Dark Embrace (Principatus) (2 page)

She grunted at the humiliating thought. She didn’t want to think about her dreams now. They were too disturbing. It was as if with every second she denied herself sex her body demanded it more. With every night that passed without sexual release, the succubus she once was edged closer to physical control of her body and soul.

Once was? Or still am?

A dry snort sounded at the back of her nose. If only she knew she could have sex without the risk of draining her partner. She’d queried the Powers since her rebirth, but of course they’d yet to answer her.

She shook her head and lengthened her stride. What she had to do was quit the self-pity and deal with it. Plenty of people existed without sex—nuns, priests, eunuchs… She needed to get over it, tell her body to shut the fuck up, ignore the ache in the pit of her belly and concentrate on what she’d been reborn to do—kill monsters.

Zeroing her senses in on the tourist-snacking vampire—one such monster overdue to be terminated—she smiled. He’d walked this very sidewalk only a few minutes earlier. His filth still hung on the air, his soulless rot like a slick film of decay coating every breath she drew into her being. She was close. Very close.

Pumping her fingers into loose fists, she turned a corner, the flashing lights and sounds of Kings Cross fading behind her. She moved quickly, almost running down the dim street, past silent houses and closed shops. Her Principatus force stirred within, eager for release, the putrid scent of the vampire feeding it. Her skin tingled and her muscles burned, but she squashed the transformation before it took hold of her. The last thing she needed was some unsuspecting human stumbling upon her in her other form. To put it mildly, it would scare the hell out of them. Besides, she’d only just bought the leather pants she currently wore. She really wasn’t ready to have them stretched beyond repair, thank you very much. Nor did she want the classic Iron Man T-shirt hugging her torso torn as her wings burst from her—

A muffled cry halted that line of thought, and Inari stiffened, her skin prickling with increasing heat. Curse it. The bastard had someone.

Hurry.

The vampire’s scent flooded into her soul and she broke into a sprint. Another cry fell in the quiet night, this one not so muffled but far weaker. Whoever the bloodsucker was feeding on, they were running out of time.

Hurry.
Now.

Rounding the corner, she pushed herself faster, past the sleeping houses, the empty cars, her pulse pounding in her ears, her senses locked on the vamp.

She finally saw him.

He had a man pressed to the front fender of an RV, one hand gripping the squirming human’s groin, the other fisted in his dreadlocked hair, holding his head back so his neck bowed in a violent curve, granting greater access to the blood-rich jugular beneath his exposed skin. Inari absorbed the sight in a heartbeat, noting the stunned disbelief on the man’s face, his flailing arms, the blood trickling down his throat like a line of liquid life turned black by the darkness of the street.

She bit back a savage snarl and threw herself forward.

Her shoulder hit the vampire hard, slamming into the side of his head. Hot blood splattered Inari’s arm as the impact yanked the bloodsucker’s fangs from the man’s throat. A gurgling scream ripped through the air, but she kept her focus on her target. Vampires never died easily. They were always too stupid to accept their fate.

This one, it seemed, was particularly dumb.

He fought against her, smashing a fist into her jaw even as they hit the asphalt in front of the car. Black stars erupted in her head, but she ignored the pain, springing to her feet before he could land another blow. He jack-knifed himself up off the road, fangs bared, chin and lips glistening with blood, demonic stare locked on her face. “Gonna fuck you—”

Inari snapped out a swift sidekick before he could finish, aiming her booted heel for his unbeating heart.

The vampire jerked to the right, blocking her kick, his arm swinging in a dark blur to strike her ankle with a crunching blow. White pain shot up her leg, but Inari didn’t falter. She spun into a back kick, driving her heel high against his chest. He flailed backward, face distorting in stunned fury.

And turned and fled down the street.

“At least he’s smart enough to know he should run away,” she muttered, fixing his back with a level stare. She flicked the human crumpled on the sidewalk a quick look, grim relief filling her at the sight of his moving chest. She’d reached him just in time. Now to end the vampire’s existence.

