Dark Embrace (Principatus) (32 page)

Except what the hell Inari Chayse had done to him.

He lowered himself into the high-back chair and opened his laptop, the brushed steel casing warm under his fingers.

The screen illuminated into instant life, the familiar home page of the
Lamia Cruor Libri—
The Blood Books—open before him. He keyed in his brother’s password, shaking his head as he always did at how easy it was to access the overlord’s personal database. Haral’s password—oracle—was a joke. However, Ezryn was not in the mood to be humored by his twin’s predictable ineptness. While it may be risky hacking
The Blood Books
, he needed more information than what he had, and unless he felt like having another conversation with Ven Watkins, which he didn’t, he knew no other way. The
Lamia Cruor Libri
contained the sum total knowledge of the vampire race and all known paranormal elements impacting on it, including all information gathered on active Principatus. If anything had been noted about Inari Chayse, it would be in here.

Keying her name into the search field, he hit
enter
, impatient irritation spearing into him when the colorful pinwheel replaced his cursor on the screen. He didn’t want to wait, curse it. Not even a few seconds. He needed information now. Surely he wasn’t being unreasonable, was—

The screen changed before he could finish the thought, flashing to a white page with five lines of text.

Teeth clenched, muscles tense, Ezryn read each line.

Inari Chayse: Principatus rebirth date unknown. Possibly mid to late twentieth century.

Demon species before rebirth: Unknown. Likely second-order. Rumor linked her to the First Horseman of the Apocalypse before rebirth. This is unconfirmed.

No known associates or affiliations.

Last known vampire termination: Aldus Hichstette. Brussels.

Current location: Sydney, Australia

That was it. Nothing else, not even an image.

Ezryn bit back a disgusted grunt. Nothing. It was as if the Dark Ones plotted with the Powers to frustrate him.

Well, almost nothing. The name Hichstette was the maiden name of Haral’s new wife. Obviously the cousin Haral had mentioned and was so readily eager to avenge.

Sitting back in his chair, he raked his fingers through his hair, staring at those five annoying lines.

What did you expect to find, Ezryn? Detailed files? An essay about Inari filling in all the blanks?

He slammed his laptop shut and curled his hand into a fist on its lid. He should have known he was grasping at straws. Why would the
Lamia Cruor Libri
contain any information of any use to him anyway? What was he looking for? Something to prove Ven Watkins a liar? Noted evidence telling him Inari was a water demon before her rebirth? A dark elf? A sprite?

You were hoping to find something,
anything
that would prove you weren’t controlled by your dick, weren’t you? Something to convince you she didn’t use her succubus force on you. Something to convince you not to carry out Haral’s command.

He scrubbed at his face, teeth clenched. That’s exactly what he was doing. And just as he had failed his brother’s order to kill her, he’d failed to find anything tonight to keep her alive.

Except his own lust.

The memory of the first moment he’d heard her moans in the Pleasure Pussy tickled at his senses, and he let out a low growl. Moans of wanton release and raw hunger. He should have known what she was then—a creature of sex and power. Why hadn’t he killed her there and then?

Because your dick was in control.

No, it wasn’t his dick. Lust had been in control. The succubus had been in control. What better food source for a sex demon than a master vampire, and not just any master vampire but the first born of the First Family, the twin son born to be overlord.

So who was playing whom here? Were the Dark Ones so bored they must use him as a toy now? Why would fate place him in Inari’s sexual control when he’d sacrificed so much for his cursed bloodline? When he’d already committed himself to the ultimate sacrifice? The ultimate end to his existence?

Closing his eyes, he let the memory of the night he’d found her in the Pleasure Pussy roll through him
.
He’d felt drawn to her. Powerfully. Inexplicably. He wanted her, needed her on a level he couldn’t fathom and didn’t question. Not then, at least. He’d smelled her, felt her and wanted her. Period.

“Fuck.” He opened his eyes and stared at the words, seeing Inari instead. “Fuck.”

There was one simple answer from this revelation. The sexual connection he could not deny between him and Inari Chayse had nothing to do with real desire, real attraction. What he felt for her was nothing but the direct result of her succubus magic.

“Fuck.”

Cold anger surged through him, and he shoved his laptop away. This was getting him nowhere. He was wasting time when he had a decision to make. He either carried out his brother’s command to kill her, thereby destroying himself, or he didn’t kill her and bore the blood of those loyal to him as Haral began slaughtering them.

Why not let Jacob take care of Harry?

The dark thought slithered through his anger and he straightened, cold guilt stabbing into his gut. Jacob.

He leapt to his feet. Damn it, he needed to find his general. Not to turn Jacob loose on his brother—he would never do that, no matter how much his friend wished he would—but to touch base with him. After the unexpected events in Inari’s apartment, he wanted to make sure Jake was okay.

And apologize for slipping into his head.

He cast a quick look outside, noting the position of the stars in the sky. On a balmy mid-summer Saturday night like this, he would make it to Jacob’s apartment quicker by foot than he would by car. Sydney’s tourists and partygoers were undoubtedly congesting the traffic to a standstill through the heart of the city. If he stuck to the side streets and alleys he’d be at Woolloomooloo in a heart’s beat.

Three minutes later, he swung open Jacob’s penthouse door, the eight kilometers between their two residences having passed in a blur. He moved through the minimally luxurious apartment, ignoring a persistent itch in his gut. He knew what it was from—the bond between them grew more agitated with every second away from Inari. If he didn’t slake his thirst on her blood again soon, or at least breathe in her scent and feel her warmth, that agitation would begin to pervert into aggression.

Halfway across Jacob’s living room floor, he stopped, his silent surroundings finally catching his attention.

