Dark Embrace (Principatus) (35 page)

He leapt the compound’s ten-foot perimeter fence without slowing down, his feet barely touching the night-wet grass as he moved toward the mansion. Fangs bared, he flung the first vamp that came at him away. The guard’s body smashed against the mansion’s granite wall. He tore the throat from the second vamp before the first’s body slid to the ground, uncaring of the blood and oily dust he left in his wake.

A wild howl came from the far corner of the compound and he narrowed his eyes, disgust curdling in his mouth. His gutless baby brother had bleeders guarding him, vampires who had no ties to tradition or reason for loyalty.

He moved quicker, cold fury fueling his actions, his stare already locked on the third guard coming at him, fangs extended, eyes petrified.

Petrified
.

The word spat through Ezryn’s head, and icy guilt sheared into his rage.

These guards were still his people. Bleeders they may be, but they were still vampires. Protectors of the overlord doing nothing more than an honorable job—guarding their leader. That their
leader
was a sadistic megalomaniac was not their fault, nor reason for them to be butchered by their true leader.

He stumbled. And the slight decrease in his speed was enough for four other vamps to slam into him and take him down.

They hauled him off his feet, fangs bared, eyes wild and demonic. The overwhelming need to throw them from his body and rip out their throats surged through him, but he fought it. Just.

“You’re going to die, fucker,” one of them snarled in his left ear, sinking claw-like nails into his arm.

He turned his head and gave the guard a level stare. “I am Ezryn Navarr, bleeder. The
true
overlord, first born of the First Family, and you will die before I do.”

Four choked gasps punctured the air. The guard’s already white face bleached whiter, his yellow eyes bulging. Ezryn snarled. It seemed even bleeders knew who Ezryn Navarr was. The claws in his arm were retracted, somewhat, leaving behind a dull ache Ezryn pushed from his mind. He swung his gaze back to the looming mansion before him. “I am here to see my brother.”

The guard to his left swallowed, and the grip on Ezryn’s arm tightened again. “The…overlord cannot be disturbed.”

Ezryn flashed his fangs at the vampire. “Harry already is
disturbed
.”

The guard flicked his stare to his three companions, and Ezryn could practically taste their nervous uncertainty. He bit back a snarl. He didn’t have time for this.

With a silent hiss, he threw them off. “I do not wish to harm you,” he stated, “but I will if you force me to do so.” He fixed them all with a stare full of flat promise. “I need to see my brother.”

He stalked toward the mansion’s double-door entryway, a distant part of his mind noting the guards did not follow. Good. He did not want to shed more vampire blood tonight than he must.

A dull, cold pain skimmed his consciousness—Jacob’s pain—but he ignored it. Retracting his fangs, he forced calm through his body. He needed to be at his most composed and focused. He needed to keep control or his general would suffer the consequences of his brother’s vengeful ire. Pushing the doors open, he stormed through the opulent interior, knowing exactly where his brother was. Family blood called family blood. He could feel Harry as well as he could feel Jacob, his twin’s presence like an oil slick tainted with decay. It sickened him.

Vampire after vampire scurried aside as he headed for the ballroom—Harry’s groveling cronies, their baleful glares drilling into him even as their awe-struck fear leached from them in stinking waves. He put them out of his mind. They were of no consequence.

One thing mattered. Getting Jacob out of his brother’s hands.

The heavy doors to the ballroom loomed before him. He pushed them open with one hand and strode over the threshold into the massive room. The stench of wax and smoke curled into his nose, and he flicked a contemptuous snarl at the hundreds of lit candles lining the hall. His brother and his dramatics. It was time to end this whole fucking charade.

He scanned the room, stomach churning. In the far corner, five naked, chained human females cowered against one another, their bodily excrements turning the air rancid. He studied them, disgust coating the back of his throat. How had he let it come to this? How had he let his brother’s depravity debase the vampire kind for so long?

He bit back a growl. Jake was nowhere to be seen, but he was close. The American vampire’s blood stung his senses. Nostrils flaring, he fixed a flat glare on his brother perched upon the ridiculous throne domineering the end wall of the hall. “Where is he, Harry?”

