3
Balthazar
Moonlight slanted over my face.I didn’t move, I just kept my eyes on the newest member of my household. Devil’s balls, what the fuck was I doing? I’d given him my blood. Twice. And before this night was over, I’d do it again, and again. As many times as he needed. I had no idea why I had this compulsion to save this stubborn-arsed shifter. I owed him nothing. And I could easily let Connor believe he died during the bloodlust.
I sat forward, resting my forearms on my knees while studying Shane from an armchair. He was good-looking in a rugged, bad-boy way that really did it for me. But most supernaturals were beautiful. Just like humans, though, they weren’t all roses on the inside. I definitely wasn’t, but I’d earned the godsdamned right to be a bastard when I chose. I’d been alive long enough to see, hear, and do every kind of evil this fucked up world could imagine. I was as ugly on the inside as the demons of Hell. I was just honest enough to admit it. I ownedmy evil. In the eyes of mortals, even some immortals, that made me unpredictable and frightening. Just the way I preferred. The more people feared me, the more compliant they became. And word of mouth was always a good deterrent.
Shane moaned and twisted on the bed. His face was covered in a heavy sheen of sweat, as was his ripped, yet too thin, torso. He was a big male, a shifter who was brave enough, if not powerful enough, to challenge me. His skin gleamed, but it wasn’t the goosebumps that covered him, or even his pallor, that made me frown. Red, raised scars covered his body, especially the base of his neck over his major veins.
I snarled, my nostrils flaring, my gut tightening at the memory of how I’d found him. His wrists were chained together, and he’d been hanging from a hook in the ceiling of a cave. Bite marks had covered his skin—all over. His neck had been missing lumps of flesh, too, but it had been the scores of lacerations on his buttocks and around his groin that had enraged me. They still did. Even weeks after he’d healed, I wanted to end the fucker who’d tortured him. Slowly, and with as much pain and humiliation as possible.
I took a deep breath to quell my rage. The Made who’d kidnapped him was in my dungeon. Yes, a real dungeon. One I’d used for many of my foes over the years. My home was built on the bones of my enemies. I’d lived in Dundean castle for over seven hundred years, and in all of that time, my dungeons had never housed a being I despised more. I’d leave the fucker, who also happened to be Elliot’s stepfather, to rot for now. He’d be starving and weak. It was a punishment, though not nearly enough for the acts of violence he’d been a part of. That fucker was a bastard of the highest degree, but interrogating him could wait. I didn’t trust myself not to snap his neck before he could be of use. Delaying his questioning was mainly due to the shifter now writhing on my bed. My focus was on getting Shane throughthis dangerous transition. There was no way I’d allow him to die. Then I’d think about how to handle his abuser.
Shane groaned again, his arms stretching above his head, fully exposing his stunning body and toned arms. My cock twitched. He was a good-looking bastard, alright, tall, square-jawed, and burly. And when he recovered to his previous health, he would once again be powerfully muscled. I’d met him before, briefly, and I’d paid attention, especially when his blood had called to me, but actively pursuing someone because he was sexy as fuck wasn’t something I indulged in. It wasn’t arrogance to say I didn’t need to, and that lovers were as easy to find as plucking an apple from a fruit bowl. I didn’t have the time to chase down anyone, male or female, not when the Gambit was my playground, and my responsibilities as King Stefan’s right hand took me all over Europe. Not to mention the increasing outbreaks of the Blood Lust virus. Yet the club was my personal den of iniquity. There, I could click my fingers and have my pick of lovers, or if I was feeling sadistic, I’d punish my enemies by using their bodies, or mouths, or any other part of them I wanted. Sadly, circumstances hadn’t thrown Shane and me together again until recently.