She took off after the escaping vamp, her own speed matching his. Which meant she’d hurt him when she’d crash-tackled him to the road. Unless she transformed into her Principatus form, she couldn’t outrun a vamp. No matter how many hours she spent working out at the gym.

Focus locked on the sprinting—albeit, sprinting with a limp—vampire, she pushed more power into her legs, letting the force of her assassin’s soul seep into her muscles. Blistering heat surged through her, scalding the walls of her veins, scorching the cells of her body. And still she ran faster, holding back the Principatus buried within her even as she leached its power, drawing closer to the fleeing vampire. Closer.

She leapt without a sound, landing on his back and driving him to the ground a second before he could cut right and disappear into a narrow, unlit alley.

He hissed, but the furious sound was cut short as she snatched a fistful of his hair and smashed his face against the sidewalk. Again and again. He flailed beneath her, scrabbling at her wrists, his fingers turning into claw-tipped talons with every swipe. She snarled, ducking each one. Curse it, if she wasn’t careful he’d rip her T-shirt.

Then stop messing around, woman.

She slammed his head to the ground once more, drove her knees between his shoulder blades and snagged his left wrist with her right hand. “This is going to hurt, fucker.” She yanked his arm to the side, pulling it until his armpit was stretched taut.

“Going to kill you, bitch,” he blustered, writhing under her knees. He was strong even with his injury. But Inari was stronger.

And seriously ticked off.

“Yeah, yeah.” She curled her lip, jerked his arm a little straighter and ground her weight into his back. “Whatever.”

She closed the fingers of her left hand around the grip of the long, silver dagger sheathed in the lining of her boot, withdrew it in a single, fluid motion and sank it to the hilt into the vampire’s armpit. Straight into the side of his unbeating heart.

A screeching wail tore from the vamp’s throat. He thrashed once, twice and then Inari was kneeling on the footpath, a man-shaped smudge of oily dust staining the concrete under her knees.

“Eww.” She crinkled her nose, the stench of instantly decomposed vampire turning the air putrid. Climbing to her feet, she slid her dagger back into its hidden sheath and stepped away from the residue of terminated vamp. “Why are bloodsuckers always so smelly?”

She bent at the waist, casting a disgusted look at the knees of her leather trousers, and straightened immediately when the back of her neck prickled with heat.

Someone was watching her. Again.

Demon
.

The word whispered through her head. She squinted into the blackness around her, seeing nothing. Why would she? It was one in the morning on a moonless night, and she was standing on the sidewalk of a quiet side street far from the bright, flashing lights of the main strip. Not even the ten-buck hookers and crack users wandered so far into Kings Cross suburbia. She was alone on the street, surrounded by silent houses, sleeping cars and the low drone of hungry mosquitoes.

And yet…

The Principatus force within her stirred. Agitated. Alert.

Wary.

Inari turned on the spot, scanning the darkness. The back of her neck prickled again, stronger this time. Hotter.

She narrowed her eyes, not for the first time wondering why the hell God had deigned to create a demon assassin capable of incomparable physical prowess without electing to add hyper-vision.

“Shit.”

Her muttered curse fell into the silence. She turned once more, her neck on fire, her gut churning. Someone was watching her, but whoever they were, they were keeping themselves hidden.

She didn’t like it. Not at all.

“What are you waiting for?” She held her arms wide, her call bouncing off the houses around her.

A bird flew out of a nearby tree, the wild beating of its wings making Inari jump. She bit back another curse, shaking her head. Fuck this. If the demon wasn’t going to show its face, she had other things to—

The fiery prickles on the back of her neck vanished. Just like that.

Inari frowned, far from relieved. “What the hell?”

She stood motionless, half-expecting an attack, half-convinced she’d imagined the whole thing. Something felt off. Wrong.

The night stayed silent around her. Not even the sound of the startled bird returning to its roost destroyed the stillness.

