Chapter 9
Zarathos
Zarathos recoiled, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes locked on the mark blooming out around the wound in Aryana’s thigh. It curled inward, two serpents twining together as one.
He checked his bicep, his stomach plummeting. A matching mark encircled the spot where Aryana had drunk from him.
The Bloodbinding.
Fury ratcheted in his chest like an animal seeking to protect itself from danger.
He snarled and lunged at Aryana, pushing her to the floor, his hand curled about her throat. “You planned this.”
She bared her teeth at him, hatred sparking in her eyes that had flooded a brilliant shade of crimson. “Yes, because I knew that you offering your blood to keep me alive was part of the bargain.”
The sarcastic drip of her voice only fueled his rage further.
“Don’t play games. It’s the harvest moon. What? You thought since I bound you in a deal, that you’d force me into one?”
She let out a derisive laugh. “You caught me, Zarathos. All I’ve ever wanted was to be your wife.” She snorted. “As if that would make me any less your captive.”
He snarled again. He hadn’t realized that her venom and his blood would be such a potent mix. Damn her. If she’d only listened to him. If she’d only drank from the human, they wouldn’t be in this mess. He released her, his mind spinning with all the consequences of what had barely happened.
She’d tasted his blood.
She was now his Bloodbound and technically held a claim to his throne.
Demon arch kings had many lovers and, therefore, potential heirs.
But they never Bloodbound themselves to anyone because it created an unbreakable bond between two creatures and gave them a magically binding right to the other’s title.
She was becoming a liability. Too much of one.
But she was bound by the bargain. He could still work with this. At least until they had a chance to try for the scepter.
He stood, the heat of their earlier interaction cooled by the fear and bitter anger burning through him.
He stumbled a little, ravenous, weak. Simple blood didn’t sustain most demons in the same way it did vampires.
He had to eat. He glared down at the vampire princess.
“If you want to live through the Demon Trials, you will tell no one what happened here tonight. We never tasted each other’s blood. There is no Bloodbinding between us.”
Something dangerous was evident in her expression. “Are you threatening me?”
“If you’d like to think of it that way. If the demons found out that I was Bloodbound to…you…” He growled the last word. “Then it would be a quick death for both of us in the Demon Trials. Telling anyone will be seen as violating our bargain.”
“So even if you somehow survive the fallout, it will be my demise regardless.” Blood leaked from her thigh.
A slight flush covered her normally pale cheeks, and her long, silken hair tangled slightly, giving her a wild, untamable allure.
Despite his burning hunger, despite his raging anger, some primal part demanded he take notice.
He straightened, jerking his trousers closed before detaching the needle and tucking it in his cloak. “I’m glad to see you’re not a complete imbecile. Maybe you will survive this bargain, if you could manage a bit more self-control.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he reached for the shadows and pulled them close. They wrapped around him in obeisance, and he held onto them, willing himself away. He searched the nearby forest, seizing new shadows, releasing the old and pulling his body into their safe folds.
When they cleared, trees surrounded Zarathos. His hands trembled. The ravenousness inside of him was getting unbearable. Vampire blood had revived him, but he needed more. He needed to hunt.
But before that, he jerked a small vial of clear liquid out of his pocket and downed its contents.
The ash-like taste slid over his tongue and down his throat.
He wasn’t supposed to take it this soon since his last time, but the damn Vampress’s venom had somehow started neutralizing the effects of the potion.
Zarathos could never be without his elixir.
With a growl, he corked the empty vial and stashed it back in his robes.
His hunger returning to the forefront of his mind, he cast about, sniffing the air for something, anything.
The breeze carried the scent of a rabbit hiding in the brush.
With a snarl, he moved, descending on the poor creature so quickly there was no opportunity for it to react.
He bit into the raw flesh of its throat.
Its lifeblood flowed refreshingly into his mouth and down his hands.
The small animal gave a last shudder and expired, and he didn’t waste any time in devouring his meal.
“How did it go tonight?” The voice coming from behind might have startled him, if he hadn’t sensed Pithian’s presence nearby the moment he appeared from the shadows.
Zarathos cleaned the final ounce of flesh from his prey before answering. “The princess refused to drink from the human you gave me and ended up a puddle on the floor an inch from death.”
There was a startled silence. “But she did survive?”
“Sure,” Zarathos snarled. “After I provided her some of my blood.”
And an even longer silence. “You didn’t.”
“I had no choice. I want the scepter.”
“Why did she—”
“There’s more.”
Pithian sighed. “Go on.”
Zarathos looked at his crimson-stained hands. All that was left was a small pile of bones. “She took too much. I lost control. She lost control… I passed out and… she used her blood to revive me.”
This silence lasted the longest of all. “It’s a harvest moon.”
“Oh really? I missed that minor detail,” he said sardonically.
Pithian swore. “I told you this was a bad idea.”
He set the skeletal remains into the weeds and rose. “The princess is bound to me until the trials are over. And we know how that will end for her.”
“If she keeps her damn mouth shut.”
“She’ll keep it shut. And you will help me make sure of it.”
“Yes, of course, my master.” There was a bite in his voice.
Zarathos’s lips twitched. Pithian would follow through. He had no other choice.
“I’m thinking of adding a respect clause into my future bargains requiring everyone to address me in respectful tones.”
“Too bad I’m already your beloved servant for life.” Pithian was one of the few demons he took the risk of sharing his secrets with, mainly because Zarathos had bound him in a bargain of loyalty.
Zarathos cast him a sharp glance. “I could order you to cut out your own tongue.”
Silence. “Forgive me. I’ll do as you command, my lord.”
A small smirk crossed Zarthos’s lips, and he nodded. “I left the human tied to a tree in Trolag Woods, not far from here. I made a deal that I’d return him to where we found him if he kept his mouth shut. You’ll take him back safely to whence you procured him.”
“Your will is mine to do, Your Majesty.”
Pithian walked away into the trees.
His ravenousness was curbed. Aryana now had his blood in her veins, and whatever her body had infused into it possessed remarkable restorative properties. Feasting on other creatures would help him heal even faster. He should hunt again soon.
But first he had to go find out if the transformation potion he’d ordered from Sabious, his supplier, was ready.
Zarathos pulled a red-stained cloth from his pocket, wiping away the remnants of his meal as he gazed off into the trees.
The vampire princess differed from anyone he’d ever met.
Her pain mirrored his own, a reminder of the past he tried so hard to escape, and it stirred something inside him he was unprepared to face.
Seeing how terribly her uncle treated her, he wasn’t surprised she was willing to strike a bargain to give the scepter to Zarathos.
Her traumatic background explained her unusual moral code regarding humans.
After being beaten and manipulated by her uncle, still, when the time came to make a deal with Zarathos, all she wanted was to care for the creatures she relied on to survive.
He didn’t know whether to be intrigued or disdainful of her foolish bleeding heart.
He recalled how he’d stalked her the other night, following her to the human camp and how she’d methodically released the women and children.
The determination and her ability to handle herself in a fight was, admittedly, impressive.
If she hid the skill and brought it out at the right moment, she might actually survive to the final round of the Demon Trials.
His claw gently swiped over his aching bicep, a low growl rumbling from his throat. A part of him could still feel her teeth sinking into his flesh.
This would end in his favor.
He only needed to ensure that the vampress didn’t dig those teeth into him any deeper.