Page 1 of Saved by the Vampire Goddess (Dark Wine Vampires #1)

Chapter one

Valroy

New Rome (previously Minnesota)—Year 2125 A.D.

I weave my way through the crowded, ostentatious restaurant—or at least what passes for ostentatious after the Collapse.

When the scents of southwestern dishes waft my way, I eye the selection on a nearby servant’s tray. Helping myself, I pop a miniature tamale into my mouth and immediately wish I knew how the pre-Collapse version tasted. This one is bland. I shrug off my disappointment—for opening night, the food is secondary. Ambiance is what matters the most.

The imperial nobility attend in droves because they want to view the exquisite landscape paintings hung on the walls, painted pre-Collapse. To sit beneath a Monet worth five hundred thousand denarii while eating dinner, to purchase a video of their party dining there, marks them as wealthy celebrities of New Rome.

The crafty interior designer I hired insisted on using authentic wooden tables, not recycled plastic, which gave me quite the headache. Twelve walnut tables in excellent condition went on the auction block, and he implored me to purchase them, claiming they’d ensure the restaurant’s success.

Of course I bought them. I’m not only a royal influencer and real estate developer, I’m a silent partner in the Wild Coyote Restaurant. I want Dominus Saul’s sumptuous establishment to thrive. Even though I had to sell one of the precious Hummel figurines I inherited from my mother to finance the purchase, seeing those tables and how all our patrons are sweeping fingers over the finely finished wood with grins of admiration on their faces—well, wow. The display of luxury was worth the expense.

Speak of Hades himself.

“Saul,” I say, vigorously shaking hands with my partner. His other restaurants have all been successes, so his attempt at creating southwestern cuisine from a rare cookbook drew me in. “Everything looks perfect.”

He cups both hands over mine. “Thanks to you, Dominus Valroy.”

We have the same title, but I’m wealthier than Saul, so his deference is unsurprising. “Now, I’ve told you many times, call me Valroy.”

Saul smiles. “What do you think of the food…Valroy?”

“I’ve only tried the tamales so far.”

“And?”

“The texture is good, the chicken filling tender…” I search for words to soften my critique, because the chef can only coax so much from chicken, corn, cow’s milk, and an assortment of root vegetables, beans, and a small selection of spices. From the stories my deceased parents told, the variety of meats and produce farmed in New Rome’s agricultural dome are meager compared to the sumptuous delights my great grandparents enjoyed or the rare delicacies that find their way to our emperor’s table.

Saul frowns. “And the flavor?”

“Could the chef use more peppers in the filling? For a bit more punch?”

“The domini, particularly the ladies, are unaccustomed to spicy foods. So Chef kept some of our offerings on the milder side.”

“Aah.”

Saul squints, tilting his head to the side. “We could try a mild spice to amp up the flavor. But which one? We don’t have cumin, whatever that is.”

“Try basil? Or more onion? Experiment. I know you’ll get there. You always do.”

“I will, my friend.” He pats me on the back. “Be sure to try the buffalo chicken nuggets. Those are more to your taste.”

I smile. Saul knows me too well. “Will do.”

I wish him well and move on.

As one of the roving servants passes by, I grab a martini from his tray—no olive, no twist. We don’t have olives or lemons. I can only imagine the flavor they might impart to the drink. Would they soften the harshness of the vodka our distillers make from scarce potatoes? At least this bartender didn’t toss in a slice of orange peel, perish the thought.

I need a little alcohol to make my way through the night, but not on an empty stomach, so I step over to another servant’s offerings, looking for Saul’s suggestion.

Ah, there they are .

I grab a buffalo chicken nugget and pop the whole boneless tidbit in my mouth. The hot spice sears my tongue and my eyes water. Delicious. A major improvement over the tamale. Thank Jupiter that red pepper plants made it into our dome.

I swallow, just as Domina Cassia, one of the loveliest ladies of the emperor’s court, walks by me. We’ve been to bed four times. As tempted as I am to gauge her interest again, I know she’s entertaining marriage proposals from others. I don’t want to imply I’m entering the competitive arena, too. So I smile but stop short of engaging her in conversation.

The imperial ladies of my generation, the ones born sixty or so years after the dome dropped, well, those domina were raised with marriage as their ultimate and only goal. Our society trains them to be passive, pretty things—arm candy, as they call it in the pre-Collapse movies.

While I love that my rank in society provides access to the forbidden movie library, such access and the knowledge that comes with it is a curse, too. Viewing movies about the way the world was prior to the apocalyptic weather collapse reminds me too vividly about what I’m missing in terms of food, nature, and women.

Perhaps that’s the reason the emperor forbids the population at large from viewing those glimpses into what we’ve lost. We can’t allow radical notions from the past to raise discontent among the plebeians. They are only to know the world as it is, not as it was.

I continue strolling through the room, passing other acquaintances and nodding my greetings, noting how they eye my clothing. For an event like this, fashion is as powerful a statement as the tables. My peacock-blue tailcoat, hand-embroidered with the family crest and dyed with the rarest of plants, not only looks good on me, but is a symbol of wealth, proving my family’s legacy is thriving.

