A Game of Vows and Vendettas (Girl Games #4)

Chapter 1

Penelope

THREE WEEKS AGO

On reflection, illegally escaping out of New Imperium and into Sangui City—a city, I might add, that is full of vampires that have hated magicians for the last thousand years—was probably not my best idea. Especially when you consider that I’m a magician princess.

But I’m here now, and I stole some vampire pheromone thingy that Bella—one of my sister’s friends—had lying around. So, I’m pretty sure I’ll just look like any other human and smell like a vampire recently took a chunk out of me.

Undetectable, right?

Or, that is the plan. I tried to wear an outfit that made me look like a hunter, some disgusting combat trousers and a jacket. My lovely long blonde hair pinned up to within an inch of its life. I look wretched, no pink, no dress in sight. But at least I’m incognito.

I walk through the Whisper Club. It’s owned by Octavia Beaumont, one of the original vampires and through some tenuous link between Bella, my sister, and their friends, they all know each other.

Which is why the vampires are coming to the wedding.

A historic occasion and the first of probably many, given Mother wants to work on peace negotiations and to open up trade formally between our cities.

The club is huge. Corridors and offset rooms scatter the walls. I walk down a set of stairs from a mezzanine area into the main club room that’s set into a circular hollow. The lights are so dim they obscure the dancers until they’re nothing but a mass of writhing shadows.

The odd flash of fang glints in the roving spotlights.

It furls my stomach into the tightest knots.

There’s something about vampires. They disgust and allure me in equal measure.

I pass a couple, one human and one vampire.

He fucks her against the wall, pumping in and out of her while her leg wraps around his waist. But it’s when he sinks his fangs into her throat that her head rolls back, and a guttural moan of pleasure escapes.

It does things to me, watching the drip of blood roll between his lips and the way she digs her nails into his back.

They’re connected, moving as one. A part of me covets it, wonders what it would be like to do something so sordid.

The rest of me is sickened. This suddenly feels like the stupidest idea I ever had.

What if I’m caught? What if someone realises who I am and uses it to blackmail my family?

But what choice did I have?

I should explain. Roman Oleg was set to marry my sister—one of these ‘decided at birth’ things’.

But turns out Morrigan is a raging lesbian and had zero intention of ever marrying him.

Also, he’s a giant cunt. So, there’s that.

Now, my sister and I haven’t ever gotten on.

She’s just so… ugh. Studious, nerdy, planned to perfection every.

Single. Time. Drives me bonkers. We argue, like a lot, and I… maybe… sort of spite dated him.

Look, I’m not proud, it happened. And much to my chagrin, she was right, he was a total shithead.

And when I say shithead, I mean the kind of I’m-going-to-plot-to-over-throw-the-entire-monarchy type shithead. Thankfully, my sister and her gang of friends managed to capture him. He was tried and promptly shipped off to the vampires to live out his life as a blood bag.

Hence, the Whisper Club.

But during that brief period I dated him, I snooped in his files—yes, alright, another example of poor decision making on my part.

But I found a trio of magician lords who all wanted something from the other. Bear with me while I explain:

Lord Jeremiah wanted a patch of fertile Sangui Cupa-growing land that was owned by one Lord Mosel.

Mosel was after some trading contracts with the fae that were owned by Lord Brinkley.

And this is where I excited myself because Brinkley was after dying mansion magic that the one and only Lord Jeremiah possessed.

I mean, come on, it was perfect:

Jeremiah would give Brinkley the magic and would receive the land from Mosel. Mosel would get the trading contract from Brinkley and give Jeremiah the land. And Brinkley would get the mansion magic from Jeremiah in exchange for handing over the fae contacts.

It’s a head fuck, but it worked. And I thought that maybe, just maybe, if I could arrange this, then I’d garner a bit of respect from the palace and Mother’s council… and my sister. Maybe I’d be taken seriously for once. I’d be worth more than just being the spare heir.

It was a good plan. Until it went to shit.

Neither Brinkley, Mosel nor Jeremiah would give their portion of the deal without first receiving what they were after.

I hit a giant stalemate, and it’s not like I can tell the queen, or even ask Stirling—my sister’s fiancé and master negotiator—for help, they’d all be ‘blah blah blahing’ me over having attempted to do this in the first place.

