Shadow Of The Vampire. Meagan Hatfield

about Declan touching that girl made Lotharus livid, even more so than the notion that Declan had the crystal.

      “What do you find so amusing this time?”

      Declan laughed again, stretching the cut on his split lip. He ignored the twinge. “I don’t know what’s funnier. The fact that she came to me like a bee to honey, or the fact that you’re jealous.”

      With blinding speed, the vampire stood in front of Declan. “I can’t be jealous of what’s already mine,” he spat. “I think it’s you who is jealous. You fed from her once. I can only imagine the rush of power that flowed through you at the taste of her.”

      Declan’s smile fled. His fangs itched at the memory. Clamping down on his jaw, he fought the truth of the monster’s words.

      “She’s beautiful and ripe for the taking. I imagine you’d like to feel her beneath you again. Like to have those soft lips of hers on your skin. Be able to feel the amazing heat of her body swallow you, as I can—and, believe me, I do.”

      Lotharus’s words stabbed through him with irrational precision. Narrowing his eyes, he met the black ones staring down at him.

      “At least when I had her beneath me,” he said through clenched teeth, “I didn’t have to force her there.”

      A feminine gasp rent the air. Declan snapped his focus over Lotharus’s shoulder. His eyes immediately settled on Alexia. The pale blue, floor-length V-cut negligee and wrapper she wore set off the golden color of her hair. She looked ethereal, beautiful and shocked. And to see her standing beside that bed brought the dream vision back into glaring focus.

      “What did you say?” Lotharus’s growled words held the distinctive tone of a covetous male.

      Declan switched his gaze back to him. “You heard me, you sick fuck. Are you so pathetic you have to rape to get laid, or do you just get off on terrifying innocent females?”

      The anger in Lotharus’s stare multiplied. Shaking with rage, he lunged for the fireplace, grabbing a silver poker from the stand.

      Alexia rushed forward, taking his arm. “Lotharus, no—”

      Without missing a step, he turned, backhanding her. Instinctively, Declan’s entire body lunged to protect her. His muscles strained against the iron bindings. However, all thoughts of helping her fled when Lotharus swung back around, impaling the poker where he’d landed his fists moments before.

      The sharp burst of pain in his gut momentarily debilitated Declan. He couldn’t see, think or hear, but only focus on the blinding agony radiating through his midsection. Lotharus leaned forward, holding his face mere inches from Declan’s. “I will answer to no one. Especially not some flying rat.”

      Lotharus heaved back, dragging the poker’s jagged tip through Declan’s flesh. He doubled over, hearing the silver rod rattle on the floor, discarded.

      Blinking, he looked up. Lotharus brushed his palms together as if he’d done little more than squash a bug. “Get this thing out of my sight. He’s bleeding all over my floor.”

      The soldiers quickly unhooked him and Declan fell limp in their arms. His eyes drifted to the corner of the room, searching for Alexia. He couldn’t make her out. His vision gone foggy, he shut his eyes, not opening them until they had unceremoniously tossed him on the ground, shackled his wrist to the wall and shut the dungeon door.

      Declan wrapped an arm around his middle and curled into a ball on his side. Clenching his teeth against the pain, he focused on breathing, on Tallon, on images of home. He knew coming here was a dead end, an e-ticket to hell. As the pain lashed and bit, threatening to choke him, Declan told himself that he would take this suffering and any more the horde could dish out to save his flock.

      Just like his parents had.

      He stared at the filthy walls of the dungeon with newfound wonder in his eyes, feeling them mist. The idea both his parents might have lain in this very spot—may have felt unbearable agony and loss and yet faced it as it was—brought comfort to Declan and he finally fell into the sleep his body so desperately needed.

      THE QUEEN CLOSED THE MAIN doors leading to her hall. Ascending the few steps into the garden, she walked with purpose toward her chamber, her sanctuary. The only one left, she thought. Even the once safe haven of her mind was now lost to her.

      Low-hanging leaves brushed against her face and arms as she wound her way through the foliage. When she came upon the statue of Diana, a cold fear seized her heart, tightening around it like a noose. Keeping her head down, unable to make contact with the Goddess’s judging stare, Catija skirted around the fountain and hurried down the path leading to her bedchamber.

      The moment the lock on her bedroom door clicked, Catija let out the deep breath she’d been holding. The frantic tempo of her heart slowed to a more manageable beat and the invisible fingers around her neck loosened. Rounding the massive bed commanding the center of the room, she headed toward the far wall at almost a run. An antique polished oak and mahogany trunk sat alongside the wall, its rectangular surface centered by a profile of a maiden. She sat within a bellflower wreath adorned with birds, goblets, riches and urns. Her long hair was braided atop her head in a tight coil, almost concealing the crown above her brow.

      Catija stepped closer to the trunk, admiring the strong female. The profile was her family’s crest and the heraldry of Queens past. When her fingers touched the wood, she closed her eyes.

      At no other time had she felt the weight, the burden of her pledge and duty more than she had this past year. Although it had become nearly impossible for her to remember even the simplest of things these days, there was one task she would never forget.

      Keep moving forward.

      No matter the cost to self and sanity, no matter what happened. She had to continue playing, keep strategizing her next move. Life for her had become little more than a chess match. Her existence had no more value than the lowliest pawns on the game board. There had been a time, so long ago she could hardly remember, when she had believed it possible to succeed. Believed she could play this game, traverse her piece across Lotharus’s perverse game board and, not only endure every step, but come out on top. Yet now Catija could barely find the will and strength to get through a single day, much less hope to win.

      But it didn’t matter. She had to keep playing.

      “Have to keep them safe,” she murmured, pivoting open the heavy wooden top. A golden disc sat in the center of the box atop an antique phonograph.

      Play this when you feel lost or alone and know I will always be with you, a familiar male voice whispered through her mind.

      Almost in a trance, Catija lifted the tone arm and set the needle on the disc. At once a low hum of music began to pulsate and fill the room. Velvety and subtle, the orchestral notes spoke to her, transported her. A sense of peace rolled through her body with each wave of melody and song.

      In a heart-wrenching union of peaks and valleys, the music swelled to a crescendo. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A heartbeat later, a familiar and welcome presence seeped into the room. Heels clicked loud and firm on the marble floor behind her.

      “Is he dead?” she asked without turning around. Part of her dreaded the answer. When none came, she looked expectantly over her shoulder at her advisor and the only friend left in her corner. And she felt close to losing even him at times. “Did Lotharus kill the dragon prince?”

      “Not yet,” Yuri finally replied, moving away from the door and climbing the few steps toward her. Catija watched her brother cross the room with interest. Although she’d known him all her life, he never aged, his image never changing from the one she remembered so fondly in their youth. He still wore his midnight hair cut even to his shoulders. A perfectly shaped and trimmed goatee framed his lips. And although the style of his clothing may have changed over the centuries, she never saw him wear any color other than black from head to toe. Perhaps that was where Alexia got it from, she thought with a smile. One that faded once the dire consequence