If I’m tense on the journey back to Paris and to Morana’s court, then Carver might as well be a violin bow pulled to the point of snapping.

His eyes are a stormy blue that seem to reflect his mood, and he hasn’t stopped gripping my hand as we ride in the backseat of his limo. I can’t help but feel gloomy too. I begged Row not to say anything about Charles’ leering and threats to Carver. There wasn’t a point. Charles is an eternal teenager and a slave to Morana, sure, but he’s not someone who seems to rank highly enough to get favors from the Bitch Queen. Besides, if Carver knew about the hanging threat, he might do something incredibly stupid.

I hated what Carver had to do to keep his cover with Morana more than anyone, but it was important, and I understood the value in it. If he didn’t keep her thinking that he was still her most loyal consort and assassin, we’d never be able to accomplish our basically impossible tasks. We’d never be free and neither would the rest of the Kresova. Ever.

Still, heading to her stronghold was horrifying. I’d seen her crypt in New Orleans, the carnage there, the dead bodies littering the floor and seen the family led to her and to their deaths. I was sure she kept her home as disgusting, that she had bodies piled to the ceiling and left to rot at her feet.

“You look amazing,” Carver finally says, even though the pall hasn’t left the car.

Shrugging, I smooth the fabric of my dress over my left leg. It’s a long, crimson dress that clings to all of my curves. It’s slit almost to my hip on the right side, exposing a creamy length of thigh. Before Reina and Row left toward Nice, she helped me do my hair. It’s swept up into a high bun but with tendrils falling free before my eyes. My lips have been highlighted with lipstick that matches my dress, and Reina helped give me a smoky eye look. It’s attractive, and I hope enough to make an impression on the court like I’m supposed to, but not enough to anger Morana. She’s the Wicked Queen to my Snow White, and I’m always walking a tight rope between being “presentable enough” and overshadowing her.

There’s only a tiny sweet spot to hit or my head will litter her floor just as surely as any other speck of dust.

Jesus Christ. How did all the Kresova live or unlive like this for thousands of years. To be the subject of someone so insane, so despicable is already eating at me and it hasn’t even been a month. Morana must be incredibly strong. If I had had to put up with that bitch for thousands of years, I’d have started a riot. I have a feeling someone had and probably more than once, but with no success.

Probably a lot of pain though.

Oh, joy.

“You clean up well, too.” I run my hand through his wavy, dark blond hair. It’s long enough to sit on his shoulders and makes him look young despite the thick five o’clock shadow on his chin. He’s decked out in an Armani tuxedo with a cerulean pocket square that matches his eyes. When I first saw him, I thought he was sex on a stick. He’s living up to that image tonight, that’s for sure. “How long do we have to stay? Is she going to make me feed in front of her? Are we going to have to kill humans for sport? Seriously, I’m not walking into some kind of Saw sequel, am I?”

Carver’s jaw twitches before he speaks. “Tonight, is a homecoming and welcome for her court, but the other factions and races are in town. Some of the other races do not approve of Morana’s actions and lack of decorum.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“But,” he continues, “while the royal courts of the other races don’t approve of her, they won’t stop her. There’s no gain for them in a full-out war. However, even if she doesn’t admit it to herself, Morana wants their approval, craves their regal attention. For a few days, she’ll be on her best behavior and adhering to some of our rules, at least for show. It will mean that---”

“Her quarters won’t look like a damn torture porn film?”

Carver frowns. “Torture porn? Ma belle, what types of movies have you been watching?”

“Not many of those, but Reina loves all the horror flicks and sometimes gets control of movie night. As long as there aren’t corpses everywhere and a river of blood, it’s a start.”

The limo pulls to stop outside of a huge penthouse not far from the Seine River. Carver slips out and soon is on the other side of the car and helping me to my feet. My eyes widen at the ornate building before me, something with heavily carved balustrades that must be from at least the 1700s.

“This is her place?”

“She has a whole apartment complex in the city, but her own quarters, chérie, make no mistake. They make mine look like a squatter’s hovel.”

“I’d believe that.”

Shit, if I lived to be three or four thousand years old, I’d probably be so rich that Bill Gates or Jeff Bezos would come begging me for money. I feel inadequate again. Yes, Morana’s a psychotic despot, but she’s also wealthy and worldly beyond my understanding. She’s old enough to have witnessed most of human history, at least the written down part, and, worst of all, she sired Carver. There may always been a tie between them, something even deeper than the harem bond he and I share now.

I hope that it’s never tested; I hope he never chooses her over me.

“Ma belle?” Carver’s voice is gentle, like a warm blanket I could wrap myself in if I wanted. “Are you all right?”

“I’m going to see the Wicked Bitch of the vampire nation. Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

He kisses the back of my hand. I want more, but I understand why he’s doing it. What a spy might see is merely a polite, courtly gesture. Leaning to my ear, he whispers quickly before anyone can oversee. At least, I hope he does. “She may be a queen, but you’re a Dria. Morana has nothing on you, and she never will, ma belle.” He pulls away and winks at me. “Always remember that.”

Swallowing hard, I follow him into the inner sanctum of the craziest monster I’ve ever met.