I can see it now, them lecturing and boring me to death over why I shouldn’t meddle with palace affairs.

Don’t they realise how dull my life is? What is the spare even meant to do? Nothing. Just exist. We’re never needed, and we’re always in the way.

Probably why, as I stride past another vampire, the temptation to insert myself into the most taboo position I can floods my system.

No, Penelope, these creatures are killers. And yet, every human I walk past seems to be having the orgasm of a lifetime. Have we been wrong about them for the last millennium?

Either way, I’m here now, having snuck into probably the most dangerous place in the realm for a magician princess, and worse, about to get on my knees for my criminal ex-boyfriend to beg for a solution.

Fuck. This really is a low point.

The club smells like most clubs in New Imperium: eau du sweaty body, booze-soaked floors and the hint of sex. It’s the faint stench of something metallic that unnerves me.

I make my way into the heart of the club.

Bodies tussle and shove me as I weave my way around the dance floor, past the bar and into a second dance area.

With my back pressed into the wall so no one can come at me, I scan every inch of the room, searching for where they keep the blood bags.

But there’s not enough light to differentiate human from hunter from vampire.

I keep moving, trying to steady my heart, which feels like it’s going to thump out of my chest.

I need to do better, having my blood pump this fast is only going to attract unwanted attention.

I slip around another vampire and whoever its feeding on and finally spot Roman.

He looks horrendous, no wonder I couldn’t find him.

He’s hardly recognisable, save for his enormous stature and mop of wavy dark hair.

Though it’s more limp and lacklustre than waves or locks.

But it’s his eyes that are the most startling.

He used to have these dark infinite pools, so cold and endless.

They’d suck you in, as inevitable as death.

But now they’re small and beady and the kind of shallow that barely holds a shadow of his former power.

He’s handcuffed to a chair, blood smothers his shirt, several puncture marks litter his arms and neck, he carries purple bags under his eyes and cracks on his lips like he was born with them.

I almost feel sorry for him… almost.

But he tried to take everything from Morrigan, steal the crown and screw my family, and all while using me in the process, so he can go royally fuck himself.

I hang back until the vampire feeding from him unlatches and saunters into the club.

When no one else approaches him, I take my chance. He’s handcuffed so I’m safe enough. His head hangs limp.

“Roman,” I spit, pouring as much venom into my words as I can.

His head snaps up, his gaze unfocused as he tries to put two and two together. Of course I’d be the last person he expected to see.

“Pen?” he breathes, his words scratchy and hoarse.

“Yeah, Roman, it’s me.”

He tries to sit up straighter; his neck oozes blood, and I can’t help the way my lip curls and my nose wrinkles. I might have a sordid fascination with the plague that is vampires, but his neck is frankly gross.

“Some things are worse than death, trust me,” he says and tries to laugh, but his neck oozes with each choked huff.

I swallow down a gag. “Gods, just stop talking for a second and listen. I need your help.”

His dark little eyes widen and then narrow. There’s a flash and I know it’s the moment he starts scheming.

“Don’t even try and manipulate me, Roman, you’re not in a position to ask for anything,” I snarl.

“And yet, it seems you are in need of help, little princess. Tell me, what is it I can do for you?”

I scan his features looking for the lie, the scheme, but I can’t read anything other than curiosity.

I take a breath and explain. “I brokered a deal between three of your contacts, Lord Jeremiah, Mosel and Brinkley.”

“You…? Sorry, what?” he says, his eyebrows bunching.

“Oh, give over, is it really that surprising? I’m not entirely useless,” I snap.

Wait, I’m not, am I?

Gods, is that really what everyone thinks of me? Even Roman, at his fucking lowest, with no hope of escape, no contacts and facing certain death, thinks he’s more resourceful than me?

“I mean…” he starts, and then shakes his head, changing his mind about whatever he was going to say. “If you brokered a deal, why do you need my help?”

My shoulders sag. “I’m at a stalemate. None of them will hand over their property or contracts without getting what they asked for. And I don’t have any dirt on any of them to force their hand. I figured you always had dirt on your clients.”

He sits even straighter in his chair, pushing his shoulders back, that nasty little glint in his eye glimmering back to life.

“And what makes you think I’ll share anything useful? What’s in it for me?”