Lothaire (Immortals After Dark 12)

Lying to yourself, Lothaire?

When he intoned to the court, "I will see my council, alone," subjects scattered as if they were on fire. It was time for a meeting with the royals, now that he knew them intimately-from routinely spying on them. "Clear the gallery. Including you, Hag."

She glared, no doubt wishing she'd never accepted her position as royal oracle.

After his coronation, a formal affair that was farcically mired in tradition, Lothaire had traced to Hag's for a potion-to erase Elizabeth from his memory completely.

The fey's home had been deserted, looking as if it hadn't been lived in for a hundred years. No scents lingered, no footsteps in the sand leading away from the entrance.

He'd traced to the nearest town to make a phone call, stealing a cell phone from its distracted owner-some f**kwit who'd been saving orphans from an inferno or some such-then dialed Hag's number. "Where the hell are you?"

"Away. I don't want to get in the middle of you and Elizabeth."

"The middle!" he'd roared, regretting that he'd struck Hag's name from his ledger. "If you're not with me, you're against me-there is no middle! You're my goddamned soothsayer."

"And some of your enemies have discovered our connection. I'm being pursued, as we speak, by the king and queen of the rage demons. They seek my aid to find you-as well as the queen's sister, who's been missing since the breakout on the prison island. Good luck to them with the latter," she'd said cryptically. "Mariketa the Awaited, Portia the Stone Sorceress, and many more nip at my heels. In any case, your business is concluded, your tasks complete."

"Not all of them." One left. He still wanted the Horde crown, still planned to deal that retribution. "You're to be my new royal oracle. You won't be found if you're within my realm."

Since she'd arrived her attitude left much to be desired. Even now she glared at him before leaving the room.

Once he and the five royals were alone, Lothaire took his time studying them. All were unmated.

Trehan was blooded, but had no Bride to show for it. Mirceo was the youngest of the males, only thirty, and would soon freeze into his immortality, losing all sexual ability. His heartbeat was erratic-and slowing.

His sister, Kosmina, was too immature to even contemplate a male of her own.

Lothaire had no idea whether Viktor's or Stelian's heart beat. They both used an old spell to cloak it. Which Lothaire found intriguing.

Viktor would probably have no time to rut anyway, since all he did was fight. I've met ghouls who were more peaceable.

And of the sixth royal, the hidden one they didn't think he knew about? My investigation continues. . . .

With a bored air, Lothaire turned to Stelian. "None of my subjects asked a boon of their king?"

The big vampire shook his head. "They fairly much live in fear of you."

"Whyever is that?" he asked blandly.

Grinning, Mirceo asked, "How are you finding your accommodations, Uncle?" He was the head of the castle guard. He liked Lothaire, found him amusing because he was unpredictable.

As I once found Elizabeth.

"They're adequate," Lothaire answered, not a lie, though his sitting room was the size of a ballroom. If he weren't a puzzle master, he could get lost in his labyrinthine new castle. "Why, Mirceo, I don't believe your heart has beat much since you've come in." Not more than one thundering spurt. "And you no longer need to breathe?"

The young vampire stifled his stricken expression. "Unfortunately, this is true, Uncle." He acted stoic about it, but in secret, he was out each night frantically screwing anything that moved, as randy as Lothaire had been in the same situation ages ago.

Just last night, Mirceo had been happily tonguing a female's br**sts while a male suckled him-until poor Mirceo had . . . lost enthusiasm.

"Fear not," Lothaire said, "you probably won't even notice that it

seems like everyone else in the world but you is constantly f**king like animals."

With one comment, Lothaire could make both Mirceo and his prudish sister deeply uncomfortable. Like bowling a spare.

Stelian quickly changed the subject. "You've been traveling a great deal." As the oldest of the royals, he was the Gatekeeper, the most powerful position after king. Stelian was the one who decided who would enter or leave Dacia, and he alone taught his people how to use the mist to go out undetected.

