Chapter Thirty
As they crept back through the servants’ halls, few were up and moving. It was well past three o’clock as Friedrich led them directly into the main corridor near the grand ballroom. Not a sound. No music. No noise from guests frolicking about.
Friedrich had attended balls here in his younger days, and many lasted all night long. But the throne room was unusually quiet. And yet, the room beat with the electric energy of vampires. No one need say a word as they marched as one toward the arching entrance. Friedrich knew the tactic of walking directly into his uncle’s line of sight wasn’t the smartest, but at this point he didn’t care.
King Dominik had Brennalyn. And the man was as sadistic as he was powerful. Friedrich had to take the most direct course to free her from his hands. No matter what the cost. For he was sure this had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him. The damn tyrant knew Friedrich loathed him. Knew that Friedrich detested every fucking thing about him. And for that, he’d punish him.
Friedrich only hoped his punishment would be beating, torturing, and imprisoning him. Even killing him. As long as he set Brennalyn free first. Nothing else mattered.
Upon entering through the arch of the grand ballroom, he noted the full square of red-and-black bedecked Legionnaires all the way around the room. One hundred strong. They stood at attention but with their broadswords drawn for close combat. The candlelit chandeliers had burned down to almost nothing. The tripods of braziers, even the ones outside the stained-glass windows, had guttered to nothing, casting the room in dim light and long shadows.
Flanked by Mikhail and Grant and the rest of the Bloodguard, Friedrich marched through the columns toward the front. The guests were all gone, the chairs and tables in disarray. The orchestra gone. The Blood Harem gone. Even the queen and her Legionnaires, all gone. Everyone except the king sitting atop his black throne, watching his approach. And his best fighters.
Brennalyn sat on her knees at his feet, head bowed.
A jolt of relief shot through him, and then fury. Not faltering, he met King Dominik’s smug expression. Tension stretched tight as a bow string. By the time he’d reached the front of the ballroom and squared himself to face the king, he’d clenched his jaw so tight something popped. The king’s large hand rested on Brennalyn’s slender nape, the braid of her long hair over one shoulder, his black claws extended. He’d called his beast forth, though he relaxed on his black iron throne like a sovereign at leisure.
She was dressed and ready for her escape. An escape that had never come. Clenching his fists, he waited for the king to speak, trying like hell to quash the galling fear rising in his gut.
“Nephew. So good of you to come,” bellowed his mocking, barbed voice. “You and your lovely lady left the party too soon.”
“What do you want?” Friedrich didn’t recognize his own voice, so full of malevolence and strain.
“What I always want. The truth.”
Friedrich snorted in disgust. “That is never what you really want. And we both know it.”
He smiled in response and leaned close to Brennalyn. “Eyes up, little rabbit. Time for your inquisition.”
Friedrich flinched when he caught her gaze. He saw no bite marks or bruising on her exposed skin or signs he’d even handled her roughly, but the stark terror in those haunting brown eyes gored him deep.
“We’ve been waiting for you, Nephew. In the meantime, my lady has learned the importance of answering every question and obeying every command with the utmost honesty and obedience.”
Tears streaked down her face though she didn’t make a sound. Friedrich tried to convey with his expression that it was all right.
Dominik pulled her long braid across her back and wrapped it twice around his forearm and wrist, fisting his hand at the base of her neck. Friedrich was going to fucking kill him.
“What is your real name, pet?”
“Brennalyn Snow.” Her voice shook, but she kept her chin high, even as it trembled.
“And what is your occupation, Miss Snow?”
She closed her eyes. “Schoolteacher of Terrington.”
“Do you know the whereabouts of the one who goes by the name of the White Lily?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me,” he ordered, leaning forward on his throne, holding her hard.
A slight hesitation. Her brow pinched together in pain. “I—I am the one called the White Lily.”
He grinned, sparing a glance down at her. “I thought you might be, my pet. You have no idea how much it pleases me to hear you say so.”
