Chapter 10
Ten
A loud pounding noise echoed through Atlas’s subconscious, dragging him from sleep.
He groaned, rolled onto his stomach, and yanked his pillow over his head. There was no way he drank nearly enough for him to be suffering from a hangover, yet the relentless thumping continued despite his best effort to drown it out.
Tossing the pillow aside, he rubbed his hands over his face and glared out the glass doors on the opposite wall.
The sliver of the winter moon was high in the sky, its silver reflection glinting off his private pool like a moonlit faerie orb.
If he had to guess, it was the middle of the night—the witching hour, as some liked to call it—and that damn thumping sounded again.
Some asshole was knocking on his bedroom door.
Muttering a stream of vulgar obscenities, Atlas threw off the comforter and rolled out of bed. He padded across the hardwood floor, scooping up a pair of discarded pants as he went. Tugging them on, he raked a hand through his hair and yanked open the bedroom door.
Caedian stood there, his fist raised, ready to knock again.
“Captain.” Atlas leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “If you’ve come to ask for your coin back after losing to me in Cups, I’m afraid you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”
Caedian straightened immediately, tucking both of his hands behind his back.
His black shirt was rumpled, as though he, too, had been forced out of bed.
But it was the look of disquiet shadowing his eyes that put Atlas on full alert.
That, and he was fully armed with two swords at his waist and a leather band of daggers across his chest.
He instantly sobered, shoving off the door to have a word with his Captain of the Guard. “What is it?”
“You have two visitors waiting to speak with you, Your Highness.” Caedian’s gaze shifted to the hall, then back to Atlas.
“Two? At this hour?” Unease crawled along the back of Atlas’s neck and down his spine. This wasn’t the typical method amorous females usually used to sneak into his bed, so whoever was calling upon him likely had a very good, if not gravely important, reason.
“Who?” he demanded.
Caedian swallowed. “Valaina, Eldress of the Morvayne clan, and her mate, Davorin.”
“Fuck.”
He thought he’d have a little more time before having to deal with Khiran’s disappearance, but apparently Valaina was in no mood to play games.
Atlas motioned for Caedian to step into the room, then shut the door soundly behind him to avoid any listening ears.
“Where are they?” he asked, putting on a fresh shirt from his closet and buttoning it quickly.
“In the reception room of your wing.” Caedian handed him a pair of boots and Atlas pulled them on. “I feel I should inform you that they requested an audience with the kralv first and he denied them.”
Lovely.
“I suppose I was their second-best option.” Atlas stalked into the bathing suite, gargled mint water, then attempted to smooth his unruly hair. “They’re alone?”
“I have four guards stationed outside of the reception room, just in case.” Caedian opened the bedroom door, and they strode out into the dimly lit hall. “Each one is armed with a pure silver blade.”
Pure silver, the only metal capable of incapacitating a vampire, should the need ever arise.
As far as he knew, no one in his lifetime had actually managed to kill one.
There were methods, of course. Cutting off their heads completely.
Piercing their hearts with blades of silver or stakes of ash wood.
Atlas stalked down the length of the wing toward the reception room, each step intentional so the vampires would know he approached. “Have they made any demands?”
Caedian shook his head. “No, Your Highness. Only that they wish to speak with you.”
Atlas nodded, muttering greetings to the four guards positioned outside of the room. Caedian stepped in front of him and opened the door. “His Imperial Highness, Prince Atlas Skye.”
Shrugging off the pompous introduction, Atlas strolled into the room. He kept his manner easy and carefree—he would never be like his father, a hostile serpent waiting to strike.
He spotted Valaina first, her pale blonde hair piled on top of her head like a crown.
She wore a gown of gray silk and ivory pearls that pooled around her like liquid smoke.
Her eyes, a piercing pale blue, latched onto him and her red lips curved into a seductive smile.
Atlas had been on the receiving end of those gracious lips more times than he could count, much to Davorin’s revulsion.
In Atlas’s defense, he hadn’t known she had a jealous mate at the time, and he was fairly certain the only reason he survived Davorin’s wrath was because the vampire knew he couldn’t kill the imperial prince without bringing death upon his entire clan.
Atlas’s gaze flicked to Davorin.
He still looked ready to rip out Atlas’s throat.
His eyes were pitch black and his upper lip was curled into a sneer.
