Accidentally Married to…a Vampire?(Accidentally Yours #2)(51)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“You may take me in their place, and I will not fight you,” Niccolo had said according to witnesses. “If you keep them, I will leave here now. But I will return with an army of one thousand, and you will not be killed. We will remove your limbs and let you experience the excruciating pain of your body being bloodless and helpless. Then we will transport you to the queen’s dungeons where you will live for an eternity deprived of blood so you will not heal.”

His threat worked. The Obscuros agreed to the swap and released his men. The story said that Niccolo spent the next few months being tortured and drained repeatedly by the Obscuros who used his blood to become stronger. Helena cringed. She couldn’t imagine enduring so much pain. When reinforcement finally arrived to rescue Niccolo, the Obscuros were a hundred times stronger than before. The battle between the queen’s army and the evil vampires raged on night after night, each side retreating during the day to recover.

On the sixth night, Niccolo, who had been entombed underground, finally escaped. Witnesses say he clawed his way from the ground, sifted behind the leader of the Obscuros, and took his head. The entire army of Obscuros turned to ash within seconds.

“Why would they die just because their leader died?” Helena wondered aloud. She quickly flipped through the pages to find another story, then another and another. All three were accounts of battles where Niccolo had won by capturing and killing the evil vampires’ leaders.

That’s it! Helena gasped. “Oh my God.” Andrus hated the queen. He’d told her once that he planned to kill the evil bitch. Crap, Andrus was going to kill Reyna, and with her, every vampire she’d ever made would die.

She hopped up from the desk and ran down the side of library, up the stairwell, and then pounded furiously on the door. “Andrus! Open this door! I won’t let you! Open the goddamned door!” She kicked and threw her fists at the thick wooden door for over ten minutes, but no one came. Finally, she sank to the step.

Chapter 17

The car radio was hammering some odd House music, when Viktor noticed Niccolo clutching the sides of his head in the passenger seat. “Are you all right?”

Niccolo shook his head. “She’s in so much pain, I can’t think straight.”

“Oh. Thought you were going to lecture me again about the timeless, soul-enriching traits of Bach. Or, as I call him…Baaahhhhch.” Viktor made a sour face.

Niccolo did not laugh.

“You need to feed, my friend.” Viktor handed him a bag of cold blood from a small cooler in the backseat. “Here, this will help you keep up your strength.”

The thought of tasting anyone but Helena made his stomach churn. Yet, drinking her blood, changing her into a vampire made his heart crack into two. What on earth was he going to do? Focus. Bring her back safely first, he reminded himself.

“I will be fine.”

Viktor shook his head. “You are far from fine. As your friend, I am telling you that you are a liability. You couldn’t even kill an annoying Cocker Spaniel. You’re too weak.”

Viktor was right. Always the voice of reason. But it was Niccolo’s decision to defy Andrus’ instructions. Niccolo wasn’t stupid enough to hand Reyna over. If anything happened to that crazy shrew, he and his men would die. Niccolo also didn’t believe for one moment that Andrus would kill Helena as the note said. Not after he’d seen Andrus kissing her so passionately in the bar a few nights ago. The memory made him grind his teeth.

Andrus likely wanted her for himself once he got Reyna and Niccolo out of the picture. How could he have let Helena go off with that cretin? Yes, Niccolo felt devastated by what he’d almost done to her in bed. But his need to keep her safe caused him to overreact, a fact he sorely regretted.

Niccolo turned his head and stared out the window towards the wrought iron fence that surrounded the entire Demilord compound. Somewhere on the other side of the thicket was their mansion. And Helena. No vampire had ever successfully penetrated the grounds. It was warded in every possible way. Some even said mosquitoes could not enter.

“I cannot let you go in alone,” Niccolo groaned, barely able to speak from the throbbing pain in his head. “She is my bride. My responsibility.”

“I won’t be alone. We are twenty.” Viktor sighed. “My friend, over the centuries you have saved my life in battle more times than I care to count. You kept my family safe so that I could watch my children and grandchildren grow. You stayed by my side when I had to watch each of them die from old age, unable to comfort or help them. You saved me from a life of darkness. Please, brother, it is my time to do this one thing for you.”

Niccolo knew Viktor would go regardless, once he’d made up his mind, he didn’t change it. Stubborn bastard. That’s why he liked him so much.

“Buon, be careful. If anything happens, we shall rendezvous at our meeting spot.”

Viktor nodded. “I hope this works.” Viktor glanced at Niccolo’s tattooed arm.

Niccolo lifted the sleeve of his black t-shirt. “What else could it be for?”

“A useless decoration?”

Niccolo shook his head. “No. Cimil is known for pulling this kind of crap. Did I ever tell you how I found her? About the legend of the Spanish monk I uncovered in an old text?”

Viktor’s brows furrowed. “Not sure I want to know.”

“Word had traveled to the church about a Mayan legend of a powerful seer in southern Mexico. The monk had been plagued by years of violent dreams of his brothers turning on one and other in a murderous rampage. Desperate to stop his nightmares from becoming reality, the monk traveled for months to reach her. And when he finally did, she merely said, ‘Sorry. Can’t give you the time of day.’ But the determined monk wouldn’t give up. He stayed in the jungle, living at the edge of the cenote—her portal—waiting for her to pass through, which she did on numerous occasions. Each time, she simply repeated her words.”

“I’m guessing the story doesn’t end well,” Viktor frowned.

Niccolo’s eyes grew darker. “The poor monk died of a fever, but the local priest documented that there was a date tattooed across the monk’s chest. At his burial, an agitated, strange redhead appeared out of nowhere. She said, ‘What the hell happened to him? I gave the guy the date of the massacre so he could stop it! I tattooed the goddamned thing on his chest so he wouldn’t forget. I mean, really, just because I didn’t know the exact time of day. Men!”