Seduced by the Vampire King (Vampire Warrior Kings Book 2) Read online

  Seduced by the Vampire King

  Vampire Warrior Kings

  Laura Kaye

  SEDUCED BY THE VAMPIRE KING

  SECOND EDITION March 2020

  FIRST EDITION June 2012

  SEDUCED BY THE VAMPIRE KING © Laura Kaye.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part or whole of this book may be used, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work via electronic or mechanical means is a violation of international copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. If you are reading the ebook, it is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the ebook, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Please do not participate in piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and/or are used fictitiously and are solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to persons living or dead, places, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Kim Killion

  Contents

  The Vampire Warrior Kings Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Read the Next Book in the Series!

  About the Author

  Also by Laura Kaye

  The Vampire Warrior Kings Series

  IN THE SERVICE OF THE KING

  SEDUCED BY THE VAMPIRE KING

  TAKEN BY THE VAMPIRE KING

  Chapter 1

  Nikolai Vasilyev was right in the middle of the shit, and it was exactly where he wanted to be.

  Shots erupted from two positions ahead of him and ricocheted off the abandoned cinder-block streetscape he’d been patrolling. Ducking into an alley, he felt a telltale whiz of air buzzing his ear and went flat against the concrete wall of the old factory. The frigid winter night air burned Nikolai’s lungs. His hackles rose and his fangs stretched out. His enemies were close enough he could feel their evil.

  He wanted trouble. And he found it. Or it found him. Semantics.

  Somewhere ahead, concealed among the long-neglected buildings, a band of Soul Eaters apparently had a sniper’s roost. Those demented murderers jeopardized the hidden vampire world by caving in to the lure of exsanguination. All vampires drank from humans, but only the Soul Eaters consumed human souls by drinking through the last beat of their hearts, then removing and eating it. Their addictive recklessness threatened to expose them all to the broader human world, and escalated the ancient war between the two rival strains of immortals.

  Nikolai plotted out a plan of attack, the street taking shape in his mind’s eye like a 3-D simulator. Dark satisfaction pooled in his gut. Sending these little birdies flying from their nest—permanently—was going to turn this night from a miserable waste to decently tolerable. It didn’t get any better than that for him.

  Not anymore.

  Not since he’d dishonored himself, and the Soul Eaters killed Evgeny and Kyril.

  The hushed, efficient chatter of his warriors sounded in his earpiece and drew Nikolai from his thoughts. Torturing himself over his brothers’ deaths had no place out on the street. There was plenty of time for that while the sun kept him inside cooling his heels.

  He peeked over his shoulder and around the corner of the building. A volley of shots rang out and Nikolai growled a curse under his breath, his gaze swinging around to the rusted industrial street lamp illuminating his position. He sighted the bulb and squeezed off a single bullet that solved that problem, then turned, fell to a crouch and took another light out farther down the street.

  “Who’s got a lock on that gunfire?” came Mikhail’s voice through the earbud. His second-in-command was a consummate soldier and the only thing holding his kingdom together at the moment. Nikolai was man enough to admit that. “Report in.”

  One by one, six of his finest warriors gave the all clear and confirmed their locations.

  Nikolai sighed. He didn’t want to share this one. He didn’t want to have to rein himself in. When he found the Soul Eaters’ position, he wanted to unleash the inhuman monster within, to surrender to the grief and rage boiling inside him as he tore his enemies to pieces with his bare hands and fangs. No fucking audience required.

  As if they all didn’t worry about him enough. He hated the weighted silences and sidelong glances that seemed to follow him wherever he went these days. Christ, he needed to release a little of the volcanic agony expanding in his chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. Hard to care.

  An awkward silence passed before he heard, “My lord, what’s your area of operation?” Mikhail’s tone no doubt sounded level and professional to everyone else, but Nikolai recognized the wariness and exhaustion in his oldest friend’s voice. Guilt soured his gut. “I say again, my lord, what’s your AO?”

  Focusing on the task at hand, and not the way he was failing Mikhail—hell, failing all of them—Nikolai did a quick ammunition check and ran through his mental plan one more time. He took a deep calming breath and centered himself, using his memory of the last time he saw his brothers, expressions frozen in death, to fuel his resolve.

  “Son of a bitch, Nikolai, answer me. You’re there, aren’t you?”

  With indecipherable words still ranting from the speaker, Nikolai tugged the unit from his ear and yanked it from around his neck. He dropped it to the ground and crushed the receiver with his boot, insuring no one could come behind him and eavesdrop on his warriors’ movements.

  With an apology to Mikhail and a vow to Evgeny and Kyril, Nikolai moved out onto the street, staying low and tight to the building. He set his sights on the general location from which the earlier shots seemed to originate and ducked into doorways and alleys whenever he could. Twenty meters ahead, a third street lamp posed an insurmountable problem. Whether he got rid of it or left it intact, he would reveal his position to the enemy.

