Chapter 1 (Horacio) The Feral Dance
Horacio strained helplessly against the silver-threaded silk that burned his wrists, keeping his arms taut above his head, his toes not enough to steady him on the ground. Mirella cocked her head, watching him struggle for a long minute, before returning to drawing arcane symbols on the lacquered parquet with the remains of the crushed vampire hearts.
He closed his eyes not to see his naked body, defiled with demonic symbols carved into his flesh, reflected to him by the floor-to-ceiling mirrors in gilded frames. He wished he could shut off his sense of smell, too. The stench of viscera mingled with the too-sweet scent of burning lavender made him gag.
His captor’s black satin gown whispered on the floor as she approached him. He buckled when she traced his jaw with a cold fingertip, her long lacquered nail grazing his skin.
“Don’t touch me,” he rasped.
“So defiant,” the ancient vampiress breathed in his ear.
He refused to look at her. Her cold, grey eyes, shining with madness and desire far beyond the simple pleasures of the flesh, made his stomach clench. Since she’d trapped him the previous night, her lustful touch was far worse than the cuts from her ritual blade.
“You’ll be the perfect vessel,” she murmured and pressed a kiss on his parched lips, her slender hand holding the back of his neck like a vice.
He spat when she pulled away from him. “Go to hell.”
She cackled, a disgusting, dry sound like breaking glass. Another heart burst in her hand like a squashed pomegranate, blood trickling between her fingers like a vile juice. Nausea rose in his stomach.
Horacio tried to steady his breathing against the rising panic. The ritual would violate his body and mind in ways he didn’t dare imagine. He shouldn’t have ignored Diana’s warnings. He shouldn’t have slipped from under her protection.
“The witch won’t rescue you this time,” the vampiress taunted, as if reading his mind. “She has her husband to save.”
His pulse spiked. What had she done?
For Terrence, Diana would burn the world. If she had to choose… The outcome was obvious. She protected what was hers, but Horacio had refused to become her pet.
He shut his eyes. The vampiress’s light steps circled him, accompanied by her murmured chant and quiet dripping of blood. Soon, his own blood would stain the floor. He hoped he’d be able to hold back the scream. She didn’t deserve the satisfaction.
The gilded double door burst into a fountain of splinters.
Diana marched in, her combat boots thudding on the polished floor, the swing of her giant sword just finishing its wide arc.
“I always protect what is mine,” she said, calm and composed as ever. So she considered him hers after all.
Horacio yanked his restraints.
His captor snorted, “Without your magic, you’re no match for me, mortal.”
He only now realised why Diana’s presence felt somehow wrong. She was good at masking her magic, but he could always sense it, like a low and cold undercurrent. But now, there was only dead silence.
Diana smiled. “Shall we test it?”
The vampiress lunged like lightning, the crystal chandeliers raining down on the ballroom from the burst of her power.
Horacio’s breath hitched.
Lady Monroe sidestepped like a ballerina, her giant weapon leaping in a graceful swirl. And thus Diana began her feral dance.