Inari let out a sharp sigh and stared into the darkness around her one last time. Nothing. With a shake of her head, she turned and ran up the road, back to the bright lights of the sexual capital of Australia. She’d make an anonymous call to the paramedics from a payphone, tell them about the human male bleeding in the gutter, give them his exact location and then find herself an empty seat in one of the Cross’ more reputable bars. It was one a.m. for Pete’s sake. If she wasn’t going to terminate some more demon ass, it was time for a coffee. If she was lucky, some idiot would try to pick her up before the sun rose and refuse to take no for an answer. At least then she could work out what was left of her agitation with a fistfight and go to bed more relaxed. Hopefully. She still needed her beauty sleep, damn it, whether she had the powers of a Principatus or not.

Ezryn Navarr strode through the ballroom, his footfalls echoing in the cavernous space, his stare fixed on the overlord and his new bride seated on a raised dais at the far end of the room. It might be customary for master vampires to pay homage to the visiting overlord within the hour of his arrival, but Ezryn never bothered with tradition—even less with any practice meant to appeal to the self-indulgent egomaniac currently ogling the lush breasts of the woman perched beside him.

Ezryn curled his lip in a silent sneer. The leader of the vampire race was a disgrace to his kind—wrapped up in his own importance, courting a dangerously disrespectful and violent attitude toward humans, obsessed with the accumulation of wealth and material possessions. The moron threw his considerable weight around without thought of consequence, his only concern the fulfillment of his every whim.

It pissed Ezryn off. A lot.

“Ho, friend Ezryn,” the overlord called, raising his hand and waving it a mere inch. His washed-out yellow gaze slid to his wife, and Ezryn’s fangs lengthened with contempt. The royal fool actually believed he could irritate Ezryn with his blatant parading? If that was the case, he was a bigger imbecile than Ezryn suspected.

Suspected? You’ve known he was an imbecile for almost seven hundred years.

The overlord flashed a wide smile, his pointed fangs glinting in the muted light from the many candles littering the ballroom. “You do us a great honor with your presence, Master Navarr.”

Ezryn suppressed the urge to snort, casting the room a disgusted glance. Candles? Dark Ones, what century did the fat fool think it was?

“Although,” the overlord continued, raising black eyebrows, “you are almost four hours late. We feared the Navarr master would not present himself to us before the sun rose.” He shot his new bride another quick look, as if eager to see her reaction to his royal disapproval.

Ezryn gave him a flat stare. “I had better things to do.”

The new bride gasped, pale skin bleaching white. She gaped at Ezryn, her eyes wide, candlelight turning her extended fangs a sick yellow.

The overlord snapped to his feet, jowls wobbling. “How dare you insult—”

“Give it a rest, Harry.” Ezryn cut him short. “Or I’ll pin you to the floor and drain you within a drop of empty like I used to.”

Haral Navarr, twin son of the first family, overlord of the vampire race, turned beet red—an interesting feat for someone deprived of sunlight for close to seven centuries. His mouth flapped in silent protest, his knuckles popping as he clenched his fists.

Ezryn shook his head, a sour taste coating the back of his tongue. “Do not fret, baby brother.” He ambled over to a long table overburdened with carafes of what could only be human blood, eyeing the ridiculously ostentatious ice sculpture of the overlord positioned amongst them. “I would not dream of harming the great leader of our people.” He pulled an apple from his inside jacket pocket and polished it on his sleeve, turning back to the royal couple. Very few of his kind could tolerate human food, his twin brother included. That Ezryn had no difficulty consuming it caused many a vampire to clench their jaw in envy—and trepidation.

Lifting the apple to his mouth, he parted his lips, letting Haral see his fangs before biting into the fruit’s flesh.

Haral narrowed his eyes, his face—so like Ezryn’s if not for the fat of indulgence—still red with anger. Or was it shame? “You will not call me ‘baby brother’, Ezryn. I ordered you to cease doing so over half a century ago.”