Thrall of the Vampire King (Blood Fire Saga Book 4) by Bella Klaus (namjoon book recommendations txt) 📗

withdrew his arm from my waist, I stumbled back, only to be caught around the waist by another pair of strong arms. The sharp scent of citrus stung my nostrils, accompanied by an even sharper energy.

“Really, Valentine,” Kresnik muttered. “How am I going to get an ounce of sense out of her if she’s lost in bliss?”

“My apologies.” Valentine’s voice echoed in the back of my head. “The blood oath turns feeding into a sacred event. Give Mera ten minutes, and she’ll be ready for questioning.”

I let my eyes flutter shut as the cold spread beneath my skin, pulling me into a state of bliss.

Somewhere in the depths of my mind, a voice screamed at me to run.

Valentine had just left me alone and in the arms of Kresnik.

Chapter Eighteen

The sharp scent of ammonia forced me awake, stinging my nostrils and burning a line of fire through my sinuses. I gagged and spluttered and tried to thrash, but a large hand held me down on a firm surface.

Valentine must have given me thrall in that last bite, and I hadn’t even felt the cold until he’d released me. I turned my head and coughed up a mouthful of foul air.

My throat eventually cleared for long enough to take in my surroundings. I lay on a firm surface with cushions behind my head and my legs curled to the side. Someone had taken off my shoes, as I could curl my toes, but the reaper cloak remained around my body like a shroud.

As I drifted awake, a cool, damp cloth patted at the side of my face.

“Awake now?” asked a deep voice. It was supposed to be fatherly and gentle, but there was a sharpness to the energy behind it that pressed into the base of my spine like a knife.

My muscles stiffened, and a vague memory of Valentine handing me over to Kresnik rose to the front of my mind. Fury simmered through my insides, evaporating the last vestiges of sleep. I had no idea what that vampire had been thinking to leave me weak and vulnerable in the hands of my worst enemy.

I cracked open an eye to find myself lying on a leather sofa within a study that reminded me of the library within the derelict mansion. Martika knelt at my side, holding a cloth. When our gazes met, she drew back and scurried away.

“Where am I?” I asked, already knowing the answer. It was better than asking why the hell Kresnik had spirited me away into his lair.

“Hemera,” he said from behind the sofa.

I rolled onto my back to meet pale eyes and a smile as broad as a crocodile’s. He wasn’t nearly as handsome from this angle, and it was as though he hadn’t thought through the glamor he’d created to make himself different from Father Jude.

“Father?” I croaked. “Did I faint?”

With a soft chuckle, Kresnik walked around the sofa and lowered himself onto the seat. “Valentine draws heavily on your blood, doesn’t he?”

I pushed myself up to sitting, resting my back against the armrest. “It’s my honor to feed—”

“Shhhhh…” He placed a finger on my lips. “I do not wish to incite you to speak badly of your master.”

Disgust rippled through my insides, and my heart revved up to triple speed. It took every ounce of self-control not to flinch at his touch. I averted my gaze from his eyes to a stray lash that had landed on his cheek and forced deep breaths in and out of my lungs.

I had to stay calm. Calm was the only way I would get through what was looking to be an interrogation.

Still with his thick finger pressed against my lips, Kresnik raised a hand and clicked his fingers. Moments later, Martika arrived with a tray laden with a coffee pot, cream jug, and a bowl of crystallized brown sugar. She set it down on a low table that I hadn’t noticed until now, and backed away.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled my nostrils. Under other circumstances my mouth might water, but all I wanted to do was spit.

“How do you take your coffee, my dear?” He finally removed his finger from my lips.

“Black, no sugar,” I whispered.

His lips stretched into a smile that looked more like the gnashing of teeth. “Because you’re sweet enough.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled from the back of my throat. “That’s right.”

Kresnik leaned toward me. “Are you pleasing your master?”

I lowered my lashes, trying to guess where he was going with this line of conversation. If this would end in Kresnik suggesting I step aside to let Martika take care of Valentine, I didn’t think I could stay calm.

“I do my best, Father,” I murmured, hoping it sounded demure.

“You seemed a little hostile in the beginning,” he said. “Why was that?”

“It took a little time for me to settle into the way things were done here, I suppose.” My gaze flickered up to Kresnik who leaned forward, watching me like a cat might watch a drowsy housefly. “When I first came here, all I wanted to do was save Valentine from the Mage King.”

“And now?”

My mouth dried, and my gaze dropped to the empty cup. What the hell did he want from me? My goal hadn’t changed much. I still wanted to free Valentine but from a more sinister tyrant and I also wanted to stop said tyrant from clawing his way up to godhood.

Raising my fingers to my throat, I made a high-pitched cough, hoping it would buy me a little time to think up an answer.

“Where are my manners?” Kresnik asked with a laugh.

I flinched. “Pardon?”

“You’re thirsty. Possibly even dehydrated after being drained so mercilessly, and I haven’t offered you a thing to drink.”

“That’s alright—”

“I insist.” Kresnik beckoned to the corner of the room.

Martika scurried out from between two bookshelves, knelt on the other side of the low table, and poured out two cups of black coffee. She gripped the pot so tightly that her knuckles turned white, and