Court of the Vampire Queen: A spicy polyam MMMF romance

I try to eat, knowing I need the calories for the bloodletting that comes next, but I last all of twenty minutes before I’m in the bathroom, losing my lunch. Hopelessness wells up inside me, deep and dark and all too willing to suck me under.

I’ve been in bad spots before. I was born into a bad spot, a powerless dhampir in the compound my father rules. Normally, dhampir children—those who are half human and half vampire—inherit powers from their vampire parent, at least if said vampire parent is a bloodline vampire. Not me, though. Up until I met Malachi, Rylan, and Wolf, I thought I was defective.

Turns out, my mother wasn’t all that human to begin with.

I brush my teeth, staring at my reflection in the dingy mirror. I look like shit. Dark circles stain the skin beneath my bloodshot eyes and my dark hair has gone greasy and lank. I’ve lost weight, too; weight I can’t afford to lose. I was hardly at peak health when all this started, though the blood the vampires shared with me seemed to do just as much as…

I stop brushing.

Surely that’s not the answer. It would be far too ridiculous a solution. If I managed to drink blood, surely I’ll throw it up just like I’m throwing up solid food. I’m not some heroine in a vampire novel. I’m not going from eating normal food and using blood for magic, pleasure, and healing, to being on a blood-only diet. It’s not going to happen.

I duck out of the bathroom to find Grace gone again. I think she feels trapped in the hotel room. I don’t blame her; I’m practically climbing the walls at this point. Or I would be if I had any energy at all.

This is a mess. Worse than a mess. It’s a fucking disaster.

I study the bed for a long moment. I still haven’t entirely dealt with the fact that apparently I met Wolf in my dreams. I don’t know what caused it, or what shoved him out of that space, but if I can reclaim it…

I miss them. I miss them so fucking much I ache with it. I wish I could blame the bond for the heightened feeling, but I suspect it’s simply that I’ve gone and fallen for this vampire trio. I desperately want Malachi to wrap me up in his big arms and say it will all be okay. For Rylan to make some snarling, snarky comment about the situation. For Wolf’s wild laughter and chaos.

If I can find them in my dreams…

I run my hand over the scratchy bedspread. I’m tired. Desperately tired. I should still be using this time to practice the magic as best I can.

Instead, I take a slow, careful breath, and lay down on the bed on my back. It’s too easy to close my eyes. I’ve been sick and beaten to the point where I’m not sure I’ll survive, and I’ve never felt tired like this. It would scare me if I had the energy to feel anything but exhaustion.

Maybe it’s the baby, but maybe that’s not it at all. Maybe it’s the seraph bond responding to too many days and too much distance between me and my men. If they’re suffering similarly…

Sleep sucks me under before I can finish the thought.

I open my eyes with a start. Disappointment sours my stomach—or maybe that’s just the baby—when I see the hotel room exactly as I left it. The only difference is the light gone from the windows, replaced by the faded rays of the streetlamp outside.

Grace still isn’t back yet, and if she was anyone else, I might be worried, but she can take care of herself. I saw how many weapons she packed away before she left. The woman is a walking armory, and she knows how to use them. She’ll be fine.

I sit up and rub my hands over my face. Maybe the dream with Wolf was a fluke. Maybe there are a dozen conditions that need to be met before I can meet like that with any of the vampires. I just don’t know enough. I’m in the dark and attempting to feel my way. I don’t even have Malachi’s support at my back while I’m doing it.

“What the fuck am I even thinking?” I stagger to my feet and cross to the desk of Grace’s weapons. There are half a dozen knives in varying shapes and sizes, and I choose a small one that fits easily in my palm. “I am not helpless.”

I’m also speaking to an empty room, which might make me certifiable, but it’s better than letting the silence tick out. There are too many things that can go wrong with what I’m about to do. If I think too hard, I’ll talk myself right out of it. So I don’t. I act instead.

I slice a thin line on my forearm and hold it out away from my body. It hurts, but compared to how everything hurts these days, it’s barely noticeable. I turn in a slow circle, leaving droplets of blood behind me, until I’m once again facing the way I started.

My own blood smells savory, which is disconcerting in the extreme, and it only gets worse when I close my eyes and focus internally the way Malachi taught me. I can almost sense the magic there, lying in wait. It feels different than it did the last time I tried this, but I don’t know enough to guess why.

“Come on, you fucker.” I reach for the power with metaphorical—metaphysical?—hands, but it slips through my palms like water. I grab for it again, with the same result. Again and again and again. Nothing. Fucking nothing.

