All Chapters of SWEET BLOOD: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

They named him James. He didn’t know if that was his real name. He didn’t remember anything about himself. Whenever he attempted to recall, his head throbbed with pain, discomfort, and anguish, and his mind shut down. All he knew was that he was a vampire, and the females here were sorcerers. Powerful. He loathed this kingdom and its people—and he would eradicate them. One day. Soon. Just as he’d killed one of their precious mistresses on the cliff. Mistress Leticia.Impatience rushed through him. His captors thought him vulnerable and weak. They kept him on the razor edge of starvation, giving him a drop of blood in the morning and a drop of blood at night. That was all. He was taunted and tortured frequently. Leticia, the mistress, in particular. The oldest daughter of the Master Sorcerer, now the king of this kingdom of Nork. So highborn, but look at you now, Leticia. At my feet, mine to do with as I wish.Highborn? He would find out.They assumed that just because he was bound and

Must taste her blood. How many times would he think of the word? His inner demons were asking him to just drive his fangs into her delicate neck and be done with it, dry her to her last drop. Numerous times, he thought of the words. Until he got what he wanted, he was certain."Give me your arm, woman." He licked his lips at the thought of touching her, of knowing the texture of her skin and the smoothness of her sweet veins. "I will mark you… I need to mark you so I'll know wherever you are. This is for your safety." A little nip of her wrist, and he would stop. He would make himself stop. For now, he promised.She shook her head, her sun-kissed hair dancing over her shoulders. "What? Hell No! Tell me something... I need an explanation now. Afterwards, we’ll talk about the marking thing, whatever that is."Certainly, the woman was not as cranky as she appeared. "We might be separated…I need to know…" Before she freed him. "I want to know where you are at all times.""Uh, I’m not cer

The two wardens forced James onto Leticia’s chamber bed, the soft feathered mattress dipping and puffing under his weight. They anchored the metal links curling around his neck to a steel hook in the wall, just above the headboard, then removed the chains from his ankle and wrists—only to cuff him to the bedposts. Leticia had brought slaves here before, Grace realized. The posts were damaged, the intense grooves evidence of their hostility. A lot of friction. How many times had James undergone this sort of indignity with the mistress? At least he didn’t try and bite the wardens, and they didn’t try to harm him, and Grace didn’t have to side with a “slave,” fueling suspicion. Already she felt as if she had a neon sign blinking over her head: Fake SorcerersThank God, Levy hadn’t realized the truth. And wasn’t the other mistress a shocker? Short, squat, and foaming-at-the-mouth-rabies mean. Awfully. If the Wicked Witch of the West had sex with Mr. Bean and John Cena, and the two of the

One half of Grace trembled in delight, the other half shivered in concern. The vampires in her doctor friend’s lab had fed from bags of plasma. She’d never been bitten either. Had never wanted to be bitten. Until now. If anyone could make her appreciate something like that, it was this man. This vampire, this predator, "I’ll think about it. Now let’s backtrack a little. If you can make anyone look like the mistress, why did you conjure me specifically?" She asked. Why put her in such danger? Not that he’d completely wanted her, and her alone. She remembered his revulsion when he’d learned she was merely a mortal, recalled his shock. "I asked before, but you never answered." James leaned toward her, forcing her fingers to press into his skin. A quiet command—and an unrelinquishing demand—for contact. "I did not conjure you specifically." She’d realized that as she’d spoken, but hearing him ascertain it saddened her. She had to stay on a comparable footing with him, and even though he

The wardens had touched her, damaging Grace. They would perish. Badly. By the time James finished with them, they would possibly thank him for killing them. All he had to do was free himself. And he would. Nothing would halt him. Not now, not anymore. "Soon" had at last appeared. Being a pureblood ancient vampire, as Grace had called him, was not going to aid him; James admitted that now. Still, his eagerness intensified, stirring with the scorn, the burn of that possessiveness. He would reach her by grit alone; he would protect her. No matter what he had to do. His gaze wandered to the wrist cuffs and dwindled. Without his thumbs, his hands would slide right through. He didn’t have to think about it. Goodbye, thumbs. Biting his tongue against the anguish he knew was to come, he banged his hands, thumbs out, into the headboard. Crunch. The bones broke with that very first punch. He sucked in a breath, but, like Grace, he did not mumble a sound. Punch, punch. Each new hit caused ev