Lothaire

“When I am a vampire, things will be different,” she insisted. “For now, I beg your patience. I beg understanding from my male until then.”

Yes, when she’s a vampire . . .

And still he refused to accept that his Bride was sexually cold? No, Saroya could be made to want him. “Does your mortal body feel nothing but pain? You must have needs.”

“No. Apparently you’ve satisfied any of those urges recently.”

Blyad’! He’d wasted that pleasure on Elizabeth!

Saroya awkwardly patted his shoulder. “You’ll soon find the ring, and then I’ll be yours in all ways. For now, use your mortal.”

“Not concerned that I might become infatuated with her?” he asked, though he knew the answer. Saroya simply could not comprehend that someone might not desire her above all others. Her arrogance prevented doubts like that.

And he couldn’t help feeling as if there was a lesson inherent for him to be learned.

“Not in the least, Lothaire. If you chose her over me, you’d have to renounce all your aspirations to the Horde throne, everything you’ve worked for all these thousands of years. Besides, you are so intelligent, I know that you can see through her manipulations. You would never let us be the pawns of a lowly mortal.”

A pawn. He and his mother had been pawns to a mortal before. “Beseech Olya’s forgiveness . . .”

Never again.

“You’ve seen Elizabeth’s family,” Saroya continued. “Those would be your in-laws. She would want to live among them.”

He stifled a shudder.

“I barely survived living in that trailer. How well would you fit in there?”

Lothaire would rather die.

“I have an idea, vampire,” Saroya suddenly said. “Take me to your oracle.”

“Why?” he asked, still kicking himself for sating the human.

“You asked what I’d like to do this eve? I want to pose a question to her about the future.”

He exhaled, tracing her to Hag’s.

As soon as they appeared in the fey’s kitchen, Hag told Saroya. “Oh, it’s you.”

Between gritted teeth, Saroya said, “How did you know it was I? Before I’d even said a word?”

“Because of the makeup,” Hag murmured. “The gobs and gobs of makeup.”

Saroya said pleasantly, “You’ve just ensured your death. Once your usefulness ends, Lothaire will bring me your head. I’ll use it as a fly catcher.”

The fey’s eyes turned forest green with anger. “That is not in my future, goddess —”

“This is my Bride, Hag,” Lothaire interrupted sharply, baffled by this hostility. “Not Elizabeth. Some respect, then.”

“Very well.” But Hag’s eyes still glimmered.

“You’ve aided Lothaire in seeing his future,” Saroya said. “I want a question about my own answered.”

“I can only roll so many times in a day.” At Lothaire’s threatening look, Hag added, “But I will try.”

“Ask your bones if the Horde will accept Lothaire as its king if I am by his side.”

“It’s not that simple—”

“It is. He’s part Dacian. They cut away all the extraneous considerations and focus only on their goals. Lothaire’s primary goal is to become king of the Horde. I want to know if I’m the key to the Horde throne.”

“Do it, Hag.”

The fey grudgingly removed her pouch, spreading the cloth. She rolled the bones, read them.

“Well?” Lothaire demanded.

As if the words were pulled from her, Hag said, “The Horde will accept you if Saroya is by your side—and she is a vampire. Tymur the Allegiant and his men will yield Castle Helvita and swear their fealty to you.”

Tymur kneeling before me while I decide if I should decapitate him . . . Lothaire’s eyes grew hooded.

“There, Lothaire,” Saroya said, “as I promised, I shall place that crown on your fair head. You’ll be a king, just as Ivana the Bold wanted. And after you rule the Horde, you’ll use that army to seize the Dacian throne. It’s all so close. We’re only waiting on you, my king.”

King. His chest ached with want. Crowned, ruling, power. He’d build a monument to his mother in Stefanovich’s old castle. If I don’t raze it to the ground, stone by bloody stone.

“Now, Lothaire,” Saroya began, “shall we have more goods and services delivered to the apartment? Your queen longs for rubies. And cat’s-eye diamonds. Perhaps a Roman collar studded with emeralds . . .”

29

“Lothaire just . . . left me,” Ellie murmured to Hag, her voice sounding as bewildered as she felt.

For the last seven nights, he’d dropped her off at the fey’s—like a brat at the sitter’s—while he’d been out tirelessly searching for the ring, so determined to replace her forever.

But this sunrise, he hadn’t come to pick her up. It was three in the afternoon. Now she knew what it felt like to be the last kid standing at KinderCare.

“What am I supposed to make of that?” Staring at nothing, Ellie swigged her beer.

She and Hag were out on the fey’s deck, reclining on sun chaises with snacks, magazines, and a party pail of iced Corona Lights between them.

After the witch-in-the-mirror scare, the oracle had been much nicer to her. Probably because she knew Ellie was about to die and all.

And Ellie had eventually forgiven her for setting Lothaire on her path—after all, Hag had nothing to do with Saroya parking inside Ellie.

“Make nothing of it, Elizabeth,” Hag said. “He’s merely late. Let’s enjoy ourselves until he returns.”

Realizing that Saroya probably wouldn’t want a suntan, Ellie had gone St. Tropez, spending the day out here, slathered in coconut oil. Though she’d always tanned easily, lately she’d been prison pale.

Not anymore. Feel the burn, freak.

And since Saroya wanted her to put on weight, Ellie had decided to lose it. She was presently on a barley-and-hops diet.

“Something happened after Saroya rose that last time,” Ellie said. “Ever since then, Lothaire has been acting different with me.” As if all the ground she might have conquered with him had been lost.

When Ellie had awakened, Lothaire had gazed at her as if she’d wronged him, as if he resented her.

Perhaps Saroya had proved seducible. Maybe she’d schooled Ellie’s attempts. Though I’m still a virgin. Of course, Lothaire had explained why they couldn’t have sex.

“I’d pat your hand with a well-intentioned but awkward gesture if my skin weren’t poisonous.” Hag was as unused to having a girl friend as Ellie was.

Each night, once the fey’s work was done, she and Ellie had downed drinks and chatted.

Saucing it up with a fey oracle. My new normal.

They’d talked about potions, hunting, the craziness of the Lore. And of Hag’s single status.

Turned out that ages ago, Hag had fallen for a demon—strictly off limits for a fey like her. The brawny warrior had doubted his “delicate little fey’s” love, especially since she’d been so young. In