Oycher (22 page)

Renaldo seemed taken aback at Oycher’s strength, appearing a little stunned. “So I’m not the only one feeding on immortal blood.”

He’d fed from Terje a couple of times, the Nordic Alpha blood combining with his. But that’s not what this was about. Renaldo had nearly killed Terje and Isladora, and his Vojak was enraged. “You tried to kill what’s mine.”

“I’ll accept no justice from a warrior of the earth.” Renaldo's hand came down like the gavel of God, his claws piercing Oycher’s chest and feeling for his heart. “But I will savor you.”

The strength behind Renaldo's touch was staggering. Blood bubbled in Oycher’s mouth, his thoughts scattering over the blink of time he’d spent with his Nevesta. He fought the darkness overtaking his vision and pushed out with dual blades, blindly slicing through muscle and bone, flesh and blood, feathers and sinew.

His heart slowed.

A flash of blue split the darkness, stirring sand in the air. An arm reached around Renaldo’s throat and snapped it backwards. Renaldo’s eyes flew wide, his hands pulling from Oycher’s chest to grip his attacker.

Using his remaining strength, Oycher drew back his daggers, crossed his blades at Renaldo’s throat and sliced him clean through. His head thunked to the sandy earth, but Oycher wasted no time in thrusting his claws inside Renaldo’s chest and removing his still-beating heart.

“Burn,” Oycher whispered on a gasp, “Everything. Leave nothing…of him.”

“Flynn’s misting this way,” Terje said with a voice as weak as Oycher’s. “He’ll take care of it. We’ve got bigger problems.”

Oycher settled his Vojak to the background and stood. When he wobbled, Terje steadied him. He needed blood desperately to cover the exposed holes in his throat and his chest, but Terje was only half-healed. “What, the remaining hound? It needs to be captured.”

“I don't give a fuck about a damn dog. Prince Volos arrived with the Master Gryph,” he explained grimly, nodding towards a barely breathing Fedor. “He stopped to rendezvous with Alpha Dax.”

“No.”

“I was still unconscious,” Terje seethed. “He’s got Isladora.”

“I’m not wearing that,” Isladora batted away the Lovec’s hands. Her mind too numb with fear for her body to cower at the massive winged creature.  Currently, rage fueled every word past her lips, and she’d had to get ahold of herself more times than not. Humans throwing fits weren’t accepted in any monarchy, unless they wanted steep punishment. Though she hadn’t been threatened at all since arriving last night, Isla was very well aware of this unspoken rule.

The Lovec’s eyes widened. “Prince Volos insists you wear these rubies.” For the third time, he tried to fasten a four-tiered ruby necklace aka glittering collar around Isladora’s throat, his mammoth wings blocking out the light as he moved near her.

“Get out!” She stepped away from the Donor hunter, her silken robe glazing her body, boldly showcasing her curves and imperfections, since she was entirely naked underneath. Isla walked up to a mirrored wall and wiped at the mascara smudges beneath her reddened eyes. Since she arrived at the miasma-shrouded palace, she’d been treated for minor injuries, offered a sumptuous feast, and then was placed inside a bedroom befitting a princess. This morning, she was bathed and made-up as though it were an everyday spa treatment. The attendants had even tried to wax her freaking legs! God, vampire priorities were incomprehensible.

She gripped her stomach, feeling the sudden urge to hurl, right as the prince of vampires strolled in without knocking. Nausea had to be some sort of sign, right? He zeroed those dripping butterscotch eyes right on her throat, and then shot ocular daggers at the Lovec. He spoke to the Lovec in a language she didn’t understand, which was becoming old hat. The Lovec moved his hands around nervously, glancing between Isladora and his highness. Volos’ tones grew sharper before he held out his hand, palm up. The Lovec passed over the necklace, bowed grandly, stepped to the limestone balcony, and eagerly took flight.

Volos took a step towards her, and she froze. He held the necklace in one hand, swinging it slightly, the rubies sparkling in the candlelight. “Do you prefer another stone?” he asked in a smooth voice that ran over her skin.

“I have one, thank you.” She watched his eyes flick to her necklace, where Oycher’s star and her locket remained.