  He voted for the cover of darkness and took it out with a single shot, only the sudden blackness and sprinkling of glass against the concrete sidewalk revealing what he’d done.

  It was enough.

  A barrage of gunfire erupted, the snaps and crackles of high-speed projectiles close enough to make him dive for cover. The enemy fire brought something useful with it, too—the Soul Eaters’ muzzle flashes gave away their position and told Nikolai precisely where he needed to go.

  Release and relief were so fucking close.

  The break in the gunfire meant they’d likely lost his position in the dark, so he bolted from his place behind a car and flashed across the street at preternatural speed. Closer now. He was so close he could smell their fear. He reveled in it. Drank it down into his belly like the sweetest nectar. Soon, he would gorge himself on it.

  Reconnoitering the new side of the street, Nikolai shoved out of his hiding place and darted across the intersection to the block that housed the Soul Eaters’ fortified position.

  Victory lured him forward, out into the open.

  Bullets rained down around him, but he ducked and twisted, plowi
ng onward. His fangs pinched his bottom lip as he hauled ass to safety. A doorway loomed ahead, one that should be shielded from the nest above.

  A new barrage of gunfire clattered and echoed in the space between the wasted buildings. The sound hurt his head and disoriented him. Nikolai couldn’t place its location.

  And then searing fire tore into his shoulder, the side of his neck, the back of his thigh.

  Fuck, somehow they’d gotten behind him. And no one was covering his six.

  Because he hadn’t let them.

  He was hit. Hit bad.

  Howling more from the agony of defeat than the pain of the tainted bullets, poisoned with the blood of the dead, Nikolai flashed down the side street before the blood loss and infection drained his powers, his life. He pushed himself to keeping moving and lost track of the distance he covered as he retreated from the abandoned industrial quarter toward the general direction of Moscow’s city center.

  His breathing was loud in his own ears, a mix of a rasp and a gurgle that told him the neck wound was critical.

  Son of a bitch. Mikhail was going to kill him. Assuming he survived.

  The poison hit his heart as the industrial area gave way to apartment buildings and shops. He crashed against the brick wall of a building and his vision blurred and twisted. The world went sideways and he hit the ground so hard it rattled his brain in his skull. Between the blood loss and the poison, moving took herculean effort, but he had to get off the street.

  Gun still tight in his grip, he dragged himself on his forearms, pulling the dead weight of his body toward a gravel path that ran alongside the building. His muscles screamed, sweat stung his eyes, and his gasping breath scorched his throat. A thirst more intense than any he’d ever felt made his tongue feel thick and his fangs ache.

  As the building’s shadow covered him, Nikolai could move no more. He hoped the kingdom he’d refused to lead these long months would survive the succession crisis his death would leave behind.

  Regrets. Oh, so many regrets.

  Bitter cold bent his bones until he was sure they would snap. He shivered, sending his teeth and fangs clattering against one another.

  How wonderful it would be to have the warmth and companionship of a mate right now.

  He had not strength enough to even chide himself for the thought.

  A black fog descended, stealing first his sight, then his hearing. Tortured thoughts remained to the end until, mercifully, they too faded to nothing.

  Just like him.

  Chapter 2

  One question kept repeating itself in Kate Bordessa’s mind: What the hell am I doing here?

  She stuffed her gloved hands in the pockets of her parka and ducked her face against the cold night air. It was one-thirty in the morning and the street was empty, except for her.

  Unanswered questions and a sense of anxiety had kept her awake until she’d finally given up on sleep, thrown on some clothes, and hopped the underground metro at the university. She thought walking around Red Square and seeing the cathedrals, palaces, and towers there would cheer her, would remind her why she had come to study in Moscow. But not even the vivid colors of Saint Basil’s or the festively lit outline of the GUM department store had made her feel any less like something wasn’t right.

  So she’d walked, hoping physical fatigue would drive away the unfounded anxiety.

  Though she remained firm on the reason she’d fled the States—her parents wanted a destiny for her she could never accept—Kate couldn’t escape the restlessness that always left her feeling she wasn’t doing something she was supposed to be doing. Under the surface, a sense of unease, as if she’d forgotten an important appointment or a commitment, nagged at her. In quiet moments, a gloom of foreboding descended over her, setting her heart to racing and making her momentarily sure some tragedy had unfurled.

  And she might’ve stopped it.

  It was all making her crazy. And homesick. Maybe it was her looming birthday that was causing her unease. Though you wouldn’t think turning twenty-one would be traumatic.

  Pausing at an intersection, Kate swept her gaze in a circle around her. The can of mace in her pocket boosted her confidence to be out here, but a woman still had to stay aware of her surroundings. Finally, the light changed and she tugged her hood snug to her face as she crossed the street.