Passing other acquaintances, I nod more greetings. So far, I’ve put on a good front tonight. But my worries about what happened earlier today catch up with me, and I don’t feel like mingling any further.

I stop by a spectacular Monet, La Seine à Vetheuil , one my grandparents got their hands on when they ransacked the museum. What was it like to laze on a Sunday afternoon by a lake? I’ve never seen a natural body of water in person. I imagine myself standing on the grassy shore. What did the lake smell like? If I dipped my fingers in, would the water be warm or cold?

I’ll never know.

I sigh quietly, then take a quick glance behind me, letting out a relieved breath. The room continues to fill with the right people. Opening night can make or break a new restaurant, and judging from the imperial clientèle throwing back free drinks and chowing down on the hors d’oeuvres, we’ll do just fine.

Excellent.

Then a hand clasps my shoulder. “Valroy.”

“Titus!” I pivot and exchange back slaps with him. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss your opening for the world. The food’s great.” Dominus Titus raises his martini for a toast, and his glass meets mine with a clink .

At nineteen, Titus is a mirror image of his older brother—who was my best friend in childhood. But when Maximus died four years ago in a duel, their family business went to Titus. As the younger brother, he was ill prepared to manage the lucrative auction house he inherited—an all-too-familiar situation. I lost my parents at a young age, too.

So I vowed at Maximus’s interment that I’d watch out for his younger brother. I took Titus under my wing and taught him everything I knew. Unexpectedly, I got a best friend in the bargain as we bonded over both our grief and our business responsibilities.

“But what are you doing admiring a painting you own and can see anytime?” He tilts his head at the Monet, raising one eyebrow. “You’re the guest of honor. You should be out there, working the room.”

“Shush. I’m a silent partner.”

“As if everyone doesn’t know where all these luxuries came from.” He sweeps a hand at the tables and paintings. “Where is Tina? I haven’t spotted her knocking over any precious items.”

I chuckle. Titus never misses an opportunity to tease Tina about the time she broke a crystal decanter upon meeting him. She still blushes to this day whenever he mentions the incident.

“Domina Tina is at home with her chaperon, where she belongs.”

He whistles. “I bet she loved that.”

I frown at him. “She’s too young to be paraded about at events like this one.”

My sixteen-year-old-sister is as smart as our mother was, but emotionally, she’s too young for the parties or the bedroom games that come with them. She’s due to make her debut next year, at which point she’ll spend another year being introduced to society before she’s marriageable, unless she gets pregnant within that first year. The Republic’s birth rate has fallen among the imperial royalty, so pregnancy guarantees a marriage.

Unlike the domina of my generation, who spent little time in the schoolroom, Tina is receiving an excellent education. I was raised by a well-educated, intelligent mother who refused all restrictions traditional for her gender—and a father who encouraged her—so I’m following in Mother’s footsteps as Tina’s guardian. Perhaps some day, when I’m ready, I’ll find an intelligent domina to marry, one who hasn’t been held back by our society.

A man can dream.

In the meantime, I’ve hired the best tutors available and insisted they teach Tina advanced mathematics. She’s nearly fully trained as an accountant—I’d love for her to be my bookkeeper even after her marriage, as she has a brilliant head for numbers.

I nudge Titus. “Why are you asking about her? Do you miss your little shadow?”

“Maybe I do.”

I blink. I was teasing, as I usually do when it comes to Tina’s infatuation with him. But has something changed?

Titus bursts out laughing. “Jupiter, you should see your face, Valroy.” He shakes his head. “You know I love Tina, but she’s your little sister, for Juno’s sake.”

I smirk at him. “In another two years, you might think differently, you know. You’ll need a wife at some point.”

His snort likely carries across the room. “Let it rest, please.”

I chuckle, satisfied to have won the round. Titus is a good man, always kind to my little sister when all she does is make eyes at him every time he comes over, and has been doing so since she was twelve. Although lately, she’s been practicing her hostess skills whenever he stops by, serving corn cakes and tea. Despite her nervously shaking hands, she manages to pour his tea into the china cups rather than splash liquid all over the tea table. Titus, in turn, asks her about her studies, launching them into conversations about accounting and business.

Would she and Titus make a good match? If they ultimately marry, I can keep using her fine brain for my bookkeeping, and perhaps Titus and I could merge our ventures, too. While the goal of arranged marriages in our society is to increase the diminishing population numbers of the patrician class, they are also business deals designed to consolidate wealth and power.

But I want Tina to be happy, to make her own choice, and—

Startled gasps and sounds of objection break out near the restaurant’s entrance.

“You are not welcome here,” Saul shouts, holding the door half closed.

A leather-clad shoulder pounds into the door, slamming it open against the wall, and an imperial military guard shoves Saul back. “We are here on business for the emperor.”

