Magick Marked (The DarqRealm Series) (3 page)

After being soul struck, most vampire couples wanted to make their bond public. The covenant of the blood bond could be formed only with the consent of two participating vampires, each pledging themselves and their blood to the other for eternity. Mated vampires could only receive blood sustenance from their mates.

If one died and the other lived, the living vampire was unable to eat yet incapable of dying, and would slowly be driven insane. The bond and connection were so strong, many feared the dependence. Yet those who had been soul struck would just as soon be dead without their mates.

Rho never dreamed of making that sacred vow, both because she couldn’t imagine wanting to mate anyone for eternity and because the idea of being driven insane didn’t sound so appealing. The risk was too great, especially in her new line of work.

Frederick studied the crowd, his fingers in a steeple touching the tip of his nose. “What evidence do you have of his guilt?”

Marcellus waved over a woman in the crowd. “Charlotte Antonescu?” She carried the Antonescu surname, indicating her coven alliance.

Frederick pointed a finger at the female. “You. Come forward.”

She trudged toward the throne, the sour stench of her grief thick in the air.

“Do you have anything to add?” Frederick asked.

Charlotte lifted her eyes to meet the prince’s, liquid welling in the corners of their deep blue depths. “My lord, my mate was killed this week. I am now fated to die because of what this child calls a mistake.” Her voice thickened with tears as she pointed to the man on the floor. “I witnessed this man murder my mate.”

Marcellus offered another bow. “My lord, I request you take William to his second death tonight, and offer mercy to Charlotte. She won’t last much longer in her current state.”

Rho ground her teeth. Offer mercy, her bright, shiny ass.

He was asking her to do what he didn’t have the stomach to do. Murder an innocent woman before she lost her mind. These were the deaths that fed her nightmares, the reason she didn’t want this job. Killing the bad guys was justifiable homicide. Killing the innocents was a death sentence to her soul.

Frederick met her eyes with his matching set of gray. Despite an age difference of around two hundred years, people said they looked alike. She didn’t see it.

You know what to do.
Frederick spoke clearly into Rho’s mind, giving instructions without spelling it out. All creators carried a telepathic connection with those they created. Frederick had Rho on speed dial.

Yes, my lord.

She examined the crowd, catching the few grim faces of those losing a coven member. Others smiled in morbid anticipation.

Her high heels hit the ground and she stood with ease, craning her neck around to loosen up. After all, Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, only backwards and in high heels. Who said she couldn’t do her job in heels, too? She didn’t even have to hunt people down if they were found guilty in court, which made this a piece of cake.

Except for killing the innocents.

“Charlotte, come forward,” Rho ordered, not yet moving to unsheathe the wooden dagger from her waist. This girl didn’t deserve to see death come for her. She’d done nothing wrong.

Charlotte lumbered forward, meeting Rho in the center of the room. The jumble of voices surrounding them concealed their conversation.

Rho leaned forward and put her lips to the girl’s ear. “Charlotte?”

“Yes?” The girl trembled, fear nearly shaking her off her feet.

“I want you to close your eyes. Envision your mate,” Rho murmured.

Charlotte did as instructed. “His name was Asa.”

“Did he enjoy reading?” Most vampires did. They were often older than the invention of television.

“Yes.”

“What did he read?”

Charlotte chuckled. “He always told me his favorite book was
Charlotte’s Web
.”

“That’s a great book.” Rho slowly removed the wooden dagger from her waist. “Picture him reading it to you.”

A smile crossed the girl’s face. Rho plunged the wooden knife into her heart, feeling a sliver of her soul leave her chest as the girl crumpled to the floor.
Damn it all
. Their hands met as Rho crouched down to be closer to her victim. The quick convulsions of death overtook her small body and Rho wished desperately to take her pain away.

“Go with Asa,” was all she could whisper to the girl, watching the end near. Charlotte’s eyes fluttered. She smiled as she turned into ash at Rho’s feet.

Rho stood up, dusting off the ashes stuck to her black dress pants. Frederick met her gaze and she quickly glanced back down to the ground. Senseless. Deaths like this were such a waste.

Frederick’s voice carried over the mumbles from the spectators in the court room. “William Antonescu, child of Marcellus Antonescu, I do hereby sentence you to second death at the hands of the executioner for defiance of laws set forth for vampires of the DarqRealm. Let your conduct be a lesson to others who would errantly choose to follow in your path.”

That was always Rho’s cue.

She removed a dagger from her waist. William had met its acquaintance once already tonight. He squirmed, pinned to the floor like a bug in a child’s science project.

She stooped low, one knee resting on the dirt floor. His deranged laughter only pissed her off more, serving as a catalyst for the rage and self-loathing swirling in her brain. Fuck. Him.

“Have fun in hell,” she murmured, her lips only inches from his ear. Rho slammed the dagger through his chest and into his heart.

William’s face contorted into a deranged smile as he gazed at Frederick. “The wheels have been set in motion. We already have what we came here for,” he said in a quick rush.

Frederick jumped to his feet. “What did he say?”

But it was too late. Screams of agony intermingled with maniacal laughter echoed against the stone walls. The stink of William’s flesh burning permeated the room. Blood seeped from his body, slowly absorbed by the dirt beneath him.

“What did he say?” Frederick repeated, pointing to her victim as he marched toward Rho.

A puddle of dark brown sludge formed around the writhing almost-corpse. As the silver mixed with his blood and burned away from the dagger, William’s heart met the wood hidden inside. His eyes faded from terror to vacancy. When his body stopped twitching and descended into ashes, Rho turned to Frederick.

He glanced at the body, then back at her. “We needed to question him.”

