Chapter 5

In His Bed

Dante held his thrall’s limp form as the elevator took them higher, away from the basement levels of Sky Castle.

His thrall.

He’d never made a thrall before, preferring to cycle through the eligible bed slaves because a single human couldn’t often handle his proclivities. But this one—Dante gazed down at his fine-boned face, frowning, even in sleep—might have been made for him. His response to Dante’s whip was unexpected…

But it was really too soon to tell. The little rebel hated him, and Dante couldn’t blame him, as his reputation painted him a ruthless underworld monster—a reputation he’d painstakingly carved for himself.

The elevator stopped with a ding and opened its doors to the familiar pristine hallway. The eighty-ninth floor was home to a few vampires of the noble class. Although his apartment was spacious and luxuriously finished, it couldn’t compare to the Vittori Family estate, a sprawling mansion located a few miles outside Houston. Aside from the staff and slaves who kept the place maintained, the mansion lay empty. Lord Dante was the last vampire of the once-thriving Vittori Family—a fact that darkened his eyes and brought out a chilling smile.

But, as much as he’d love to take his new thrall to the place and have him in every single room on every single surface, he had work to do at Sky Castle.

Dante shifted the boy in his arms and opened the door to his apartment, which was styled like the rest of the building. Open and bare, with little in the way of furniture and material comforts. He’d never bothered to do much with the space.

Maybe he should, now that he’d be sharing it with another, at least for a little while.

He had more than one bedroom, but Dante headed straight for the master suite at the end of the hall. His polished black shoes padded over plush white carpeting until he came to the enormous bed dominating his room.

He laid the unconscious boy atop the soft gray blankets, then rose again to his towering height. Dante drank in the sight of his thrall, small and slight on his bed. He didn’t often bring slaves here, preferring to take his pleasures in the basement levels of Sky Castle. This new intimacy struck him.

He, the boy—for Dante did not yet know his name—groaned softly. Before Dante’s eyes, his wounds began to heal. His skin smoothed, fading away cuts and bruises and returning to flawlessness. Dante’s venom worked through his system, wholly claiming and making his body anew. Now, the only blemish remaining was the one Dante had given him, fresh fang marks on his slender neck.

Dante carefully lifted the boy forward, supporting his upper body as he removed the torn shirt. He slept on as Dante inspected his back. What had been a thatchwork of scars, both old and new, was now soft pale skin. Satisfaction shone in Dante’s eyes as he traced the curve of the boy’s spine.

He didn’t know who had given the boy those scars, but he wanted to murder them.

Dante loosened the boy’s hair from its tie, and the inky strands fell down his back, reaching past his shoulder blades. He then laid him back down, not caring that dirt and dried blood would soil the sheets. The boy needed a wash, to erase the signs of General Marcus’s beating, but Dante decided he better let him do it himself.

If he wanted the boy willing, Dante needed to step carefully going forward.

With a final lingering look at his thrall, Dante stood and pulled out his phone.

He exited the room, closing the door behind him. Making his way to the kitchen, he dialed Jimmy’s number.

“Boss?” the young vampire answered.

“I need you at my apartment.”

“Sure thing, Boss. Be there in a sec,” Jimmy said before hanging up.

By a sec, Jimmy really meant at least fifteen minutes, the quickest he could get there from the building that housed many of Dante’s soldiers. And knowing the fledgling, he’d take no longer than that.

Dante phoned Abram next. It rang a few times while Dante rifled through the kitchen cabinets.

“Yes?” Abram answered.

“Why do you sound suspicious, Highness?” Dante could practically see the prince raising a single eyebrow. “Anyway, can I borrow Ollie?”

“Does this have anything to do with the rebel you brought home?”

He knew word would travel fast. It had only been a few hours since Dante had brought the boy to Sky Castle, but Marcus had a big mouth.

“Yes,” Dante affirmed. “I need to see your brother about it before Marcus has his ear. I don’t want to leave the boy alone.”

Abram was silent for a moment. Dante had already given up on finding food for the boy and leaned a hip against the black granite counter.

“Is this wise, Dante? He tried to kill you.”

“I don’t think he’d hurt Ollie.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Abram said, his exasperation clear even through the phone. “We can’t afford this kind of risk right now.”

“I have a feeling the payoff is going to be worth the risk.”

More silence.

“I’ll send Ollie over in the morning.”

“Thanks, Highness.” Then Dante hung up before Abram could try and make him see reason.

He glanced at the kitchen clock. The glowing white 4:18 a.m. was the only light in the apartment aside from the city sparkling outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Dante flipped the switch on the wall, illuminating the open-floor plan. Humans lacked a vampire’s superior vision.

Pocketing his phone and pleased with the motion of his plans, Dante went down the hall again, turning on lights as he went. He peeked in at his sleeping thrall before going to his office. There, he sat at his expansive desk and wrote out a note, smirking as he thought of the boy reading it.

Just as Dante was finishing his signature, the apartment door opened, and Jimmy called out, “Here, Boss.”

Dante folded the paper once and met Jimmy in the hallway.

“I need you to watch over my thrall while I’m gone.”

“Yes, Boss.” Jimmy schooled his shocked expression as he followed Dante to the master bedroom. He was a good subordinate, which was why Dante had chosen him for this task.

Dante set the note on the bedside table. He clicked on the lamp that had always been more decorative than functional, and the words Little Rebel were plain to see across the paper.

Dante turned to Jimmy and raised a finger to his mouth, a gesture for quiet. And in that gesture was an implicit message, or a warning, that Jimmy understood: Dante cared that the boy got his rest, and Jimmy would do well to treat him accordingly.

Dante returned to the kitchen with loyal Jimmy in tow.

“Have food delivered for when he wakes,” Dante said. “Abram’s thrall will be here in the morning.”

Jimmy nodded, already pulling out his phone to ring the kitchens.

“Oh,” Dante continued. “And don’t let the boy kill you. I have his weapon”—Dante patted the outside of his pocket—“but I’d bet my fangs he’s a resourceful one.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened before nodding again. “What, uh… what should I order for him?”

Dante shrugged as he walked to the apartment’s entryway. “Get one of everything. Thralls get hungry when they first awaken. If he likes something in particular, order more of it.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Dante checked himself in the platinum-framed mirror. Some of the boy’s blood stained his shirt, but it was a sight King Luther would likely appreciate.

“Keep him safe until I return,” Dante said, leveling a look at his subordinate.

“Yes, Boss,” Jimmy said, solid as a sworn promise.

With faith in Jimmy’s diligence and Ollie’s eventual arrival, Dante left his apartment. He had a king to appease.