True fear—stark and harrowing and chilling to the bone—raked Friedrich from head to toe. A sheen of sweat dampened his skin. For he’d seen that look on his uncle’s face before. Countless times when he’d honed in on a treat he planned to savor with pain and sadistic pleasure.
“Dominik—” he started, using neither the affectionate title of uncle or his sovereign one.
The king sliced his hand in the air. “You’ll wait, Nephew.” He tightened his grip on her hair. She gasped and winced.
Friedrich went rigid, every muscle tight with strain. A droplet of sweat trickled down his temple.
“Did Friedrich know you were the White Lily?”
Here’s what he wanted to know. Was Friedrich truly a traitor to the Varis Crown?
Her eyes shot open, her entire frame trembling as she bit her lip, refusing to answer. Her back bowed. She screamed, the piercing cry reverberating off the ballroom walls.
“Yes!” yelled Friedrich. “I’m a traitor!”
She continued to writhe and cry, but the king kept his grip in her hair. “That’s not how it works, Nephew,” he said calmly over her. “She must answer.”
“Brennalyn!”
Her gaze shot to his, excruciating pain contorting her fair face.
“Answer him!” he ordered. “Now.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” she murmured, crumbling against the king’s throne and his leg on a sob, for he wouldn’t release his relentless grip. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
She’d endured the razor whip of Dominik’s pain, all to try and protect him. To keep him from harm. Friedrich gathered his love for this woman and let it settle in his chest, fortifying his armor against the evil bastard holding their fates in his hands.
“Brennalyn,” he said with coolness and calm. “Answer whatever he asks truthfully.”
His uncle laughed. “There’s nothing more to ask.”
He stood, abruptly dropping his morbid humor. Brenna gasped and went up on her knees as he pulled her head against his thigh. Every wince, every gasp of pain gouged out another chunk of Friedrich’s heart.
“I knew you were a disloyal bastard. Betraying your own kind. Your own blood!” The king sniffed in disgust. “Just like your mother.”
The room crackled with sinister energy, roiling like waves on a violent sea. The soldiers at arms awaited the signal from the king. The Bloodguard and Grant appeared at ease, but their grim observance of this sickening display had charged the air. Every time he pulled at her, hurt her, Friedrich sensed a cataclysmic shift within himself, like notches falling into their dark place where they belonged. His canines, top and bottom, protruded with wicked sharpness, ready to draw blood, to chew through sinew and bone. Claws pricked and unsheathed from beneath his nails.
And now the mention of his poor mother.
“That’s right,” he finally said, voice guttural and thick with loathing. “I am just like my mother. I despised the likes of my father. But not nearly as much as I hate you, Uncle.”
Dominik’s eyes narrowed, but Friedrich went on quickly.
“Still,” he emphasized, drawing his uncle’s icy gaze. “I know what you want of me.”
“And what is that?” Disdain dripped from his tongue.
“You need another Varis to populate your vampire army. And though it disgusts you, I am a descendent of your bloodline. I’ll stay. I’ll help you transform all the men you need…” Grant shifted behind him. Mikhail, too. They didn’t understand. They didn’t know what his uncle was truly capable of. “As long as you release her right now. Let the Bloodguard take her safely away.”
Brennalyn tried to shake her head, but the fist in her hair kept her still. She whimpered then bit her lip again, sinking into silence.
“I don’t need you,” sneered his uncle.
“Yes, you do. There’s only so much blood you and the queen can spare at one time. Your brothers obviously aren’t assisting you in your venture of wiping out entire villages. Perhaps King Grindal is helping, but no one knows, for he hasn’t been seen in quite some time.”
Dominik huffed, narrowing his gaze. Transforming a human to a vampire could only be done by drinking the blood of a pure Varis descendant. And there were only so many of those with that power.
“All that is left is the son of the sister you despised. And while you may believe you have enough soldiers already, you don’t. The Black Lily grows daily.”
The king grunted with disdain. “And you would betray Marius? The resistance? All for this girl?”
He’d betray the whole fucking world for her. That should’ve struck fear into his soul, marked him with sorrow, regret, but it didn’t. At that moment, he knew one thing above all others. A truth that burned brighter than the nearest star. There was no world without her in it.
