Page 15 of The Vampire’s Mercy (Blood Melody #1)

CHAPTER TWELVE

SILVANUS

The endless drone of duty vibrated in the Heart of All. Millions of vampire souls tied to my every move, at the mercy of my actions.

I’d put them at a modicum of risk tonight. The elf wouldn’t have killed me, but that didn’t stop the ache of guilt reminding me of the responsibility I carried for my people.

“I’m sorry,” I said, striding through the palace corridors.

Leaving the palace always placed me in the firing-line of executioner hate. Yet, I couldn’t lock myself within these walls to live a bland and soul-wrenching life. I needed to venture out into the world, to be active in all aspects of life.

To heal my broken memories.

I paused, the elf’s scent of honey lingering in the air.

Wretched creature. I shouldn’t have played with him. The moment I opened that bathroom door at Majestic Moon, I saw it in him. The murder beneath his shining aura, shadows in his striking, cornflower-blue eyes. He couldn’t hide from me.

But I’d wanted to play with him, the way he shone so intoxicating, so mysterious.

Him killing Layla snapped me out of the folly.

I entered my bed chamber, throwing off my jacket before taking a seat on my bed. Reveling in the comfort of my sanctuary.

“I’m sorry, Layla,” I said, leaning back on my hands. “I failed you.”

Her death chewed on my soul. She’d been so loyal to me, one of a handful of true friends who always offered the best advice and the kindest words. And that elf took her away from me.

At least his friend got to live. Already on his way home under escort, free to live, no repercussions. A deal was a deal. My word was my word.

I’ve been too weak.

Again.

I should’ve killed the mage there and then, yet the sting of betrayal would be worse for the elf as he starved to death amongst the dying flowers. It would be a slow end for his mortal body.

Good. Let the stench of his decaying corpse permeate every corner of this palace. I wanted to smell it, for it to linger as long as possible, to kill the honey aroma. A vile reminder for me to never play with executioners again.

Your stupidity dooms everyone.

Despicable, beautiful elf with a strange weapon.

Had he evolved into something new? Were the remaining executioners changing, using new magic and blood to fight us?

I would have my people look into this. For now, we had information about the potion hiding executioner blood.

An advantage sought for so long. My gift to see their true nature wasn’t close to enough. But this was.

I lay back on my bed, the silkiness of the sheets on my skin a welcome caress.

Beautiful elf…

Silver hair, magnificent eyes, a radiant quality to whet any appetite. And an outfit designed to turn heads. He’d looked good. Under different circumstances, I would have gladly taken him to bed, fed from him, explored that slender elf body. He was my type from head to toe.

He killed Layla…

I sat up, cold fury grumbling in my chest.

“He is filth.” I admonished myself.

More guilt twisted inside me for thinking of Paris Raine with even a sliver of positivity.

Medusa hissed from the corner of the room, her emerald body coiled into a grumpy spiral atop her favorite rock.

I smiled, sliding off the bed. “I apologize, darling.”

The python hissed her annoyance at me.

“Come to me,” I said.

She slithered over to me. I bent to pick her heavy body up, draping her across my shoulders.

She hissed her happiness, her forked tongue tickling my cheek instead, her tail coiling around my left arm.

“Is that better?”

A hiss for yes.

She liked to sit on my shoulders.

“What an exhausting night,” I told her.

She offered a hiss of comforting sympathy.

“Thank you, darling. I appreciate it.”

There were cadences to Medusa’s hissing—annoyed, happy, tired, sympathetic, hungry. Having her by my side for so long conditioned me to these sounds. We shared a special bond stretching across centuries, our friendship unbreakable.

My constant, my anchor in a stormy sea.

If only I could remember the years before we came to this world clearly. Most of my past was broken, shards scattered across my mind with no information within them. I only remembered Medusa being gifted to me as a child, and our bond, but not much more than that.

Curse it. I didn’t even know the name of the realm I’d come here from. I’d tried to find it; the only information I could gather was that I’d crossed into Quintrealm via the Hinterlands in the northwest.

I recalled no family, no lovers, and no amount of help from mage spells helped reconnect me to my memories. And because I didn’t remember, neither did my kin.

A huge frustration, to say the least.

But mage spells did help us to learn the languages of the world.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” I muttered as usual, stroking my friend’s scales.

Were we here for the blood of mortals? No.

Here for…here for what? Why would we come here?

Everything about our presence here wasn’t right.

But we’d had no choice but to settle here with no answers and no path back to our mysterious home.

