Bonds of the Vampire King (Blood Fire Saga Book 7) by Bella Klaus (romantic books to read TXT) 📗

jumped onto my lap and kneaded my thighs as though telling me that even if these two didn’t believe me, he did.

I stared down at the cat, who settled onto my lap, gazing up at me with trusting eyes. Macavity wasn’t bolting for the cat flap and finding shelter from the upcoming storm. He was looking to me to work out a way to protect us all.

“Meow.” The determination in his voice filled me with the courage I needed to charge ahead.

“You’re right,” I murmured, my throat thickening at his act of faith. “And thank you.”

“Thanks for the tea, but we can’t help.” Ariel rose, followed by Mabel.

I raised a hand. “Wait.”

The two women stared down at me with identical frowns. “We just told you there’s nothing that can be done,” said Ariel. “Now, if you’ll excuse us—”

“We’re going to need those vessels,” I said. “One to contain a heart, one to contain a head, another large enough to contain the ashes of a six-and-a-half-foot male, and then a few more in case we need to chop him into lots of pieces.”

“When do you want them complete?” asked Mabel.

“In three hours. Employ others to help you get the work done and invoice the palace.” I turned to Mrs. Meg. “Do you have that enchantment we talked about? It’s time for me to pay King Valentine a conjugal visit.”

Chapter Sixteen

Less than half an hour later, I walked down the darkened hallway prison, flanked by a pair of lieutenants I’d never met before. From the cold magic seeping through their skin, I was guessing they were shadow mages.

“The time you spend with King Valentine is unlimited,” said the man on the right, who was only an inch or so taller than me but made up for his lack of height with ropey muscles. “Feel free to let loose. The room is soundproof, and privacy is guaranteed.”

My lips tightened at the leer in his voice, but I didn’t correct his salacious assumption.

The lieutenant’s partner shook his head and sighed. “Cien, is that all you can think about at a time like this?”

Cien folded his muscled arms over his chest and harrumphed. “Sex talk isn’t going to make a difference in whether Kresnik descends on Logris with a band of human soldiers or not.”

“Is that what people are thinking?” I asked.

“The more optimistic of us think he’ll recruit an army,” the taller man muttered. “Did you see him bless the masses in the Whitestone Pond?”

My mind conjured up an image of the massive pond in Hampstead Heath. As predicted, the Council’s wards had failed to contain Kresnik, and he had escaped into London to wreak more havoc.

Ignoring the boulders of dread rolling through my insides, I asked, “What did he do?”

He shook his head. “There’s footage of him heating the water with both hands while a crowd of idiots stood inside getting baptized.”

My stomach plummeted, and I stared down at my feet, remembering how my power had affected Beatrice in the jacuzzi. More importantly, I remembered how Healer Dianne had warned that if she died with my magic in her system, she would rise as a preternatural.

“Oh no,” I whispered.

“Oh yes,” Cien said. “He said it would give them eternal life, and some twat stabbed himself in the neck. Before the ambulance came, Kresnik told him to rise, and he got up and danced a jig.”

“It’s called flossing,” the taller man muttered. “Imagine having an army that you can revive the moment they’re struck down.”

Cien snickered. “The Vampire King won’t appreciate you putting his young lady off her conjugal visit.”

We reached the door, and the shorter man placed his hand on its surface, letting it click open.

“Have a nice one,” Cien said with a chuckle and wink.

“Thank you.” I walked into the room, looking for signs of Valentine, but he wasn’t in the bed, on the sofa, or anywhere else around the hotel-like interior.

The bed was made and already turned down with a small box of chocolates between the pillows. Someone had unpacked the Supernatural Council’s welcome basket and placed the flowers in a vase that now sat atop the small dining table.

The door clicked shut behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder. “Valentine?”

“Mera?” His voice was muffled.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“In the shower.”

The corners of my lips curled into a smile. This was going to be easier than I thought. I hurried across the room toward its only other door and pushed it open. A cloud of steam wafted over my body, clearing to reveal a hot, wet, and naked Valentine standing beneath the hot spray.

My mouth dried, and for the next few seconds, I stood dumbfounded in the doorway, my entire consciousness transfixed on the sight of the wet and naked man standing beneath the cascade of water.

His wet hair lay plastered against his head, accentuating his regal brow, high cheekbones, and full curving lips. My own lips parted to let out a puff of air, and my tongue darted out to lick them, imagining our mouths locked in a heated kiss.

Valentine was Michelangelo’s David in bronze—better because he was wet and gleaming and muscular and mine. The corner of his lip curled into a smile. I guessed he could pick up the quickening of my heartbeat, the elevation of my blood pressure, and the scent of my arousal.

None of that mattered. Not in the sight of those broad shoulders, prominent pecs, and tight six-pack.

The pulse between my legs thudded in sync with my rapid heartbeat, and my gaze slid down his treasure trail to the lengthening, thickening organ, propelling me forward. It was like being mesmerized, only I knew what awaited me when I reached the shower would be pleasurable.

My mouth dried, and all thoughts of vengeful gods, demonic twins, and prison breaks evaporated into the rising steam.

“Do you see something you like, Innamorata?” Valentine’s deep voice broke me out of my thoughts.

“Quite a few things, actually.” I forced my gaze up the contours of his body to