“These are the color of my monarchy.” He passed the necklace to his other hand, twirling it. For a moment, a kaleidoscope of rubies danced through her head, twirling, spinning, and telling her everything would be fine. Relax. Spin. Relax. “But I’ll appease you.” Spin. Relax. Spin. “See how amicable I am?”

His melodious voice, his dancing rubies. No! She pressed her fingertips against her temples. “Stop.”

“You’ve been through one harrowing experience after the other.” He shrugged elegant shoulders, lowering his cowl to reveal gleaming gilded hair. “My desire is for you to relax.”

Volos had also done this relaxing entrancement to her after he’d arrived just outside the werewolf complex on Sanibel Island. She’d searched her foggy thoughts repeatedly. After the explosion, she only remembered Oycher leaving to hunt Renaldo, Terje coming around under the Coven doctor’s unrelenting expertise, and Dax rushing off with the Pack doctor after they’d found a half-dead Haley dumped on the beachside. Oh, she had to get back to them somehow. And the promise she’d made to Terje, she also needed to make to Oycher. But how? Her fingers moved up to the crown of her head. "I’m marked by Alpha Jordan.”

“You were ours first, though I suspect a petition from the Alpha will reach me at any moment.” He rubbed his chin in a very mortal way, though his movements were too liquid to appear human. “Still, his objections won’t hold up in any inquiry.”

Well, that sounded wonderful. “What about my objections?” She tried for calm, so he wouldn’t use any more of his funky spells.

“I understand them,” he responded quietly, gripping the necklace tightly.

“You do?”

He dipped his head to lock eyes with her. “Of course, I do. I am incensed that my Italian monarchy bought you from rogue Habalines and placed you right into Donor housing. You needed counseling and pampering, a gentle hand. You should have never, ever been thrown into feeding right away.”

Pampering and a gentle hand? “Like a pet.” She took a moment to study her opulent surroundings where endless candles flickered. Talk about ambience. Isla could literally stand in the fireplace, could even see the sitting room through it on the other side. Palace wasn’t fitting.  This was the place of dreams, if it weren’t for the creatures within. She’d never seen anything like it, not even in pictures. Gold and scarlet everywhere, she didn’t know where to look first, some objects so gilded and mesmerizing they literally hurt her eyes. 

He stepped closer, walking in the human way, but it looked off. “I have recently noticed many Donors abhor the slang Blood Pet, so I am decreeing the term stricken from our vocabulary in all languages.” He said with a flourish of his hand. “A Donor is an honorable position in court, and you should be treated beautifully, respectfully.”

“Yet you can’t see us past food, can you?”

“Of course, I can.” His eyes smoldered, the butterscotch melting to gold. “I’ve taken many Donor lovers.” His hand came around to clasp her shoulder, but she flinched. “Easy. If I were going to hurt you, why would I offer you this?” He brought the necklace between them. “You need to wear it, so there’s no mistaking that you are taken.”

“I belong to me.” But she knew she needed an immortal’s mark, “And the Alpha of North America.”

“Are you sure about that?”

She knew exactly what he was asking. Had she taken up with a non-Dyansty vampire, perhaps feeding him? Isla knew better than to offer up Oycher’s name, to admit that she was his Bride. He would be killed for harboring her away from the monarchy. But Terje was of Pack, a creature not under Volos’ command. She remembered how Terje’s tone was so formal, when he’d first told her, ‘I am yours’, so she mimicked that tone with her reply. “I belong to Terje Arud.”

“Dax Jordan disclosed this,” Volos said quietly, but his hands were a sudden blur. The necklace was weighing down her throat before she blinked.

“Then his claim means nothing to you?” Here she was again, same circumstances, different palace, though she’d never worn a collar. She reached around and tried to take it off, but there wasn’t a clasp. After a moment, it settled against her skin as light as air, but the psychological ramifications choked her.

“If it means something to you, then, yes, it means something to me.” His eyes skated to the balcony, where her untouched breakfast sat. “Shall I speak with the chef?”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“You need your strength.”

“To feed you.”

“I am exhibiting patience I have never been forced to endure. I suggest you exhibit the same amount patience, if not more.”

