Chapter 5
Dahlia
My siblings stare at me from across the carriage, all of their noses scrunched up like I fell in a cesspit instead of having magician viscera on me. I need a shower.
Honestly, don’t even know what possessed me to talk to Penelope in the first place. I should have shaken her hand and pretended I didn’t remember her.
Maybe it was delusional loyalty to Octavia to make sure the ‘political tensions’ are eased by the end of the trip.
Alright fine, it was definitely to wind Penelope up.
When I saw her image on the sheet Octavia handed out, I couldn’t believe it.
It took me a second to place her face. It was those piercing blue eyes that sold it.
The way she stared at me from across the Whisper Club.
Grinding up against me, kissing me like the only thing she dreamt of was fucking me.
She wanted a piece of me, and then she left.
Too chicken shit to come and take it. Well, now I understand why.
Can you imagine if she—a magician princess—were caught fucking a vampire?
Now that would screw the political tensions.
But I have a feeling Penelope is doing an excellent job of that as it is. New Imperium might not realise it, but they have a deviant princess in their midst, and she has been a bad, bad girl.
At least now I understand why I found her in the Whisper Club staring at Roman being drunk to death.
One little secret, one little escape. But it could cause untold damage. I press my lips together, knowing I have to be better than that. Mother of Blood, being nice is tiring. Octavia owes me, and I won’t let her forget it. My generosity only goes so far.
I stare out the window as we’re taken across the city to the palace. My mind flits back to our entrance this evening and the fallout after that guard exploded.
Penelope trembling outside the bar.
My hand gripping her hip, pulling her into my arms until she stopped shivering. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
She gave it the big balls when she first met me, but then when the shit hit the fan, she crumpled into my arms.
I shift in my carriage seat, trying to convince myself I didn’t enjoy taking care of her.
But I did. Gods damned damsels in distress. Brings out my masc complex. Gotta take care of my girl. Not that she’s mine. I don’t even want her. I’d take any magician pussy—yeah, that’s it. It’s just about sampling a different delicacy while I’m here.
Queen Calandra came storming out of the bar, glancing between me and Penelope. I released the princess and handed her to the queen, who could tell she was still very shaken.
“Thank you,” she said before a swarm of royal bodyguards smashed into me.
“Stop!” Calandra bellowed. She pushed through the group of guards and held a hand down to me. “She was helping Penelope. Where are your manners?” Her cheeks turned pink. “Where’s your carriage, Dahlia?”
I pointed to the street corner.
“Go, please. Gather your family and come to the palace. It’s important we welcome you properly. This is not how I wanted the evening to go, but we must deal with this.”
“I understand,” I say as Octavia, Xavier and Red trickle out of the bar, Gabriel slacking behind as usual.
We left the magicians to clean up and took the long route to New Imperium’s palace.
The carriage travels down the palace’s long and winding driveway.
Even from a distance, the building is predictably grand.
But what did I expect, we’re heading towards a royal castle.
The road is tree lined, filled with leaves and budding flowers I can make out even in the darkness.
Which reminds me, the magicians are wild over that flower thing they use here.
What was it called? Sanoto? Sany? Sanatio?
Something like that. They use it as a healing medicine.
I think it works a lot like our natural vampire healing — pretty universal save a beheading or fatal stake to the heart.
Octavia sits rigid in her seat, no doubt pissed about what happened and paranoid about whether we will be blamed.
Xavier is lolling like he’s stoned on one side of her.
I’m not sure whether that’s boredom or he’s actually stoned.
Both are equally viable. Red glances between all of us; her shoulders are tight, she feels the tension as much as I do.
And it is so thick, I could drink it like an O+ breakfast shake.
Wish I’d drunk another girl before we left Sangui City.
“What the hell happened in there tonight?” Octavia says, breaking the silence.
“Someone had a bone to pick with that princess, I imagine. She had a handprint on her cheek when I walked in,” I say.
“I do love a bit of drama,” Xavier says, reanimating—not stoned then.
“Especially when it’s not our family drama,” Gabriel adds.
Octavia huffs at us. “Best behaviour when we reach the palace.” She looks at each of us. Gabriel shoves a middle finger up at her from between the pages of his book.
I smirk. But Octavia snaps her gaze at me.