That fucker, currently locked in my dungeon, and the vermin that followed him, had kidnapped and fed on Shane and his alphas for weeks before they’d been discovered. I’d gladly given Connor my help when he’d shown me the video of Shane and Owen being blood raped and tortured. Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit about shifters being killed, not even that whole town. But I’d recently struck a deal with Connor Maxwell, and it was in my interests to keep it in place. An official accord between vampires and shifters had been agreed just over two years ago. I’d helped the Shifter King shut the Hell Rift and kill the demon army that Satan had released. In return, he agreed to help me fight the vampire war that was coming as surely as the sun would riseevery morning. There was a faction of Mades who wanted to seize the Blood Throne, and that couldn’t be allowed to happen. The Blood Throne was the ultimate seat of power in the vampire world, and since the beginning of time, it was held by an Original of the royal bloodline—someone with their inherent power to rule. Other than one point in time, when the first Made had become a murdering despotic tyrant, it had been in the same family for over one thousand years. No Made was getting it again; not while I still lived and breathed.
Shane turned his head and inhaled. My eyes narrowed on his canines, my blood heating. The erection that hadn’t died down since he’d sunk his fangs into my wrist throbbed hard. A snarl curled my lips. He was scenting me, and it was all I could do to force my fangs to remain hidden. My feral reaction to this fledgling was unexpected and inconvenient. When I’d offered to see if he went into an uncontrollable blood rage, it had been a strategic decision. Keep Connor happy, and be in a position to kill Shane should he become too dangerous. New vampires were being infected by the Blood Lust virus in their thousands. It was spreading across the globe at a rate that was almost impossible to contain. I was stretching my resources as much as I could, and calling in favours from around the world to restrain it. But this was a relatively new strain that destroyed the minds of those who were turned. All Made vampires went through bloodlust. It was the completion from human to vampire. They either fed and fucked and survived it, or they fought their instincts and died. When fledglings were infected with the virus, they lost their minds completely. They fell into an uncontrollable and violent rage, killing indiscriminately.
The infected were becoming rampant in the big cities of England and Europe. If I couldn’t stop it, it wasn’t just humans that would be destroyed; all supernaturals would become targets. They were faster, stronger, and more viciousthan humans on a normal day. In bloodlust, they either died or became insatiable and impossible for any siring vampire to control unless they were very old and very powerful—like me. Add in a virus that ramped up their instincts to hunt, feed, and fuck, and they were monsters that needed to be put down. The number of infected humans and the slaughter that followed each outbreak had increased to the point that the human governments were pushing back against the vampire king, threatening their own measures against the vampire population. If this virus were allowed to spread, then not only would we be fighting the Mades, the humans and supernatural communities would declare vampires the enemy. Original or Made, it wouldn’t matter; it would be carnage on all fronts.
The news of Shane’s kidnapping and blood rape had spread. In the Gambit, Davlov had heard our customers whisper about how he’d been turned, and that I’d let him live. If he survived and killed indiscriminately, the Mades would try to turn more and more supernaturals into demented killing machines. They didn’t realise it was me who had given Shane the strength to fight the virus and maybe survive. Maybe…
I contemplated Shane’s writhing form. I should have killed him, but the savage, most bloodthirsty part of me had raged at that idea. Now, if he lived, and I didn’t have to end his life, he would become something fearsome, and fear was one of the most critical foundations of war. I’d seen it too often in my lifetime. Shane would become a half-shifter, half-vampire hybrid species, who was under my control. In short, he would be a weapon against my enemies. No one outside my close circle needed to know, nor would they suspect, that my blood and the genes it carried were the sole reason for his survival and the continued functioning of his rational brain.
I glanced out of the window at the moon. I was old enough to have secrets that even my second didn’t know. Against my will,my attention drifted back to Shane. My eyes raked his body, my cock jumping in appreciation even though he was, in essence, one of the enemy. Except, it was hard to see him like that. Many Original vampires saw Mades as lesser, as the lowest of our kind. Yet my own feelings on them were ambivalent. Some Originals were bastards of the highest order and treated their Mades worse than the human blood slaves they collected. It was understandable that many were angry enough for war. But this virus wasn’t achieving anything other than carnage for everyone.
