Lord of the Vampires (Royal House of Shadows #1)(93)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Lily,” Kreja called with a wave of her hand.

Lily, the child-princess who would one day rule this clan, stood from her throne atop the dais and walked to her mother’s side, her little body draped in velvet robes rather than the leather straps and skirts worn by the warrioresses.

She had changed much in the past few months. No longer was this queen-in-training giddy and innocent. Once having run from camp to prove herself worthy of her people—thereby inadvertently beginning a war between the Amazons and the dragons, a war she’d once thought had caused the deaths of Nola and another Amazon, Delilah—she was now solemn. She’d even relinquished her right to claim Brand the dragon shifter, another of the gods’ exiles, as her personal servant, and had offered him up to her people. He now sat among the other slaves.

“You will not fight to the death,” Lily proclaimed in her soft voice. “But you will continue to engage each other until only one of you is left standing. It is she who will earn the right to bed the vampire.”

And when that winner tired of him, she could pass him on to her friends if she so chose. Increasing Zane’s humiliation.

Mating season had never bothered Nola before, but it bothered her now.

Leave. After Nola’s own experience with the gods’ cruel contest, she had no desire to watch another. For Zane, however, she would watch. And she would wish.

Every female in the ring assumed the battle stance.

There was only a slight pause before Kreja said, “You may begin.”

Immediately the women leapt into action. Metal clanged against metal, grunts abounded, and sand was flung in every direction. Seconds bled into minutes. Minutes to what seemed hours. An eternity. Bodies began collapsing, cries of pain echoing, one pink-haired female savagely working her way through the masses.

Soon, she was the only one standing.

Over. Done.

Nola wanted to vomit.

“And so we have a winner,” Kreja decreed proudly. She motioned to Zane with a wave of her hand. “Claim your prize, beloved. Know that we are pleased with the strength and tenacity you have demonstrated this day.”

As the female approached, Zane trembled. In rage. Perhaps in fear.

I’m so sorry, vampire. “I won’t let her have you,” Nola vowed, though she knew there was nothing she could do to stop what was to come.

CHAPTER TWO

THE FEMALE WAS GOING to kill him, Zane thought dazedly, dispassionately.

She’d won him, however long ago she’d fought for him—one day? Two? Weak as he was, he’d lost track of time. All he knew was that she’d tried multiple times to bed him. But she needed a hard c**k for that, and he hadn’t given it to her.

Denying her had delighted him. Still did.

Now two of those wretched Amazons stood around him, staring down at his naked body. If he hadn’t been half-starved and teetering on the brink of total collapse, those stares would have sent him into a killing rage. He hated being looked at as much as he hated being touched.

He’d spent too many centuries as the demon queen’s whore, hers to use, hers to hurt. And hurt him she had.

Many times, she’d forced him to drop to his knees and “worship” her with his mouth. Many times, she had forced him to clean each and every one of the horns covering her body. Again, with his mouth. Many times, she had forced him to do the same to others while she watched.

But the worst… He shuddered, hating to remember. But just then, his memories were all he had. They filled him up, consumed him, eating him bite by rancid bite. She’d blindfolded him and bound him to her bed. He had not known who kissed and touched him. Male, female. Demon, another slave. He hadn’t known. He hated, hated that there were people in Atlantis who knew of his humiliation and subjugation. He hated that those people had seen him naked, tasted him, brought him to climax in terrible ways, yet he did not know who they were.

Bile rose from his stomach into his throat. Demon whore. That’s what he was, all he would ever be. Demon whore, demon whore. He squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to cover his ears, but could not. His arms were tied, true, but even if he had been free, he was too weak to move.

Demon whore.

How could he have allowed such things? And he had. Allowed them. He could have walked away at any time. Yet he hadn’t.

All for the love of a woman. A slave, as he was supposed to be now. Marina, that detestable queen, had promised to set his beloved free if Zane pleased her until she grew tired of him. But she’d never grown tired of him, and Cassandra, his chosen mate, had begun to hate him as a result. For all he knew, she could have been forced to watch him with the queen.

Demon whore.

Yet still he’d stayed, determined to finally win his prize. His Cassandra. If he couldn’t have her as a mate, he’d at least wanted her to be happy. And as he well knew, no one could be happy without freedom.

But then, his actions hadn’t mattered. Layel, the vampire king, had done the impossible—what Zane had craved but had not yet had the strength to do—and drained the demon queen, finally freeing both Zane and Cassandra. He’d thought to earn back her love. However necessary. After all, everything he had done had been for her. Every hated touch, every blinded session. Only, she’d fled him. For another man.

Demon whore.

Perhaps that had been for the best.

Zane was not the man he’d once been. He eschewed females and wanted no part of them. Wanted no part of sex. He shuddered at even the thought of it, and sickness once again churned in his stomach. Had he eaten that day, he would have vomited.

One bright light. Remember your one bright light.

Nola.

Finally, his stomach calmed.

Nola had walked into his life, chasing away the darkness. Beautiful, passionate, fierce Nola. A woman who hadn’t wanted him, who had rebuffed him. A woman he’d craved with every ounce of his being despite what had been done to him. A woman the gods had taken from him. Why did he want her so damned passionately? He hadn’t known then, and he didn’t know now. Yet still he craved her. As if she were necessary to him. To his survival. As if, the first moment their eyes had met, hers as haunted as he knew his were, she had become a part of him.

Would he ever see her again?

He did not know if she’d survived their island game or if the gods had set her free, but sometimes he would swear that he smelled her sweet scent, felt the gentle glide of her hands on him. A touch he still did not mind.

A touch he needed. She…soothed him.

And, actually, the first time he’d seen her, he’d thought her a gift from the gods. For why else would he have been able to endure—no, enjoy—her touch and no other? Now, he thought that perhaps she’d been another curse. He craved her still, yet like Cassandra he could never have her.