ROMAN: Fury of Her King (Kings of the Blood Book 2) (11 page)

Kat paused, took a drink of tea, and went on, “Anyway, there were
some ‘restrictions’.” She made air quotes. “I guess you’d call them. They would
have to have blood once a month.” Pointing at Cyn’s wrinkled nose and curled
lip, Kat chuckled, “Yep, I thought the same thing, but it’s absolutely nothing
like the blood letting you see in movies. They only take a little bit and only
from willing donors. That’s what led Viktor and Roman to create the position of 
tréfon
,
or feeder, within their weird little fraternity. They chose people loyal to
them, told them their secret, and made them swear an oath and sign a contract,
then they became the people the Kings fed from. That is what Valentina is, well
was, to Roman. His feeder, nothing more, and had she not gone off the
reservation the stupid cow would’ve been set for life had you decided to accept
your role as his 
fýlaskas tis kardías mou
 or the keeper of his
heart. She would’ve had…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, princess. The keeper of his heart as
in…?” Cyn interrupted and let her unfinished question hang in the air.

Snickering for about the hundredth time, Kat held up her hands in
surrender, “You crack me up. I remember thinking the same thing, but what it
means is that you are his mate, the figurative keeper of his heart.” She
immediately became serious and her tone very direct. “But here’s the deal. You
were literally designed to be the other half of Roman’s soul. You are the only
one that can save him.” She held up her hand to stop Cyn from interrupting.
“Yes, they are immortal, but remember I said there was a catch? Well, here it
is. If you two are not mated in the way Zeus has set forth by the time Roman
turns three-thousand-years-old, he will just cease to exist.”

“So that means I have to become like him? Like you? And drink
blood?”

“Yes, in a way, you will go through the conversion, but you will
only feed from Roman just as he will only feed from you. That’s why Valentina
was about to receive the severance of a lifetime with a career, a house, and
all the spending money a girl could want.” She stopped and tapped her chin.
“But I can’t figure out what Laurent had to do with it all?” She shrugged,
“Guess the guys will find that out soon enough.”

Cyn had heard enough. Her head was spinning and the butterflies in
her stomach felt like they were going to burst through her skin. She had to be
alone to think, to figure out if anything she’d just heard was the truth or if
she had officially drunk the same Kool-Aid as Kat.

Standing, she looked at the tall beautiful redhead who’d shown up
on her doorstep, made her lunch and at least, for all she knew, was trying to
help her and sighed, “Can we take a break? I seriously need to think.”

“Sure, hun, go rest. I’ll clean up this mess.” She motioned to the
table. “Take your drink. You need to stay hydrated. I’ll be here when you wake
up.”

Leaning down to grab her glass, the room started to spin, her
vision blurred, and before she could figure out what was happening, Cyn was
falling forward. Strong hands grabbed her shoulders just before her head hit
the coffee table. Kat yelled, “Cynthia…Cyn…can you hear me?”

Opening her mouth to answer, all Cyn could do was cough as her
world turned black.

Chapter Nine

“You do realize she will let you beat Laurent to death, right?”
Viktor asked, pointing at where Valentina sat tied to a chair, smiling around
the gag in her mouth. “She heard all his screams as they echoed through your
medieval dungeon and couldn’t have cared less about the poor boy. He was merely
a means to an end.”

“Yes, and now he is a means for me to expel a bit of the rage,”
Roman growled, wiping his chauffeur’s blood from his hands.

“Do as you will. How about I speak with your little 
tréfon
?”
He sniffed as he rolled up his sleeves. “I believe I may have an idea that will
loosen her lips.”

Roman gave a single nod as he watched his Commander walk toward
the woman who had been his feeder for nearly twenty years. He had no pity for
her. Actually, all he felt was an overwhelming need to throttle her about the
neck until she no longer drew breath as punishment for her crimes. Yes, he
wanted answers, but her death was sounding more appealing with every passing
second.

Going back to the next room to Laurent, Roman stood and glared at
the man hanging from a hook dangling from a chain in the bowels of his mansion,
completely baffled how someone who had been so loyal for so long could betray
him in such an overwhelming fashion. Grabbing the traitor firmly by the chin,
the General shook him back to consciousness.

“Please, sire, I know nothing. I…” Laurent slurred, stopping to
gasp as blood flowed from the numerous cuts and abrasions on his face.

“I care not about what you know,” Roman growled through gritted
teeth. “My sole purpose is to inflict the maximum amount of pain while keeping
you alive.” He pushed Laurent’s face away with a loud crack of the man’s neck
and spun on his heels. “Now, think about how much you can take while I check on
the Commander’s progress with Valentina and I’ll be back,” he called over his
shoulder, kicking the huge wooden door shut and slamming the enormous metal
locks closed for effect.