Easier said than done.

* * *

Morana sits on a throne because of course she fucking does. If her home outside of Paris is another horror show like the plantation home in New Orleans, I don’t know. Here, as Carver predicted, the accommodations are blessedly clean and opulent. Travertine tile floors, French impressionist paintings from Monet and Gauguin line the walls, and King Louis style furniture, heavy and covered in velvet, populate her apartment. The view of the river is spectacular, and a twenty-foot high window looks out on the Seine below us. As for Morana, she’s dressed in a long emerald gown that almost swallows her tiny frame.

That’s the craziest thing of all about Morana.

She’s shorter than I am, slighter, and built like a bird. It seems impossible she has the strength she does, but I’ve seen her tear the head off a grown man without so much as blinking. Not that I’ve tried it cause, hello, not a crazy monster, but I know I don’t have that kind of strength in me. I’m a vampire and a fledge with my own wild nature working for me, but she’s ancient and even a flick of her wrist could probably send me crashing through a damn wall.

Right now, she’s lounging over the gold throne and regards me with the same lazy half-focus of an alligator waiting for an idiot to wade into the bayou. I’m prey to her, and we both know it. Fuck. Morana revels in it.

“Well, if it isn’t Carver and our newest child.”

I keep my eyes trained on the floor--thankfully blood-free--and try not to let her catch me looking at her. She finally stands, graceful and unhurried, and then sashays to Carver. I know this game by now, understand that she flirts and does far more with him because she can and because she knows it insults him. Maybe she understands already how it eats at me. This time, Morana trails one hand, sharp fingernails extended down the front of Carver’s crisp, white shirt. Then over the button and waist of his pants. She runs her skank hand over his crotch, and it takes everything I have not to do something suicidal and lunge for her throat.

Carver is mine, damn it. My consort, my harem-mate, my lover. Not hers.

Whatever he was to Morana, even a child made by her fangs, doesn’t matter anymore. Or it shouldn’t. Still, a traitorous voice in the back of my head reminds me that he could rush to her, that he could always go back at any time and betray me.

Betray us.

Taking in a deep breath and hoping the few court members spread around confuse it for a fledgling mistake and not for the only way I know to calm the anger growing inside of me, I force myself to look away. Keep my head down, focus my gaze away. Now’s not the time to take down the Bitch Queen. Soon it will be, but not now.

She moans like the bitch in heat she is, and I’m almost convinced she’ll straddle him right there, try and climb him like a tree. But she stops. Maybe the game’s not as entertaining when she has preparations for three other vampire courts to plan. Or maybe she isn’t getting the rise out of me she hopes.

Good.

I won’t give that bitch the fucking pleasure.

I just fucking won’t.

“Well, I suppose Carver and I will catch up soon enough. There’s so much to be done, and I don’t want to stray too far, mon assassin, but for now, let’s stick on business.

Carver bows low and I notice the way his pants have tented, the ways she’s tormented him to erection in front of the court and humiliated him for all to see. How many times has she done that to him before? How long was he her Lord of Pleasure, and the man she humiliated for her own ends?

One day, and I’m not sure how, but one day I’ll help Abe pull her spine from her body if it’s the last thing I do, and beat her with it. Especially because of what she’s done to Carver.

“My queen, we’re honored to be here.”

She turns her feet to me and hums to herself. “Girl, face me.”

I swallow and hope that I don’t do anything dumb. My big mouth is probably already legendary among the Kresova and it’s impossible for me to keep from blurting things I shouldn’t when I’m pissed off. And the number one thing that makes me see fucking red is Queen Morana.

“My queen,” I say, feeling like something slimy has slid down my stomach as I speak.

“Yes, exactly. That’s who I am to you, and you must never forget it.”

“I haven’t so far.” I ignore the sharp glance from Carver and bite my lip. I couldn’t help that one.

She nods and takes a seat back in her throne. “I cannot wait to show our newest Kresova to the assembled courts for the centennial. You’re adequately attractive, of course. That reflects well on me even if you were an accident.”

“Thank you,” I say, even while in my head I’m screaming a torrent of curse words that would make a damn sailor blush.

“Of all the mistakes that rogue group made in the new world, you’re one of the only five I’ve enjoyed this much.”

Carver’s eyebrow shoots up. “You found the others?”

If my heart weren’t already dead, it would have stopped by now. Gee thanks for the compliment, whore. Did she find a Dria before we could? Did she find and kill one of the rest of us? Or maybe there are other girls out there like me who don’t even know what they are.

Morana shrugs languidly. “A few male vampires who seemed strong enough, who had enough stamina…” She draws out that word in a way that makes it sound like a filthy word in and of itself. “…to please me. They’ll be introduced as well. Still, I must admit that Aurora is the light of our new crop. She’s quite amusing.”

It takes everything I have not to bunch my hand into a fist at my side. “Thank you.”

“And I hope now that the rogues seemed to have stopped siring fledglings that our problems in New Orleans and beyond are over.”

“Huh?” I blurt.

She laughs, feigning amusement but there’s a coldness in her wide eyes as she regards me. I’m the insect she needs to squash, and she’s not about to let me forget it.

