Blood Bound Read online

  Liselle pouted her lips for a brief moment before reining in her expression. “That sounds lovely.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and asked, “What’s it like to share his bed?”

  Warmth spread through Azalea’s cheeks and into the very tips of her ears. “I…” she started, though she wasn’t sure how to follow that.

  Liselle saved her from answering by continuing. “It makes sense that he’d pick an elven girl over one of his own kind, you know. He’s obsessed with your people.”

  Beside her, Nero’s chair scraped against the stone floor as he rose to his feet. “As we’re all finishing our dinners, I’d like to make an announcement,” he called out. His voice boomed through the hall and silenced the guests. The musicians stopped playing and rested their instruments in front of them. “I am hosting this lovely ball tonight not only because it’s been some time since our last gathering—”

  At that, some friendly jeers called out from the crowd.

  “Too long!”

  “Too long, indeed,” Nero agreed. “But I am also hosting this evening in honor of my guest tonight.”

  Azalea leaned back into her chair, hating that he was honoring the vampires who’d threatened him.

  “My elven beauty,” he continued, now looking at Azalea. “Tonight, we are gathered to celebrate you becoming my bonded blood servant.”

  Blood servant?

  She searched his face for an answer to her unasked question, but with the mask obscuring his features, she found none.

  25

  Nero raised his goblet for a toast. A murmur broke through the crowd as the other vampires followed his lead.

  After taking a long drink, Nero continued. “From this day forth, she may feed no other. Her blood will be as poison to all others but me. I will keep her by my side, under my protection.” He turned his head to stare in the direction of the vampires who’d come from the surface. “And someday, perhaps, she may become one of us.”

  The room blurred around Azalea as she struggled to focus. Nero promised he wouldn’t turn her into a vampire without her consent—and she certainly hadn’t given that. Not for becoming a vampire, and not for becoming a blood servant, whatever that entailed.

  Nero stepped behind her and wrapped a thick choker, silver with encrusted rubies, around her neck. It pressed against her skin as he tightened the clasp in the back.

  Nero removed his gloves and crossed them neatly on the table in front of him. He took her hand and helped her to her feet, then kissed the inside of her wrist as the entire room full of vampires looked on.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  Instead of answering her, he bit into her wrist. Azalea swayed on her feet as her mind grew foggy. Before the thrall could fully take her, once he’d had just a taste, Nero pulled away and closed the wound. Azalea stumbled toward him as he pulled away, drawing a chuckle from the onlookers she’d nearly forgotten.

  “What’s going on?” she asked again, though this time her words came out slurred and sloppy, too loud to be discreet.

  More chuckles rolled through the crowd.

  Still holding her upright, Nero brought his wrist up to his fangs and sank them into his own flesh.

  Azalea’s stomach lurched at the sight of Nero’s blood dripping from the wound.

  He held his wrist up in front of her mouth. “Drink.”

  Her stomach lurched again, more insistently this time. She pulled back, staring down at Nero’s wrist. The gentle drip of his blood hitting the floor was the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

  “Drink,” Nero said again. He pressed his wrist against her lips until they parted for him.

  The warm liquid dripped into her mouth. Azalea was familiar with the taste of her own blood—metallic and unpleasant. Nero’s was nothing like that. A sweetness that bordered on euphoria filled her mouth, and she sucked eagerly from its source.

  Something stirred within her, growing stronger with each pull at Nero’s vein. Every inch of her body hummed with need. It wasn’t the kind of need she’d felt when she’d first desired him; it was something more. Something deep and ancient and entirely unfamiliar. She needed more of Nero, needed all of him. Azalea’s eyes fluttered open, and she met his gaze as she drank.

  As suddenly as it began, Nero pulled his wrist back and severed the connection.

  A soft moan escaped Azalea’s lips as she fell to her knees in front of him.

  He smiled at her as he licked the wound on his wrist, then helped her back into her chair.

  The world around her was too fuzzy for her to understand the words Nero said as he addressed the crowd again. She gripped the armrests on her chair, fearful that she might slip out and fall to the floor at any moment.

  “Didn’t he tell you what to expect?” asked a female voice from somewhere to her right.

  She ignored Liselle, focusing instead on the energy that swirled within her. Something was wrong. Was this it? Was she turning into a vampire here and now, in front of a huge audience? Had she been dragged here just to be a spectacle?

  Of course he was making a spectacle. It was her punishment for defying him.

  After some brief applause, the thrum of conversation returned to the hall, indicating that whatever Nero had been saying was over now.

  “Are you all right?” Nero whispered in her ear.

  “I…I don’t know,” she responded dreamily.

  “I am sorry I didn’t warn you.”

  She closed her eyes to stop the room from swirling around her, thankful again for the mask that concealed the tears that stung at her eyes. “What happened to me? Am I turning into a vampire?”

  “No,” he said as he kissed her forehead. “No, I would never do that to you. Not unless you wanted it. I swear it.”

  “Then…what? What is this I’m feeling?” she asked, hating how her voice sounded small and broken. The humming in her body only grew louder in response to his touches.

