Dark Obsessions (Monsters of Darkness #4)

Prologue

CIPRIAN

Negru Castle, Carpathian Mountains

“I don’t understand what you see in this realm,” Marius mutters as he kicks a loose rock along the stone floor. “Mortals are so… fragile.”

“Their blood sustains my beast.” It’s an emotionless answer, one I don’t wish to elaborate upon. Particularly as my best friend and confidant is very aware as to why I’ve chosen to reside within this realm.

“That’s a bullshit reason, Cip.” Marius only calls me Cip when he’s trying to piss me off. It sounds like “sip,” and I fucking despise the witless nickname. “The immortals back home sate our thirst just fine, and you know it.”

I grunt. Immortals is a false term. The humanlike beings of our home realm are only immortal because their genetics respond favorably to Strigoi venom. Essentially, they provide blood to us as necessary sustenance, and our bites stop them from aging.

It’s created a boring existence, one that lacks a proper hunt. Which I’ve explained to Marius on countless occasions.

I refuse to be like my predecessors, all of whom relied on the trials to help them find suitable matches. I much prefer the notion of choosing someone for myself, then offering my intended mate to the Strigoi for approval.

It should save me some of the heartache my father experienced. In theory, anyway.

Regardless, Marius knows all of this.

Yet he continues to riddle me with these incessant inquiries.

“If you’re tired of leading the kingdom in my absence, just say so, Mars,” I state flatly, using the nickname I’ve given him in response to Cip.

“You have a harem of seven very willing blood slaves,” he deadpans. “Trust me, I am not bored by that.”

I roll my eyes. “You created that harem after I left.” I had merely one or two blood whores I used back home, and only for biting.

That was also partly why I left.

Nothing there roused my interest.

Alas, no one here seems to be doing it for me either.

Most Strigoi indulge in sex while feasting on their prey. Not me, though. I’ve never desired more than a few sips from the vein.

Which makes it fucking impossible to create a Strigoi heir or heiress—something that is my duty to provide as the Strigoi King.

Not even others of my kind have intrigued me enough to fuck.

What I need is a toy I want to use for more than feeding.

The mortals of this world at least provide me with a challenge, particularly as monsters lurk in the shadows here, not out in the open. That means I have to be clever about my hunts, taking prey only at night, and wiping their minds before they wake.

A few have piqued my interest.

But when it came time to do more than eat, I was suddenly bored again.

I need a mate.

My beast seems convinced that she’s destined to come from this land of humans. I just haven’t found her yet.

Sighing, I glance up at the moon—the pale color I still haven’t learned to like. I miss the blood-red moons of my homeland. The crisp breezes that never still. The waters that run crimson, not blue.

This world of humans varies in temperature and climate, boasts unique horticulture throughout the globe, and creates a vast space of uniqueness everywhere I go.

This region of Transylvania is my preferred location, though. The forestry here is reminiscent of my world. Except there, it’s black and silver in color, not green.

“Why is your wrist buzzing?” Marius demands as my watch begins to vibrate.

I glance down at the warning scrolling across the screen. “It’s an alarm.”

I don’t elaborate on what that means, instead leaving the balcony and heading inside through the double doors of my study. Had I been on any of the other outdoor patios or terraces, I would have teleported. But, in this case, walking takes roughly the same amount of time.

“I gathered it’s an alarm,” my best friend says as he follows me inside. “An alarm for what?”

“Search algorithms,” I murmur, taking a seat at my desk. My monitors automatically turn on, my movement triggering a sequence of electronic processes to spur to life. A scanner confirms my identity, thus allowing me to log in to every program without so much as touching my computer mouse.

Then the cause of the alarms plays across my screen.

Marius asks me a clarification question about algorithms, but I ignore him, not in the mood to explain the highly elaborate security protocol that I’ve crafted for monitoring potential threats in this world.

Technology isn’t his strength. Nor was it mine until recently. However, I’ve had a lot of time to study this new era of digital information and social networking.

“Hmm,” I hum, intrigued by the search details appearing before me.

Someone has been looking into the Negru estate. That’s not abnormal. The castle is infamous for being off-limits. But I pay the requisite government officials a handsome sum to allow me my privacy. And those who push a little too hard are simply glamoured into compliance.

Although, whoever is researching this topic—the history of deed transfers that I falsified throughout the centuries—appears to be noticing patterns that few others have picked up on. Mostly because it seems this individual has been studying the signatures, as well as other historical occurrences.

Purchases of furniture.

Contractor bills.

Things most humans shouldn’t be able to find because I signed many of those forms under other names. Or didn’t sign anything at all and simply used glamour to achieve results.

Who are you? I wonder, surprised as more search history appears on my screen. How long have you been researching my estate?

“What is all of this?” Marius asks, leaning against my desk as he stares at the three monitors with a furrowed brow. “It looks like dozens of web browsers.”

“Because it is dozens of web browsers.” I glance at him. “I’m surprised you even know that term.”

He grunts. “I’ve been visiting you enough lately to learn the phrase.”

“Yes, and why do you keep visiting me?”

“Because I’m bored.”

“Then your persistent question as to why I’m in this world instead of our home one should answer itself, Mars.”

His silver-blond eyebrows lift. “The Strigoi King makes jokes now?”

“Never,” I growl. Then return my focus to the screen just as an illustration of me from the sixteenth century pops up. My lips part. “Where did you find that?” I marvel out loud, clicking on the item to locate the source of it.

A library scanned it from an ancient text in Dublin, Ireland.

Trinity College.

Hmm.

I follow the source material and use my fancy tools to alter the image file with something else. I also make a note to visit Trinity College personally to steal the textbook.

Of course, it’s too late for whoever has already downloaded this piece of damning evidence.

Because there’s a print icon on the screen.

Which means she or he has already created a paper copy.

Fuck.

“Who are you?” I ground out, needing to know the identity of this nuisance so I can personally handle the issue.

“Who are you talking to?” Marius asks.

I ignore him, instead striking several keys on my keyboard as I attempt to hunt out my new prey.

When a name appears, I pause.

Because it’s a rather pretty name.

Viviana Dalca.

Her details begin to list themselves before me.

Twenty-two years old.

Graduate student at The Ohio State University.

Doctoral candidate pursuing higher education degree with focus on classics studies, specifically folklore.

My jaw clenches.

More words appear, the evidence making me sigh with dread.

Because she’s clearly obsessed with vampire lore.

Probably some young girl who grew up reading tales inspired by truths she’ll never actually believe.

A dreamer. A writer. A future nuisance.

I’ve met her type before. Glamoured my share of them throughout the years. It seems this female will be no different.

Though, admirably, she’s come closer to the truth than any of the others. Because that illustration she pulled of me is one I didn’t even know existed.

It shows my wings and tail—two traits rarely associated with vampires in this realm—as well as my pointy ears.

Hmm.

I drum my fingers across the table.

Maybe I can play with this female. Turn her into a toy. Or at least introduce her to the nightmare of my existence.

Let’s find out who you are, Viviana, I think, clicking on the file that will take me to her social media pages. You’ve seen me, so now it’s time for me to see you…