“You had problems in New Orleans. I heard about that dreadful attack.” She lets her gaze linger over Carver. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that nothing horrible came of it. I’ve got Charles and some of my closest court members investigating it.”

Oh, I just bet she did…

“Thank you, my queen, but I’m sure I can find out who attacked us without wasting court resources.” Carver dips his head low. “It would be my honor to do this for you.”

Morana laughs and then rises again, moving toward us to cup Carver’s manhood. The embarrassment is plain in his face, in the defeated set of his shoulders but, if anything, it only makes Morana grip him more tightly. “You don’t need to offer that, mon assassin. You’re my truest pleasure. If someone has come for your blood, well, that’s an act of war against me, and I will never stand for it.” She eyes the assorted court members gathered around us in the throne room. “Any show of force against me and mine will be met with the most drawn out, painful death imaginable. Is that understood?” Her cold gaze focuses solely on me on that last part. “My children are mine, and no one fucks with my property. Is that understood?”

A chorus of sycophantic adoration rings out across the chamber.

If I were still human, I’d be ralphing at how disgusting all of this is.

Finally, she releases Carver. “Now, I have others of the court to plan with and so many last-minute things to approve of before the unveiling tomorrow night. Please, have a good time mingling with the family. After all, we’re all one, happy group, aren’t we?”

She smiles but it looks wrong on her, a gesture she’s never made in earnest.

The crowd again murmurs its reassurances, sucking up like the whipped stooges they all are. For now, I follow the older vampires lead. I have to stay alive to stop her, and if I have to humiliate myself tonight to do it, it’s a small sacrifice.

Once Carver’s released, we edge our way to the far corner of the room. Charles starts to drift over to us but an angry glare from Carver sends him scurrying away like the rat he is. Relaxing, I wind my arm through Carver’s and lean on him. I take in his scent and revel in his musk. I’m starving, and I must feed tonight. I’ve gone too long already with all the travel and chaos. Soon, we can be back at Versailles, and I can lap the blood fresh from my lover.

A man I don’t know sidles up next to us, and I welcome the distraction. I don’t know what to make of him. Like most vampires or supernatural creatures I’ve met, he’s large. I don’t know if there’s a rule against making weaklings and short dudes otherworldly but, aside from Charles, almost all of Morana’s court are as strong and broad as various types of Olympic athletes. Maybe some differences in overall shape, but no question about the pure, masculine energy flowing through them. It’s comforting to know that Carver could take Hugo. Hugo’s never threatened me, but there’s something about him. I’m not scared. After all, I’m an effing vampire too and can kick some ass of my own. (CHECK THIS, she shouldn’t know Hugo yet. )

But there’s something…

I can’t put my finger on it.

He nods toward me and snorts toward Carver. “Marceau, I see that centuries may pass but some things never change.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He laughs, long and loud. “Once the queen’s whore, Carvell, always her whore.”

My nostrils flare, and I stride up next to him until I’m practically on top of him. “Don’t ever say that.”

The other vampire sighs. “I thought you’d do more when you stopped being her main assassin, Marceau. You certainly lectured about duty and morality and keeping up the laws of vampire kind. It disappoints me to see you back in Paris, and all that dissolving in an instant, like a cobweb in a rain storm.”

Carver jaw is clenched so tight that I’m amazed her can eventually open his mouth to speak. “People do change.”

“Perhaps, but Vampires do not,” The vampire replies.

“I haven’t left nearly the carnage you have, Hugo. Don’t even pretend otherwise.”

“We all have our skeletons in our closets,” he concedes even as his fangs descend.

“Boys, boys,” I chide. “You can show me whose fangs are bigger some other time. Hugo, you probably didn’t come up to us to chat about the weather or ask us how our flight was.” I stick my hand out to shake his. “I’m Aurora.”

“Hugo.” He takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips. His tongue darting out to lick the back of it. I just barely refrain from wiping it on my dress in disgust.

“Fang measuring, chérie?” Carver asks.

“Or anything else,” I snap. I’m already on edge being this close to Morana. The last thing I need is to keep two huge vamp guys from tearing into each other. Or worse, starting a riot or something. “Is there something you needed to say, Hugo?”

Hugo narrows his eyes. “I don’t necessarily know if Marceau is in the level.”

“It’s ‘on the level,’” I correct. “Trust me, whatever he knows, I know and vice versa.”

The vampire before me laughs. “Oh Carver, you have this fledgling fooled about so much about you. It’ll be delicious when all the truth comes pouring out.” Leaning lower, Hugo whispers in my ear. “I have some of the info you’re looking for. Not here, but tomorrow.”

He pulls away from me and nods toward some vampires dressed more like something out of The Three Musketeers than contemporary tuxes. “I think I need to go.”

Carver bares his fangs, his velvety voice distorted as he talks. “You need never to have come.”

“Marceau,” Hugo practically growls. Then he bows low to me, “Aurora. The pleasure was all mine.”

I lead Carver to another corner by the elbow and hope my touch is soothing him. Everything in me has to be so tightly controlled in the court, in the middle of this potential catastrophe. Tonight, I’m just not sure I can make sure he’s reined in, too.