  “We just completed a blood ritual. You are bound to me.”

  Azalea winced at that, drawing away from him. Blood servant, he’d said. Is that what she was now? “I never agreed to this!”

  “You did, flower. Last night,” he said. “You agreed to be bound to me.”

  When? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember anything that happened after he first bit her. She buried her head in her hands. Around them, the guests carried on their celebration as though nothing important had happened at all.

  “Your…blood servant?” She didn’t bother trying to mask the disgust in her voice.

  Nero had the grace to avert his gaze. “It is an ugly name, I admit. An ugly name for a beautiful bond between a vampire and a dedicated non-vampire partner. You are no more a servant in my eyes than you were yesterday.”

  Was she a servant in his eyes yesterday? She had no idea. For all she knew, he could have seen her that way all along. He ordered her around, drank her blood at his leisure. She was trapped in this city, whether she’d come to like it or not.

  “This just means that…” Nero kissed her forehead. “You won’t leave me.”

  A tingling sensation rushed through her, a weaker version of what she’d felt during the ritual.

  “Dance with me,” he murmured.

  She took his hand and let him lead her out to the dance floor. She didn’t want to dance, but her body seemed to move on its own. The world already spun around her; what harm could it do to spin with it?

  “What’s the difference between this ritual and turning into a vampire?” she asked as he held her close.

  “The ceremonies are performed in much the same way,” he said. “But to become a vampire, you would have needed to be near death, with only my blood to return you from the brink. Even if you were dying, I would not force that fate on you unless you wished for it. Vampires are horrid
creatures, but that is the worst act we can commit.”

  He twirled her around, and it was all she could do to remain upright as he pulled her back into him.

  “Is that what happened to you?”

  Nero didn’t respond, staying silent as they danced for long enough that Azalea assumed he hadn’t heard her.

  “Yes,” he said finally. He pulled her in close and whispered in her ear. “I attempted to run from my master. He struck me down, and when I woke again sometime later, I was his. I was…this.”

  He twirled her again, but this time the movement was harsher, and her gut twisted at the roughness of it.

  “What happened to the vampire who turned you?”

  Though the song continued around them, Nero stopped. Azalea stumbled into him, not realizing at first that he was no longer dancing. He took her hand again, and they started back toward the table.

  “He will never harm anyone again,” Nero said under his breath, seemingly more to assure himself than to answer her.

  Miria poured elven blood, refilling a vampire noble’s goblet. The man hardly glanced at her as she did so, but she plastered on a false smile anyway. Farraine had warned them to spend the night looking pleasant and attractive as they waited on the guests, but Miria’s smile was so stiff she thought her face might crack from the effort.

  Her eyes rarely left Azalea, tracking her every movement through the room. Whatever had happened between her and Nero left her drunk and stumbling through an unpleasant-looking dance in the center of the room. The vampires seemed to know better than to draw attention to it, but Miria hadn’t missed their stares.

  Blood servant.

  Nero had said it during his introduction speech, and now Miria was picking up the phrase in small bits of conversation. The vampires seemed to know exactly what it meant.

  Did Azalea?

  Miria hadn’t pieced together enough snippets of conversation to know exactly what a blood servant was, but the name itself was clear enough. Something had happened between the two of them—something that couldn’t possibly be good for Azalea.

  So much for him not doing anything against her will. There was no way Azalea would agree to be whatever a blood servant was.

  “Watch it!”

  Miria looked down at the table. Streaks of red dripped down the side of a silver goblet, soaking into the black table linen.

  “I apologize, my lord,” she said, reaching for a cloth to clean it up. “I’m not sure what came over me.”

  The vampire glared at her as she wiped the mess up. “What’s your name, elf?”

  “Oh, leave the girl alone!” His companion grabbed his arm and leaned into him. “I’m sure Lord Nero’s got quite enough to worry about without you taking notes on every mistake his serving girls make.”

  The vampire grunted and waved a hand at her.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she muttered as she hurried away from their table.

  She looked up at the head table, where Azalea and Nero had settled back into their seats. The masquerade mask covered much of Azalea’s face, so Miria couldn’t read much of her expression.

  Miria moved to the next table, pitcher in hand. “More to drink, m’lords?” she asked, keeping her voice high and pleasant.

  She just had to get through the night. Then she could try to meet with Azalea to check on her and make sure she was okay. Nothing else would happen to her in the middle of the masquerade. The party had already moved on from whatever had happened between her and Nero.

  At the far end of the room, near the head table, she caught sight of the ambassador’s black cloak and made a mental note to avoid their table. She was grateful that Nero had stepped in to defend her the other night, but without Nero watching over him, she didn’t trust the vampire to keep his hands—or his fangs—to himself.

  Julian lifted his hand and pointed up at the main table toward Nero… Or was he pointing at Azalea? The vampire broke out in a huge grin.

  Miria weaved through the tables and stopped at the one just behind where the surface vampires sat.

  “More to drink, m’lords?” she asked again.

  A female vampire gave a curt nod and pushed her glass toward Miria.

