamped down.
This morning’s demonstration had been a relief, really, like letting pressure off a kettle, but the reprieve was short lived. Perhaps I would have the old quarry cordoned off, so I had a place to go expend this magic when the burden became too much.
Footsteps approached my study, each step as soft as a prowling cat’s.
I braced both hands on my cluttered desk, wrapping my power around me like a shroud.
I’d expected Malachi to go on his way once I’d paid him his ten million. A mere drop in the bucket, now that I had control of the royal coffers, but the bastard wouldn’t leave. No, he was hanging around, turning up in the most unexpected places, but neither did I have a solid reason for evicting him.
He was like an uninvited houseguest who was irritating, but not quite irritating enough.
The bastard didn’t knock, just ambled in, some ridiculous excuse for a robe trailing behind him, eyeing the piles of ledgers and parchment on my desk with a smirk. But those strange-colored eyes darkened the moment his gaze landed on me, a shimmer of his glamour staining the air.
“Malachi,” I said, with a warning in my voice that should have given the bastard pause. “Keep this short. I have work to do.”
He shut the door, taking his time as he crossed the room. “Evangeline’s health is… concerning,” He began smoothly, knuckles braced on the top of my desk. “She’s weak, Riordan. We ak because of you . Valaine almost took her, because of you .”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was actually pissed, but Malachi cared for no one but himself, which meant this was just another means of getting under my skin.
A faint smile tugged at my lips, barely masking my irritation. “Silver is perfectly capable of handling herself,” I said, keeping my voice measured. “There are numerous blood donors within the clan, all she has to do is ask Sylvester, he will arrange a feeding within the hour.”
But guilt gnawed at my gut. She refused to use donors. Silver had only fed from me and Blake… and this fucking bastard , now that I thought about it.
A streak of jealousy went through me, and I wondered if that was his game.
Was he playing us against one another ? He’d torn entire clans apart from the inside out, destroyed kingdoms, and a new thought was wrenched from those memories. Was I so focused on my own agenda, I’d been blinded to his?
Malachi barked out a laugh, malice gleaming in his eyes. “You fed from her, used her blood for your own gain—yet gave her nothing in return. You’re leaving her weaker than ever. You think that’s sustainable?”
My smile slipped, and he grinned, knowing he’d hit a nerve. “Silver,” I explained slowly, “chose to be here. In return, I’m protecting her and her sister. She knows the rules, she can use any of the willing donors whenever she gets hungry. Her sister certainly doesn’t have any problem feeding from a donor.”
“The sister is pregnant. She has a baby to worry about.”
What was this bastard after?
Was he trying to force Silver and I closer? What would that gain him ?
“While you,” he replied, his voice cold, “are a king who takes what he needs and leaves her barely able to stand, because you’re so focused on your agenda. Or perhaps,” the bastard added, leaning into my space, “you’re afraid of what Evangeline might become, if she grew stronger. Does she threaten you, Riordan?” He taunted. “Is that why it suits you to keep her weak and wanting?”
I was out of my chair before I even knew I’d moved, a dark flicker of rage turning my vision black, more of my magic seeping out. “Mind your words, Malachi.”
“Oh, I will,” he said, matching my intensity. “And so will others. I’m not the only one who heard the truth about how your father died. Collum and Valaine—they know you staged your own coup, killed your own sire and took his crown. I have to admit, Riordan, that truth surprised even me.”
He flicked his fingers out and his glamour shimmered in the room, turning my study into a fair rendition of my father’s throne room from all those years ago. “Who knew the quiet, overlooked son could be so calculating?”
The temperature in the room dropped as Malachi’s words—his threat—sank in.
He was right. I’d spent every night awake, going over Tyrell’s creeping accusation, when he was so sure he had Blake and me by the balls, so sure he’d won.
He’d ended up a pile of desiccated bones, but telling everyone my deepest secret—the one that could ruin everything—had blindsided even me.
I’d been beaten and broken, half mad from bloodlust, but the moment Tyrell revealed my secret to my enemies, there was only one outcome. Kill them before they exposed who I was. A son willing to kill his own father to take his power .
Never mind my father was a morally bankrupt piece of shit. Never mind I wanted to build something better. Laws were laws in our world, and vampires lived—and literally died—by them.
Now Collum was organizing the royal families against me, and I could well imagine my patricide was a big reason they were backing him. My shoulders tensed, a glow of magic sparking around my hands, a reflex that betrayed my panic.
“You’re grasping at rumors,” I hissed, though I didn’t sound convinced.
“Oh, no. I’m stating facts,” he replied, meeting my gaze without flinching. “The moment word of what you did gets out, even your allies will turn on you. All the magic you wield, the power you flaunt, won’t matter once they see you as a traitor. A usurper. That crown you cling to won’t mean a thing.”
I was trapped, and Malachi knew it.
“What do you want?” My voice was flat, but even I could hear the strain. A cornered king had his limits, and I’d already sold my soul a hundred times over for this kingdom. What was once more?
He smiled, leaning closer. “I want you to make Evangeline whole again. I want you to share what you took and not leave her a shadow of herself. Treat her like the ally she is, or I swear, I will turn her against you. I will make her the enemy you never want to have, the one you cannot defeat.”
I gave a slow, unwilling nod. “And that’s it?” I didn’t bother telling him Silver hated me so thoroughly, she’d never feed from me again, but right now, I wanted this smug bastard out of my office before I eviscerated him.
“For now,” Malachi said, watching me with an edge of satisfaction. “But understand, Riordan, I will be watching. Every time you take without giving back, every time you hurt Evangeline, I’ll be there. And if you think you’ve been judged before, you’ve never felt the weight of my retribution.”
With that, he turned on his heel, leaving me alone in the silence of my own study—my hollow kingdom poised to crumble down around me on the whisper of a secret I’d kept for over a decade.
The bastard had left me no choice.
Malachi Graves had to die.
But his untimely demise couldn’t look like it was by my hand, or my command.
Once Malachi’s footsteps faded, the corridors were quiet, but my mind was anything but. There was a dark, satisfying irony to what I was about to do—win a kingdom, and remove a thorn that had been in my side for far too long.
I pulled out my phone, typed in a message to Blake, and hit send, all with a smile on my face.