Lothaire (Immortals After Dark #12)(131)

In her mind, what it boiled down to was that they had a lot of work to do on their relationship; now that she wasn’t roidal with new vampire rage, she was ready to dig in.

As long as he comes and gets me, I’ll kick his ass into shape, but we’ll work it

out.

Either it was taking him a long time to heal—or he’d decided not to come for her.

Surely an immortal of his advanced age would be mature enough to discuss their differences.

“What happens if he don’t come, Ellie?”

Good question. “I’ll figure something—”

“Yo, why’s this door locked?” Regin yelled from the hall. “Who the hell is Vampirellie talking to?”

“Mama, I gotta run! But I’ll send money when I can.”

The door came splintering down, revealing Regin, glowing like phosphorescence. “You don’t even know how dead you are, leech.”

“Love you, Mama, love everyone, talk soon!” She hung up the phone. By accidentally crushing it—

Regin launched herself at Ellie.

Ellie braced for impact, closing her eyes as dizziness overwhelmed her. Waiting . . .

Then came a crash at the TV console. Regin hollered, “Imma be f*cking you up!”

When Ellie opened her eyes, she was across the room and Regin had just collided headfirst with the TV.

I traced? Finally! That dizziness—when had she felt it before?

In the fight with Lothaire! Had I traced even then? No wonder she’d reached him with that sword swing.

How she wished she could explain that to him!

For now, she had a pissed-off Valkyrie to deal with. But Regin could never catch her now that she could vanish! “What’s the matter, lightning bug? Forget how to change the channel? Ha-ha-ha, Valkyrie, you can’t catch me,” Ellie taunted in a singsong voice. “Hillbilly on the run, on the ruh-hun!”

When Regin vaulted the sofa, Ellie traced once more, but Regin anticipated her reappearance and barreled her to the floor.

“Ow!”

Then Regin proceeded to show her true colors, making Ellie punch her own face. “Why are you hitting yourself? Huh? Vampire, stop hitting yourself.”

“Vampire?” N?x questioned from the doorway, her hair wild, her gaze unfocused. That rabid bat of hers perched on her shoulder, heatedly flapping its wings, as crazed as its owner. “In Val Hall?” Her amber eyes grew silver, the colors swirling. A weird electricity began to crackle in the air.

Every one of Ellie’s heightened immortal senses screamed DANGER. Surely not from N?x?

Leaving the bat behind, the soothsayer attacked, backhanding Regin, sending her across the room.

Before Ellie could react, N?x had her knees shoved into Ellie’s shoulders, pinning her with freakish strength. Hair straggling over her wan face, N?x murmured, “Helen paid with a broken heart. Furie paid. Emmaline—”

“N?x! It’s me, Ellie! What are you doing?”

The soothsayer canted her head like an animal. “You don’t know where Furie is . . . ?” Lightning blasted outside, thunder quaking the house.

“N?xie, easy!” Regin clambered over, yanking on her sister. “We were just f*cking about.” But even Regin was no match for N?x’s power.

Finally, N?x allowed Regin to heave her away, both of them landing tangled on the floor. The soothsayer blinked in bewilderment. “What has happened?”

Ellie cried, “You’re askin’ me?” Then regretted her tone when N?x suddenly looked exhausted, sickly even.

Her bat waddled toward her, hopping on her arm, seeming to soothe her.

“What the f*ck, N?x? You’re a regular shit show these days!” Regin disentangled herself from her sister, shooing the bat away. “You went all Ride of the Valkyries on Vampirellie.”

N?x frowned at something unseen to Ellie, then sighed sadly. “And I fear between the two of us, I’m doing the better. . . .”





54


King Lothaire, the mad king.

He rather liked the moniker, heard it often said in the sentence: “What has the mad king done now?”

Not because he’d lost his sanity, but because of his behavior—rarely sleeping, wandering the streets at all hours, plotting to send his new subjects into war with the Horde at the earliest opportunity.

This twilight, Lothaire was holding court. He sat upon his gilded throne, decorated with gold-dipped skulls. His design. If he’d had a queen, her throne would have been similar. Of course, her skulls would be daintier.

But he had no queen.

The royal cousins who acted as his council knew to gauge his sanity, opening the court on nights when Lothaire seemed more lucid and composed.

For the last three weeks, those kinds of nights had been surprisingly frequent.

He and Elizabeth had exchanged blood, which meant he had an unbreakable tie with her mind. Unlike the one with Chase, the link to his Bride was keeping Lothaire relatively sane.

A blessing—because he refused to let anyone believe he suffered due to his “regicidal Bride.”

Lothaire was not to be an object of pity. How many times had he made fun of heartbroken males? How many times had he sneered to them, “Aww, did we masturbate through the tears last night?”

As fate would have it, the tie to Elizabeth meant he could survive without her. He no longer needed her; luckily, he no longer wanted her.