Silence Read online

  Black irises remain steady on my own, expression serene, lips frozen in a pleasant smile.

  Not a word. Not even a blink.

  It’s a game. Dimly, I’m aware of that fact, that she’s toying with me in a way that defies logic. Can’t remember the last time any female managed to scramble me like this. Cracking my neck, I debate the merits of ignoring her versus questioning her.

  She doesn’t give me the chance.

  Just as quietly as she appeared, she turns to leave, the veil parting in a whisper of movement.

  Giving me a glimpse of what’s beneath.

  Of that revealing, indecent, primal gown that leaves huge chunks of her upper body bared.

  Calamity’s gone, suddenly lost to the shadows outside my room, but the damage’s already been done.

  I lost sight of her earlier, have no idea where the hell she just came from. A grave mistake. One I’m going to make sure doesn’t occur again. It’s time I put a permanent set of eyes on that girl.

  Even if it must be my own.

  However, in order to stop myself from pouncing on her, I’ll have to go take care of my needs. It’s finally time to go visit the harem once more.

  five

  F ollowing her has proven to be more difficult than I originally planned.

  Especially when I can barely get a glimpse of her.

  Days of this. Actually, weeks. Two, if I’m not mistaken. And somehow, hour by hour, despite my feverish, skilled efforts to track her, the girl is managing to evade me at every turn.

  Her parents remain unconcerned, clearly used to her insane sense of autonomy.

  And I haven’t been able to bring myself to confess to them what I’ve seen; their daughter, roaming the empty halls of the third floor where her chambers are located, covered in blood.

  Unfazed by the barbarism of leaving it on display.

  That’s not the most worrisome part. The real reason I can’t confess to my brother what his adopted daughter is up to runs much deeper.

  I fuck. Every night I feed and I fuck, and every night she grows farther away from me and my mind still won’t let her go. I imagine both vampiric and human males in the throes of her bite, feeling those incisors deep in their flesh, and this sickness strengthens each time.

  Today I find myself outside the city walls, on the steps leading down to the forest. Sunlight beats down through the red leaves—filtered sunlight. Like most vampire breeds, ours is deathly allergic to the ultraviolet radiation admitted by the sun. The spell that maintains this portion of the forest hidden from the rest of the world also provides a filter that removes that radiation, allowing us to experience daylight.

  I’m not here for the fucking sun. Not even here for the vision it makes glowing off the dark gray trees and their blood red leaves.

  She was just fucking out here. I saw her.

  I’m grinding my teeth, that deadly vibration building. The low growl I’m giving off rumbles in the air around me as I look left and right.

  Calm yourself. You’ve been feeding. No reason to be this beastly.

  Except I haven’t been feeding from her, haven’t been fucking her, and with every female I taste, all it does is remind me that they aren’t the one I desire.

  They aren’t my brother’s adopted daughter.

  Gods, I’m truly fucking sick.

  “Obsidian.”

  I face the sound of that voice.

  Almira, one of the highest-ranking members on the council.

  And one of the widowed females I’ve been fucking in the harems each night. Among others. Just three days ago, I had her and two pleasure slaves licking my cock at once.

  I had to lean my head back and close my eyes to fully enjoy it, and with every pass of their tongues along my shaft, the image of Calamity’s mouth haunted me, but they didn’t seem to realize how mentally disconnected I was.

  Almira walks closer, the dark-red, ceremonial robe of her station covering her lithe body from view.

  Not that I have any desire to look upon it at this moment.

  Light green stare glittering with the sun, she smiles with the hunger of a starving predator.

  The more I give her, the more she wants.

  The more she gives me, the more I obsess over my niece.

  Disgust churns in me at the thought, as it does every time I try to fit Calamity back into that mold.

  “How fare thee, Obsidian?” Almira asks, brushing a strand of honey-gold hair over her shoulder. She pauses by me, the red-velvet covering her shoulder brushing along the black cashmere covering my arm.

  I calmly look at the lack of space between us before meeting her interested gaze. “I am well. In the middle of a task. I’m assuming I’ll see you tonight at the ball?”

  “Mmmmm. Of course.” Almira is fifteen-hundred-years-old, a female seasoned by centuries and conquests. A vampire fully aware of her charm. And not even she, with her age and experience, can exude the same carnality Calamity does by simply existing. “I see you’re already dressed up for the occasion.” She runs her hand down the sleeve of my blazer, grazing her fingertips along the thick, silk cuff around the end. “Please tell me you’ll be free after.”

  That streak shoots by the corners of my vision, the one I’ve come to know lately. Doesn’t matter that she’s matching with the woods on either side and behind her, I know it’s her the moment I see her flash into view.

  Jerking my head around, I spot her what has to be a hundred-yards ahead, dressed in an elegant, gossamer black gown.

  The crown on her head is black today, an edgy, spiky creation that somehow manages to soften the pale angles of her face.

  The ends of her hair are a shocking red that glows against the black of her gown. Her eyes, as always, are mystifying. Impossible to read.

  Except when they cut over to Almira and the way we happen to be standing.