Disapproving eyes of her fellow coven members bore into her, and she felt naked despite her well-covered skin. He’d never taken that tone with her before.

Her mouth gaped open. “I’m… It was too late. You issued the sentence, so I killed him. I didn’t realize—”

“I must speak with the king.” Frederick stormed off, leaving her alone in the room with their witnesses. She nodded meekly and stared at her feet. The room cleared, but she didn’t move until the last member of their small audience made his exit. And then she ran into her room.

“I will never understand why you feel the need to mutilate your body like that.” Frederick leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. His disapproving tone contradicted his sly smile. Rho knew at once he wasn’t angry. Relief struck her and she welcomed the sensation.

Ever since the night two years ago when he’d saved her life and turned her, he’d played the role of overbearing big brother. He’d checked in on her every day for the entire year after her transition, when she’d been kept in isolation until she could control her urges and learn to fight.

He’d even been positive about her joining the king’s guard, despite his gentlemanly opposition to females in combat. When she’d learned of her new appointment as executioner, he’d been her sole supporter and friend. He still was.

She bent her right shoulder forward to inspect her new design in the mirror and shot him a smile. “It’s not mutilation. It’s badass.”

A dense myriad of colors and designs already covered her arms, so she’d decided to use up the open real estate on her shoulders and back next. Luckily, Austin never had a shortage of talented artists.

Frederick shook his head. “Why do you punish yourself like that?”

He moved from the doorway to sit on the massive four-poster bed behind her. She scanned his reflection in the mirror as he made himself comfortable on the overstuffed duvet.

“I’ve told you before. It’s not punishment. It’s my way of making sure I don’t forget.” She examined the intricate spider web sprawled across her shoulder blade, a tiny black widow near the center. In her mind, she cast Charlotte as the delicate web and William as the disgusting arachnid.

“Don’t forget what?”

She turned away from the mirror to face him. “Not every person who dies at my hands is guilty of a crime. I don’t want to forget the value of a life because I’m so jaded I can’t remember how many people I’ve killed. Evil or not.”

Every single tattoo covering her skin was a memory. She’d only been fourteen when she’d found her parents dead. That’s when her obsession with the inking started, a desperate attempt to preserve the memories.

The night she’d lost them still haunted her.

And here she was, a murderer. No better than the people she hated for making her an orphan. How ironic.

“Rhowen, if you don’t want to do this job anymore, I won’t make you,” Frederick said quietly.

A faint smile crept to her lips. “My lord, you and I both know that isn’t an option.”

Those sad, gray eyes told her he’d change the circumstances if he could. “I’ve told you, you can call me Frederick when it’s just us.”

“And I’ve told you, you can call me Rho.”

The sound of knuckles against the heavy wooden door stole their attention. They turned to find Costel in the doorway, his massive build filling the opening.

Geez, he was quiet, even for a vampire. She preferred heels for that very reason— the stilettos made her feel a bit more human. The clicking let people know she was coming. Like a vampire cowbell.

Frederick quickly pulled himself from the soft bed to stand before the king, his long-removed uncle. “Good day, Costel.”

Costel and his mate, Danielle, ruled over the vampires as Lamia King and Queen. Vampires were big believers in blood, both in what they drank and in genealogy. It wasn’t uncommon for vampires to track down living descendants and offer up the opportunity for eternal life, wiping them of their memories if they refused. When the king had approached Frederick and offered him his rightful place as Lamia Prince, he’d accepted.

Not everyone was lucky enough to be given a choice.

“Hello, my lord,” Rho added quickly, putting her arms behind her back. Costel wasn’t a huge fan of her artistic side. Not like she gave a shit. Her body, her life. Although she kept that sentiment in her own head and didn’t dare say it out loud.

The king stepped into the room without a word, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind him. He scanned the wall and turned to her, his expression grave. “Are we alone?”

The question caught her off guard, and she skimmed the room for the source of his concern. Frederick approached the wardrobe and opened the heavy doors, running his hands along the interior walls and between the hung clothes. Following his lead, she crouched down to check beneath her bed. Nothing.

She brushed the light dusting of dirt from her knees and glanced at Frederick. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Me neither,” Frederick agreed.

Costel lowered his voice to a whisper. “I need to speak with you both.”

She nodded and stepped closer. The king’s gaze darted around the room. “Bring me the Kamen.”

Frederick’s eyes drifted to Rho.

“The Kamen?” she repeated, realizing she sounded like a parrot the moment the words escaped her lips.

“Yes. Bring it to me,” Costel demanded. “Now.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “But it should be where I’ve always kept—”

“I did not ask you where you keep it. I told you to retrieve it.
Why are you still standing here?
” the king snapped, clenching his fists. His nostrils flared as his cold eyes bore into hers.

Oh, shit. Shocked at his anger and unclear as to the reason behind it, she turned around and flung open the door.

“Go with her,” Costel instructed Frederick.

Luckily nothing stood in her way as she ran through the doorway and into the corridor. Her legs didn’t slow down as she ducked beneath the stalactites and pressed on. Hanging a right, she sprinted toward the kitchen. She’d only gotten that little red rock back a couple of days ago, and put it right into the hiding place she’d prepared. No one should have been able to find it, let alone break the spells protecting it.

She skidded to a halt in the middle of the kitchen.

“In here?” Frederick’s voice followed close behind her, but she didn’t acknowledge him.

She swung open a cupboard door and started removing mugs from the shelf. For most vamps, food never digested well and they didn’t bother because only blood offered nutritional value. But hot drinks could always soothe whatever ailed her, and coffee was her favorite both as a human and one of the undead. She was the only person in this cavern who drank the stuff.