Each aristocratic Original family had their own collection of blood slaves and Mades to work for them or to feed from. I did neither. Feeding was less of a necessity for someone as old as me, and there were plenty of people from any race who were more than willing to oblige, especially when the pleasure they received from it was incendiary. And I didn’t need slaves of any kind. The number of Original vampires that worked for me made up a large army, one that was spread around the world. Some were completely loyal, some were not. But I owned them all. When I chose to use my thrall, none of them could resist my orders. I could indeed command every vampire in this country. They all knew it, too. I didn’t fuck about with my enemies. I was too old for that shit. I’d learned over the years to deal out punishment quickly and harshly. My enemies, and those guilty of treason to the king, died violently, or I stripped them of any power they held, making their punishment and humiliation painful both physically and emotionally. It depended on their crime—and my mood. If I were feeling merciful enough to refrain from ripping them apart, they’d be compelled to serve those who frequented the Gambit. Victims of their schemes often became regular customers.
I’d keep them imprisoned for a period of time that I felt befitted their crimes, deciding who was bought for the night and for what. There was no guilt for their suffering, not when theyhad committed treason against the king—or me. I served King Stefan Korolovski because that’s what I chose to do, and I would until the day he died, as I would his son and any others who were sired from that Original bloodline. It had become my purpose in life many centuries ago. I didn’t want the throne for myself; I never had.
My castle dungeon was reserved for those who earned my special brand of punishment. They did not deserve mercy of any kind. Its cold, dreary walls had held many of my enemies over the years, though never for long. However, the definition of ‘long’ was subjective to an immortal. That rat currently rotting beneath the foundations of my castle was an exception. It would be a very long time until I’d finished playing with that piece of shit. The darkness that simmered in my soul stirred, its rage and need to make that vampire suffer, a clawing need. He’d never see the outside of that dungeon again, and he’d be begging for death before I was done.
He was part of the faction of Mades who were trying to overthrow our king, and turn everyone against the vampire nation. An evil bastard who would be given no quarter for his part in Shane’s torture. My nostrils flared. I would repay that violation a thousandfold. Why Shane’s suffering bothered me on such a visceral level, I didn’t know. I’d rarely felt such a forceful desire for vengeance.
I shifted my position, acutely aware that Sorcha called to my soul as strongly as Shane did. I sucked on one of my fangs, unwilling to admit, yet unable to ignore, why they both elicited such a strong reaction from me. Instead, I allowed my gaze to run over the taut length of the fledgling’s body. And as much as I wanted to see him as nothing other than a virus-ridden Made, I couldn’t, not when a deep ache bloomed in my chest. One that pointed towards a connection that could change everything, not just for him and me but for the world.
Shane moaned, his movements becoming more desperate. Moonlight glimmered against his sweat-soaked body. In truth, I was Shane’s sire. I should have left him to die, but I couldn’t. Every cell in my body had called on me to save him, so I had. Yet, if even my blood wasn’t enough, and Shane succumbed to his bloodlust, he could wreak destruction upon hundreds of people. And, if he were a carrier of the virus, he’d infect dozens more. I couldn’t allow that to happen. He’d lose all remnants of his humanity and kill indiscriminately until he was put down. Regardless of the promise I’d made to Connor to keep him alive, or even the ache in my soul, I’d kill him.
I shook my head. He wasn’t Shane, he was just a Made—a fledgling. I rubbed my chest. So why had I saved him? Why was I planning a painful death for his captor? And why was I giving him my blood and keeping him close, when one of my men could just as easily feed him, or even kill him? Because, a voice growled in my head, they can’t. He will die without your blood. You know that as surely as you know what he means to you.
“More,” he croaked, his eyelids fluttering open and his muscles tensing as he tried to move and found himself too weak. “Count?”