He turned slowly, taking in the still room, the blackened windows, the dark lights and lamps. “Jake?”

His voice fell in the silence like a soft echo.

“Jake?”

Silence.

A thin ribbon of something close to panic snaked through him, and he frowned.

“General Ford?”

Still, there was silence. He moved through the apartment, heading for his friend’s bedroom.

The king-size bed sat in the middle of the massive room, its bedding inarguably masculine and immaculately pristine and un-rumpled.

Ezryn frowned, the ribbon of panic becoming a knot. Where the hell was Jacob?

He walked back to the large windows in the living room and deactivated the opaque tint to study the black waters of Woolloomooloo Bay and the hive of activity skirting it. There wasn’t a sign of Jacob in the crowd but Ezryn hadn’t expected there to be. Jacob had no need for restaurants and cafes, not unless he was cruising for a feed of an entirely different variety, one not catered to on the trendy iPad menus.

His frown deepened. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his cell phone and punched in Jacob’s number.

It didn’t ring. Just went straight to the message service. Ezryn hung up on the pre-recorded sound of Jacob’s voice telling him he was, “definitely unable to take your call. I’m probably in the middle of a tasty snack”. His panic knotted tighter. “Damn it, Jake,” he growled under his breath, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Where are you?”

He glared out the window, eyes narrow. He’d told Jacob to go home. Not just as a friend, but as his master. He’d not only told him to go home, he’d
suggested
he go home. Jacob should be here.

But he’s not, Ezryn. Which means…

Anxious unease reached into his gut at the ominous thought, competing with the bond’s itch and his growing apprehension.

If Jacob wasn’t here, something had stopped him from being so. Something or someone.

Closing his eyes, Ezryn forced his muscles to relax. He stood motionless, letting the foreboding silence of the empty penthouse slide over him as he focused his mind on nothing but his friend. He drew his general’s existence into his subconscious. Tuned everything out—including the itch of Inari’s absence—until the only thing in his psyche was Jacob Ford. He was a master vampire probing for his underling’s presence. Searching for him. Seeking…seeking…

Nothing.

Not a hint of his
croi
. It was as if Jacob didn’t exist anymore.

Ezryn opened his eyes and stared out the window at the life beyond its impenetrable glass, cold disquiet stirring the demon deep within. What the fuck was going on?

Jacob opened his eyes and squinted at the dense shadows surrounding him, an odd numbness making him feel heavy. Where was he?

Flashes of sights and sounds came at him, memories, senses—the Principatus, the ravenous hunger she awoke in him, his worry, his frustration, Ezryn arriving, Ezryn entering Inari’s apartment, grabbing her, holding her, ordering him away…

He frowned.

He couldn’t remember leaving her apartment. Dark Ones, he couldn’t even remember turning from her door. Had Ezryn done that? Exerted his will over Jacob’s own? And why?

He peered into the darkness, its inky shadows seeming to writhe and move around him. Where was he now? How did he get here?

The frustrating memories blurred, grew distorted, tainted by something else. Something like…

Numb heaviness seemed to wrap around his extremities, a hot blanket that made his stomach churn. He tried to move, tried to lift his hand to his face.

Excruciating agony ripped through him, tore into his body like jagged teeth. He let out a sharp shout. Something imprisoned his arms.

He snapped his stare to his left wrist, his right, pain fogging his vision. Thick, silver manacles encircled each one, attached to two taut chains that stretched his arms wide from his body. The two chains were attached to two thick beams of wood on either side of his head.

Jacob froze, studying each one.

Cold fury crashed through him and he yanked against his bindings, shutting the unbearable agony from his mind. He was chained to a whipping post.
Chained
. Some fucking prick had chained him to a fucking whipping post.

“I must admit, General Ford,” a smug voice sounded in the darkness, and Jacob became completely still, his fury turning to something much, much darker. “I have thought of this moment for a long time.”

The room exploded in stark white light. It sliced into Jacob’s eyes like shattered glass, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t move.

Because standing in front of him, dressed in grotesque purple velvet and black leather, was a fat, fleshy version of Ezryn, a wide smile splitting his pale face, thick fangs extended, eyes blazing vile yellow triumph. The idiot overlord himself.

Haral smirked at him, rubbing his hands together. “A very long time.”

Letting every second of hate he’d felt for the man shine in his eyes, Jacob fixed the overlord with a level look. “Hello, Fat Harry,” he snarled. “Welcome to Australia.”

Chapter Eleven

“He bit me.”

“You asked him to.”

Inari lifted her head from her hands and glared up from the floor at her hovering sister. Tianya returned her glare with an altogether too composed expression, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly.

Inari shook her head, the hardwood floorboards biting into her bare knees and shins. “I didn’t ask him to bind me to him, Ti. The rightful freaking overlord of the freaking vampire race has bound me to him. Forever. The Powers are never going to communicate with me again.”

Tianya tilted her head to the side, lips curling into an ambiguous smile. “Is that really what’s bothering you, sister?”

Prickling heat rolled through Inari, an unsettling wave that set her cheeks on fire. “Of course that’s what’s bothering me.” She shifted on the floor, trying her best to look indignant. “The bastard bit me.”

Her sister cocked an eyebrow. “Ah, but what you’re really worried about is why he bit you, isn’t it?” She moved closer to Inari, not so much a step, but a glide. “Or more to the point,
who
he bit.”

A cold finger traced a lazy line up Inari’s spine at Tianya’s observation. She suppressed the want to shiver, opting instead to glare some more at her annoyingly dead and all-too-knowing sister. “I know who he bit, Ti,” she grumbled. “He bit me.”

Tianya lowered herself onto the armchair before Inari and gave her a level look. “You the woman, or you the succubus?”