Authors: M.J. Scott
Shadow Kin (7 page)
Don’t think about the blood
. I swallowed softly. “Did you have need of me, my Lord?”
. I swallowed softly. “Did you have need of me, my Lord?”
One side of his mouth curled slowly. My stomach clenched, willing him not to do what I thought he was about to. To punish me in such a way that only I would know it was a punishment, a sharp yank of the leash he held around my neck to remind me of where I was, who I was, and that my master was displeased.
Given that he had not tasked me with the sunmage’s—Simon’s, I couldn’t help adding silently—death in public, then he was not going to reprimand me for failure in public. Doing so might risk lessening the fear with which the Blood regarded him, and to some extent, as the weapon he wielded, me. And that would never do.
So tonight it was not going to be the easy way—a beating from which I could take a few days to recover and lick my wounds in private before he dispatched me to perform the next act of revenge or intimidation or simple malice.
Tonight he would do something much worse and disguise it as a reward.
“Oh no, my shadow,” he said, beckoning me closer with one long finger. “Tonight I think you have need of me.”
Someone behind me sucked in a breath, a shocked sound that rang like a siren in the closely held silence. Maybe my secret wasn’t so open after all.
“Isn’t that so?” Lucius continued, pinning me with his gaze.
I squared my shoulders, knowing that begging would do no good. He knew me too well. Knew that the sensation of anticipated humiliation now crawled under my skin like bugs with razored feet. Knew that I would hate what he was about to do.
It wouldn’t be enjoyable for him if I didn’t.
It would be even more enjoyable for him if I fought him.
Providing Lucius with an opportunity for enjoyment was something to be avoided.
So I didn’t fight. “Yes, my Lord.” The words were shards of glass shredding my throat, but even through my revulsion, the need blazed into life, too long denied, too fierce to bank. If I refused now, I would pay with steadily worsening agony until I begged him for relief. As much as I wanted to be stoic, my body betrayed me. It wanted what he offered.
“Kneel.”
I knelt, fixing my gaze on his face as he leaned closer. If I watched his face, rather than the pulse in his wrist, I could control myself a little longer.
“Good girl.” He slipped his dagger—so similar to the one I’d lost—from its sheath. The lamplight flickered along the blade in shades of orange and scarlet and there was an answering flash of red in his eyes. Anger. Fury. Fear caught me again, clearing the need a little.
Danger still hung over me. He could still plunge that dagger into my heart. He was old. Old enough to be fast enough to strike before I could shadow. Old enough for it to be foolish for me to try anything. I stayed still, frozen like a bird confronted by a snake, hoping his anger would not overrule logic, that he would still think I was more valuable to him alive.
After all, it wouldn’t be easy to find another wraith. The Veiled World guarded its females fiercely since my mother had slipped. The Fae did not appreciate the strength Lucius had gained from me even though they were the ones who had given me away. I’m sure they regretted whatever merciful impulse had prevented them from simply snapping my neck when my true nature was discovered.
But part of what always made Lucius so dangerous was his utter conviction that the world would shape itself to please him. If he chose to discard a flawed blade, then another would present itself in time.
The gap between my heartbeats seemed endless as I waited to see what he would do. Then the dagger moved, not toward me but across his own wrist, a thin line of bright red blood welling to mark its path.
I almost jerked backward. So much blood. Normally he gave just a few drops from his finger. Just enough to seal the addiction without slaking the need completely. This . . . this would be ten or twenty times that amount.
The scent of it called to me. Warm, metallic with that slight edge of something indefinable that lashed the need into a frenzy. Human blood doesn’t smell the same. But this . . . the blood of a vampire. A Blood Lord. Irresistible.
Irresistible and addictive. I knew what would happen once I tasted it. My body had already started to heat and ache in anticipation of what was to come. But still I hesitated, knowing that the Court were watching, part of me wishing I could die instead of let them see me this way.
“Drink, my shadow.” Lucius held his wrist toward me, drops of blood spattering to the floor, the scent of them bursting up toward me, melting away resistance, melting away the part of me that could care, melting away rationality and logic until only the need was left.
I pressed my mouth to his wrist, the ice of his skin searing my lips as the blood filled my mouth. As I swallowed, for some reason Simon’s face swam to mind, before the pleasure rushed through me and I convulsed with ecstasy and fell forward as the orgasm took me.
Chapter Three
It was early the following evening before hunger drove me from my room.
No one had brought me food. Another of Lucius’ subtle punishments. He wouldn’t want me hiding away. Not when being out and under the knowing eyes of the Blood would only serve to reinforce my humiliation.
But it was early enough that the corridors were still largely empty of Blood, and I made my way down to the smallest of the dining halls, where the newest of the Trusted ate, without encountering anyone I really didn’t want to see.
Even better, the hall itself was half deserted and I picked a small table in a corner after I’d filled a bowl without particularly paying attention to what was on offer. The stone walls were cool at my back as I started to eat. Comfortingly solid. Nothing could come at me through them.
Around me, groups of Trusted sat in threes and fours, talking softly as they ate their meals. No Blood sat amongst them. The Blood can eat and some choose to, but they dine in their chambers or in the far grander dining hall near the main hall. There the china was gilt edged and translucent and the crystal gleamed and the Trusted waited on every Blood whim.