My dick pulsed, and heat fired through my veins. I hadn’t reacted to anyone with such desire in so long; it was disturbing. I didn’t like it; the lack of control over my responses, my emotions. But my body did. Unable to resist, and for reasons I refused to think about, I pushed up and walked over to the bed. My fists curled and released several times as he looked up at me through hooded eyes. Unable to help myself, and hating my lack of control, I raked my eyes over his stretched out length, inhaling his deep musky scent. Fuck, he smelled good. My attention lingered over the erect hardness that strained against the zipper of his trousers.
It took everything in me not to make use of that erection. I frowned. He had no idea what was happening. I hadn’t warned him. What would have been the point? I wasn’t letting anyone else near enough to feed him, and, until I’d held him around his neck, and he’d fired up my desire by challenging me, I’d fully intended to let him suffer the lust side of his transition, accepting that if he went insane from it, I’d end him.
It had been a moment of weakness-my weakness, that had led us here. I’d given him my blood. He couldn’t scent it or see it, but he carried my mark. He was mine now. He belonged to my house, and, as such, was mine to protect, punish as I saw fit, or even leave to die. It wasn’t the vampire who delivered the bite who was the victim’s Maker; it was the one who fed them enough blood to save their life. It was ingesting the blood of a vampire that turned a human, or, in this case, a shifter, into a vampire. By mixing vampire blood with the victim’s, it prevented death.
The virus had already been in Shane’s system when I saved him. I shook my head. I had to stop using his name. He was just a fledgling to me, a tool to use in my war against the Mades. I was his Master, and he would soon learn what it meant to be a part of my dark world. If he survived this, he would be immortal, not just long-lived, and the morals of his previous existence would no longer dictate his actions—only my orders would.
Unlike in fables and folklore, vampires weren’t dead creatures. They had beating hearts, albeit very slow ones, and needed far less oxygen to survive than humans or even other supernaturals. Garlic didn’t make a damned bit of difference to an ancient Original vampire, though younger ones and Mades could be poisoned by it. Stakes through the heart could indeed kill us, just like they’d kill any other creature. Sunlight didn’t affect an old Original in any way, though the younger they were, the less they could stand the burn of the sun’s rays. We weren’t the creatures of legend that holy water and crosses could harm,or who were prevented from entering consecrated ground. No, a vampire’s most dangerous enemy was silver, just as it was with many supernaturals; only the fae weren’t affected, their poison being iron.
“Please,” mumbled the fledgling, reaching for my wrist. I kept it from him, enjoying the rush of power and need that pulsed through my lower belly into my cock.
“Shh,” I murmured, slowly trailing my fingertips down his damp chest and over the arc of his hip where the waistband of his trousers had slipped down to reveal a delicious vee. He moaned, his skin erupting with goosebumps. I smiled. He would be sensitive everywhere right now. Every touch, every sensation was heightened in bloodlust. His dick was straining against the material, so hard and prominent that mine responded by pulsing against the restriction of my clothes. He might become my enemy when this was over, but for now, he’d go mad if I didn’t give him what he needed. It was called bloodlust for a reason. I frowned, still battling with my baser nature to fuck him and own him in every way. No. I wouldn’t. Instinct told me he’d never agree to that if it wasn’t for his situation. And the more reasonable part of me wasn’t a complete bastard. Well, I wouldn’t be to him, but I certainly wasn’t a good soul. I didn’t give a shit about morality or the feelings of others—most of the time. Although, I’d found lately that this fledgling, and a certain vulnerable little human, had preyed on my mind, inciting enough wrath that vengeance was never far from my thoughts.
I huffed, irritated. Feelings were useless, an addition to my life that I’d successfully managed to avoid for centuries. I looked after those I considered my family, but that was limited to a few special individuals; certainly not a newly turned shifter, even if he was hot enough to have caught my eye before any of this ever happened. In a few days, I would return to my club, andthe debauched happenings there would put me back in the right frame of mind—detached and calm. But first...