His low voice echoed in the silence, and it was only the complete lack of noise following his snarled question that told him he and his brother were alone in the room.

His stomach tightened. It was unlike Haral not to surround himself with fawning underlings and guards. That he did so now spoke of an arrogance even greater than Haral’s usual conceit.

Haral gave him a smug smile. “Ho, Ezryn.”

Ezryn brought himself to a standstill five paces from the overlord. He took a deep breath, never taking his eyes off him. The stench of blood both stale and fresh flooded his nostrils, poured over his olfactory nerve. Anger crashed through him.

Jacob’s blood drenched the air.

Fucker.

Haral’s smile faded, replaced with a condescending pout. “No friendly words for your twin brother, Ezzie?” He pulled a contemplative expression. “Actually, now that I come to think of it, probably not, given the situation.”

Ezryn kept himself motionless. “Bring General Ford to me now, Harry, or—”

“Or?” Haral cut him short. “Surely you remember our agreement? Four nights to kill the Principatus or I begin slaughtering those who opposed my ascension?” He raised his eyebrows in another melodramatic show. “What better vampire to begin with than the one who opposed me most ardently?”

Ezryn’s anger turned to blistering ice. He narrowed his eyes, barely keeping his fangs in check. “I will tear your head from your body, Haral, if you truly have been so stupid.”

Haral studied him, eyes revealing nothing. “Yes,” he murmured, fingers stroking the armrest of his throne. “You would do just that, wouldn’t you?” He ran his tongue over his fangs. “If given half the chance.”

“Enough,” Ezryn snarled. “Bring Jacob to me now.”

With a flourish of purple-velvet-swathed arms, Haral stood, smug smile firmly in place. “Come, brother mine. Let us walk.”

He descended the raised dais, smiling at Ezryn as he strode with a casual pace toward an unassuming door almost hidden by the wax-laden candelabra to the left of the throne.

Ezryn watched him cross the floor, nerves strung beyond taut. Fury threatened to unravel his control. The urge to leap on his brother, slam him to the black granite and tear his dead heart from his chest almost undid him. His fangs extended. His curled his fingers into fists, knuckles popping.

Control, Ezryn.

Blood roaring in his ears, he crossed to Haral, his full attention on his brother’s eyes.

Until Haral pushed the door open.

The smell of Jacob’s blood crashed over Ezryn. Suffocating and overpowering. Without hesitation, he shot into the darkness, his gut rolling as his stare locked on the silent, blood-soaked body hanging limply from a whipping post in the center of the room.

Dark Ones… Jake.

He spun to Haral, glaring at his twin where he stood in the open doorway. “You’ve crossed the line, brother.”

Haral raised an eyebrow. “I gave you an order, Ezzie, and you failed to follow through. Unless you intend on killing the Principatus in the next two hours, General Ford will be, I’m afraid to say, the first of your loyalists to be destroyed.” A contemplative expression crossed his fleshy features, melodramatic and mocking. “Wait, that’s not right. Unless you intend on killing the cunt in the next two hours, General Ford will be, I’m
delighted
to say, the first of your loyalists to be destroyed.”

Ezryn’s throat slammed shut. Murderous rage pumped through his veins. “You cannot do this, Haral.”

Haral gave him a smug smirk. “What did you think I was going to do? Twiddle my thumbs until you decided to stop fucking the very Principatus I commanded you to kill?”

The urge to leap at his brother and rip his tongue from his mouth overwhelmed Ezryn. But he held it in check. Barely. Instead, he gave Haral a bored snort. Haral
wanted
him off-kilter. Angry. For that very reason, he couldn’t be. “Perhaps you should be taking notes, Harry. I’ve heard your performance in bed is just as woeful as your performance as overlord.”

Haral’s answering sneer was contemptuous. “Still, it is I who fucks whomever I want in our father’s bed.” He flashed his fangs in a sneering smile. “Not you.”

Ezryn cocked an eyebrow, keeping his face calm. “You really need to address this sibling rivalry problem you have. After three hundred years, it’s getting a bit old.”

“Sibling rivalry or not, the more resourceful brother won on the day it mattered, didn’t he?” Haral snorted. “You may have had our father’s undivided attention, you may have had the loyalty of the numbers, but it meant nothing when the oracle spoke, did it? Tell me, how did it feel, hearing the Oracle’s Voice moan my name in complete rapture fifty years ago? You never told me and I’ve been most curious.”

