Page 45 of The Sanguine Selection
I shove it down, that deep longing to hunt and kill, to watch the living perish into the dead, my lips sucking the last ounce of blood their beating heart will ever pump. Even the wolves can do no such thing, their teeth and claws simply mutilating their prey. That is one of many reasons why vampires are so much more than wolves will ever be. Our patience, our cunning, our ability to restrain ourselves until the time is right.
“Come,” I say as Jasper’s scent encroaches on my chambers. I watch in the mirror as he enters through the door and shuts it behind him, black suit ironed into perfection.
He bows, head of white hair glistening in the light of the fire, our eyes locking in the mirror as he rises. “Sire. I have assembled a meeting for you. Everyone is settled and awaiting your arrival.”
I straighten my lapel and turn to him. “Good. And Karynth?”
“Present.”
I grin wickedly. Karynth, the alpha of the wolves, does not take kindly to my summons. Never has. I was quite surprised to learn that his reign has held all these years. At two hundred and fifty years old, he is quite elderly for a wolf. A younger wolf would be better suited. What quality does Karynth have that has withstood his aging power and continued his dominance over much stronger members of the pack I wonder?
“Should we wake Marek, sire?” Jasper asks, gesturing towards my brother's private rooms.
I shake my head. “No. I can take care of this myself. My brother needs to rest.”
The look on Jasper’s face suggests he wants to remind me that I need rest as well but he clamps his lips firmly and inclines his head. “Of course. Let’s let him rest then. We’ll fill him in when he wakes. Shall we?”
Jasper gestures towards the door with his gloved hands and leads the way. This time we don’t take the secret corridors reserved only for Marek and I, and our Blood Slave if we need to summon her quickly. No, this walk to the meeting is purposeful. Jasper takes the long way down, guiding us past the upper levels of Sintara where high ranking Lords and Ladies take residence. Seeing me back to full health and strength is important for Libarynn. Part of me thinks the blood ceremony was done prematurely. Had Marek and I been mended by then, it might have swayed allegiances earlier.
Instead they met with withered kings whose minds were not yet healed enough to understand what was happening around them. Kings who didn’t have enough blood in their veins to offer a drink to those who swore fealty. Their fruitless bows and empty words meant nothing without our blood to discern who spoke true. Something I intend to fix in the near future, especially with my castle swarming with new vampires.
I’ve come close to chastising Jasper for allowing such things to happen. Procedures are in place for new coven members, where they are trained and vetted. But I know the human man had no choice up against the actions of much powerful vampires in our absence. So I let it go. I’ve let so much go.
I pause as we pass by a room with its door opened wide. Beyond is a veritable feast of blood and flesh. In the center, a woman hangs from the ceiling, manacles binding her wrists. Torn, white cloth hangs in ribbons from her body, leaving her all but naked. A vampire prowls around her, a whip in his hand. He murmurs something to her and she shakes her head, her red, curly hair bouncing from the movement.
The male dislikes her response, and pauses behind her, snaking a hand to her front to pinch a plump, pink nipple. She moans, pressing her ass to him, but then he moves. Aggressively, he slaps her breast, then, using his whip, lashes her backside with two loudthwacks. She shrieks, head falling back, tits pressed forward. He growls, standing behind her sagging body, and sweeps her hair away from her neck before sinking his fangs inside her tender flesh. The sight is arousing, and I have to pull myself away before I rip the male in half and take this woman for myself.
Not because I find her particularly attractive or am jealous of this vampire, but because of how appealing I find dominating human women. So helpless and fragile. Something about their vulnerability excites me, especially when I can smell their fear. And, since my revival, I have not had a moment to experience this for myself, an issue, I decide, that needs to be amended rather quickly. I will think clearer once I am able to release some of the pent up violence on a bound woman, sinking more than just my fangs into her.
I shake the thoughts from my head and divert my eyes to continue on, my mission not to be thwarted. There will be plenty of time for fucking.
We descend a flight of open stairs to the first level, when the scent of wolves hits me like a winter breeze. It’s earthen and foul, like the abhorrent odor of a wet dog. Jasper says nothing as he pulls open a door, its hinges creaking, and I sweep past him, pausing just inside.
