14. Max
MAX
I swiftly jammed everything into the rucksack, the casual wear, the toiletries, the boots. It’d be less conspicuous than strolling through the compound hugging a change of clothes to my chest like a lost child.
In the midst of my dilemma, my solution had arrived.
Nikolai didn’t glance back, confident that I’d follow. He ducked out a side exit.
I trailed after him, keeping enough distance that no passerby would think I was following royalty, but close enough not to lose him around a corner.
The evening air hit my face, cooler than inside and carrying a faint mineral tang from beyond the fortress walls.
Soldiers and support staff moved along the wide stone pathways between buildings, some in fatigues, a few in civilian clothes, all with the purposeful stride of people who had places to be.
Stormglass lanterns flickered on along the walkways, casting circles of light on the flagstones.
Nikolai turned left, past the vast dome where the vampire army quartered—dark stone and reinforced metal, narrow slit-windows angled to admit only threads of daylight.
Harrow had explained: vampires were night creatures.
Intense sun could harm all but the most powerful.
They lived, trained, and ventured out only in darkness or near-darkness.
The dome’s shadow stretched long as we passed. Even from outside, I sensed the dense weave of protective spells woven into its surface.
The vampire led me past it to a building that stood apart from the rest. The Sanguine Tower was part dome, part spire—a wide, rounded base of gray stone giving way to a slender upper section of dark, gleaming material that pierced the sky.
Two guards in oxblood and navy uniform flanked the entrance. They bowed as we approached. He didn’t acknowledge them.
Inside, the lobby was all black stone—dark marble floors, walls veined with silver, Stormglass sconces burning cool bluish-white. A petite blonde behind a curved desk bowed as he entered. He ignored her too and went straight for a vertical shaft powered by spells.
Pure Stormglass.
Not a drop of Coldiron.
This was older stock, mined and shipped at least ten years ago, before I’d started in the mine.
Before I’d let a drop of Coldiron go with every shipment of Stormglass leaving Crimson Ridge.
Every batch after that carried my invisible fingerprint, a dormant sabotage waiting for my command. But this building predated my work.
Nikolai stepped into the lift and waited. I caught up, stepped inside, and stood beside him, keeping a couple feet between us. The cage rattled softly as we began to rise.
In the mine, we had lifts too—crude, creaking contraptions that dropped us into the deepest pits. Those lifts smelled of sweat, iron dust, fatigue, and fear. This one smelled of cold stone and faint spice. Like the vampire beside me.
“This is my private entrance,” Nikolai said softly. “No one else is allowed to use the lift. But you’re coming with me, so the wards will remember you.”
I nodded.
“I see,” he said with an amused smile. “A boy of few words.”
“How old are you?” I asked, then added in a hurry, “Sir.”
He chuckled. “Are you always this blunt?”
“You want a conversation,” I said. “Besides, you all asked me how old I was during the interrogation. I’m going on twenty-one. I didn’t lie about my age. Why are you so secretive about yours?”
The lift chimed and the doors opened into a dimly lit corridor.
“Everyone knows my age,” he said, leading me down a corridor of dark wood and black stone. “It’s public record. I’m twenty-six. Caspian is twenty-one. Drakken is twenty-three.”
“What about Aelindor?” I asked, keeping my tone casual as I fell into step beside him.
He arched an eyebrow. “Good luck finding out.” Then he shook his head. “Everyone’ s so nosy.”
“I’m not nosy,” I said.
“Aren’t you?” He laughed softly, pausing before a heavy oak door. His crimson eyes settled on mine. “You know why I brought you here, don’t you?”
“Trading favors,” I said. My heart was pounding a little faster, but I kept my voice even.
I was no stranger to trading favors. “You make my life easier, and I’ll owe you a debt.
You’re inclined to keep my secret, and I can’t exactly shower with the cadets.
” I held his gaze. “I need that shower before they’ll let me back in the barracks. I can’t smell this bad again.”
The whole time we’d walked, not once had he wrinkled his nose like the cadets.
Instead, he inhaled subtly—slow, measured breaths through parted lips, as if I smelled not revolting but delicious.
The only explanation I had: my blood’s scent overpowered the stench of my unwashed body.
To every other nose in this fortress, I was a walking insult. To his, I was dinner.
“From now on, you come here to shower,” he said. “The wards will let you pass even alone, and the lift will take you to my penthouse. No guards will dare stop you.”