  Calamity says nothing—she never fucking does to me lately, not even her customary greeting to her “uncle”—but coldness seeps into my bones anyway.

  For she knows.

  I don’t fucking know how, yet the slight tilt of her head, the minute arching of her eyebrow, gives it all away.

  She knows I’m fucking Almira.

  My eyes narrow on the pulse pounding on the side of her neck, on how it’s sped up regardless of her lack of outward reaction.

  Fangs dripping in my mouth, I’m instantly sucked into it, as if hearing that ferocious pulse in my own veins. I imagine how her blood must be rushing, hot with her anger, poisoned by her own possessiveness over me, the kind neither one of us has a right to feel.

  The same that’s being eating me each night as I imagine her feeding from faceless males.

  The vision is ripped from me just as quickly as every other time. She’s gone, leaving behind only that tiny micro expression, the one that left me cold.

  Can’t shake it, but there’s a voice in me, one warning me. You’ll pay for this.

  Pay for what? I haven’t done anything wrong.

  Then why can’t I shake this asinine guilt that says I have? And I can’t even fucking corner her long enough to make sense of any of this. She won’t let me.

  Fucking hell. That girl has a mastery over her dematerializing that many her age never possess.

  “Ah. Our future queen.” Almira nods, seeming amused. “She’s a wild one, that one.”

  “What makes you say that?” I snap, already homing in on whatever information she can give me.

  Almira shrugs, resuming her pointless caress of my arm. If I wasn’t so hellbent on getting this information out of her, I’d put her in her place for showing this kind of proprietary over me. “She’s modern, Obsidian. A female just starting to grasp her power but one that fully understands it anyway. I was one of the members that voted for her to become the rightful heir.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . . ever since she was a child, we all knew she was different. Brilliant. Savage. I personally am tired of living in olden times w
here us females are supposed to behave, and you males are excused for all your bad behavior. That female will usher in a new era, one where the males of this kingdom”—her pointed glance lands on mine—“will have to accept that we are your equals. In all ways.”

  The instant desire to correct her, to remind her why our laws and customs exist, ends up stuck in my throat. For although I don’t believe this kind of rapid change is good for our kind, I also understand how hypocritical it’ll sound if I voice an opinion against it.

  “ . . . we all knew she was different. Brilliant. Savage.”

  It’s true. Calamity was always all those things. It just never occurred to me how bad it would get.

  Because you never imagined what would happen once she was old enough for her sexuality to come to the fore.

  A sexuality that makes victims of us all, leaving one male after another shattered in her wake.

  A sexuality that I suspect might be on the verge of turning vengeful. That glint in her eyes before she vanished makes my starving gut churn.

  Starving. Despite all the feedings.

  Because of her. Because I can’t stop wanting her. Because I should stay away, and instead I’m bidding Almira a good day and heading back in to resume my search for Calamity.

  six

  “I

  sn’t that one stunning?” Malachai wave his glass in the direction of an auburn-haired female dancing in the arms of another male.

  “I’m pretty sure Alessandra won’t appreciate your wandering eye.”

  “You sound more and more like the mortals as time passes.” My brother returns to his seat and leans back, shaking his head.

  It bothers me to accept that. Yet how can I not? I’m not deaf to the changes in my pattern of speech throughout the years. “All together, I spend more time out in the mortal world than I do ours.” Many of the factions we war against can’t subsist on each other’s blood. They have no choice but to feed on humans.

  Unlike our kind, that can feed on both.

  It’s through the human cities that they slowly encroach towards us. No matter where we settle, there’s always mortals nearby. We’ve learned to fight back, on their turf if need be, rather than run.

  “Those days need to end.”

  My brother, for all that he is a great king, is a politician before he is a warrior. “Have our wars ended? No. Therefore you still need me out there.” Getting comfortable on the long, padded bench against the wall, I search the dancing crowd below us.

  Malachai doesn’t know what I’m searching for.

  I do.

  And when he studies my profile, I can’t help the flush of guilt at the direction of my thoughts.

  Where the fuck is she?

  “It’s time for you to look at the eligible females available for marriage.”

  “As you have been doing all night? No offense, brother, but I told you: Your wife wouldn’t appreciate it.”

  He waves away my comment. “She knows it is for you. We are both concerned.”

  The fuck is he going on about? “About my love-life?”

  My brother’s hazel irises are nothing but serious. Matter-of-fact. “About your political standing in these ever-changing times.”

  “You mean the same ever-changing times you and your queen seem to be so accepting of?” I lean closer to him, aware of the female gazes that continue to cut longingly towards our platform. We’re both in our standard dress code for these events: all-black, befitting our status as royal males.

  The thick, gold chain passed down from the very first king of our clan sits around my brother’s neck, ending in the large medallion with our house’s royal insignia. The color seems stark against the black velvet of his blazer.

  He bears his own tattoos but none of his are visible. He never warred as extensively as I have. Each tattoo represents a victory in battle.

  I’m the darker, tattooed, dangerous brother. The still single one. Malachai is too devoted to Alessandra. They might stare at him with yearning but it’s I that they fixate on.

