Eyes narrowing, Lotharus reached her in two seconds. Curling his fingers around the soft skin of her biceps, he hauled her to him. The tips of those hooker boots she wore, only because he hated them, barely skimmed the floor as he held her up. Instantly, the fear he worked so hard to instill in her fired up her onyx eyes. Lotharus smiled, relishing every minute of it. Like a drug, taking her innocence, her trust, her joy was never enough. He always wanted more.
“Would you know how this dragon came to be fully healed, Alexia?”
When she didn’t answer, he pinned her back against the nearest wall. Alexia gasped, the air bursting out of her with a woof. As he stared at her, resentment lingered in his throat like stale blood. Stupid females. How did anyone ever think this weak sex could lead their kind?
The horde had not always governed this way. Centuries ago, in what female leaders now called the dark times, males had ruled the horde. More precisely, one male. The first pureborn of their kind. A vicious warrior feared by mortals and immortals alike.
Stefan Strigoi, the dark prince.
Over the last few years, Lotharus had painstakingly collected every text he had ever written. Every private diary entry he’d ever penned. Granted, he had done so illegally. The holy women sequestered in the samostan temple had been the only ones with copies of the books. In a maneuver reminiscent of how the human kings of auld suppressed their serfs with the divine right of kings doctrine and their Holy Bible, the female monarchs of the past deceived the horde. The truth had been so far buried beneath their lies that even Lotharus had problems believing it all at first. Yet, the further he dug the more painfully obvious it became.
Their horde ran better under the dark prince’s thumb. His rule had been total, his philosophies infallible and his political infrastructure flawless from conception to execution. Their army had been strong, efficient against other beings who might challenge them. Indeed, they’d won every battle set upon them. Until the war that claimed the dark prince’s immortal soul. It was during that wandering and purposeless aftermath that his wife had stepped up to govern. The idea of a female leader had arisen as an interim arrangement, only to become permanent.
At the thought, a surge of heat rushed through his veins. By the blood, not many things baffled Lotharus. Yet simply looking at Alexia now, quivering and wide-eyed before him, reaffirmed everything he’d come to believe in. Women were weak, pathetic, destined to be submissive to men, not rule them. Unlike other beings, female vampires held no prize in Lotharus’s eyes for their reproductive capabilities. He’d realized years ago they did not need the weaker sex to breed. In fact, there were methodical biological ways of creating the soldiers one needed, and none of it involved the act of mating.
Lotharus smirked, recalling the one way he had managed to use the act. Remembering the heady thrill of power, the one he still felt vibrate through him every time he neared Alexia. He tilted his head and allowed his gaze to slide over her body, relishing her instinctive shudder.
Releasing one hand, he ran the flat of his palm down the side of her beautiful face, down her cheek, slowly inching toward her neck. When he got halfway down her throat, she visibly winced. Lotharus lifted a brow in question and tilted his head to inspect her neck.
At the sight of the mark, an obvious vampire bite, all the arrogant certainty drained out of him. Fury tackled him from behind, taking its place. The force blinded him, nearly making him black out.
It should be me at her vein. Will be me. No one else.
The words repeated a litany in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to quell the voices along with his vision. It didn’t work.
Lips curling tight, he snatched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Have something you’d like to explain to me?”
The flesh beneath his finger trembled, but she did not answer. Again, his gaze fell to the two teeth marks on her throat. Using his forefinger, he slid his long black nail over the bite. At the twinge, she hissed in a breath. He smiled at the sound and brought his finger to his lips, slipping it between them. At the taste of her blood on his tongue, light burst behind his eyes and he instantly grew hard. Her power surged through him like a jolt of electricity. Sucking in a breath, he rode the wave, coming close to orgasm as it crested and lapped through every nerve ending in his body.
A low growl of dominance bubbled up from his chest.
None of his men would dare bite her. It was that beast. He had fed from her. Rage at that dragon thing and Alexia for allowing him to absorb her power, power that rightfully belonged to him, engulfed him. The wound on her pale neck mocked him, his power, his plan. He could almost hear the dark prince laughing at him from beyond the Fatum.
Quaking in anger, he wanted to rip Alexia’s head off, but settled for shoving her back with a push instead.
“Hold him up,” he shouted, turning back to the soldiers. The dragon groaned, his face a mask of pain as the men seized him under the armpits and forced him to his knees.
Lotharus stared down with disgust in his eyes at the filthy flying rat. These creatures were below his race. For centuries, vampires had lived amongst human civilizations, evolving alongside them. The dragons rejected change and kept to the shadows, clinging to their barbaric ways. Shameful beasts. They reeked of animal. He could smell this dragon’s filth, taste it in his mouth, feel it smother and cling to him like a wet towel.
Squatting, he fisted the beast’s hair, wrenching his head up to meet his gaze. With his other hand, he forced his jaw open to inspect his teeth. Two canines similar to those he’d looked at in the mirror all his life stared back at him. “Interesting.”
The dragon growled in his throat and the two fangs lengthened, hanging over his lips. “Very interesting. It appears there is more to you than meets the eye, Derkein.”
He lowered his head even further, wanting to be sure his next words rang clear as a bell in the dragon’s ears and only his ears. “Or should I call you Declan?”
A flash of fear passed over the dragon’s face before his features twisted into a study of rage. Like a leashed pit bull, he lunged for Lotharus. The soldiers held him in check, as Lotharus knew they would. Slowly, he stood, giving a nod to the guards.
“Take him to the dungeon.” Then he turned to Alexia who stood watchfully in the corner. “Let us see what he knows of our lost little bauble, hmm?”
A ripple of sickness folded over Alexia. She turned, heading toward her chamber, needing some free air, some space to think.
Lotharus’s hand snaked out, his long fingers digging into her flesh. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t feel well,” Alexia muttered. The anger pouring off him was palpable and cold. She wanted nothing more than to get away from him. But his grip on her arm tightened.
“Perhaps it is because you let him feed from you?”
“I didn’t let him,” she snapped, tugging her arm free. “He attacked me.”
Lotharus offered her a smile that didn’t reach his onyx eyes. The next thing she knew, she was airborne, flying across the room. Her back slammed painfully against the far wall, and the side of her face went numb from the force of his blow. She cupped her cheek protectively, staring in shock as Lotharus straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket as though he’d merely swatted a fly.
“You will not lie to me again, Alexia. You know I do not approve.”
“Lie?” she began, but the look he tossed her froze the words on her tongue.
With lightning-fast speed only ancients possessed, he crossed the room in a flash and stood in front of her. Dragging her to her feet, he pinned her between him and the wall at her back. At the feel of his erection digging into her hip, she sucked in a breath.
“Yes, lie,” he seethed. “I saw you kiss him.”
Alexia