Chapter 2
Hurried steps pounded past the barn. “Just hide it over there, and we’ll fetch it later. No one ever comes down here.”
That was precisely why Maxus and I met in this barn.
It was rotting. The stalls were riddled with too many holes for a horse and filled with things my mother no longer wanted but refused to burn or give away. The barn was also located at the end of a long line of stables, near the densest portion of woodland encircling our estate.
“But what if he does?” someone asked. “Lady Euricia will be furious.”
“It’s a statue, not a pile of dung.”
The footsteps then hurried back the way they’d come.
I plucked my mouth from Maxus’s. A bit breathless, I asked, “Are we expecting a visitor?”
If he knew we were, he didn’t seem to care. The captain of my father’s little army moved his mouth to my throat and continued to palm my breasts. His callused thumb grazed my nipple, and I sighed.
But when he lifted me against the stall wall and struggled to get his hands beneath my enormous skirts, I again wondered who this he was.
“Max.” I pushed at his rocklike shoulders. “I think we have a visitor.”
He ceased trying to battle my skirts. Gripping my thighs, he frowned. “Since when do you care about visitors?”
He was not fond of being reminded of our differences. So I softened my voice and touched his bristly cheek. “Since it sounds like my mother has the staff hiding some of her beloved belongings to impress whoever it may be.”
His frown became a glower. “You heard something.”
I nodded.
Maxus was a made vampire, but his brawn and scarred features intimidated even born vampires. His ruthless displays of loyalty had earned him a position many of his ilk coveted—often right beside my father.
It had thrilled me to discover that his loyalty only extended so far. That I was the exception to this vampire’s unflinching devotion was the reason I’d kept him longer than any other lover. He was my favorite secret.
Vengeance against my unknowing and abhorrent father.
Maxus set me down and turned to the stall door, orange eyes agleam.
All made vampires had orange eyes. Which let humans know what they were—predators.
With our emerald eyes, born vampires could better blend in. Therefore, we posed a far greater danger. But there were signs beyond the fangs. We were taller than most humans. Also faster. That, and our ability to wait with such stillness, often made hunting them boring.
Instead, our coast patrol aided troubled ships, bringing humans ashore and promising them protection and opportunity that many could not decline.
They simply needed to pay their monthly blood tithes.
I pushed my breasts back into my bodice, earning a scowl from Maxus.
His jaw rocked, and the scar slashing through his right eye tightened. “We’re far from done here.”
“If it’s someone important, I will be sent for.” Reaching behind me, I checked my ribbon ties. “Even if we’re not discovered, I will be punished for my tardiness.” I left the stall and marched down the hay-strewn walkway. “And you know not to give me orders unless we’re fucking.”
“Ethel,” Maxus called. “Wait.”
I didn’t.
Few things angered me more than my father. Few things also scared me more than him. I needed to get back, and fast.
Maxus didn’t dare follow. He would wait until I’d reached the manor before he took the woodland trail to the rear gardens.
Crickets and cicadas shrieked. Starlight glazed the cream pebbled path I hurried toward. White with crimson windows to match the roses crawling over the dome-shaped levels, the manor resembled a collection of stacked half-moons.
Reaching the path that encircled it, I headed to the nearest side entrance. There, I paused to study the dark before slipping silently inside and into the candlelit hall. Staff fluttered at the other end, speaking in hushed tones.
I frowned, then squeaked when my arm was snatched.
“There you are.” My mother turned me to face her. Her emerald eyes gleamed. But as they danced over me, they darkened. She sighed and called for Mirantha, then fixed my tulle skirts. “You smell like hay.”
Mother’s maid never strayed far from her side. So Mirantha appeared instantly.
But before the middle-aged woman could reach us, my mother said, “Fetch Ethel’s vanilla oil.”
Mirantha vanished.
Someone important indeed. A touch nervous, I asked, “Who’s here?”
My mother didn’t answer.
She continued to fuss, and I realized why Maxus might have told me to wait when she plucked a piece of hay from my cherry-red hair.
Tossing it, she said, “Turn around.” As I did, I braced for a scolding.
Her rare ire. But she just carefully inspected me before whispering, “You must learn to be more discreet.”
She’d long known that I wasn’t innocent. However, this was different.
This involved Maxus.
So I feigned confusion. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Stop it.” Her eyes rolled as she turned me back. “The staff tattled on you moons ago when they struggled to remove a rather impressive amount of seed from your undergarments.”