Inside the Sanguine Tower, I’d sensed the spells spread through walls and floors like a spiderweb.
Their malicious intent pressed against me, but I didn’t think they’d have harmed me, even uninvited.
I didn’t know why or how. The creature in me had snickered at the slight resistance as we passed through and chuckled in glee afterward.
At least it wasn’t chatty now as it was too busy cataloguing, assessing.
“What do you want from me in return?” I asked.
He pushed open the door .
My eyes widened.
This was how they lived.
A large drawing room with a high ceiling.
Arched windows draped in midnight-blue velvet.
Crystal decanters caught the light and threw fragments of it across the dark hardwood.
Walls paneled in rich wood, hung with valuable oil paintings.
A stone fireplace dominated one wall. Two deep leather sofas faced each other across a low glass table.
Bookshelves crammed with volumes that smelled of aged paper and leather.
My eyes stung.
They could live like this. These princes, their soldiers, their people. Meanwhile, my sister and friends starved. Missy might be crying every night, cold without me beside her. I shoved the pain to the edge of my mind. I would not cry in front of the vampire heir.
“You know what I want.” Nikolai leaned against the mantel, heat and hunger burning in the look he gave me.
My heart skipped a beat. I knew he was a predator, yet I was drawn to him.
His face was more architecture than softness—strong jaw, straight nose with an aristocratic bridge.
Dark brows, a shade deeper than his ash-blond hair, framed features that his crimson eyes only sharpened.
I forced myself to look away. I didn’t want to get burned.
It isn’t just his harsh, cunning beauty, Max, the demon crooned. The pull is deeper than physical. You’ll understand one day. Soon.
I refused to dig deeper.
“I don’t do sexual favors,” I said flatly. “I might be poor, but I’m not a whore.”
“I would never treat you as one, Max,” he said quietly. “I crave you…your blood. Maybe you’d let me have a taste?”
As a prince, he had no shortage of willing donors. Harrow had told me that much. But Nikolai seemed to want mine specifically. Even now, he inhaled slow and deep, as if he couldn’t get enough of whatever my blood smelled like to him.
“But if you refuse, I understand.” He gestured toward a hallway branching off the drawing room. “You’re free to use the shower here anytime. The bathing chamber is on the left.”
I swallowed. I needed to think with my head, not my fear.
Priority one: survive. Then get strong. Then find my friends. They had to be alive. Please. Then I’d go back for my sister and bring her here.
Survival meant resources. Resources meant alliances. And the vampire prince was offering one.
“I always repay my debts,” I said. “I don’t like owing anyone.”
“You don’t owe me,” he said.
“I’ll trade my blood.” The words came out before I could second-guess them. “One mouthful per week. That’s equal to about a week’s worth of nutrition for a miner.”
Well, the demon murmured, that’s one way to negotiate.
I expected him to bargain. I’d already decided to let him push me to twice a week if he had to.
“Done.” His eyes lit. His lips curved .
“But not today.” I held up a hand. “I’m not strong enough.”
“I wouldn’t take it today even if you offered.”
I turned for the hallway. “I’m going to shower now, if you don’t mind.”
I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind me.
For a second, I forgot to breathe.
White and gray marble covered every surface.
A tub sat against the far wall, deep and wide enough for three.
A gilded counter ran along one side with a basin set into it.
Above it, a mirror fogged at the edges from steam.
Nikolai had bathed here earlier. Shelves held rows of glass bottles with elegant labels.
I moved toward the tub and ran my hands along the fixtures. Brass handles. A spout shaped like a serpent’s head. I turned one handle. Then the other. Nothing. I pushed, pulled, twisted harder.
No water came out.
I stood there, lost.
Shit. The handles mocked me. In the mine, water came from hand-pumped wells or collected rainwater. Taps were a different language, and I sure as hell wasn’t going back out there to ask the vampire prince for a bathing tutorial.
I know, Max! An eager voice chimed. I know! I know!
Coldiron .
There was Coldiron here—a trace of it, threaded through the old pipe system behind the walls.
Show me the way, I pleaded, relief washing through me. Please.
Guided by the sentient metal, feeling the pathways through the pipes like veins in a body, I found the mechanism and got the water running.
Hot water.
I smiled.
Steaming, cascading, glorious hot water filled the tub in a rush, sending clouds of steam billowing toward the ceiling.