Page 47 of Bloody Kingdom

It’s been centuries since I’ve felt this level of powerlessness. In each situation I find myself in I’m calm because I know that I havecompletecontrol of it. There is nothing that I can’t handle and no one that can deter me from the steadfast path I’ve found myself on.

But then along came a little blonde woman with eyes like a summer day. My very being is rocked to its core because I can’t help her right now. The fact she’s only in danger because of me and my world only adds to the frustration.

Even with my attempts to ensure something like this never happens, Quincey is still being hunted by my enemies as we speak.

My hands rake through my hair, pulling harshly on the strands as I pace the room like a caged animal

I am one of the strongest individuals on this earth, and yet I’m stuck here because what little remains of the sun could take me out. What is the point of wielding so much power if you can’t protect the people you care about?

My pacing comes to a screeching halt as the startling realization slams into me so hard I stagger back a step.

I care about Quincey.

She’s no longer someone I’m using until they have nothing else to offer me like I had planned. She’s no longer just my obsession because I’m fixated on her blood. No, she’s more than that.

What she means to me exactly is not clear, but I know in my black soul that I truly care about her.

The knowledge that she could be out there bleeding or dead makes my distress multiply tenfold.

Feeling too confined, I rip at the suit jacket I wear, the seams make a tearing sound as I claw it roughly from my body.

Twenty minutes.

Time means nothing to me, but I’m feeling every single one of these seconds as they tick by painfully slow.Shemakes me feel the weight of time.

The relief from the jacket being gone is short-lived. It’s not enough, I still feel trapped. I rip out my black diamond cufflinks and let them clatter to the floor before I roll up the sleeves of the black button-down. The buttons at the collar are the next to go.

Wandering aimlessly through the room, I make it to the fireplace. With my hands on the mantel, I drop my head and count in my head. I count out sixty seconds, once, twice, three times, to distract myself. As I count, I see her looking up at me. The fear that was in her eyes that first night was something I was delighted to see then, but the thought she could be looking at another with the same fear is unbearable.

Fifteen minutes.

My head lifts and I meet my own gaze in the mirror on the wall. I’m unrecognizable even to myself right now. My hair disheveled, the collar of my shirt is torn from my rough treatment of it, and my jaw muscle tics from how hard I grind my teeth together. Those aren’t what catch me off guard, it’s the wild look in my eyes that has me stopping and staring. The slightly unhinged look I’ve only seen once before in my life.

It was aftershedied, and I thought my world was ending. No, my world did end when she died in my arms. The things that I did following her death were catastrophic. I made a vow after it was over, covered in blood and surrounded by the bodies of my victims, I’d never lose control like that, but as the seconds go by, the surer I become, I’m about to break my vow.

The people of my city think I’m a monster now. Just wait. They won’t like what they see after I devastate it if something happens to Quincey.

The phone in my pocket barely rings once before I’m bringing it to my ear and barking into the receiver. “Did you find her?”

“She’s not at the club like I thought she’d be,” Duke speaks loudly over the bustle of the bar. “I’m going to retrace her steps from the meeting place, I’ll call if I find anything.”

Of course,she isn’t at the club. Like Duke said, Quincey is smart, she’d never knowingly bring danger to her best friend’s doorstep. She would go the opposite direction, leading them far away, even if it meant putting herself in more danger.

Quincey’s strength is her selflessness, but it’s also her weakness. Her self-preservation is lacking at times. Her boldness is what draws me to her, but also what I despise most about her.

Ten minutes.

My fist connects with the glass of the mirror before I know what I’m doing. The glass sprays all around me, landing on my shirt and hair, but that doesn’t stop me from grabbing the gold statue of a woman and hurling it across the room into a bookshelf.

I don’t stop there—can’tstop there.

The antique chair splinters into pieces as I smash it into the ground. The coffee table makes a satisfying crashing sound as I flip it over with a pained roar. Feathers from the pillows on my bed float through the air when I’m done tearing the bed apart. One of the four posts of the canopy bed is now broken in half.

Five minutes.

The bed groans under my weight when I sit on the end of it and drop my head into my hands. Reviewing what I know of Quincey, I attempt to come up with a theory of where she could be on the off chance she got away from her assailants. She’s a runner, said she’d run for miles before work, but I know the panic she felt being chased would have slowed her down.

If only I knew who was coming after me—and now my people—I could better prepare and strategize. I’ve had enemies in my past, but none of them have been able to conceal themselves from me this well. This fact makes me believe they’ve had time—lots of it—to plan for this. The kind of time only someone like me could have.

---