He'd seemed surprised-and disgruntled-that Lothaire had learned to control it so easily.

But Stelian was quick to add that only he knew all the esoteric powers of the mist.

Give me time.

Nevertheless, the Gatekeeper must have been doing a damned fine job if even the Book of Lore hadn't tagged Dacia. From his spying, Lothaire knew that Stelian was easygoing-until someone tried to leave without authorization.

Then? Even Lothaire had raised a brow at his chilling response.

"I do travel much," Lothaire agreed. To shore up his sanity even more, he often returned to his apartment and took Elizabeth's scent into him, burying his face in her silk nightgowns, her pillow.

Though it wasn't the same as touching her, her scent-coupled with their blood tie-was enough to get him through most nights.

He wondered what the Daci would think of their new king if they found out he carried his Bride's lingerie in his pocket at all times.

But then, what maddened vampire king didn't carry his queen's lingerie in his pocket?

"The capital is boring," he told Stelian. It was-even though other species were welcomed here. Provided they never left.

Which meant there were nymphs to take care of randy young vampires like Mirceo.

"You do remain within the mist when you go abroad?" Stelian asked. "Unseen by all?"

"How else would I be able to return?" Lothaire-speak. He'd ordered Hag to devise a beacon for him alone-because sometimes Lothaire liked to be seen.

Part of him wanted to outlaw the mist completely, to make his subjects announce themselves to the world. Otherwise, Lothaire was just the king of a realm that no one knew existed.

In other words, he was the tree in the forest that silently fell-when no one was around to be crushed.

But the cocooning mist did protect the Daci from invasion and plague. Plus, with every excursion, they were basically all out spying, which he wholeheartedly endorsed. . . .

His impetuous cousin Viktor said, "I understand that you observed our soldiers sparring. What did you think of them?" He was a general, and justifiably proud of his battalions.

The army was honed, disciplined, and masterful with swords. In fact, the Daci were obsessed with all medieval arms-maces, throwing daggers, whips, battle-axes.

As soon as a Dacian wielded a weapon, a coldblooded single-

mindedness suffused him. Already ruled by logic, he became even more focused, able to predict his opponent's moves.

Much as I do.

"The soldiers were a shade too worried about martial honor," Lothaire answered. All that skill and might-and yet they waged no wars but among themselves? "Not to worry, Viktor. I'll see to that. In any case, they will serve me well enough in my war against the Horde. Unless you're concerned about the defense of my hidden kingdom."

Viktor tensed, clenching his fists beneath the table. Blooded or no, he had a brash, querulous nature that ensured he was a loner among the reserved and logical Daci.

And Lothaire's fair "niece"?

Though Kosmina was twenty, she'd been sheltered by the overprotective male royals to a damaging degree.

Apparently, Lothaire's na**d male body had been the first she'd ever seen.

Pity, Mina, that you'll forever find all others lacking in comparison to Uncle Lothaire.

Yet though she was so ignorant of sex and sin as to be childlike, Kosmina was a killing machine, a mistress at arms with blazing reflexes.

Half simpering schoolgirl, half lethal assassin.

Lothaire had noticed that her ears were pointed, compliments of some fey ancestor-who'd also gifted her with that uncanny speed. He asked her now, "And what is your function? Or do you exist only to be coddled?"

Face hot, she stuttered, "I-I . . ."

Lothaire talked over her, saying, "I understand you have never ventured outside of Dacia, wouldn't know an automobile if it hit you in the face, which it might-if you're not, say, familiar with f**king cars."

Her eyes went wide.

He should send her forth from Dacia, dispatching her to investigate a particularly rambunctious covey of nymphs in Louisiana. "Kosmina, you are distantly related to a female called Ivana the Bold. Act like it."

Covering her mouth with her hand, she traced away.

Lastly, he turned to his cousin Trehan, an assassin in charge of an elite band of killers. He was the most dignified of all the cousins, the most "Dacian" of them, and so the least amusing to spy on. He often stared off into nothing, doubtless thinking about whatever Bride had blooded him, then left him.

