Slaying the Vampire Conqueror(108)

My prince had no horns. But he was the most monstrous of them all.

From up here, he was only a shadow amongst his followers, but I knew what those shadows hid.

Claws. Fangs. Slitted pupils. A tail that had swept in agitation the one time I’d properly seen him.

More animal than fae.

I didn’t bother to keep the sneer from my face—they couldn’t see me up here in the theatre’s labyrinthine catwalks.

Eric and I sat above the stage, legs dangling. The prince had quite a set-up in his partially ruined palace with its own theatre. The walkways up here were chaotic and jumbled, some repaired. Below, an impressive thrust stage extended into the seating, allowing the audience to sit on three sides.

It was my favourite stage set-up, giving me the opportunity to perform left and right, making eyes at my spectators, angling my poses to best excite them. Tonight, I’d have one focus, though. He sat right at the end of the stage, front and centre, in a large, gilded chair.

At my side, on the far more mundane seat of the catwalk’s timber, Eric chewed a cuticle. His sovereign ring caught the light, the little flower engraved in its flat surface glinting.

“You’ll ruin your hands.” I gave him a sidelong look.

With a huff, he thrust his fingers into his lap. But a moment later, he was chewing his lip.

“I’ll be fine.” I squeezed his thigh, running my thumb along solid muscle. They were quite impressive muscles, too, thanks to hours rehearsing and performing on the trapeze.

He pressed his lips together. “Hmm.”

My reassurance was a lie. And from his reaction, he knew it.

I didn’t expect to survive the night. But as long as I was successful, as long as I ripped apart that bastard prince with my iron blade, it didn’t matter.

“Are you sure about this, Zita?”

Not my real name, of course. Average women from Albion didn’t have such exotic names. That was exactly why I’d chosen it for the stage.

The great and beautiful Zita will spin impossible feats before your very eyes. It had much more of a ring to it than Marigold will dance in a suspended hoop and try not to fall and break her neck.

In performance, it was all about the sell.

“Am I sure? Hmm, I don’t know.” I pulled a thoughtful face, touching my chin. “It’s only been a decade in the making. Let me think… Of course I’m bloody sure. That bastard thinks he got away with it. It’s about time his past caught up with him.” My smile was stiff and sharp—it might’ve looked more like a snarl.

Eric’s jaw flexed as he searched my eyes and finally inclined his head.

Below, the jugglers—a dozen brothers and sisters who lit up the stage with constant movement—took their marks, ready to form a pyramid for their frenetic finale.

That was my cue to get ready.

Heart keeping constant time despite the speeding music, I rose into a crouch. “Aren’t you going to tell me to break a leg?”

“You don’t need luck,” he muttered, eyes still on the Lightning Siblings and their leaping flame.

With a scoff, I pecked his cheek. Then, on impulse, instead of heading to my mark, I cupped his jaw and pulled him to face me. His dark eyes widened, glinting in the light spilling from the stage.

I took my time kissing him—it might be my last, after all—and finished by nibbling his lower lip. His groan was soft, but the fact I’d drawn it from him made my resolve all the harder.

Before I could turn away and finally act upon that resolve, he gripped my arm. “I love you, Zita.”

I blinked at him, replaying the words.

If I’d been another girl in another life, in another place and time, my heart might’ve skipped in my chest. My stomach might’ve fluttered like butterflies on a summer afternoon. My skin might’ve warmed with happiness or pleasure or the simple rightness of a handsome young man telling me he loved me.

But ifs were not reality.

I was me, and this was my life.

Once upon a time, I’d loved him, perhaps.

Before.

I couldn’t really remember how that had felt, only the fleeting thoughts that went with it. The way I’d watched him practise on the trapeze. The way I’d look away when he caught me. The way I’d envied my sister when he watched her perform, while I skulked around helping backstage, unseen in the shadow cast by her brilliant light.

She might as well have been a different person for all I’d changed since then.

That girl would’ve giggled or smiled or sighed at his confession of love.

But me?

I felt nothing.

My chest was a cavern that could never be filled.

Only one thing would end that yawning emptiness.

And tonight, I’d have it.





2





A hush descended over the theatre as darkness filled the stage. My heart was a lead weight in my chest these days, but this anticipation was the closest I got to joy. The bated breath of a whole audience waiting for me.

With a deep inhale, I settled back against my hoop, thighs holding me as I curved along its inside edge like the crescent moon. It lowered into place, stopping smoothly, and the spotlight hit me.

The music hadn’t yet begun, so I heard the collective intake of breath as my skin-tight costume sent motes of light scattering around the auditorium.