The vampire prince might be undead, but there were still ways to change that.
THIRTY-NINE
EVERYTHING HAPPENED SO swiftly, Camilla didn’t sense she was in danger until it was too late.
One moment she’d been on the brink of being swept up in a sea of erotic, unending lust, begging silently to forever be linked to her dark prince.
The next she was tumbling through realms. Her body felt like it was being torn apart, needles pricking and biting like teeth along every inch of her flesh. Her abductor remained a mere shadow until the portal—or whatever magic transported them—violently spit them out.
A large, cold hand shoved her to her knees.
She spun around, furious.
Whatever grit she’d clutched onto died.
Every instinct in her screamed that she should run. It wasn’t the man’s appearance as much as it was whatever she sensed comprised the fibers of him.
Tension thickened the air as they considered each other.
Outwardly, he looked like any other member of court. His clothing was simple but fine. A shirt any lord would wear tucked beneath a dark swallowtail coat. Tawny breeches fit snugly on long, toned legs. Supple leather riding boots rose to his calves.
He was powerfully built, a male made to fight.
His short chestnut hair was tousled like he either couldn’t be bothered to tame it or preferred to look wild and inspire wicked thoughts. His penetrating eyes were framed with a fringe of thick, dark lashes.
It was those arresting eyes—crimson bordering on black—that gave away what he was.
Vampire.
She swallowed thickly.
“It would be unwise to give me trouble.” His voice was gravelly, rough.
A trickle of fear paralyzed Camilla.
He crouched, leveling her with a hard look that promised violence if she didn’t play nicely. Even from this new position, nearly kneeling before her, he exuded power.
“Understand?”
Camilla nodded, her mouth suddenly as dry as the beach they’d landed on.
He looked her over once more, then stood.
“Get up, little lamb. Fix your gown.”
Camilla clutched her bodice and adjusted herself; she’d forgotten that the Prince of Envy had wrested it down in a fit of passion. It felt like hours had passed since she had been in his arms, not minutes. If she could run far enough away…
She glanced around at their surroundings, stomach sinking as her worst fears came to life.
There wasn’t anywhere to run.
Not that she would outrun a vampire. They were no longer in the woods or even close to the frozen tundra that signified the demon prince’s domain. They were on a seemingly deserted beach with black glittering sand and matching water, tendrils of fog drifting along the shore.
A pair of crimson moons hung in the sky, two watchful eyes from hell.
The air was warm, uncomfortably so.
A fact that wasn’t surprising, as vampires didn’t produce body heat.
Lord save her, Camilla was in the vampire realm and the Prince of Envy was nowhere to be seen.
As if reading her mind, the vampire said, “Your lover won’t be joining us. His kind is currently unwelcome on Malice Isle.”
Malice Isle. The island nation home to vampires was aptly named.
The very atmosphere felt threatening, foreboding, like it wanted to sink its teeth into travelers and taste their deepest fears.
To their left a tropical forest—or what had once been a tropical forest but was now thick with rot and death—stretched as far as she could see.
In the distance beyond that a Gothic tower rose high into the clouds, like a demon rising up from the Underworld, surveying its fiery domain.
A bruising shade on the horizon indicated that sunrise was not far off; if she could make it for another few moments, she stood half a chance.
“Move, little lamb.”
“Where?” Camilla asked, stalling.
She didn’t comment on the name he’d given her. The warning was clear: In his mind Camilla was on her way to slaughter. He saw no need to name his meal.
He jerked his chin to the left.
A cave mouth yawned wide, a bastion of safety for the twilight creature and certain death for Camilla. If the vampire trapped her inside, she would stand little chance of escape.
“I don’t care for the dark,” Camilla said. “Mr.…”
“Blade.” He smiled, fangs gleaming. “Now move before I make you.”
Blade didn’t give her a chance to act on her own, he hauled her to her feet and roughly pushed her toward the cave. He didn’t hide his supernatural strength, didn’t pull back like Envy must have been doing each time he touched her.
Blade dragged her across the sand, the grains seeping into her slippers, chafing her skin as she kicked her feet, scrambling for purchase. They were just outside the cave and no amount of struggling would break the vampire’s iron grip.
Blade brought his mouth to her neck, and she stilled. “Don’t forget to bow.”
He shoved her across the cave opening.
Instead of finding herself inside the cave as she’d expected, she staggered into a beautifully appointed chamber. She blinked at the gleaming black floors, her reflection wide-eyed and wild where it stared back at her.
The cave was a portal to the castle.
Camilla immediately schooled her features.
Looking like prey in a place where she was prey wouldn’t serve her.
Her attention drifted along the polished floor to the walls, black brocade shot through with crimson threads.
Her heart pounded. Her attention slid farther, to the center of the room.
A dais, a throne, and… there sat the vampire prince himself, hair pale wheat, eyes ice blue, an inhuman expression on his ageless face. He was taking her in, his gaze traveling from the top of her head, pausing on her neck, then continuing down to her feet until he dragged it back up and fastened it to her face.
He did not seem impressed. It was either very fortunate or extremely unfortunate.
Recalling what Blade had said, Camilla went to her knees, dipping her chin to her chest. Far better to play the game and live than choose defiance and end up dead.
Or worse.
She kept her attention fixed on the floor in front of her, even as a pair of buffed boots silently stepped into her line of sight, the toes gleaming silver.
He moved like a shadow.
Two icy fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to gaze back. Into the eyes of a monster.
A beautiful monster.
Camilla’s mouth went dry, her command over her body drifting away. She’d heard rumors that royal vampires were the most lethal, the most powerful, especially when they touched you. Those stories were horribly true.
The prince hadn’t even spoken yet, hadn’t done more than gently press two finger pads to her skin, and Camilla’s body was ready to give him anything he desired.
An overwhelming need to please him, to arch her neck or offer her wrist, allowing him the honor of penetrating her skin with his fangs, overtook her.
What made it more terrifying was that she remained aware of the danger, the terror of what he was doing, but she was powerless to resist. Her body wanted his venom.
His gaze turned molten as it traveled along her skin.
A few moments earlier, even more flesh had been exposed from when she and Envy had been mad with desire. Camilla silently thanked Blade for telling her to cover up; that tiny mercy was a lifeline.