The suit he wore was a perfect match to the gray of Valaina’s gown, except there was a pin in the shape of a raven piercing the front pocket of his coat.
The insignia of the Morvayne. Davorin bowed, reluctant, his dark hair falling in front of his scarred face.
Not once did he take his eyes off Atlas.
“Evening, Valaina.” Atlas inclined his head toward her mate. “Davorin.”
“Your Highness.” Valaina’s voice always reminded him of silk and steel. Soft, yet cold. “We’re so grateful you were able to meet with us on such short notice.”
“As if I could ever refuse such a request from you.” He could, but he wouldn’t, not when it came to Khiran. “Please, sit.”
He dropped into a high-back chair, resting his elbows on the arms of the seat. Valaina lowered herself onto the evergreen sofa across from him, smoothing away imaginary wrinkles from her gown, while Davorin remained standing.
Atlas stretched his legs out and laced his fingers together. “I take you’re here because of Khiran.”
Valaina’s eyes widened, her thick lashes fluttering. “You already know?”
“My captain informed me a few hours ago.” Atlas rolled his neck, trying to dislodge the tension settling there. “He also mentioned my father refused you.”
She made a derisive noise. “It would seem the kralv was indisposed .”
Meaning Oldrich was taking a whore to bed, further neglecting the chaos gradually unfolding throughout his kingdom. Interesting how it was perfectly acceptable for him to fuck a maid or lady of the court, but when Atlas did it, he was a disgrace to the crown.
He shook off the aggression simmering to a boil in his blood. Loosing a breath from the tightness of his lungs, he nodded toward Valaina. “Tell me what happened.”
Valaina rubbed her lips together, squeezing her hands in her lap, and looked to Davorin.
He grunted, still full of loathing, but when he spoke, his voice was eerily calm. “Khiran never misses a mating ritual. When he failed to show up for this one, I sent a few members from our clan to track him down.”
Davorin settled on the edge of the sofa next to Valaina, his shoulders dropping slightly in defeat. “They found nothing. Not a trace of him anywhere.”
Atlas drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, considering.
He’d heard stories about the vampire mating rituals, how they begin as ceremonial events full of dark magic and rites of passage, then more or less descend into blood-sucking orgies.
It seemed logical that Khiran wouldn’t want to miss such an event, but there were plenty of other festivities to choose from if one knew where to look.
“You don’t think there’s a small chance he would’ve skipped this one and sought out pleasure in one of Starysa’s parlors instead?” Atlas asked.
“Absolutely not.” Valaina’s words were clipped. Her lips were pinched together and the hands she’d folded so gracefully in her laps were clenched tightly, the knuckles white.
Atlas leaned forward, curious about the sudden change in her demeanor. “How can you be sure?”
Her pale gaze cut to him. “Because this mating ritual was for him .”
Shit.
Well, that definitely changed things.
“The last time we saw Khiran, he was at the Mystic Obscura,” Davorin supplied, rising from the sofa. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit pants and turned to stare out the window.
Dawn would be approaching soon.
Atlas could see the tension bunching in his shoulders. It wasn’t the same as the loathing from before. No, this was concern. A tremor of fear.
“He’s a patron there?” Atlas wasn’t aware many of the vampires frequented the unique establishment.
Considering what it cost to receive an invitation and gain entry, he didn’t assume many vampires would be willing to give up a precious drop of blood.
Then again, it had been some time since he’d ventured inside the Mystic Obscura. Perhaps he owed them a visit.
“Yes.” Valaina sighed, fingering the strand of diamonds at her throat. “A very select few from our clan are, myself included. Khiran has always been fond of the ribbon dancers, you know, the ones who perform above the stage wrapped in streamers of silk?”
She waved one slender hand through the air, dismissive. “Anyway, I figured he wanted to get in one last fuck before he was mated to someone for an eternity…a pity not all of us were allowed such an opportunity.”
From the corner, Davorin turned, a low growl emitting from the back of his throat. His fangs lengthened, sharpened to dagger-like points. But Valaina silenced him with a look so threatening, not even Atlas would want to cross her.
He bit back a smile, knowing full well her comment was directed at him, and the rude interruption of their activities by Davorin. But Atlas wasn’t one to tempt fate twice, so he changed the subject. “Khiran possesses a rare type of blood magic, does he not?”
Valaina’s gaze slid from her mate, back to him.