His gaze shifted down to Brenna, holding her as gently as he could from a distance. “Yes.”
The king perused the men at his back then returned to him. He tugged gently on Brennalyn to rise. She clamored to her feet, steadying herself with a hand wrapped around his forearm. When she stood, she released him. Dominik unwound his wrist from her braid, slipping his fingers loosely around her nape and massaging.
“You are a pretty little rabbit,” he crooned down at her. His head snapped to Friedrich, seething rage reeking from him. “But I think not. Traitors die.”
With a whip of his claw through the air, he sliced open Brennalyn’s throat. Red spurted a fine line of spray as her limbs buckled beneath her and Dominik dropped her with sadistic glee.
“No!”
Glass shattered. A giant brown hart wolf leaped onto the ballroom floor, snapped his jaws over the head of a Legionnaire and ripped his head from its shoulders. The headless body fell to the floor as other fighters flooded the room. The Bloodguard blurred. Soldiers swung swords. But Friedrich dove in a blinding rush toward Brennalyn’s bleeding form.
The king leaped from the dais, blocking him with a punch to the chest. A demon broke free from Friedrich. Swiping with brutal force and speed, he clawed the king’s cheek and jaw, lacerating down his throat. Blood sprayed. Dominik twisted away with bellowing rage, barreling backward into the hart wolf as he clutched at his bleeding throat in disbelief. The wolf spun and gnashed teeth at the king, corralling him away from Friedrich. The ferocious beast lunged and latched onto the king’s thick arm. He roared in rage and pain, clawing deep on the wolf’s shoulder. They tumbled away, locked in combat.
Wasting not a second, he sped to her side and gently scooped her in his arms. She gagged and choked, blood gurgling out of her mouth and bubbling at the laceration in her throat where the windpipe was severed.
“God, no. Please, Brennalyn.”
Two men in battle, moving in vampire speed, slashed and cut with clanging blades, grappling onto the dais toward them.
Cradling her to his chest, he murmured against her temple, “I’m going to get us out of here then take care of you. Hold on, my love.”
Speeding out of the ballroom was more of a feat than he’d thought. Maneuvering through the mayhem, he caught sight of Marius swinging a broadsword, removing a Legionnaire’s arm with a deft slice. Near him was his wife, Arabelle, leader of the Black Lily, wielding a long, thin saber, her blonde braid cutting through the air in counterpoint to her blade, her expression deadly. Other brawny men, human warriors not vampire, held their own with the fierce soldiers, fighting alongside the mighty warriors of the Bloodguard. The Black Lily had arrived. Blades clashed, steel against steel. Grunts and cries of fury and pain echoed off the walls of the king’s grand room of pleasure, filling with death and blood.
But Friedrich had one razor-sharp goal. Finally making it through the melee, he shifted faster, barreling into the first room he found off the grand foyer. A parlor. Empty. Carrying her to the chaise, he nuzzled her close, whispering in her ear.
“There’s only one way to save you, kitten. And I’m going to do it whether you want it or not. You surrendered to me, remember?” He brushed a kiss on her brow. “I can’t let you go.”
She couldn’t form words, a stream of blood slipping from her mouth, her dark eyes drifting shut.
Without pause, he lifted his wrist to his teeth and opened his vein with a savage bite. His lifeblood poured forth. He thrust the wound to her mouth, letting it drip down her throat.
“Drink, Brennalyn.”
Her eyes closed, she didn’t move, seemingly lifeless.
“Your children need you,” he murmured. “I need you.”
No movement. Nothing. His blood dribbled from the side of her mouth, mingling with her own.
“For fuck’s sake, drink, Brennalyn,” he commanded in the duke’s dominant voice.
Her eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. Her lips slid wider and she sucked, her throat muscles working. A sob of relief escaped his throat. He watched with savage possessiveness as the woman who owned him heart and soul, the first human he’d ever allowed, drank his vampire blood.
And she drank deep.