That’s when realization struck. His heart beat a ragged tattoo in his chest. Voice Voodoo, Mary Ann called the vampire ability to speak and manipulate. Right now, Aden was using Voice Voodoo. He didn’t know how, wasn’t sure it would last, but damned if he wouldn’t enjoy it.
You hated when Victoria used Voice Voodoo on others.
Well, that was before.
Before you became an asshole? Power is going to your head, and if you don’t fight this, you’ll stay like this forever.
Great. He was still talking to himself. And wasn’t that a wonderful development. One half of him loathed the other half of him. At this rate, he’d soon be fist fighting himself.
“Tell him to forget us,” Victoria begged. “Please.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Because Aden could use a human ally. Because having eyes and ears on the outside was a good thing. Because he’d said so. “Seth. Go.”
Seth went, leaving Aden alone with his vampires. The tiers were now overflowing with bodies. A sea of pale faces, both male and female. There was Draven at the front, a fake smile aimed up at him.
Lauren and Stephanie, Victoria’s sisters, were up front, as well. They were scowling at him. Scowls that did nothing to diminish their beauty. Both were blonde, but one had blue eyes and the other green. One was a warrior, the other a wannabe human.
And there were the silver-haired councilmen, paler than all the rest because they’d been alive so much longer and could no longer tolerate the sunlight.
Every vampire wore some type of black robe, and every slave wore some type of white robe. White and black, white and black, interspersed, hypnotizing.
Shifters in full wolf form lined the bottom of the rows, guarding their beloved vamps and watching him warily. While the vamps might follow him blindly, the wolves never would. Oh, they would serve whoever was crowned king, but he would have to work for their affection.
Affection was important to cultivate, for the wolves produced the substance that could slaughter Aden’s people.
“I brought you here for two reasons,” he said, not deigning to rise. Silence greeted the announcement. “The first, to remind you that I am alive and well.”
Now, murmurs arose. Whether they were of approval or disappointment, he wasn’t sure and didn’t care.
“The second reason is to remind you of what I can do. Beasts,” he called, ready to make his point. “Come to me.”
Expressions morphed to differing degrees of horror. Someone whimpered. Someone else groaned. Behind him, he heard a scream. Then, shadows began to rise over a few of the vampires. A few more. More. All. Dark wings expanded, flapping, filling empty air.
Slowly those shadows solidified, becoming monsters straight out of nightmares. Snouts formed and scarlet eyes glowed. Thick, dragonlike torsos rose…rose…and those solidified as well. Hoofed feet appeared next and stomped down the steps.
Vampires screeched and scrambled away. These monsters had been inside them, but when freed, even they couldn’t control them. And usually, a beast went for its host first, chomping and chewing until vampire organs were mush inside the supposedly indestructible skin. This time, the beasts raced for Aden.
He stood, cast a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure that Victoria was safe—she’d pressed herself against the far wall, her eyes wide with fear. Chompers stood beside her, clawed feet scraping at the dais as he tried to hold himself back, his nostrils flared, his fangs exposed, his saliva blowing at Victoria with every exhalation he made.
“To me,” Aden reminded him.
That beastly head swung around, and their gazes met. Like a favored pet who knew he’d get a treat, Chompers lost his air of aggression and clomped his way over. His tongue rolled out and his tail wagged. Then Aden was surrounded, being licked and nudged by others.
Chompers shoved his way to the front, snorting once, twice. He seemed to…frown?
“What’s wrong?” Aden asked him.
The beast sniffed, sniffed, and yes, he was indeed frowning.
“Do I smell different, boy?” Like a vampire?
A nod.
“And you don’t like it?”
Another nod.
The cold part of Aden took offence. The other part of him, still buried so deeply, wanted to fix it. “Come on,” he said, scratching behind Chompers’ ear. “Let’s all go outside and play. Maybe that’ll help.”
None of the vampires protested as he led the beasts outside the throne room and through the hallway and foyer. The floor shook, and the furniture rattled. Knickknacks—probably priceless vases and things collected throughout the ages—fell and shattered.
Aden didn’t pause, didn’t ask them to be careful, and finally stepped into the gloomy morning, his army behind him, practically ripping the front door from its hinges as they hurried to once again surround him.
He picked up a few sticks and tossed them. Those sticks were chased and grabbed between strong jaws in seconds, then brought back to him. How surreal they must look out here, playing fetch. A true stranger-than-fiction moment.
For a while, he was able to forget his troubles. But deep down, he suspected that the moment he left this clearing, his life would change—again—and still not for the better.
EIGHT
RILEY OF THE MANY NAMES raced through forests, along paved, graveled and dirt roads, through neighborhoods, congested shop ways and back alleys, his stride never slowing. Not when the sun fought free of the patchwork sky and burned him despite the chill in the air, not when that same chill agonized his lungs, and not when the moon at last appeared, a half crescent of gold he so wanted to howl at. Hour after hour disappeared, the miles eaten up.
To distract himself, he let his mind roll with everything he’d been called throughout the years. His brothers called him Riley the Randy. Or Riley the Shut the Hell Up. Victoria had recently begun to call him Riley the Pain Who Never Lets Me Get Away With Anything. And it was usually said with a stomp of her royal foot.
To enroll in Aden’s school, he’d taken Connall as a last name. Connall meant “great, mighty hound” in the ancient language. Victoria had suggested Ulrich, which meant “female warrior.” One of the first jokes she’d ever cracked. He’d been so proud of her, he’d almost done it. But Riley Ulrich was a little too foreign-sounding when he’d wanted only to blend in.
Maybe he should have gone with Riley Smith. Or Riley Jones.
Some of his past girlfriends had called him Riley the Asshat. Or, his personal favorite, Riley the I Hope You Contract VD, You Rotten Piece of Shit.
His relationships never tended to work out, for whatever reason. “Whatever” was always his fault, he knew. And not just because the girls told him so. He purposefully kept himself at a distance, for their good as well as his own. He had a possessive streak that went bone deep, and if he ever decided a girl was his, well, he’d keep her. Forever.
Sure, the girls might have wanted him in the moment, or even for a few weeks or months into the relationship, but that could change. She could change.
He wouldn’t change.
You couldn’t teach old dogs new tricks because the old dogs just freaking didn’t care to learn. Riley had lived over a hundred years. Among humans, he was old. Therefore, he wasn’t learning anything new.
Among his own people, he was still a babe, but that didn’t help his argument, so he wasn’t going to toss that into the equation.
Also, the girlfriend, when she truly got to know him, might not understand his lifestyle, might not like it and might decide to leave him. But if he’d taken things to the next level, it would be too late. Anyone you brought to Vlad’s home stayed in Vlad’s home.
Vlad wasn’t calling the shots anymore, but Riley understood the reasoning behind the edict. Protection of the species. Still. By bringing someone into the fold, you opened yourself up to challenges.