Taken by the Vampire King. Laura Kaye
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Название: Taken by the Vampire King
Автор: Laura Kaye
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781472014962
isbn:
Outside of the plaza, their enemies broke into a preternatural run. Henrik followed in pursuit. The four of them represented his path to freedom from the jaws of the beast within. At least for tonight. He wouldn’t stop until they were dead. Or he was.
He paused at an intersection, anticipation thrumming through his veins. Jakob and Lars came up behind him. Henrik extended out his senses. For a long moment, he couldn’t pick up a trace of them. Then he smelled it. Blood. Warm. Spilled. Spilling. A growl rumbled up from his chest.
Instinct led him toward the scent most fundamental to the survival of his kind. Halfway down the block, he spun into a dark alley, just wide enough to hide a long row of industrial garbage cans.
Just beyond them, two figures stood pressed against the wall.
“Dum faen.” Dumb fuck. Henrik muttered under his breath as he stalked toward the Soul Eater, so blood-drunk he apparently didn’t hear the warriors’ approach. “This one’s mine.”
The faint, infrequent thump of the victim’s heartbeat told him the damage was done, but the fact that the man retained any cardiac rhythm meant his soul remained intact. Henrik wrenched the Soul Eater away before he could consume that final reward. The human crumpled in a lifeless pile to the ground.
The king let the beast loose.
And, damn, it was far too easy to do.
Like an exorcism, his own demons raged and fought. He lost all awareness, all sense of time and space. All sense of self as he battled the Soul Eater.
Hands grabbed at him, yanked him back. Henrik focused on the new targets, gnashing his teeth and swing his fists. Voices finally penetrated the choking fog of violence suffocating his mind, his humanity.
Jakob and Lars.
“He’s dead. Henrik, he’s dead,” Jakob said. “It’s done. The dawn will take care of the rest.”
His gaze sought proof of the Soul Eater’s demise and found it in the broken body on the pavement. Or what was left of it.
He stopped fighting their grip and let himself be dragged away.
His breathing was a freight train in the night, sawing in and out of burning lungs. His pulse throbbed in his now swollen, shredded knuckles. Warm liquid oozed over his face in too many places to count.
The king nodded, or tried. He wasn’t yet sure of the connection between his sentient self and his physical actions.
It wasn’t until the pain hit that he trusted himself again. Head hanging on his shoulders, he looked down at his torso. Coat destroyed. Shirts and skin beneath hanging in torn strips. Blood dripped from his face, but his hands were useless to wipe it away. More of the crimson covered the skin there, too, as if he’d bathed in blood. His own and his enemy’s.
Christ, he hadn’t felt a moment of the Soul Eater’s effort to defend itself. He’d been totally unaware.
White-hot fear lanced through him, and a sob ripped up his throat.
This is how it’s going to be. This is what lies before me.
A scream pierced the thick silence. And again.
The sound beckoned the darkness encroaching on Henrik’s psyche. A red cape before a raging bull.
Three Soul Eaters remained out there. Somewhere. And every instinct in his body told him at least one was the source of that human’s alarm.
Driven by the beast within, Henrik shoved Jakob away, flipped off the gritty pavement and took off in search of his next kill.
Chapter 4
Kaira said her goodbyes to the group of other contestants and crossed the street. The reception had ended and everyone was gathering down the street at a bar to continue the festivities, but she wasn’t up to it. Fever still heated her skin, her hip joints ached and tenderness had settled into her left side. Ever since her encounter with the older man—Jakob, he’d called himself—she’d felt shaky. Ridiculous, really. Nothing had happened. But her body didn’t seem to be convinced.
She dipped her chin further underneath the chunky scarf and held the collar of her wool dress coat closed at her throat. Should’ve brought a change of clothes, but when she’d left her little, out-of-the-way hotel this afternoon, it hadn’t seemed necessary. Now she was cold and tired and feeling the weight of her illness, and the two-block walk back to the bus stop seemed like two miles. Especially in heels. If it wasn’t so cold, she’d have slipped them off and walked in her bare feet.
Turning the corner, Kaira distracted herself from her aches by replaying the night’s highlights in her mind’s eye. Two of her photographs had already sold. She’d had great conversations with the rest of the judges—everyone seemed universally impressed with her vision for the series and especially with her violet aurora. She could’ve broken out into a dance in the middle of the gallery. And she’d had a promising conversation with a travel editor at a magazine based out of Copenhagen. All in all, one of the best nights of her life.
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