  Shops, businesses and office buildings gave way to apartment buildings. She didn’t know this neighborhood well, but she was familiar enough with the city after living here for five months to be certain if she kept going a few blocks, she’d come to a metro stop on the line she needed. Hell, maybe she’d even pass the closest one and keep walking until the one after.

  A couple tucked against each other passed her on the sidewalk. Their low voices and laughter heightened her loneliness, unleashing a deep-seated fear she’d never find that sense of belonging others seemed to develop so effortlessly.

  It was as if she was a square peg in the round hole of life. Never had a boyfriend. Barely been kissed. Parents urging her to join them in something she couldn’t fathom. And the closer it got to her birthday next Friday, the more acute all these confusing, ridiculous feelings became.

  It was almost as if a clock was ticking down to…something? What, she just didn’t know.

  Suddenly, her scalp prickled and the hair on her neck and arms rose. Her stomach clenched and flip-flopped. What the hell?

  Sure someone was stalking her, Kate shook her hood off and whirled, but the street was empty. Still, the ominous feeling was so convincing, it took every ounce of willpower to restrain her desire to run..

  Finally, she stopped trying to resist, and broke out into a jog, relief flooding into her when the squat red M of the metro came into view up ahead. Gloved hand grasping the mace, she passed one apartment building, then another,.

  “Shit.” Her ankle twisted off the edge of a broken curb she hadn’t noticed. Thankfully, the height of her boot prevented her from rolling it enough to cause a sprain. Damn thing still hurt, though. She paused and leaned a hand against the corner of the building, her exhalations fogging on the cold air.

  Take a freaking breath, Kate.

  She rotated her foot and stretched her ankle, reassuring herself it was fine. She just needed to go home and go to bed. Everything would look better in the morning.

  The breeze kicked up and Kate froze.

  What was that smell? Something spicy and warm. She couldn’t begin to place it, but all at once she forgot her panic. Swallowing the saliva pooling on her tongue, she inhaled more of that enticing smell like a lioness scenting the most delicious meal on the wind. She looked up at the apartments, but everything was dark. Behind her, the street remained empty. To her left, a driveway disappeared into darkness…

  And the darkness concealed the source of that scent.

  She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but she did.

  One step. Another. Lured into the darkness. By something that called to her very soul, that appealed to her on a primal level.

  She had to…what? She wasn’t sure. Find it? See it?

  Taste it.

  The urges were so instinctual she didn’t even think about questioning them.

  Shaking off the odd haze, Kate removed her smartphone from her jeans pocket and woke up the screen to provide a bit of light. A series of selections turned on the phone’s flashlight, which cast a brighter, broader illumination.

  Boots. The first thing she saw was a pair of big black boots.

  She gasped so hard and unexpectedly, the cold hurt her throat.

  The man attached to those boots was huge, unmoving, and facedown in the dirt and stones of the driveway.

  Without question, he was the source of the scent.

  The sensation of alarm returned, stronger than before. Not out of fear for herself, but out of fear for him.

  She had the oddest sensation of being sucked through a tunnel, or of seeing her life replayed in fast-forward behind her eyes. And, either way, the
end led her here.

  To this moment. To this alley. To this man.

  Weeks and months of foreboding and worry and dread all culminated right here. Her certainty was so fundamental, so intense, that she knew it the same way she knew her name, or that the grass was green.

  Pomogite mne. Help me.

  At the sound of the distant voice, Kate spun, wielding her flashlight phone like a weapon and shining the light around. “Who’s there?”

  But the alley was otherwise empty. Rushing to the corner of the building, she found the street clear, too.

  Trembling, she cut the glow back to the man and scanned his body with it. Blood soaked through the dark fabric of his pants on his right thigh. A lot of blood. A hole tore through his coat near his right shoulder. Long strands of brown hair peeked out from underneath a black knit cap.

  She stepped to the other side of him, the dull ache of her ankle forgotten, and crouched near his head. Her light shined on the side of his face, but between his position and the cap she couldn’t make out much except… “Oh, shit.”

  Blood coated the scruff on his jaw, his neck, and the arm he’d collapsed on, and it had dripped to the ground beneath him, not soaking in but pooling on the frozen surface. Heart in her throat, she gingerly peeled back the lapel of his coat. Her stomach turned. His neck was literally torn apart.

  Thoughts shot through her brain in a rapid-fire barrage. Is he alive? Oh, God, he’s gotta be dead. Could the shooter still be here? That blood…that freaking blood is what I smell. But how? Help him. Help him!

  Kate dialed 03 on her phone and waited, eyes still on the man’s form, trying to discern movement. Gently, she laid her hand on the middle of his back. There! Her hand felt the soft rise and fall her eyes couldn’t perceive.