I take a moment to linger my gaze on each guest as I take my seat at the head of a long, rectangular table, noting if they defer their eyes in submission or not. The oak table is cool beneath my hands as I clasp them on top. To my left is Lord Navar, my oldest ally, a vampire I might even call a friend. He strokes his long beard in his thin hands, not aging a day since I last saw him. He nods then sips from a chalice of blood resting before him. Next to him are Sarafina, Lamark, and Spensyn, three vampire lords in their own right.
Sarafina’s red eyes blaze as she stares at me, her dark skin making her white fangs appear even brighter, more menacing. She’s a fierce vampire, fighting her way to the top of a coven without an established bloodline. For she’s a made vampire, not born. But Jasper told me what happened during The Selection, how Sarafina attempted to take my Blood Slave for herself after proclaiming her blood was unremarkable knowing full well that was a lie. I regard her with caution now, knowing she did not have our best intentions at hand. I cannot fault her completely though, wanting to strengthen herself above others is second nature to vampires. But still…
Lamark pushes his chair back, bowing at the waist, long, red hair draping over his face. “My king. How good it is to see you back to health.”
I place a hand on my chest as the male sits back down. “Thank you, Lamark. It is good to see you as well.” His tight grin belies the monster I know lurks beneath his skin. Lamark, a vampire with a thin frame and unnatural yellow eyes, is one of a select few of vampires who have a second form, a monster who can be called to the surface at will much like a wolf can switch between his human and beast form. Marek and I can shift parts of ourselves—fingernails to claws, all our teeth into fangs, but nothing beyond that. Lamark is a male we’ve worked hard to align with.
Then there’s Spensyn, appearing as a human male with pale skin and dirty brown hair, not much older than thirteen. Turned at such a young age, he is often underestimated by his appearance alone. But the vampire is ruthless and cunning, and has been a high ranking lord in Sintara for years living in one of the exquisite suites at the top of the castle. It unnerves some but I like the effect he has on others. “Sire,” he murmurs, inclining his head.
I lift my own chalice in salute. “Spensyn. Your youth mocks me.” His eyes sparkle with amusement as we sip the fresh blood in our cups, still warm from its donor.
At the far end of the table, directly across from me, sits the Alpha wolf, Karynth. Wolves, though they have a much longer life than mere humans, are not immortal as we vampires are. Karynth has…matured. His once youthful face is covered with age lines and healed scars, his amber hair flecked with gray strands at his temples and throughout his long, unkempt beard. I might not have recognized this male save for his scent, like wet leaves on a cool fall day.
“Karynth,” I address the wolf, absently swirling the blood in my glass. “I must say I was quite surprised and amused to learn you still hold the title of alpha. Tell me, how do you remain so youthful to overpower those much younger than yourself?”
The wolf doesn’t bristle, his face immovable as he twists the stem of his wine glass between two pudgy fingers. “Good bloodlines, King Mikhail. You ought to know something about that.”
He sips his wine, blue eyes blazing and fixed on me as the young male wolf to his left snickers. I slam my fist into the table at the insult, blood and wine spilling as I shift my gaze to a wolf I have never met. In an instant I’m before him, his shirt fisted in my hand, his feet dangling off the floor, my fangs bared. “You dare disrespect me in my own castle! Wolves have died for less,” I sneer, his face morphing with terror.
Karynth leaps between us, one hand on my chest as if that could stop me from ripping this wolf’s head from his neck. “Apologies, king. Young Danigo has a lot to learn which is why I brought him.” Karynth pants, his own fear lingering in the air. “Please, sire, he’s my son.”
I growl and drop him to the floor like discarded laundry. “Leash your pups better Karynth, or I’ll be having them for dinner.”
Danigo, a bulky wolf with the same amber hair as his father, though barely twenty years old by his scent, cowers as Karynth backhands him then tosses him back into his seat, right next to Lord Vikkon. Vikkon sneers down his long, narrow nose, waving the air around his face away as if it offends him, and scoots his chair closer to the vacant one on my right, a chair set for Mikhail should he wake and wish to join us.
