PRINT: Blood Knight: Portal of Gold (SIGNED Paperback)

PROLOGUE

Lady Illustris Tenebris Iram—Wrath of the Glorious Darkness—tapped a polished nail against the dark varnished wood of her desk. She sat in her office, the pleasant din of customers eating, drinking, and having a good time echoing from below.

She was not having a good time.

The state of the game had changed, and she was no longer in control of the quaint college town of Chester Creek. Powerful forces were moving in—or were already here—and she needed to tread carefully as she bent the pieces on the board to her will.

She’d done it before, hundreds of times across hundreds of years, and she could do it again.

Only this time was different.

This time the Portal of Gold was the prize, and that meant she needed to step onto the board in order to seize its awesome power. She couldn’t rely on her minions for such an important task. Not entirely. Not without her power to back them up. Oh, she had eyes and ears and muscle aplenty at her disposal, but most were nothing more than unhexed demihumans.

Unremarkable compared to her raw might.

It had been twenty years since she’d been forced to engage with events so directly, but the stakes were too high, the involved parties too powerful.

Those parties didn’t have eyes on each other yet. But they knew of each other. They’d been swirling around the city for months, like planets in wild, opposing orbits. They tugged on one another, drawing closer and closer with each perilous passing.

They would eventually collide, but she couldn’t let that happen.

Not yet.

Not until she’d squeezed every last advantage from the situation.

The question remained how to do that. She didn’t know, and that uncertainty bothered her deeply. The tapping of her fingernail became more urgent, and her nail glittered for an instant like a precious gem. She stabbed the tip into her desktop, finger punching down to the first joint with no effort at all. 

She grimaced at the damage. The nail returned to normal, and she folded her fingers into a loose fist.

Lady Iram’s first challenge drew near and she composed herself. Her sharp hearing picked out the vampire’s light, high heeled footfalls clicking up a flight of wooden steps, followed closely by a heavier booted cadence. Iram drew a deep breath and studied the approaching magical auras: the first cool, controlled, but simmering with dangerous potential. In contrast, the man behind her possessed a more limited spark of magic, though Iram could practically taste his martial prowess, drawn back like a bow ready to be loosed. 

She brought her groom with her, Iram thought. Doesn’t she trust me enough to come alone?

Well, I can’t really blame her. The Academy of Silence already lost one hunter in this town. I didn’t have anything to do with his death, but she doesn’t know that.

The two visitors stopped outside her office, and a dainty double knock followed.
“Come in, Jezebel,” Iram said pleasantly. “I was wondering when you’d stop by.”

The door opened and the vampire walked in first. She was a slender, graceful woman with honey-blonde hair cut short and at an angle so that one side dipped near her cool gray eyes. Her lips were a severe, neutral line emphasized by deep red lipstick, and her snug black dress ended an inch below her hips, leaving an enticing glimpse of soft, pale flesh above each black stocking.

A dark elf followed her in. His movements possessed an air of focused restraint, calm but capable of bursting into terrible violence in the blink of an eye. His pale purple skin brought out his high cheekbones and red eyes, and the ponytail kept his snow-white hair off the tall points of his ears.

Jezebel Hatchett, pureblood vampire and deviant hunter for the Academy of Silence, gave Lady Iram a curt nod before taking a seat uninvited. Her groom, Elliot Pryce, closed the door. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, eyes fixed on Iram.

“Let’s get straight to business, Lady Iram,” Jezebel began. “You know why I’m here.”

“Of course I do. It’s because they’re still finding pieces of your predecessor strewn about the city.”

“An exaggeration.”

“The point is the Academy lost a d-hunter in this pissant town, and now you’ve been sent in to find out what happened to poor, old, exploded Dorian.”

“I’m also here to kill whoever eliminated him.” Jezebel crossed her slender legs and placed delicate hands in her lap. A lone obsidian ring gleamed on one finger.

“And his brides,” Iram added, eyes drawn to the bond ring. “They’re dead, too.”

“Their deaths are of no consequence.”

Iram glanced at Elliot. If the dark elf found Jezebel’s words distasteful, his face didn’t show it. Not that Iram had expected him to. It took a special kind of idiot to submit willingly to a vampire, to give up his freedom for power.

