Queen (Bloodline Vampires 3)

The guilt I’ve harbored since leaving my men behind disintegrates. I’m not one to play judge, jury, and executioner to humans, but if these two think to play predator, I’ll show them they aren’t the scariest thing in this bar.

It’s pathetically easy to pretend to drink the beer. Really, the most challenging part is not throwing up from the scent of it. Halfway through, I let myself list a little to the side. Mr. Right Side is there to catch me, sliding a beefy arm around my waist. “Looks like someone’s had too much.”

Mr. Left Side chuckles. “Better see her safely home.” He even goes so far as to pay for my beer. What a gentleman. The bartender gives them a knowing look, which only serves to set my teeth on edge. They have done this before. I’d stake my life on it. I mostly keep my feet, but I force myself to half-limp, letting them take my weight.

I understand the bartender’s look a few minutes later when they haul me out of the bar and we find him waiting around back. He brushes his hands off on his pants. “Let’s make this quick. I only have fifteen minutes.”

I don’t feel guilty at all as I strike.

I might be no match for Malachi and Rylan and Wolf in the sparring ring, but these three are only human. They barely have time to react before I deliver harsh blows to their temples. Not quite enough to kill them—at least I don’t think so—but they go down in boneless heaps.

“You fuckers,” I spit on the ground. I want to kick them a few times for good measure but if the bartender only had fifteen minutes to get up to no good, then I have fewer than that before someone comes looking for him.

I hurry to the truck and drive it around back. All three of them are still unconscious as I toss their bodies into the bed of the truck and get out of there as quickly and quietly as possible. The drive back to the house seems to take forever, but at least it’s easy enough to remember the route.

As I take the dirt road toward the house, I wait for guilt to sweep over me. I didn’t hesitate. Even if they hadn’t trying to hurt me, I would have let them think they’d seduced me into going home with them. The end result would be the same. I get no points just because they turned out to be rotten to the core.

The guilt never comes.

Malachi and the other two are nearly exactly where I left them. They’ve separated a bit, but they don’t seem to have the strength to even climb onto the couches. A sliver of fear goes through me but I don’t pause long enough to indulge in it. They have to be okay. I can’t let myself go down a mental road where they aren’t. Once they feed, they’ll feel better. I’m sure of it. “We’re going to stain the rug, but there’s no help for it.”

Wolf cracks his eyes open. “What did you do, love?”

“What I needed to.” No point in explaining beyond that. I go back outside and start hauling the unconscious men inside. It’s only as I dump the final unconscious man next to Malachi that I register the fact I haven’t felt the need for a nap since arriving at this house. Before this point, I was taking three naps a day, sleeping more than I was awake. I’ve been going for hours and still feel relatively fresh.

Apparently Azazel was onto something with that supplemental shield, though I’ll be damned before I admit as much to him. If I ever see him again, that is. It’s probably better if I don’t.

Though I half expect the men to continue questioning me, hunger prevails. Wolf moves first, grabbing the bartender and biting deep. The man groans softly but doesn’t stir. Good. It’s one thing to attack them when they intended to attack me first. I don’t know how I’d feel about them struggling and begging for their lives now.

Then again, these are bloodline vampires we’re talking about. Their bites bring great pleasure. After that first contact, no one is fighting anything. They’re too busy riding the waves of desire and begging for more.

I certainly was.

It takes less time than one would expect to drain a human body of blood. By the end of it, we have three corpses and all three men look much closer to themselves. I am almost convinced I can see their faces start to look healthier, their gauntness melting away.

Malachi surges to his feet and pulls me into his arms. “Are you hurt?”

My laugh feels a little broken. I’m not the one who has spent nearly a week in my father’s not so tender care. I might be permanently nauseous, but the worst I’ve had to deal with is Grace being cranky in the mornings and throwing up everything I eat. Small things by comparison. “I’m better off than you were.”