Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
Hell realm
Rolf of the Night Bloode, vampire, commander of magic, and all around badass, stared at the horde of angry demons glaring and cursing at him—from upside-down. Medusae-hide rope bound his arms to his torso, his ankles tied together and hoisted over a bloodied iron hook affixed to the stone ceiling.
Below him, a pool of bloode collected while several greedy demons watched with hunger.
Frankly, Rolf had seen scarier sights at the last Slice and Dice sequel at the movie theater in Capitol Hill a few months ago.
But in an effort to give his companion time to search the castle in this hellscape, he played his part and tried to look terrified.
The four-eyes nearest him frowned. “Are you secretly laughing at me?”
Lower demons weren’t all that bright; the four-eyes had been named for his four eyes.
The ink-black creature had no nose or ears.
Just sharp teeth and one pair of eyes sitting on top of the other, nothing but white sclera with no defined iris or pupil.
The toxins in its claws could paralyze even a vampire, and it could mesmerize if one looked into its gaze for too long.
The creature mainly served as a wrecking ball. It could self-detonate at will, killing even vampires if in its radius. Impressive for one of the lesser classes.
With his inability to pretend fear, Rolf instead relied on his top-tier skill—irritating others. “You look annoyed. Was it something I said about you morons being less scary than humans and stupider than gnomes?”
He couldn’t help laughing as the motley band of lower demons swore, shrieked, and did him all manner of bodily harm. Between the slaps, punches, and stab wounds, he started to grow dizzy.
Activating the rune spell he’d painted earlier on his body for protection, he let the magic do its job and basked in his newly healed wounds. He probably should have saved the spell for later, as it only had one charge. But not killing anyone started to put him in a bad mood.
If his patriarch couldn’t find what he wanted with all the time Rolf had given him to search, that was his problem.
In the normal course of events, Rolf, a draugr, wouldn’t hesitate to kill his patriarch, Varu, their resident strigoi.
Hell, everyone in Rolf’s present clan hailed from different vampire tribes.
Cursed long ago, vampires instinctively sought to annihilate one another.
Even in the same tribe, those outside of the smaller family units sought nothing but the slaughter of their own kind.
Yet a tricky witch goddess had bound Rolf and his companions into one freaky little clan—the Night Bloode. Luckily for them, the best looking, most talented, and smartest of all the vampires in existence, Rolf elevated his companions to nearly god-like status.
Which might have meant something if any of them gave a shit about the divine.
As it was, vampires didn’t venerate anyone but themselves.
The four-eyes leaned closer, and Rolf muttered a spell to cut through the magical ropes holding him. In a blink, he flipped around and stood in the center of the masses out for his bloode.
Though vampire bloode—with an E—held a mix of blood and magic, Rolf’s bloode was even more exotic. More powerful.
And the fuckers currently lapping it up began to feel the full effects.
They screeched in pained pleasure as his magic overtook them, while those closest to Rolf paused their torture, their furious gazes telling him they’d decided to seek his true-death.
As if ripping his head off might actually kill him.
He scoffed. “You idiots are embarrassing. The demons in Irkalla are much tougher than you leeches.” He looked around at the many demons, devils, and imps. None of them worth his time. “Don’t you have any hellhounds at least? Maybe a demon lord or a marquis? I’d even settle for an administrator.”
Fortunately, many of them remained stuck on his “leeches” insult. Just about the worst thing one could call a demonic entity for some reason. Maybe because it was often used as a vampire insult. He didn’t care for it himself.
A dozen rushed him, and he smiled, showing sharp teeth.
Rolf lived for battle, the rush of adrenaline encouraging laughter and excitement as he mowed through the enemy. Someone bellowed to grab reinforcements while a deep battle horn rang out, the sound stirring the hair on the back of his neck.
Sharp blades, claws, and fangs tore at him. Faster than most of them, Rolf dodged, swayed, and moved. Clawing back, he cut through the enemy.
When the creatures who’d consumed his bloode morphed into giant, troll-like beings, the others stared with avarice.
As one, the group turned on the demon-trolls to feast. Unfortunately, the demon-trolls had gained in strength and devoured their companions, not content with just killing their enemies.
Nice to know his magic induced cannibalism.
Rolf watched before deciding to end his unintended creations, which proved enjoyably more difficult. But then, vampires were the deadliest of all the magir—those magical beings who resided in the mortal plane. Though hell resided outside of the mortal world, the rules of magic still applied.
And Rolf still kicked major ass all too easily.
The dance ended with corpses strewn over the cobbled floor of the dungeon. The scent of noxious bodily fluids filled the room, a toxic gas seeping from one four-eyes who’d gotten too close to Rolf’s claws.
“Uh-oh.”
He dove under a pile of bodies and held his breath, hoping he hadn’t played too hard and fast with his lucky ability to survive. Though he didn’t need air to breathe, he didn’t want the toxin to spread through his lungs into his bloodstream.
Fingers crossed…