  “She’s a blood servant now!”

  The phrase coming from the surface vampires’ table in front of her caught Miria’s attention, and she slid the woman’s cup back in front of her. She stepped aside, standing still and at attention like she was waiting for orders. The vampires didn’t seem to pay much attention to the elves who waited on them unless they were speaking to them directly, so it was easy enough to blend into the crowd unnoticed.

  “—dark-haired bitch—”

  “—wouldn’t mind a taste of her myself—”

  The snippets of conversation weren’t enough to follow the full discussion, so Miria inched closer and positioned herself behind a stone pillar, just around the corner from their table.

  “Think he made her a blood servant just to spite us?”

  “No doubt,” came the ambassador’s voice. “No doubt in my mind he did just that, the bastard.”

  “She was going to leave with us too,” one said, sounding disappointed.

  “No she wasn’t, idiot,” the ambassador said. “Sneaky bitch is his plaything. She never had any intention of leaving him.”

  “I would if I was her. Better than being a blood servant, that’s for damn sure.”

  “She’s a pretty one, though,” the ambassador said. “I wouldn’t have minded taking her as my own blood whore.”

  The others chuckled. “Bet you would’ve gotten better use out of her than Nero.”

  “That’s for damned sure. Lady Neryssa says Nero keeps his little mortals like pets. Just look at the way he has her sitting up there at his side like that.” The ambassador leaned back in his chair and rested his feet on the table. “Waste of a blood ritual to treat them like equals.”

  “I used to drain mine nearly to death every night before taking what I please,” one of the others said.

  “Nah,” the ambassador said, shaking his head. “Not me. I like to keep mine fully aware. I love the pitiful look in their eyes when they can’t say no or fight back.”

  Was that what Azalea had to look forward to with Nero? The surface vampires seemed to think that Nero was soft, but she’d seen for herself that Nero was no different from them. He was just as much of a monster, even if he hid it better. By the time Azalea saw that side of him, it would be too late for her.

  Maybe it already was.

  26

  The vampire leaned forward and downed the rest of the blood in his goblet. “Gods, this shit’s so unsatisfying.” When he raised his cup to request more, his eyes rested on Miria, and a wicked grin spread across his face.

  Like everyone else in the dining hall, her face was obscured by a masquerade mask, so there was a chance he didn’t recognize her. Then again, while it wasn’t a terribly uncommon trait among elves, Miria couldn’t think of any other members of Nero’s staff who had silver hair.

  “You deaf?” one of his companions called out. “We need more to drink over here.”

  The blood inside the pitcher sloshed around with her shaking hands as she made her way over to their table. It was just a refill—she could handle that much.

  “More to drink, my lord?” Her voice had lost the cheerful tone she’d been using the rest of the night, but she did her best to force the fake smile.

  The ambassador pushed the goblet out of the way and grabbed her wrist.

  The pitcher clattered to the floor. Miria looked around the room. None of the other serving staff was on their side of the room, and the vampires were far too focused on their own socializing to notice the sudden spill. At the head table, Nero and Azalea were deep in discussion, and neither noticed she was there. She was on her own.

  “I w
ould love something to drink, but it looks like you just spilled everything you had. Guess I’ll have to take a drink a different way,” the ambassador answered, his voice low and dangerous.

  “I’ve already given you my answer,” Miria said. “I don’t think Lord Nero—”

  “Lord Nero’s a bit preoccupied, don’t you think? He’s not here to protect you this time.” The ambassador’s eyes drifted up to her neck, and he let her wrist slip from his grip.

  She pulled her arm back and took a few steps away from the table.

  The vampire raised a hand to his companions, as though to tell them to stay out of whatever was about to happen.

  She looked again at Nero, wishing he would spare a glance in her direction. The ambassador stood between Miria and Nero, as though he knew that’s where she would try to go.

  Miria quickened her pace, sticking to the walls of the dining hall. She had to get out of there, had to get far away from him. Fear gave way to panic, and she sprinted out the main doors of the hall, unnoticed by all except the vampire who pursued her.

  “Come back,” he called. “I’ll be nice this time!”

  She ignored him as she ran down the hallway toward the servants’ quarters. He followed behind at a brisk walk. He could put an end to the chase any time he wanted, she realized. He wasn’t trying to catch her—not yet. He savored the chase. The hunt.

  Her fear.

  And there was plenty of that.

  As she ran toward her room, Miria realized that she had no plan. She should have found a way through the dining hall to get to Nero. He’d protected her from the ambassador once, and he would have done so again. Now, she was on her own in the long, empty hallways of the castle. In her room, she’d be alone. Cornered. But if she made it back to the main dining hall, she’d be around people. There would be too many witnesses for the vampire to hurt her there.

  Why hadn’t she just stayed there in the first place instead of letting him spook her into running? With the vampire closing in behind her, there was nowhere else to go. The hallway that led to the servants’ quarters looked like a dead-end, but it looped around to connect with the kitchens. If she could just get back to the kitchen and the dining hall, back where there would be witnesses, she’d be safe.