The sound of his heels on the stone floor reminded him of another
time and place when he and Viktor had been forced to take their pound of flesh
in the pursuit of justice. Visions of the past flooded his mind as he walked
down the long cold corridor and was transported back to just ten years after
his rebirth. 
He could feel the cold wet grass through his tunic while
he laid hidden in the weeds just south of the traitor’s camp. Looking across
the clearing, he saw the determination in his Commander’s eyes as he crept
closer to their enemies, attempting to see how many combatants they would send
across the River Styx on this night.

Eight flashes of Vitkoras’ blade in the moonlight. Eight traitors,
all celebrating yet another bloodbath perpetrated for their own ill-gotten
gains. The fury that rose within Romanus was barely containable. It was
incomprehensible how these barbarians, once men of honor, had been reduced to
working for the corrupt politikoí to overthrow the sovereign government of
Greece.

Several tense moments passed as the General waited for the signal
to move. He anticipated the look upon Xenophanes’ face when he saw that Romanus
was indeed alive and well and coming for his head with immense excitement. It
mattered not that they shared a father. The bastard had betrayed everything
their patéras believed in, stood for, and had bled to protect. It would be a
victory to watch the traitor’s blood wet the ground beneath his feet.

Finally, the call came. Romanus was on his feet, sprinting across
the clearing with the speed given to him by the King of the Gods. Stopping at
the outskirts of the camp, he sneered at their drunken celebration and the poor
young girls they planned to rape later that evening. Not only would he rid the
world of his half-brother and the prodótis’ followers, but also free those
women from a fate worse than death.

A single whistle, heard only buy his ears, and the mighty General
sprang into action. Shock covered the faces of his enemies as he and his
Commander appeared from the mist, slashing the throats of the men dim-witted
enough to follow Xenophanes. Moving with the speed of Zeus’ lightning, Romanus
and Viktoras cut down seven men, leaving them headless in puddles of their own
life’s essence.

Turning to face his half-brother, covered in the blood of
Xenophanes’ compatriots, Romanus smirked, “And now, brother mine, comes the
time of your death.”

Dropping his vessel of wine, Xenophanes cried, “Leave me specter,
haunt me no more.”

Barking with laughter, Romanus advanced, “Oh, brother, if only I
were a fántasma, easily dismissed and left to roam the ether. But alas, I am
flesh and blood, just as you, and tonight it is you who shall die in the sand
like a plebian.”

Jumping to his feet and stumbling backward with his hands before
him to ward off the General, Xenophanes screamed, “This cannot be. I watched
you die. I saw the spear in your chest.”

“Did you?” Romanus taunted. “Or did you run away like the deilós
you truly are?”

The acrid stench of fear filled the air as the General continued
toward Xenophanes, his blade at his side, the need for vengeance fueling his
every action.

“Spare me, brother, I beg of you.” Motioning at the riches from
his latest raid, the traitor offered, “See the wealth. Take it all.” Pointing
to the young women chained like slaves to the same trees as the horses,
Xenophanes bartered, “Take the pórnes. You and your Commander must be in dire need
of company.” The bastard dared to look at Viktoras, who merely shook his head
and scoffed in disgust.

Sneering, Romanus ordered, “Lift your blade.”

Shaking his head and looking for an escape, Xenophanes wept, “I
will not. You will have to kill an unarmed man.” He threw his sword to the side
and raised his empty hands in surrender, a sly look flashing across his face
before, with an immediate confidence that directly opposed the tears still
streaking his face, the prodótis challenged, “The great Romanus would never
strike down an unarmed man. It would be a dishonor of the highest degree.”

Racing forward, Romanus grabbed Xenophanes by the throat and
lifted his feet from the ground, smiling as the traitor tore at his hand and
struggled to breathe. Looking his half-brother in the eye, the General hissed,
“Romanus, General of the Grecian Army, is no more. Tonight, you die by the hand
of Roman Marinos.”

His words still echoed in the air as he plunged his blade through
Xenophanes’ gullet, slicing upward and watching as blood gurgled from the
traitor’s lips and the light bled from his eyes. With his dying breath,
Xenophanes stammered, “May you lose what you treasure most at the hands of my
ancestors.”

“And may you wither on the banks of the River Styx with a burning
torment befitting your crimes,” the King spat.

Dropping the corpse of his betrayer to the ground, Roman spun on
his heel, nodded to his Commander who had already released the young women and
sent them home on the horses of the traitors and together, the Kings left the
remains of the fallen traitors for the vermin.

Standing in the corridor, Roman pulled himself from the past and
focused on the task at hand. Opening the heavy wooden door, he found Viktor
kneeling next to a weeping Valentina, holding a photograph and calmly asking,
“This is your 
giagiá
, is it not? The woman who raised you when your
mother succumbed to her addiction?”

“Y-y-yes,” she hiccupped, tears mixed with her mascara running
down her face reminding Roman of a sad clown. “B-b-but…”

Disregarding her words, the Commander continued, “And you are
aware of the terms of your contract with not only Mr. Marinos, but the Order of
the Kings of the Blood?”

