CHAPTER ONE
Zane held the tall fae woman in his arms.
“Thank you,” he whispered. He had her pressed up against the bathroom wall, door locked. She was breathing hard.
So was he.
She’d offered her body and donated from her vein as well, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember her name. It had become a pattern of his in recent months to seek out willing females from those who frequented the Elf Lords Hideaway. The infamous biker bar had a cross-section of shifters, vampires, trolls, and the occasional fae who all had one thing in common; a love of riding.
Having his blood needs taken care of helped. A little. He suffered from the results of chronic blood starvation, as all mastyr vampires did. Which meant he was still left with the usual stomach cramping, just less intense because of the woman’s donation.
He leaned his forehead against hers. He’d gotten them both off, but he felt like shit.
She’d been willing, of course. He made sure his doneuses knew the score going in. And he always took care of the woman. But lately his soul felt crushed each time he took a woman like this. It was no different now.
“Thank you,” he said again, just to make sure she knew he appreciated her sacrifice.
She had her hands clasped behind his neck and a loose, satisfied look in her eye. “You’re welcome, mastyr. Anytime. Really.” Her smile widened. “And my name is Jewel.”
She was a lovely fae woman, who liked her men on the rough side. She released her hold on him, for which he was grateful. “Ask for me again,” she suggested with a smile. She started buttoning up her leather vest.
“I will.” Not likely, though it wasn’t personal. Jewel – so that was her name – seemed nice enough, someone he might even have dated at one time.
He didn’t date now. Hadn’t for the past five years. Not once since his wife, Emily, had been killed by the Invictus.
Damn, he was still raw from the loss, destroyed in ways he didn’t understand. For one thing, he doubted he’d ever marry again. For another, he was always mad when he thought about his wife. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to get past his rage.
He’d wanted to have a family with Emily, but she hadn’t. She took terrible risks by going out alone to deserted places to paint, always against his advice. They argued every morning at dawn when he came home from Guard duty. He’d loved her, but they’d been oil and water.
Then one day, after returning from battling Invictus all night, he found a pool of blood on his kitchen floor and no sign of his wife.
Crushed was the right word.
He left Jewel in the bathroom to pull down her short denim skirt and do whatever else a woman did after hot, quick sex in a public place.
He headed into the men’s room, took a pee, and tried not to feel like the ass-end of hell.
These days, he made war against the Invictus and not much else. All the mastyrs of the Nine Realms were engaged in the exact same way, battling the Ancient Fae and her army of vicious, bonded wraith pairs. The woman wanted to rule their world and was coming damn close to achieving her ambitions.
His realm, Swanicott, suffered almost constant Invictus intrusions every night so that his Vampire Guard was in a worn out state as were his Shifter and Troll Brigades.
He left the bathroom. The rough boards of the bar creaked beneath his leather hip boots and two-eighty frame. He was taller than most mastyrs since he topped out just shy of six-seven.
The place smelled of beer, whisky, and good times. Something out of Nashville played on the radio, crusty and gut-wrenching. He was at home here, having a proclivity for hard-drinking women and bar fights.
Lately, he’d been doing a lot of the latter. He’d gotten into the bad habit of letting his starvation run way too long between feedings, which tended to ramp up his already surly temper. He needed to stop that shit, but he wasn’t sure how. Ever since Mastyr Malik had hooked up with his blood rose, a woman designed to ease the pain of a mastyr’s starvation forever, Zane had been irritable as hell.
He didn’t want a blood rose of his own; he wouldn’t know what to do with her even if she happened to come alo