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“Oh,” a lycan guard says darkly, leaning closer until his face is inches from mine. “You’re about to know him really well.”

Steel cuffs click around one wrist. Then the other.

“The Vampire King sends his regards,” someone mutters.

I freeze.

“No—wait. I didn’t . . . He fed from me! He . . . He wanted—”

“Silence,” the lycan guard snaps as he opens the vehicle’s rear door. “Speak again, and I’ll break your jaw.”

The vampire guard drags me forward but stops in front of the lycan. “You touch her, and I will feed you your own hands, mutt. She is property of the Vampire King, not your flea-ridden king,” the man snarls.

My brows pinch at his words. Why does he care what a fellow guard does to me before I’m put to death?

The lycan guard backs away, and I notice his armor is slightly different. The vampires wear armor lined with silver, while the lycan guards wear armor trimmed in red along with a red moon symbol. It’s far different from the heavy black coats the Lycan King’s Guard wears during their street patrols.

The vampire holding my arms nudges me toward the open door, and I kick, scream, and struggle, but I’m tossed in the back of the vehicle anyway. I get one last glance at the barn and Mr. Crawly’s stoney expression before the door slams in my face.

CHAPTER 13

• Alessia •

THE TRUCK RIPS down the road, sending me sliding along a cold steel floor and nearly headbutting the wall.

My hands are bound, but someone grips my arm to steady me. I lift my eyes to meet the gaze of a vampire guard. Chains clink from the cuffs binding my wrists as he drags me between his knees, giving me no room to move or crash into anything.

Vampire King. I still can’t wrap my head around that.

The man who fed on me . . . The man who touched me . . . He was a king.

The road is uneven, and every bump sends a jolt of pain through my bruised body. My head throbs in time with the engine’s drone. I try to shift positions to find some relief from the cold, hard floor, but the vampire’s legs are like iron bars caging me in. His stillness is unnerving, and the air grows thick with the scent of damp earth from my clothes and something cold and metallic. The smell seems to cling to the guard, and then I recognize the scent.

Blood.

Time slips away as we travel, swallowed by the rattling of the truck. Each bump vibrates through me, numbing my legs and pulling at my bound wrists. A cold draft brushes against my pebbled skin from where my clothes were torn during the struggle. Someone up front opens their window, blasting me with cold air. The vampire guard closes his legs more around me, his thick pants offering some warmth.

“Close the fucking window before she catches her death,” he snaps. A man up front grumbles but does as he’s told. When I look up, the vampire winks at me, and his lips tug up in one corner.

My brows furrow, and I try to maneuver slightly to relieve the pain shooting through my ankles.

The vampire guard leans forward, gripping my arms and helping me. “Better?” he asks. I nod slowly but don’t understand his strange behavior. When his legs close back around me once more, it’s like he’s trying to warm me and keep me safe.

This doesn’t feel like the treatment of a criminal.

The truck screeches to a halt, and I jolt forward, biting back a cry as my body collides with the seat in front of me. The doors swing open, cold air rushing in along with voices. I’m dragged from the truck by more guards.

As I peer around, I take in the sharp edges of the mountains leading down to the city below, and the ocean churning against the rocky shore in the distance. With this bird’s-eye view, I must be at the castle, but there are no gallows waiting for me here.

The chill of the wind bites at my exposed skin, but it pales in comparison to the heat of my rising terror. I stumble forward, dragging my feet, heart pounding against my ribs.

Stone gates rise before me, stained with age and flanked by wolves with eyes aglow. I’ve seen the sigils of the flags attached to the castle’s walls before, so there is no mistake about where I am.

But why bring me here?

They guide me to a set of imposing double doors, pushing them open with a creak. My heart skips as I step inside, expecting darkness. Instead, I’m met with a dining room shimmering in firelight, the great hearths breathing warmth while candles glint across the table. The air is thick with the scent of roasting meat and the intoxicating sweetness of wine.

I glance around in bewilderment. At the head of a long table lined with plates of food sits the Lycan King. At the other end of the table, poised like a predator, is the Vampire King. His stillness is striking—unnatural—as he lifts a crystal goblet to his lips.