“Is that what happened out there, this morning?” She waved a hand at the opened doors, leading to the balcony. In the center of the grand courtyard stood a pole of marble, veined in the garish crimson and bronze. Whomever the hooded male had been, his skin had been flayed off his back in vampiric speed before Isla could even step away from her breakfast and run into the bedroom. She’d wretched until nothing came out. How could anyone, vampire or not, endure such a punishment? “You forgot your patience?” Volos had been the one wielding the whip, his bronze and crimson robe stood out among all others.

A faint line formed between his eyebrows, the only indication he was becoming flustered with her. “That took a great deal of patience, my dear. You see, that male broke an unpardonable law. But instead of taking his life, as was expected of me, I took his flesh from his bones. Many in court will question me over this, calling me soft. Some will challenge me, yet I will answer each call.” He took another step forward and she stepped back. “I will always accept any challenges.” His hand came out, his fingertips touching her as if she were glass. “I do not know how you address your Alpha in Pack. But I will remind you for the final time, I am the prince of vampires, the Master of Masters. If you continue this deliberate disrespect, not only will I punish you physically, but I may also ignore any visitation with you that Pack male Arud requests.”

She swallowed roughly, sensing anger reaching out from him to her. Would he really allow Terje to visit her? “Very well…Might I ask for some clothes, Sire?”

“Better.” He smiled approvingly. “Your attire is appropriate for day court. Come.” He took her by the hand. “I have never before given, how do humans say?” He tapped his chin. “Ah, a personal tour of my home.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she choked out the words, “I would be honored, Sire.”

“Of course, you would.” He squeezed her hands as if they were old friends taking a stroll.

Leading her through the corridor, many openly gawked but quickly looked away when Volos noticed their reactions. She couldn’t blame it on her attire, after all. So many women and men were in robes, but she could easily see the differences in Vampyrs and Donors, or even visiting vampires who required regular humans serving up normal blood.

Volos waited as two vampires opened bronze and glass doors leading out to a lagoon pool, or possibly a lagoon that was kept by magic. The colors were amazing, flickering shades of blue. “That’s not a trick of lights, is it?”

“No,” he said, smiling grandly. “My father brought the water here, forming pools throughout the miasma, Lapis de Lune.”

He dropped his robe where he stood, and she was so shocked at his nudity that she gasped. All eyes immediately went to Isla, not the naked prince, and it became abundantly clear that she was the only one wearing a robe. “I guess I didn’t see the dress code for all the lovely water.”

“I guess not.” Volos raised his brows at her expectantly, and she tried not to look at his pierced cock jutting straight out as proud as the prince who owned it. The rest went back to what they were doing, which was a whole hell of a lot.

She clutched her robe, watching in embarrassed fascination as a woman kneeled and literally swallowed a Gryph’ erection. It was like a flaming sword, going straight down her throat. Isla almost lifted her hands to applaud. “Could we skip this part of the tour?”

Volos dipped a foot in the water. “I take it, you are not open with your body.” He held out his hand for her, beckoning. Moaning and dark chuckling came from all sides. A vampiress draped herself over another female, settling onto a chaise, riding her face in abject bliss.

Isla shook her head no. “Not on this level.”

His face shuttered with displeasure. Everything stopped around them, even the moaning. “I will forgive this shyness only once, Donor.”

That Volos used her title instead of her name put Isla in her place. “Forgive me, Sire.”

He inclined his head regally, though his eyes were eternal flames. “Then we will swim, now.”

Isla cringed as she dropped her robe and placed it across the back of a chair. Wearing only Volos glittering rubies, she tried not to think about all the eyes on her imperfect body as she walked into the warm water. If her body was good enough for Oycher and Terje, then that was good enough for her.

Volos watched her with rapt interest, whispering in her ear the moment she clasped his outstretched hands. “Why would you be uncomfortable showing such glory?”

She tried to smile at his flattery, to please the prince of vampires, but her lips wobbled. “Because I only want my mate”—She almost slipped and said males — “to see me.”

“Interesting.” He pulled her in deeper, grasping her waist though keeping himself at an arm’s length. The swipe of his hard cock against her hip or thigh couldn’t be ignored. But other than swimming alongside her, he wasn’t exactly jabbing it her way. His eyes followed another royal for a moment, a Dynasty Vampyr with identical golden hair, but he was slightly shorter than the prince, maybe six feet, and his eyes were amber. “I wanted you to see a different form of punishment.”

“Punishment?”