Taken by the Vampire King

“They say you can fend off the spirits by clapping your hands.”

A single tight nod. She would’ve sworn it.

Holding her breath, her final step closed the distance between them and she curled her free hand around his rocklike fist. The men behind him tensed, but she threw a glance to Jakob, begging him to stay back.

“Hey.” She smiled. “It’s Kaira.”

“Hurt you,” he said, glaring at the hand still pressed to her face.

That’s what he was so wound up about? Her getting hit? Her heart swelled in her chest. “Just a bump. It was my fault. I guess you shouldn’t come up behind a group of fighting vampires. Lesson learned.” She stroked her thumb over his knuckles.

His hand flinched, then slowly relaxed. He slipped his fingers between hers and gripped almost painfully hard. Like he was scared to let her go. Surely her chest couldn’t contain a heart as big as hers felt just then.

“Come sit with me,” she said, tugging him toward the bed. “Let’s just relax for a minute.”

He sat heavily, all the fight just draining into the floor beneath him. Kaira took a step around him to sit, but he tugged her until she stood between his knees.

His forehead slumped against her breastbone and his shoulders sagged. He released a long, shuddering breath.

Tears pricked the backs of Kaira’s eyes. Defeat rolled off him. If this whole episode really was part of whatever ailed him, she could totally relate—how many times had she felt so sick that she gave into a moment of despair. Though she worked hard to remain positive, sometimes the unfairness of it was more than a person could bear. Maybe it was like that for him, too. She stroked her free hand over his hair. Oh, so soft! She wouldn’t have guessed it, but it was like dragging her fingers through thick strands of pure silk.

Minutes passed before his breathing returned to normal. Occasionally, his big body trembled against hers.

She glanced up...to find four huge vampires absolutely gawking at her.

* * *

Red-hot shame and a profound sadness rooted Henrik in place, head against Kaira’s breast. The beat of her heart in his ear was the sweetest music. He concentrated on the sound, because he wouldn’t be hearing it for much longer.

Without question, her blood attracted him, satisfied him, and was almost indisputably what he’d been needing all these long years. Even now, her sweet crimson coated the inside of his mouth and fueled his body with a small dose of vitality he hadn’t felt in so long.

But he was a complete and utter train wreck.

How could he possibly saddle her with a male so despicably weak—assuming she would ever want him? He couldn’t. Not when he didn’t know for sure that her blood would cure him, if the cure would be temporary or lasting, or if it would take days or decades to return him to the male he’d once been—a male deserving of a creature like her.

Christ, when he thought back to what she’d done. Fought for him against his warriors, put herself in harm’s way, single-handedly pulled him back from the brink... After all the ways he’d wronged her, why had she done any of it? And just to sink the dagger a little further into the heart of him, she’d gotten hurt for her efforts.

His fingers landed on the outsides of her thighs, clutching her just a little tighter. He breathed deeply, taking some of her incredible sweet scent into his lungs and, hopefully, his memory, too.

Before he lost the will, he gently pushed her back and rose from the bed. He cupped her uninjured cheek in his hand and kissed her forehead, his mouth filling with saliva at the luscious scent of her blood. “You are free to go,” he rasped. “Upon the nightfall, Jakob will return you to your hotel.” He made for the door.

“What? Henrik, I thought—”

The closing door cut off the rest of her words. A thousand pins and needles erupted against the palm of his right hand. He fisted it, refusing to linger on what that sensation might mean.

That, if he took her, they might blood match.

That, if they matched, she might become his mate.

That, if she were his mate, he might actually be able to live again.

But why in the name of all that was right and holy would she want him? And how could he possibly ask her to?

He wasn’t sure where he was going. He just needed motion, the distraction of putting one foot in front of the other. After a while, he ended up in his office on the opposite end of the compound from the infirmary.

Sitting heavily in the big leather chair behind his desk, his gaze fell on a folder lying dead center. Hadn’t been there before. Idly, he flipped it open.

SUBJECT: Kaira Sorensen

LAST KNOWN ADDRESS: Rosagade 7, 3. Floor, Copenhagen, Denmark

“Faen i helvete,” he muttered. Bloody hell. The dossier he’d asked for.

Even though he knew he shouldn’t—he really fucking shouldn’t—read another word, his eyes refused to heed his brain and continued to skim over the page.

He flew forward in his seat. “Nei. This can’t be.” He slammed his fist against the surface.

Jakob leaned in the open doorway and rapped twice against the jamb. “Problem?”

Henrik chuffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. I apparently pissed off the wrong person in a former life.” He tossed the file to the corner of the desk. Jakob could read it for himself. Or not. He was beyond caring.

Eyeing him warily, his brother retrieved and opened the folder. “Son of a—Her father was a member of The Electorate Council? Jesus, Henrik, that probably means she would’ve—”

“I know.” He held up a hand. He didn’t need the male to finish the sentence, to tell him that, had her father lived, Kaira very likely would’ve been trained among the ranks of the Proffered, as so many of the daughters of The Electorate were.

The Council was comprised of influential human allies who assisted in the prosecution of their war against the Soul Eaters. In exchange for the humans’ silence on the vampires’ existence, their assistance in conducting the war when necessary, and their providing of the Proffered, the vampires gave them protection and blood, which cured many diseases and extended their lives.

Henrik’s debate about offering Kaira his blood roared back to life in his mind. Could his blood cure her leukemia?

“Does she know this?” Jakob asked.

He blinked away his thoughts. “What? Oh. I think not. She was genuine in her surprise about our existence.” Only eight when her parents had died in a car accident, no doubt she hadn’t yet been made privy to that part of her father’s business. And apparently neither had the mother’s sister who raised her.

“Brother, this changes things.” Jakob tossed the folder to the desk.

Weary and heartsick, Henrik reclined into the chair and propped his feet on the corner of the desk. His boots thumped against the wood. He crossed his ankles and got comfortable. “It changes nothing. Pour the akevitt, will you?”

Jakob crossed the room to the small bar in the corner. Norwegians reputed the grain alcohol to be the “water of life.” If only.

“Bring the bottle,” Henrik said.

His brother settled the bottle and two shot glasses in front of him. The warm scent of the spiced spirit reached his nose as the golden liquor filled the little glass. They clinked and tossed the alcohol back. Heat ripped down his throat and pooled in his gut.

But it still was not enough.

He placed the glass next to the bottle and didn’t have to tell Jakob what he wanted. He poured and they drank again.

“What happened in there?” Jakob asked, falling into the seat in front of his desk.

“Just lost control.” Henrik topped off another shot glass.

“Bullshit. That was the most controlled I have ever seen you in the middle of one