“I heard the
oracle
wheeze your name, Haral, the way I’m sure he did most nights. What the human virgin being sacrificed for your power lust said to him is another matter altogether.”

“It doesn’t matter what the virgin said, Ezzie. It was what the oracle proclaimed she said that was important. And
that
was what
I
wanted her to say. I know how to play the game, Ezzie. Our father might not have been bothered to teach me, so preoccupied with the prodigal son, but I watched. And I learned.”

Ezryn let his lips part in a cold grin. “Which explains the power-drunk ego and utter lack of humility, I guess.”

Haral’s face flooded with fury at Ezryn’s obvious slur. “We can’t all be noble bastards, brother.”

“We can’t all be moronic imbeciles either.”

Haral hissed. “You have always thought you were better than me, but I still outmaneuvered you. When it really mattered, I was the victor. Fuck a Principatus all you like, but I am the one who rules our race, not you. I am the one who will be written about in the
Lamia Cruor Libri
while you will be just a footnote, the cast-aside son who fled to the bottom of the world to escape his shame. I’ve always wondered why Australia?” His lips twisted in gleeful pleasure. “Did that old fart Kristoph tell you which country to sulk in? Oh, wait. No, he couldn’t have. Your most cherished mentor and advisor was already dusted before you left, wasn’t he?”

Incredulous rage punched through Ezryn’s chest. When had his twin become so vile?

Haral smirked. “He wasn’t much of a court mentor, was he, ol’ Kristoph? The overlord’s advisors hardly paid him any mind when he petitioned them to deny the oracle’s proclamation.” He chuckled, the sound smug and cruel. “You know, I never understood the human saying ‘squealed like a stuck pig’ until Kristoph and I had a little chat. Very verbose he was, for such a decrepit vampire. Filled me in on all sorts of little secrets he knew about our reverent family. With the right…encouragement of course.” He snickered. “How does it feel, brother, knowing if it wasn’t for one simple piece of evidentiary proof, you would be sitting where I am now?”

He narrowed his stare onto his brother’s face, forcing his voice to stay even. “Sitting where you are now?” He raised his eyebrows, his rage a cold fist in his head. “In crushed velvet with a bloated gut and an even more bloated ego?” He snorted a dry laugh. “Perhaps I should be
thanking
the Dark Ones your affair with the oracle was so clandestine after all.”

“Oh, you are the funny one, Ezryn, and yet you’re also the one sticking your dick in the cunt of a Principatus. Fucking the mortal enemy of vampires everywhere. Often, from what I hear. Whatever will your loyalists think of that little piece of information?”

Ezryn bared his fangs. “What I do with my dick is my business, Harry, not yours.”

“Tell that to General Ford, Ezzie. He’s the one about to have his heart ripped out and skewered on a silver spike for your
business
.”

“Christ, Fat Harry,” a low, almost inaudible mumble sounded on the air, “can you…shut the fuck…up?”

Ezryn spun to the whipping post, a loathing so deep he almost buckled under its concentrated force surging through his consciousness. Jacob Ford’s loathing. For the overlord.

Jacob glared at Haral through a veil of blood-mattered hair, his eyes burning fathomless icy hate. “You always…
were
a…fuck-knuckle. You just got…fatter.”

“Fuck-knuckle I may be,” Haral snarled, his eyes flashing incensed rage and yellow unease, “but I am not the one about to be sacrificed by my master and friend for a Principatus cunt.”

Jacob’s lips pulled into a slow grin, his own blood seeping down his face making the action all the more menacing. “No,” he growled, incisors extending to wicked points. “Neither am I.”

Chapter Twelve

Jacob threw himself forward, tugging against the silver chains binding him to the whipping post. The creature he truly was, the malevolent being feared the world over surged through him, fed by fathomless hate and unending loyalty. He roared, no longer human, completely vampire, every muscle in his body coiled steel. Searing pain sliced into his wrists, up his arms, into his chest. Searing pain incinerated by the full force of his revulsion and hatred for his master’s brother.