Lothaire steepled his fingers. "Ah, Trehan, only a female could make you look like that."

"You would know," he replied icily.

While Mirceo was out glutting himself in every murky corner of Dacia, Trehan always traced back to his apartments alone, spending his lusts into his own hand, often multiple times in a night-while Lothaire rolled his eyes in disgust.

Yet don't I do the same?

Not for long; Lothaire had decided that after this meeting, he would reacquaint himself with other females.

He was an all-powerful king, and he'd definitely read interest as he'd walked the cobblestone streets of his realm. Evidently, his subjects still enjoyed pretty on the outside.

Yes, an all-powerful monarch was about to commence his hunt for a bevy of concubines. So where was the happiness?

Lost.

He now knew what he was missing, because he'd felt it briefly-even before he'd had his crown.

Lothaire had concluded that each being had a unique key to his or her happiness. Mine was Elizabeth. Because of her actions, she'd robbed Lothaire of his key.

His fangs sharpened. He'd killed others for less. If you're not with me, you're against me. . . . His instinct was to punish, his mind seizing on revenge.

"My liege?" Stelian said, brows raised. "What revenge are we contemplating this eve?"

Have I spoken aloud? "We'll resume this at a later date," Lothaire bit out, then traced to his suite, pacing from one side of his bedroom to the other.

All he'd wanted was to suffer no more betrayals. He hadn't even desired Elizabeth's love, not particularly. But he had believed that her loyalty would follow it.

Why had he been unable to win her?

In the past, any female he'd bedded would follow him around for years. But not his Bride, the one he'd wanted above all others.

She didn't want me back. And I can't understand why.

As he tried to solve the puzzle that was Elizabeth, his mind would race through their past interactions. I never told her how I felt. But for f**k's sake, I tried to die for her. She knew me better than anyone; she was clever enough to figure out my feelings.

Maybe I ought to have told her she was clever . . . ?

He remembered deeming Saroya so arrogant that she would never suspect someone might not desire her. He remembered feeling as if there was a lesson inherent for him.

I was so arrogant I never realized Elizabeth wouldn't desire me as I did her.

Most nights he kept himself busy, but in the lulls he could feel her, could perceive her presence across their blood tie. Though he'd tried to delve into her emotions, the distance was too great, and he could barely discern his own, let alone another's.

All he knew was that she felt no fear. So she must be safe.

What am I going to do without her?

When he managed to sleep, he reached for her again and again, aching for her with both his body and his soul.

He despised her for that!

His heart pained him as nothing had before, made him want to howl with misery. A sharp, stabbing agony flared with every beat.

"Elizavetta!" he roared to the ceiling, clawing at his chest. He hated that his heart beat for her alone, that she'd brought it to life. . . .

Brought me to life.

Like an animal chewing off its own trapped, rotting limb, Lothaire dug at his chest.

Chapter 55

Package!" someone cried from downstairs.

From Ellie's temporary room, she heard what sounded like a dozen Valkyries speeding down the stairs.

-"Who's it for?"

-"Gotta be me!"

-"Shut up!"

-"No, you shut up!"

Ellie sighed, still marveling at how acquisitive her Valkyrie jailers were. She'd seen them stealing clothes in complex heists, sword-fighting over jewelry, pouncing on each other to wrest away new weapons.

Now that she'd learned how to trace, Ellie considered teleporting down there and scooping them all, but she didn't have the energy. Her appetite had deserted her. Not to crave food-or blood? But compared to the rich flavor of Lothaire's dark, dark blood, the bagged stuff was nauseating.

It'd been over three weeks since she'd been brought to Val Hall, and still she waited for him to come rescue her.

In that time, Ellie had forgiven Lothaire for turning her into a vampire. Though she occasionally felt like a circus freak-with her eyes growing black and her fangs sharpening for seemingly no good reason-being a vampire wasn't too bad.