I open my eyes as I sink to my knees. My head spins sickeningly, or maybe it’s the room spinning. I don’t know what’s real anymore. Certainly not this nebulous power inside me. I can’t even access it without the men present. How pathetic. “Damn it!” I lift my voice, too loud, but I’m past caring. “Azazel! Azazel! Azazel!”

“You can’t yell my name three times and expect me to arrive.”

I jolt, losing my balance and landing on my ass in the middle of the sad little blood circle I created. One completely devoid of power. And yet here Azazel is. I lean back and narrow my eyes, trying to pick him out of the shadows in the corner of the room. I should be terrified. There’s nothing protecting me from him, and the menace he seems to carry about him like a cloak is in full evidence right now.

He looks much the same as last time, a man with light brown skin, dark hair, and soulless dark eyes. Though no one with a brain in their head would look at him and think he’s something as mundane as a man. He’s a predator in a way even vampires can never aspire to be.

The shadows lick at his legs as he steps around the bed and stares down at me. “You’ve called. I’ve answered. Have you reconsidered the breaking of your bond?” He glances about the room. “Where’s Wolf and the others? Did you finally acquire some sense and flee them?”

“What’s with all the questions?” My voice comes out slightly slurred and I have to lean back against the other bed when the room shifts again. Damn it, what is wrong with me? I blink down at the red stain spreading across my jeans. For a horrifying moment, I think it’s the baby…but no, it’s nothing as traumatic as that.

I cut my arm too deep.

Or, rather, I haven’t had vampire blood in days. A cut that would have healed already a week ago is now leaking blood steadily down to my thigh where I rest it. A lot of blood. “Damn.”

“You little fool.” He growls under his breath in a language I’m certain isn’t known in this realm and crouches down in front of me. He’s no less terrifying up close. Once again, I get the impression that he’s somehow bigger than he appears, that horns paint shadows across the motel room behind him. A blink and it’s gone, but I can’t quite convince myself I’ve imagined it.

He grabs my arm, moving too quickly for me to jerk away. “This will hurt.”

“Wait—” Pain lances my forearm, so sharp and sudden, it draws a scream from my lips. Or it tries to. He covers my mouth with his other hand. Everything gets a little faded, but how in the gods’ names does his hand wrap around the entire bottom half of my face?

Something is not right with this demon.

“There.” Even his voice has changed, deepening with something akin to irritation. “Now you won’t bleed out before you can accept my bargain.”

I stare blankly down at the scar now carved into my arm. The cut was a straight line. This thing is…not. It’s also red and black, twisted, and angry looking like a tree that attempted to uproot itself. “What did you do to me?”

“You can thank me later.” He snaps his fingers in front of my face. “The bargain.”

“I…” I lick my lips, trying to focus. “I didn’t call you here to accept your bargain.”

Again that hissing language that hurts my ears. He shoves to his feet. “Tell Wolf to consider the healing a token of our friendship. I have places to be.”

“Wait!”

He pauses, but impatience paints every line of his body. “You’re wasting my time.”

“No.” I can’t stand. I’ll pass out. I’m sure of it. Instead, I try to straighten a bit where I sit. “I want a new bargain.”

He exhales slowly and turns back to face me. “I’m listening.”

“My father took Wolf and Malachi and Rylan. I want them back.”

Azazel considers me for a long moment, then his gaze goes distant. Finally, he shrugs. “Very well. Seven years’ service and I’ll save them.”

My jaw drops. “That can’t be anywhere as hard as breaking a seraph bond. Why is the cost the same?” Wolf had warned of exactly this, but part of me didn’t believe him.

“I have my reasons.”

I open my mouth, but I don’t have a good argument. Even if I’m willing to do seven years of service—and I am—the complications presented previously still apply. The men won’t like it. More, we don’t know what will happen to the seraph bond if I’m whisked away to another realm. Maybe it would be okay.

Or maybe it would kill us all.

He gives that sharp smile. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Have your answer by then.” He casts a disdainful look at the blood-stained floor. “Next time, use my card.” It appears in the air above me, floating carefully down to rest on my thigh that isn’t covered in blood.

And then he’s gone, melting into the shadows as if he’d never existed.

I lean my head back against the bed and sigh. No good options. No matter what I try, there are no good options. Azazel was a long shot, but I can hand the card off to Grace. Even if we can’t save my men, at least she’ll get a chance to find some resolution about her mother. A small win, I suppose.

I close my eyes and concentrate on taking slow breaths. It’s starting to look like I really only have one choice. If I can’t stage an assault to save the men or sneak them out, there’s only one path left, no matter how foolhardy it sounds.

I have to walk through the front gate and declare myself my father’s heir.