Page 7 of Fated In Blood (Nocturne Vampire Clan #1)

7

RIORDAN

I hated this fucking castle, but not as much as Blake did.

His fury grew with every step until a trail of shadow followed him like he’d dragged the night in here with him. I kept moving, past the line of guards loyal only to Lord Tyrell, past the soulless sycophants who were my subjects, measuring me for the slightest sign of weakness.

A weak king presented an opportunity because strength was the only language these foul creatures understood.

They bowed before me and I raked my cold gaze over them like a knife, disgusted by the grotesque display of wealth and brutal depravity.

Every vampire here represented the worst of our species, degenerate enough to attend Tyrell’s quarterly auction. Whether to buy a slave or to simply watch the proceedings, the why’s hardly mattered.

If only I could burn this castle down with everyone inside…but I could not.

God help me, I couldn’t, and I shoved through Tyrell’s office door in a temper, sending the candle flames dancing along the walls.

An entire fucking week this bastard kept me waiting, putting off this meeting until tonight, the one night I did not want to set foot in this godforsaken mausoleum. Did not want to see the atrocities he perpetuated, the careless debauchery my kind was capable of.

We’d been here five minutes and I already felt fucking filthy.

Laurent Marcellus Tyrell was age-appropriately powerful, dark magic seeping from him like an unstoppable winter storm as he waited behind his desk, one hand stretched before him, too long nails drumming against the wood.

Rumor had it Tyrell had been one of Marcus Aurelius’s top generals, that Caine himself had personally turned him but refused to make Tyrell part of his inner circle of Elders.

Given Laurent’s unflagging arrogance, that oversight had to chafe.

The Ancient had brutally aggressive features including a hooked Roman nose and blond hair pulled back from a face dominated by piercing blue eyes that always held the faintest hint of disapproval. He’d been bigger once, but brute physicality had become a different kind of strength, one infinitely more dangerous.

The ability to wield lesser vampires and influence as ruthlessly as he’d once swung a sword.

“Lord Tyrell.” I dipped my head low enough he couldn’t fault my respect. “I came to return something of yours.” The Ancient’s gaze narrowed when I set the ring on the edge of his desk, the worn black stone winking in the candlelight.

“This was found on your son.” I retreated, narrowly avoiding the coating of hoarfrost crackling over the desk, extinguishing the candles and plunging the Ancient into shadow. “I came to inform you Spencer was given a proper burial, as is our custom.”

“Proper burial,” Tyrell rasped. “How very… civilized of you, Riordan.” I forced myself to remain still as Tyrell’s magic spooled out to ensnare us both. A show of force and a reminder of who was really in charge.

In response, Blake’s ink-black shadows spilled across the floor, along with a low, rumbling growl that had Tyrell grinning.

Goddamn it, Blake. Do not fucking say a word , I warned. Not a single ? —

“Your son laid on ice for six days, waiting for you to claim his body.” Blake’s voice shook with the force of his fury. “Messages were sent. All ignored. He should have been put to rest that same night; instead, he was burned on a funeral pyre under the waxing moon. Almost a full week after he died.”

Blake despised Spencer, but Nocturne Clan vampires buried our dead according to strict rules and this decrepit piece of shit never even bothered responding to the message that his son—his only son, as far as we knew—had been gutted in an alley like a dog.

Laurent’s glittering stare shifted to Blake. “Who are you, again?”

“Blake Marten.” He stepped forward until his thighs pressed against the desk and I wondered if my friend had a death wish or if his hate was so blinding, he didn’t care about the danger. “Head of security for the Nocturne Clan.”

“Ah, is that what you’re calling yourself these days?” Laurent’s thin top lip curled, displaying a yellowed fang. “Security?”

“You have the ring back. Your son has been buried according to custom.” My body shook with rage, magic slithering in my veins like molten fire, searching for a way out. But my voice remained ice-cold. “A family heirloom, I assume?”

“My father gifted this ring to me, then I bestowed it upon Spencer. Now it returns.” Those pale eyes flicked up to mine as he held the ring aloft between us. “There must be something momentous about that, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I couldn’t tell you.” We had to get the fuck out of here before Blake went over that desk and started a war. “Thank you for your hospitality. Can we expect your presence at the annual Nocturne Beltane Ball in a few months?”

Of course, the fucker wouldn’t come, but we had to endure these bullshit pleasantries. We could slaughter each other, sell humans as chattel, gorge ourselves on their blood like animals, but God help us if we were ever rude .

“I will check my schedule and get back to you. I’m quite busy these days.” Laurent’s smile was half viper, half fox as he slid the ring onto his finger.

“You do that.” I headed for the door, willing Blake to fucking move .

“Since you’re already here, you should stay and enjoy tonight’s festivities, my king.” The Ancient’s rasping voice shivered with delight. “You might find something that appeals to your…discerning taste.”

“I appreciate the invitation, but my own schedule is quite full.” I glared over my shoulder at fucking Blake, a threatening growl rumbling in his throat. “My friend and I have other places to be tonight. I’m sure you understand.” Asswipe .

Laurent schooled his gaunt face into a look of surprise. “Oh, was my invitation not specific enough?” His mouth curled up in triumph. “The doors of the castle and the castle grounds are locked down from moonrise until sunrise tomorrow. Nobody leaves, not even the king.”

Fury pounded in my veins, pushing a curse out between my lips when a deep boom reverberated through the stones like a death knell. Dust sifted down from the ceiling, settling over the desk, coating the dark fabric of my suit.

That was too loud to be the doors closing.

That sounded like an explosion, Blake thought back to me, his gaze swinging to the door, muscles tensing.

Fuck. Getting trapped here wasn’t part of the plan.

“Ah, we are right on schedule. You two are in for a very long, very entertaining evening. I suggest you make yourself comfortable, my king.”

His eyes glittered as he swung his head over to my seething friend. “You, too, Blake .”