Wailing, his former 
tréfon
 looked to him with
pleading eyes and begged, “Please, 
o vasiliás mou
, my grandmother
is innocent. She knows nothing of you or your kind.”

Shrugging, Roman shook his head, “The rules are clear. The price
of your betrayal is not only your life but that of all those with whom you
share blood.” He took a step forward before adding, “It matters not that you
sought to hide your 
giagiá 
from us.”

Frantically shaking her head while sobbing and trying to speak,
Valentina finally stammered, “I-I-I only w-w-wanted to k-k-keep her f-f-free
from w-w-worry.”

Speeding across the room, Roman wrapped his hand around her neck,
reveling in the flutter of her pulse against his palm as he squeezed just
enough to make her struggle. Leaning down until they were eye-to-eye, the
General let all the fury and rage of her betrayal bleed into his expression as
he jeered, “Come now, Valentina, were all friends here. Let us at least be
honest with one another. Your actions against my 
fýlakas tis kardiás
mou
 were premeditated and keeping the existence of your beloved
grandmother from us was just another part of your plan. You believed to
outsmart us. To kill the one most dear to me without suffering the full extent
of your consequences.”

He held her tight for a second longer as she gasped for air before
snatching his hand away and smiling as she crumpled where she sat. Coughing and
rubbing her neck, she croaked, “N-n-no, I swear. Y-y-you must believe me.”

“I believe not a word from your wretched lips,” Roman roared.

Pacing, while contemplating all the ways he could end the
treacherous bitch’s life, the King had to remind himself that they needed to be
sure no other in their organization was involved. It was imperative to their
very existence that no traitors to Valentina’s cause, whatever it truly was, be
left alive.

Part of him, the soft underbelly that had reared its ugly head the
moment he knew of Cynthia’s existence, wondered if telling Valentina they truly
would never hurt an elderly blind woman who had no knowledge of them would
loosen her tongue. But the master strategist who had orchestrated thousands of successful
campaigns against enemies all across the world knew this was the only way to
get the truth from the enemy.

He continued to traverse the far end of the stonewalled room as
Viktor showed Valentina picture after picture of not only her childhood but her
grandmother going about her daily tasks. It was the only leverage they had and
the Commander knew ways of interrogation few had ever tried.

Question after question, denial after denial ate away at Roman’s
hard fought restraint. He needed answers. He needed to be with his mate. He
needed to watch Valentina and Laurent die for their crimes.

Finally, when he could stand it no more, the King opened his mouth
to declare Valentina’s life at an end but never got to speak the words as
Viktor’s cell phone rang.

“Katarina?” The Commander asked, concern crossing his face as he
pulled the device from his ear and pressed the speaker button.

“Oh, Roman, I am so sorry. I just thought she was tired. I made
her lunch and told her to take a nap.” The panic in Kat’s voice was palpable
and her speech so rapid it took his enhanced hearing to decipher her words.

“What? Cynthia? Tell me?” he barked.

Kat’s voice wavered, “She collapsed. The paramedics are on the
way. She’s pale. Her breathing is shallow and she’s drenched in a cold sweat.”

Racing towards the door, he yelled over his shoulder, “I’m on my
way.”

His hand had barely touched the knob when Valentina’s cackle
penetrated the air. Spinning on his heel, he sped back to the traitor and
demanded, “What have you done?”

Gone was the weeping, wailing wench from a moment ago. Back was
the conniving snake with a look of defiance in her eyes and a sneer on her
lipstick-stained mouth. “I couldn’t be sure it had worked. I thought since you
were here torturing me, she must not have eaten enough for it to take effect,
but I see I was wrong. Your dear Cynthia did just as I had hoped.”

Slapping Valentina across the face with such force her head flew
back and it took several seconds for her recover, Roman roared, “You will tell
me what you have done or I will rip you limb from limb with my bare hands.”

Laughing as she smeared her ruined makeup across her face with
bound hands, Valentina mocked, “Oh, Roman, if you kill me your 
agapiméni
sas 
dies.” She slid down a bit in her chair and looked at the shackles
around her wrist. “Of course, if you let me live I can guarantee a different
outcome.”

Raising his hand to slap her again, Roman growled as Viktor stayed
his hand and advised, “This is not working. The time has come for stronger
methods.”

Taking several calming breaths, the King pulled his arm from the
Commander’s hand and nodded while glaring at a gloating Valentina. Turning away
he asked, “Whatever you say. Let’s get this over with.”

Shaking his head, Viktor advised while patting Roman on the
shoulder. “No 
o aderfós mou
, let me handle this. You need to be
with your 
fýlakas tis kardiás mou. 
I have Lee, Sal, and Bain
for assistance. Now go.”

Roman gave a single nod, turned, and headed to the door. Walking
into the hall, he stopped short when Valentina yelled, “May you lose what you
treasure the most, Romanus!”