  And now my brother and Alessandra want to help them along in their ridiculous quest? “Relax. I’ve come to terms with times changing, but even you must agree it’s happening too quickly. I’ll be at the next council meeting in two weeks. I’ll have a plan once I get a better idea where the kingdom’s head is at.”

  “Oh. I’ll tell you. The younger generation, both male and female alike, are fed up with the old system. As for what consists as thirty-five percent of our council, the older females? Take a guess which side they’ve decided to fall on?”

  Guessing isn’t necessary. After speaking with Almira earlier, it became crystal clear.

  The mortal world’s feminist streak has finally arrived at our kingdom.

  Not something I ever accounted for. Not because it isn’t logical—inevitable, even—but it’s becoming insanely apparent that I’ve been warring for too long.

  I’ll be warring again soon. No choice. Just because political change is sweeping through this kingdom, that doesn’t mean our enemies will rest.

  “It doesn’t matter what side they’ve fallen on. Yes, it might be time for change, but the speed with which it’s happening . . . Malachai, why are you so accepting of all this? Why all the concessions to Calamity?”

  Leaning against the smooth, white wall, his dark hair and dark clothing glaring in contrast, my brother stares at me in a way he’s never stared at me before.

  Shuttered.

  Guarded.

  Hazel eyes consumed with what seems like dread.

  “There’s much you don’t understand, brother. Too much warring has left you blind to many of the inner workings of this kingdom.” He focuses on the blood in his gold goblet and it’s clear he will say no more to me on this subject. Not now at least.

  “Why the expressions?” Alessandra asks, ascending the steps to our platform. She’s holding up the voluminous skirt of her red ball gown, black hair gleaming beneath her customary gold crown.

  Just looking at her reminds me of her daughter. The one I haven’t been able to locate since this morning.

  “My brother has forgotten how quickly I adapt to information.” Swallowing the last of the blood in my goblet, hoping that that and my multiple feedings last night will help control me if I do find Calamity, I move to stand. “We shall finish this conversation in private at a later time,” I tell my brother in a low voice. “Whatever it is you haven’t told me, you shall tell me then.”

  Yes, he’s king. My leader. The liege I swore fealty to no matter the price.

  He’s also my fucking brother and I shan’t tolerate this level of secrecy between us.

  And it is secrecy. The way Alessandra and he share a guarded look confirms it.

  I leave them before any of the revelers in attendance pick up on our silent tension. On the fact that there’s strain within the royal family. Malachai might believe I’ve forgotten the rules of politics, but he’s mistaken.

  A quick perusal of the ballroom, a single stretching of my senses, and I realize Calamity is not in attendance. She was earlier, during the family’s main entrance to the event, yet she’s clearly pulled another disappearing act.

  I pull one of my own, dematerializing to my chambers and pulling up the feeds.

  There. Second-floor, west wing corridor. She approaches two dark-red doors, throwing a glance over her shoulder, then walks past them into the room beyond.

  The doors slide closed gently on their own.

  A quick fast-forward proves she hasn’t come back out yet. She’s still there.

  I flash to the exact spot, appearing outside the doors I saw her go through. What’s on the other side of those doors is no secret; I have the entire layout of the fortress memorized. It’s a sitting area, one of the few barely used.

  Soundproof, like all rooms here, so there’s no picking up what’s happening on the other side.

  Yet my heart is a violent jackhammer in my chest. A primitive pounding that leaves m
y vision hazy and my skin slick with sweat.

  It’s as if simply knowing she’s on the other side ignites this fury in my blood.

  But perhaps she isn’t. She might’ve dematerialized out of there without my knowing.

  My tattooed hands seem twice as pale beneath the black markings as I reach for the carved handles. A swift pull has the doors silently parting, baring the interior of the room.

  The wet, moist, breathy sounds coming from within.

  The explosion of heat is immediate, almost knocking me off my feet, as my mind struggles to comprehend what I’m hearing.

  What I’m seeing in the darkened room that’s only illuminated by the full moon hanging in the sky outside.

  On the red-velvet settee directly across from me, two female bodies writhe against each other. The folds of their dresses—black against purple—blend together, to the point where there’s no telling what’s happening below their waists.

  Above, however, their breasts are covered in blood, their necks. Bite marks are clearly visible from where they were feeding off each other.

  A low feminine gasp trickles through the room, followed by another wet lick and a second, huskier moan.

  My eyes snap to their faces—

  Plump lips drenched in dark blood battle for dominance against each other. Fangs nip for more, tongues slipping between their open, dueling mouths, lapping the blood off each other in languid, lost strokes.

  Cock pulsing, leaking inside my pants, I feel my jaw unhinge, my mind finally admitting what I’m seeing.

  Calamity cups the brunette’s chin, licking at her tongue harder, mixing more of that blood in each other’s mouths.

  The brunette is lost to me, all I see is Calamity, the sight of that delicious mouth working the other female’s, sharing a blood kiss with her.

  Rage awakens in a hurried wave, colliding with every ounce of lust destroying my system. I’m lost in it, in this primal response, in the need to give her this cock and have her ease this monstrous ache.

  But most of all, watching her kissing someone else, sharing blood with them . . .