Down here, we ate from earthenware and drank from solid mugs made from the same thick pottery. I didn’t care what my food was served on as long as it was served away from the Blood. I ate mechanically, doing my best not to catch anyone’s eye. I wanted to eat and get back to my room as fast as possible.
Easing the hunger in my stomach distracted me from the aftermath of what Lucius had done, but only a little. My body still burned. Which was wrong. Feeding should ease the need. But it hadn’t.
And I didn’t know why. Until I figured it out, I needed to be alone.
None of the Trusted approached me. I didn’t expect them to. The newer ones were scared of me and the more experienced took their lead from the Blood they served and disdained me, fulfilling any duties they performed for me without acknowledging my existence.
I didn’t blame them for it. I was not one of them, any more than I was one of the Blood. I was alone as always.
It was better that way. There had been times in the past when a Trusted had been kind to me. The last had been Louisa, sole Trusted of one of the younger Blood. She’d brought me food several times when I was being punished or slipped me packets of healing herbs when I’d been injured. Small kindnesses but even the hint of an ally was something to hold on to. I didn’t know for sure if she—or any of the others who had helped me—had acted on her own or at the instigation of their Blood masters and mistresses.
I never would. Louisa and her master, Atherton, had disappeared from Court nearly two years ago and no one had made any overtures since. Perhaps I was now seen as too great a risk. Too firmly in Lucius’ control to win anyone any advantage.
Not that anybody who showed any interest in me—whether Trusted or the Blood who commanded them—tended to survive very long. I’d never worked out whether those who did were the kind who naturally drew Lucius’ wrath by being weak, or whether he deliberately cut down anyone who might be a threat to his hold over me.
Even though it meant I was more isolated than ever, deep down I was relieved to be ignored. I had enough death on my hands without adding those who just meant well to the tally.
I swallowed the last of the food—some sort of stew— without tasting it. Thinking of those who wished me well had summoned the memory of Simon. The warmth in his eyes. The same warmth in his touch. What would it be like to live with that warmth? To live in the light?
I could find out who he was, of course. No doubt the library held a register of healers. Lucius’ archivist—one of the oldest of the Blood—was meticulous. I could learn Simon’s full name and probably his entire ancestry. I might even be able to do it without anyone realizing what I was looking for.
My fingers tightened around my fork. Foolishness. What good would knowing do? My life was down here in the dark, twisted intrigues of the Night World. That wasn’t going to change. I needed to forget the sunmage. Remembering would only make things worse, and right now what I was facing was bad enough.
I left my bowl and fork on the table, gulped down two cups of coffee in rapid succession, and grabbed a roll of bread. That much would hold me. If I could make it back to my room, I might be able to hide away for another day or so.
But it seemed my luck had about run out for the night. When I got back to my room, Ricco was leaning against the door. Even worse, he wasn’t alone. Ignatius Grey stood besides him. I halted abruptly. Ignatius wasn’t one of the innermost circle, but he wanted to be. The fact that he could be described as Ricco with a brain meant he might someday achieve that goal. If he survived the politics of the Court.
The identical looks they slid over me made me want to kill them. Their smiles were worse. The knowledge that they’d watched me come, over and over, soured the back of my throat, burning. My fingers curled at my hip but closed on nothing. The missing weight of my dagger burned too. The long black stilettos I’d strapped to each thigh didn’t give me the same degree of comfort. “What?” I spat.
Ricco straightened, his smile nastily victorious. “Lucius wants to see you again.”
The hallway tilted. I swallowed as the sour taste threatened to become something worse. Not again.
Not so soon.
No matter how angry he was with me, surely Lucius couldn’t put me through that again? It was too great a risk. Even for me. The lore said I couldn’t be locked or turned, but no Blood lord had ever truly tested the limits of a wraith either.
Who knew what would happen if Lucius poured his blood down my throat in large quantities? Feeding the addiction more often or in larger amounts might inflame the hunger beyond the point of no return.
The blood craving was deadly for humans. They returned to seek the blood again and again, wanting the unique pleasure only vampire blood could bring. Eventually they became blood-locked—mindless servants for the Blood, willing to do anything for the ones who provided what they needed, unless they were fortunate enough to find a vampire willing to turn them before they reached that point. Not many did. In the end, the craving became all-consuming, making them forget to eat or sleep.
Eventually they stilled and died.
In theory, that wouldn’t happen to me, but I was still subject to the need and the hated heated longing and the vicious agonies of withdrawal. Those wouldn’t kill me either, merely leave me in torment.
My only hope was that perhaps, just maybe, after what Lucius had done to me last night, I wouldn’t have to worry about withdrawal for quite some time. Maybe the need would be sated rather than stimulated. But it was a slender thread, that hope. Some would even call it a lost one. Twenty-four hours had passed and the fires Lucius had lit in my blood still burned strong.
I’d spent a night and a day fighting a driving hunger to either go to him and beg for another release or find the nearest warm—or cold—body and let them take that which I’d always guarded until now.
The food had helped a little, but here, standing close to two males, my stomach tightened and pleasure ran through me again like a sparking flame. And if I was suddenly finding Ricco and Ignatius Grey attractive, then I was in serious trouble. Ricco wanted me; I knew that. It was part of the reason he hated me. But even in the worst depths of the need, I’d never been tempted by any of the Blood before this.
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