My eyes bulged. Tentatively, I asked, “What else have they reported?”
“Nothing, but they needn’t bother. A mother knows when a local hawk has been watching her hatchling. Now”—she clasped my arm—“forget about your monstrous guard. This evening, your only concern is making an unforgettable first impression.”
Hawk? Hatchling?
I almost laughed. I was twenty-eight years of age.
Before I could again ask who I needed to impress, Mirantha returned with her deep blue skirts in one hand and a vial in the other.
Mother snatched and uncorked it, dabbed some oil onto her finger, then pressed it to each side of my neck. “He’s in my favorite sitting room.” When I failed to move, she shoved me toward the adjoining hall. “Hurry, Ethel.”
Concluding that this had to do with some lucrative opportunity—another sharkish man who needed further encouragement to sell his land or business or soul—I was taken aback when I entered the yellow sitting room.
An exceedingly tall man studied the lemon divan he awkwardly sat upon. “I don’t believe I’ve seen a room quite so bright in my entire thirty-four years.”
I blinked.
The doors closed with a clatter behind me. I needn’t have looked to know it had been my mother’s doing, and that she was likely still there, waiting to eavesdrop and peer through the red panes in the wooden doors.
As the man looked over at me, he stilled. A smile slowly tilted his lips. “And never have I seen a woman quite so breathtaking.”
Like mine, his eyes were emerald. He was a born vampire. But those eyes were darker than any I’d seen before. Stranger too, the pupils thinning as he watched me.
My stomach shrank into a tiny ball of fire.
All royal descendants had the ability to shapeshift. What manner of creature or monster they turned into was entirely dependent on their soul.
It cannot possibly be…
Yet as the man’s eyes roamed my face and his pupils expanded, I recalled some of the gossip shared over tea at the Thaneton Estate last week.
Deedra had said that King Breyron’s soul shape was a cat. For in the wake of his father’s death, not only had he finally come out of hiding, but he’d done so with quite a splash. The announcement had taken up the entire front page of the Nightly Newsprint.
The king was in search of a bride.
Over the past few weeks, he’d begun visits with those who’d responded to his invitation. One that was sent to every mature-aged and unbonded noblewoman. Rumor stated that most of them had expressed interest.
I surmised that what marrying the king entailed was no deterrent when presented with the rare opportunity to become queen.
Every one hundred years, the wards shielding Saltblood Isle from the mainlands needed replenishing. An offering that could only be made by the king and queen, else the isle would be unveiled.
An offering that was long overdue.
I had no interest in feeding any ancient wards. I also had no interest in marrying, and because there was something of a shortage of born men, I didn’t have to. At least, not within this century.
So I hadn’t expressed interest in a meeting with the king.
When a raven delivered our invitation, I’d crumpled the gilded parchment into a ball and tossed it into the hearth. But on this ever-humid isle, hearths were rarely used. One of the staff must have noticed and fished it out.
And they had undoubtedly shown it to my father.
Bewildered, I swept my clammy hands over my apricot bodice. I should have grabbed my skirts and curtsied. Should have introduced myself and offered to pour him tea from the floral teapot on the white table before him.
Instead, I remained silent and staring.
He was just as the rumors described—a portrait of prettiness. Yet those rumors had failed to mention just how shocking his beauty was.
Above his feline and long-lashed eyes, his brows stood perfectly arched. With a just right thickness to match his sharply sculpted features, they were a shade lighter than his black hair, which hung in silken sheets over his shoulders.
Brown leather pants molded to his legs. Boots, black and pointed, and made of suede, adorned his large feet.
He was lean, but when I dared to observe the way his loose white shirt draped over his shoulders and chest, I could tell he was also muscular.
His jaw was angular and clean-shaven. A slight notch interrupted the strong bridge of his nose.
This king was not merely pretty.
He was the finest piece of art I’d ever laid eyes on.
Relaxing on the divan, he slung an arm over the sloping back. “It feels woefully inadequate to say that it’s truly a pleasure to meet you.” His voice was smooth, almost creamy, and caressed by a subtle, sharp edge.
Speak, I inwardly admonished. It was that or flee.
I couldn’t do the latter. So I said, much too stiffly, “As it is you.” I tried to lessen my rudeness by adding, “Majesty.”
“Please.” His hand rose from the seat, and the flared and frilled sleeve of his shirt swayed with it. “Call me Brey.”