The leader of the troop turns on his heel. The crowd parts. Headed my way are the loud, plodding steps of four guards from the palace.

“What—” I start, before a dreadful thought silences me.

No, it can’t be.

He wouldn’t go so far, surely.

The tallest wears a sergeant’s insignia, marking him the highest ranked among them. He stops in front of us, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and glances at my jacket. “Are you Valroy?”

“Yes, I’m Dominus Valroy.”

He releases his sword and grips my arm, then, with a shove, pivots me toward the exit.

“What is the meaning of this?” Titus demands, yanking the guard away and standing between me and the armed man.

I squeeze his shoulder. “Don’t put yourself at risk for me. I’ll handle them and whatever this is.”

“Let’s go!” the guard bites out, and grips my arm again.

I shake off his hand. “That is unnecessary.” I nod at Titus, knowing he’ll get word to my attorney—a standard practice when dealing with the guards unexpectedly. Then I glare at the sergeant. “Your commander will hear of your disrespect.”

I opt to walk out of the restaurant rather than being dragged. It’s so gauche to leave a party that way.

They escort me out to their horse-drawn wagon. The fact they don’t drive an electric van tells me they are hired thugs rather than domini providing service to the emperor, and worry churns my stomach.

When the wagon stops at the courthouse, it confirms the cold suspicion in my gut. I stride inside, and despite the words Fiat Justitia over the doorway, I know I’ll find none here. When the judge proclaims let justice be done , he’ll only mete out the “justice” dictated by the emperor.

If I’m to have any chance of prevailing, I must make the right argument to drive a wedge between the judge and his orders.

I’m escorted into a courtroom, one which has a real wood desk in the place of honor. Dinged, dented, refinished multiple times, but genuine oak. That’s how I know his rank.

The Imperator. A magistrate imperium granted broad judicial authority to carry out the emperor’s mandates.

He stands behind his desk. “Dominus Valroy, am I to understand you have not yet signed your sister’s marriage contract?”

I tug my cuffs, then smooth my velvet lapels and tap a finger on my family crest before looking at the judge. Technically, I rank higher than him, except in his building. “As I’ve explained to Dominus Maliff, she is a mere sixteen and not yet debuted in society. She is too young to wed. I rejected the offer of marriage on her behalf, as is my right as her guardian.”

“The emperor himself has ordered Dominus Maliff to marry immediately and beget an heir. Why are you resisting the emperor’s will?”

“I assure you I am not, Imperator. Dominus Maliff should marry, per the emperor’s command. I am only objecting to his marrying my sister.”

“But she is who he wants.”

I huff, bluffing my way, hoping my next words are true. “The emperor did not specify my sister. Maliff is free to choose another.”

The judge takes his seat and raises his brows at me. “Dominus Valroy, your sister is by all accounts a beautiful and intelligent domina—”

“Which is why she is looking forward to her debut next year, and her opportunity to gain experience in the ways of society.”

“On the contrary, her youth means she doesn’t yet expect the courtship that usually precedes bedding. Maliff needs an heir desperately and speedily. Your sister is the most expedient choice. Surely you want such a burden off your hands, and like most women, she’ll be excited to have her own household.”

Rage crackles under my skin, and I can barely contain the fire. Tina is a stunning beauty for her age. I’ve avoided parading her in society for exactly this reason. When she is of age, she’ll have her choice of proposals and her chance to find someone she’ll be truly happy with. To let a forty-four-year-old oaf—a drooling fool of a man far past his prime who’s failed to care for his body, a selfish fool who’ll take pleasure only for himself, if the rumors are to be believed—marry and bed my sixteen-year-old sister?

Never .

“You must understand, I’m looking forward to making an advantageous match for her.”

Surely the Imperator will recognize my right to marry her to someone who’ll enhance my status.

“Maliff is wealthy enough.”

“Our long-term business interests do not align.”

“He could pay you for the honor…”

“My answer remains no.”

The judge sighs. “The emperor has approved the match personally. It is his direct will.”

Spikes of fear slide down my spine. The emperor’s decree means I’ll leave this room with less power, less wealth, or less skin on my back. “This is unheard of.” I put all the indignation I can muster into the words. “The law says she must be a minimum of eighteen.”

“But Dominus Maliff has the emperor’s ear. And when the emperor commanded him to marry, Maliff claimed the girl.” The Imperator pauses. “Would you allow him to bed her? If there’s no pregnancy from it, then there may be grounds to ignore the request and appeal to the emperor.”

“Absolutely not,” I growl, my anger coloring my voice. “I have a duty to my sister.”

He shakes his head. “You won’t like what happens if you don’t sign the contract.”

I brace myself, straightening my shoulders.

“I’ll take the fine or the flogging. There will be no marriage and no bedding. Dominus Maliff gets nowhere near my sister as long as I live.”

The Imperator smirks. “It’s rather humorous you say that, Dominus Valroy. Because you can either sign this contract and live, or not sign it and die. Those are the emperor’s orders. Either way, the girl marries tonight.”