“What? Chill out. I drank like at least one and a half women before we left. And frankly, I’ve probably inhaled half that princess’s bodyguard. I’m fine, aside from needing a shower.” I give her an exaggerated shrug as if I don’t know exactly what she’s worried about.
Octavia’s expression tightens. “Need I remind you that this trip is—”
I hold my hand up. “You don’t, as it happens. I was winding you up, but it seems you lost your sense of humour about one long, palatial driveway ago.”
Red’s lips quirk and it takes a feat of fucking colossal strength for me to stifle the laugh tickling the back of my throat. Octavia really isn’t in the mood. But she’s such an easy wind-up.
I sigh to myself. Fighting with her is my favourite past time. “Octavia, come on. I literally went to that blonde piece of ass’s rescue. It’s not exactly my normal mode of operation, is it? Frankly, I’d rather have bent her over the bar and fucked her into oblivion. But—”
Octavia’s mouth drops open, a simmering flicker under her gaze.
I waft a hand at her. “Best behaviour. I got it.”
She presses her lips thin but seems to recognise the truth in my words. It really isn’t like me to rescue some random chick. There’s just something about that princess, like that night in the Whisper Club. But I won’t be telling my siblings that.
I’d put money on the fact that Penelope is one of those girls who wears a mask. She makes out like she’s all hard and bitchy on the outside when really, she’s a quivering wreck on the inside—or in my arms. High-maintenance game player. That’s what she is.
If nothing else, Octavia should recognise I meant it when I said I’d behave. She asked us to help smooth the political tensions between our cities, and Octavia doesn’t ask for help lightly. I’ll be good not just for her, but Red too, given she’s my boss.
To be fair, she has mediated things between Octavia and me over the last few weeks, and dare I say, we’re all getting along for the first time in centuries. Hell, maybe ever.
It’s weird. It makes me want to stab things. I much prefer when we’re discordant, at least the arguing is fun.
Maybe I will ‘accidentally’ spill the princess’s secret and fuck some shit up at the wedding—you know, just for entertainment value.
Octavia’s expression turns to a glower, as if she can read my mind.
Perhaps not.
The carriage draws to a halt, the door opening to a fresh evening, warmth glimmering beneath the air. And the thick tang of metal. Penelope made it back then.
We’re stood outside an extraordinary building, though there’s a distinct lack of gargoyles on the doors. I glance at Octavia. Her shoulders are tight, her back ramrod straight.
Xavier slips out of the carriage and stiffens. “I smell—”
“Blood?” Gabriel breathes.
“It’s me…” I say. “Or maybe Penelope is inside. She was caked in it, too.”
“When did everyone last eat?” Octavia hisses.
There’s a resounding chorus of “Today” and her shoulders loosen.
“Can everyone keep it together?” she asks.
When everyone nods, she climbs the palace steps up to an enormous arched door.
We trail after her, a gaggle of monsters in amongst dainty magicians.
It’s been a thousand years since we’ve mixed like this, and sure, it’s only us four—well, four and a half if you count Red now that she drinks blood—and we’re old enough and controlled enough not to eat our way through New Imperium.
But still.
This is going to be quite the write up, given how this evening started.
The guard at the front door of the palace hesitates, his gaze flicking between the five of us and pausing on me.
His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows deep, then he takes his life in his hands and lowers his gaze, head and torso in a deep and thoroughly welcoming bow.
I won’t lie. My eyes flit straight to his carotid, my tongue skittering out.
I scold myself silently. It’s the scent of iron, all tangy and rich in the air. Get it together, Dahlia.
He pulls the door open, and a fucking cacophony erupts. Red sidles inside, but Octavia’s arm shoots out, slamming into my chest like a concrete rod, blocking my way.
“Mother of Blood, Octavia,” I snap, giving her a little shove and rubbing my chest. But when I take in the scene, I realise why she stopped us.
“What the f—” Xavier starts, but Octavia stomps her heel on his toe. His jaw flexes.
We stare inside the door, giving each other surreptitious glances. Stood before us, are the cluster of royals still covered in blood, all screaming at each other.
There’s a female guard, though she looks more like she’ll kill you than protect you. I think I recognise her. She’s the one that fought with us in Octavia’s club when we were attacked by a load of demons. Scarlett? Yeah, her. She’s stood at the side kneading her temples, looking rather frustrated.
The stench of blood is glorious. Or it would be if I could lick it off the rather delectable selection of women in front of me.