“What can you tell me about those responsible?” Jezebel asked.

“Very little, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?” The vampire cocked an eyebrow. “What is this I hear? The legendary Lady Iram, caught unawares in her own city? How very strange.”

Jezebel was right to be suspicious, and Iram needed to walk a fine line here. She’d spent decades spreading her influence across Chester Creek, and she knew exactly who’d killed the d-hunter.

But she couldn’t reveal that to Jezebel.

Not yet.

Not when so much advantage remained to be gleaned from the blood knight and his harem.

The mere mention of a blood knight, the antithesis to vampires in many ways, would have escalated the situation beyond Iram’s ability to guide it. Dozens of d-hunters would descend on Chester Creek within days, and the blood knight would either be killed or forced into hiding.

Neither outcome benefited her. Not yet. Not with the path to the Portal of Gold partially open.

Which presented its own problems. Jezebel would likely find a way to retrace Dorian’s steps, and that would lead her down the same path—a path that led toward the Portal of Gold.

Iram couldn’t allow that.

Which meant she needed to eliminate both Jezebel and Elliot.

Fortunately, she knew exactly how to accomplish that task without sullying her own hands.

“What can you share with me?” Jezebel asked pointedly.

“Just the basics. I requested the aid of a hunter about a month ago, asked for Dorian specifically because I knew I could depend on him. I told him about the five vampires who’d turned up dead recently, and he began his investigation. A few weeks later, he turns up dead, along with his four brides.”

“Where?”

“I’m not sure,” Iram lied, thinking carefully about which half-truths to feed the vampire.

“Not sure?”

“According to my sources within the police department, his brides were found dead in Studio Nightshade. It’s a club in downtown Chester Creek that was undergoing renovations at the time. Dorian was using it as his base of operations.”

“Then he was ambushed there?”

“I don’t think so. My sources came across evidence the brides’ bodies were moved there after the fact.”

“A cover up, then.” Jezebel’s eyes gleamed. “But I noticed you only said the brides were moved. What about Dorian?”

“Oh, he was there, too. What little was left of him, anyway.”

“I see.” The vampire knitted her fingers. “Do you believe the mage clans were behind this? 

I understand there are a handful of clans active in this city.”

“If so, it’s unusual behavior for them. Killing a d-hunter, on top of five other vampires?” 

Iram shook his head. “That’s not their style. Too aggressive.”

“Then what are we dealing with?”

“My best guess is an independent party. Perhaps a mix of mages and demihumans.”

“Don’t you have anything besides guesses?”

“I’m afraid not.” Iram sat back, and the chair’s leather sighed. 

“I find this sudden lapse in your network’s abilities … distressing.”

“What are you getting at?”

“It’s quite simple, Lady Iram. A d-hunter is dead, and I must follow the trail wherever it leads me.” The vampire’s gaze turned sharp. “Wherever it leads.”

“Are you suggesting I’m somehow involved?” Iram laced her words with manufactured indignation. “I’m the one who asked for him to come here, remember?” 

“No one is above suspicion.”

“I should be. Do I need to call Belphegor myself and have her sort you out?”

“Lady Iram, please.” Jezebel smiled faintly. “I meant no offense. Certainly, the relationship you have with our Great Mother is both known and respected. However, I must approach the situation with an impartial eye.”

“Now hold on a second.” Outwardly, Iram’s face contorted with mild offense, but inside she was grinning. “Yes, I don’t have anything for you now, but my own investigation is ongoing. I know the police are hiding something, and that’s where I’m focusing my efforts.”

“Then you’ll share anything you discover?”

“Absolutely. I want this problem solved as much as you do.”

“Excellent.” Jezebel rose and smoothed out her dress. “Then I will be on my way. How often can I expect updates from you?”

“Daily, unless there’s a breakthrough, in which case I’ll contact you immediately.”

“Very good. Then, Lady Iram, I wish you a pleasant evening.”

Jezebel dipped her head ever so slightly. Elliot opened the door for her, and the two left.

Lady Iram finally permitted herself that well-earned grin.

She would reveal to Jezebel who killed Dorian, but she would do so at a time of her choosing. She needed this d-hunter off the board, and she knew just the piece to throw at her:

J.B. Clarke.

After all, what better way to kill a vampire than with a blood knight?