Angie Fox - Love Bites

The wet brick walls felt cool to the touch. Finn hadn’t been down here in at least a century, yet he recognized the familiar odour of mildew and clay. Above, he heard Katarina’s fury as she shook off his trap. She had to understand why he did it. From the way she cursed, Finn could almost believe that she was a mercenary, like him.

He did it for her own good. He had a feeling he was about to walk into a bad scene and he didn’t need to be worrying about the princess. And he sure as heck didn’t need her to see what might happen to him – or her father. As he drew closer to the King, he could feel more of the old vampire’s life force. It was weak, threatened.

Finn wound his way through the underground passageways. He slid through an opening in the panelling of the throne room with hardly a sound. The immense chamber lay dark and heavy from neglect. Years ago, this had been the centrepiece of the King’s court, but Volholme had tired of parties long ago. Too bad. A few extra vamps could have come in handy tonight.

Finn moved soundlessly through the house, edging along the main corridor as the King’s scent grew stronger and stronger. The unknowns were holed up in the King’s study. Finn knew from experience that there was only one way in or out. He flexed his hands, ready.

He’d have to take out the empath fairy first.

Finn paused outside the door.

“This is your final warning,” a cold voice stated.

Finn’s heart pounded. Inside, the grey-haired King lay back in his leather chair, a war axe with a blade as long as a man’s forearm threatened his carotid artery. One wrong move and his head would be off.

Katarina’s fiancé, Vlad, held the axe.

The truth of it slammed into Finn. Vlad had been behind the attempts on the King’s life – the promise of security forces, a mere trick to facilitate a hasty marriage with Katarina.

The ruthless vamp’s chin shook and spittle clung to his yellowed fangs. “Sit up. Up! Do it or I execute your only heir.”

Finn about choked when he saw Katarina’s brother frozen to the spot, pink tears of rage in his eyes. Behind her brother stood an empath fairy. His yellow beard had grown longer and he had a new scar over his left eye, but Finn would have recognized Athol Grim anywhere. Shite. Athol had fought with Longshanks. And he was damned good at killing.

Adrenaline surged through Finn.

It was a power grab – plain and simple. Vlad couldn’t assume the throne without direct ties to the Volholme bloodline. He needed to marry Kat and drink from her. If he couldn’t do that, he needed the King dead. But not by his own hand or retribution would be swift. No, Vlad needed the King to kill himself.

Finn didn’t have much time, but he did have a plan.

Silently as the night, Finn moved back through the corridor and into the music room. He pressed his back to the bronze-leaf wallpaper and, with every bit of will he had, he forced himself to take on the intoxicating scent and spirit of Katarina. He thought of her joy in finding him, her lust for life, that damned gold belt. He called up everything that was good about her.

And then he waited.

“I smell her,” Athol said from the study.

“Well, go get her!” Vlad demanded.

Finn fought back a growl as he projected thoughts of Katarina, his Katarina, just inside the music room. He pictured her running her long fingers over the edge of a snow-white baby grand.

Finn could practically feel Athol salivating.

He’d kill the traitor. He’d kill them both. Finn only wished he could do it slowly.

Athol surged into the music room, a gleaming silver hook raised to snare Katarina. Finn stepped behind him and slit his throat.

He lowered the fairy to the floor and thanked the gods that the real Katarina wasn’t here to see any of this.

Then Finn morphed into a spitting image of Athol. Well, at least the vamps would see it that way. Finn stuffed Athol’s wooden stake into his belt and hoped he could get close enough to Vlad before the King did something they’d all regret.

What he needed was a distraction.

Finn strode back to the King’s study, still trying to figure out the second part of his plan. His instincts had never let him down before. But as he came upon the portly King at the end of a blade, he wasn’t so sure he was going to like what happened next.

“I can’t find her,” Finn said, imitating Athol’s gruff voice.

The vampire’s face reddened. “I can’t kill him until I take her blood!” He pressed the blade into Volholme’s skin, licking his fangs as a trickle of blood ran down the King’s neck.

Almost to himself, Vlad said, “I can’t kill the King—” a twisted smile formed on his lips “—but I can kill the boy.” He turned to Katarina’s brother.

Finn braced himself, ready to blow his cover, when Vlad stiffened and gasped. A volley of acid rained down, scorching the vamp’s face. Finn ignored the poison and went for the blade, wrenching it away. In a split second, Finn separated Vlad’s astonished head from his neck.

Blood poured from the vampire’s throat as his body thudded onto the thick green carpeting.

Finn wiped his face. Water. Holy water.

He hastened to the King’s side. “Are you all right?”

Volholme nodded while Finn did a quick once-over to make sure the King was, indeed, free of holy water and in one piece. When he was satisfied he’d done his job, Finn glanced back at their rescuer.

Katarina stood in the doorway wearing nothing but his leather jacket and the black lace bra and panties that had driven him wild back at the monastery. She held his holy water gun in one hand and rested the other against the door jamb like a Playboy bunny. For a moment, nobody moved.

“Katarina!” the King boomed, the ruddiness returning to his cheeks. “For Varstnic’s sake, cover yourself,” he said, more affronted by her lack of clothing, it seemed, than with his brush with death.

“Yaaa!” Katarina’s brother lunged at Finn, fangs out, until Finn froze the unfortunate vamp once again.

“It’s me,” he said quickly, morphing back into himself.

“Thank the ancestors,” said the King, who looked quite relieved to see Finn instead of Athol in charge.

Katarina strode up to Finn.

“Nice jacket,” he said.

“I was cold.” She laughed and wrapped her slender arms around Finn’s waist.

Finn looked down at her, never so glad to see anyone in his life. “How did you make it through the underground passages?” He racked his brain. “You can’t smell me, sense me.”

“Ah.” She winked. “But I can smell me on you.”

Finn warmed just thinking of it. It didn’t help that she was beaming up at him. Finn found himself wearing a lopsided smile of his own. “You should wear that outfit more often.”

She blushed. “I got the idea from a contestant on American Idol. She wanted to shock the judges.”

Finn raised a brow. He wasn’t one to argue with unusual tactics.

“What did you mean ‘smell her’?” the King demanded, rubbing at his neck. “And unfreeze my son!”

Finn did and the Prince staggered forwards and caught himself on the edge of an antique suit of armour.

“What have you done to my daughter?” the King demanded.

Katarina straightened. “Nothing that I didn’t want done,” she said quietly. All eyes turned to her. She stood, arms folded, the prim and proper aristocrat in a leather jacket and a thong.

The King spared a glance at Vlad’s wilted, headless body to the left of the red velvet drapes. His eyes hardened as he assumed the chair behind the desk like an executive.

Katarina balled her hands into fists. “Stop looking at me like that. None of this would have happened if you didn’t try to force me to marry again.” She wrinkled her nose at the body on the carpet. “All he ever wanted was my blood so he could kill us all. Great matchmaking, Dad.”