Bargained for peace after sixty years of war.

The mortals had been so hostile, leaving me no choice but to lead my people into a bloody battle to stay alive.

I’d killed so many, the violence an eternal stain.

Which is why the likes of Paris Raine irritated me so much.

Didn’t he want to leave the horrors of the past behind?

Curse him.

Medusa hissed with reassurance. I stroked her head in response.

I knew the workings of my body, the responsibility I carried, and the strengths and weakness of my people. So why had the rest been taken away? A curse? A sickness? A spell?

Medusa hissed to say she was hungry.

“Go and eat,” I said.

I put her down on the carpet of grass, her emerald scales glimmering under the soft glow of the lanterns and fairy lights around us. She looked up at me with her bewitching amber eyes, hissing to ask if I’d be alright.

“Absolutely,” I answered. “Enjoy your food.”

She slithered away to a hole in the ground beside her rock, vanishing into the darkness to hunt in the palace gardens.

I stripped off my clothes before taking a quick shower.

Paris Raine…

My hand slid to my firming cock, his face infecting my mind.

Paris Raine…

My bloodthirst grumbled, in need of placating, my brain in need of silencing.

All I ever did was think and lose myself in an empty maze. No answers, unable to understand anything, forever searching for…where? Where is home? Why am I here?

“Enough,” I told myself, scrubbing my body with an exfoliating sponge.

Done with the shower, I called to Elio, our connection an electric caress across my skin. I shivered pleasantly, his fervent response sending a thrilling tremor to my cock.

Paris Raine…

Paris Raine, here in this room, lifting the crop top over his head and—

A knock sounded on my door.

“Come in,” I called, grateful for the end to the lewd elf thoughts.

Curse him.

Curse him to death.

Elio entered, wearing his white lace shirt, green leather pants, and emerald choker at his slender neck. The jewel complimented wonderfully with his light tawny skin.

“Majesty.” He bowed, carrying an ornate glass bottle filled with blood in one hand, a jeweled goblet in the other.

“Good thrall,” I said.

His glossy chestnut curls were swept into a ponytail, a few errant strands falling across his face. A line of emerald studs glittered in both of his pointy ears.

My cock hardened further. “Come here.” I beckoned with a finger.

He came closer, offering me the bottle. “For your bloodthirst, my king.”

I stroked the side of his face with the back of my hand. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Majesty.” His hazel eyes sparkled with desire.

I took the bottle from him, popping the wax top. The warmth of the blood reached my fingers through the glass, its iron aroma enveloping me.

Elio looked up, smiling sweetly. “I wasn’t sure you’d call on me tonight.”

I poured blood into the glass. “I’ve missed you.”

Paris Raine…

“Oh, Majesty.”

The sensation from the first sip of blood was unmatched. That initial burst of sweetness on the tongue, the gentle heat filling the mouth. My goodness, the way it slid down the throat, spreading warmth throughout my body was nothing short of invigorating.

Elio removed his shirt. “Tell me what you want.”

I drained the glass before speaking. “Your special kiss.”

He admired my nakedness, then dropped to his knees, taking me into his mouth.

Tilting my head back, I stretched my arms out to the sides as he took care of my desire.

Paris Raine….

Paris Raine…

My head is filled with Paris Raine…

Silver hair. Blue eyes.

Murder…

Hate…

“No,” I breathed, Elio moaning around my hardness.

Disgust…

Disgust and lust and rage…

Rage.

So much rage…

He’d killed my friend. He’d killed my friend and threatened the lives of my people.

Filthy mortal. Filthy mortal. Filthy… Filthy…

Filthy light burning bright.

Filthy…

Filthy…

Shining…

Piercing… Piercing…

Light.

BURNING!

BURNING!

BURNING!

I pulled out of my thrall’s mouth, staggering backward, terrific agony blazing inside my chest. The Heart of All pulsed with the rapid speed of a terrified heartbeat, veins shone with ruby fury.

Because of him.

Because of the elf.

He’d been the first in a long time to attack me. Useless, yes, but the intention scratched at me constantly.

Paris…

I couldn’t bear the audacity of it.

I couldn’t bear only seeing his face inside my head.

“Majesty?” Elio got to his feet, wiping the side of his mouth.

“Leave,” I commanded him.

He gathered his shirt and left.

Paris…

I dressed, my fury rising, fueling every step as I tore out of my chambers toward the dungeons below.

I’d kill him. There was enough murk in my head already, and his presence only contributed to it.

A swift snap of the neck would quiet that part of my mind.