Thrall of the Vampire King (Blood Fire Saga Book 4) by Bella Klaus (elon musk reading list .txt) 📕

back and fell in a sitting position, propped up by a combination of the headboard and pillows. I glanced around the empty room, trying to catch a glimpse of the annoying man, but he had disappeared.

A long breath eased out of my lungs. Maybe he had been my imagination, an inner coach to annoy me into fighting through the thrall. He was still an aggravating dick. Sometimes, I would hear Coral’s voice in the back of my head saying something snarky or pessimistic about vampires. This voice had likely been something similar. I nodded to myself. He had probably been a figment of my imagination and plaguing me to snap out of my thrall-induced stupor. My way of fighting through the haze.

“You have your magic?” he asked.

Flinching, I squeezed my eyes shut. He was real.

“Miss Griffin?” he said in a voice he probably thought was commanding. “I asked you a question. Do. You. Have. Your. Magic?”

A pained moan slipped from my lips. “Kresnik took it—”

“Not all.” His voice shook. “See if you can generate a few sparks.”

“Just go away,” I muttered.

“Miss Griffin.” His sharp voice cut through a layer of haze.

“What?” I snapped.

“Humor me and I’ll be quiet. Or you can continue being disobedient, I will plague you all day, all night, twisting your mind into knots until King Valentine returns. He’ll notice your erratic behavior, and you know what he’ll do?”

I didn’t need to imagine. Kresnik-controlled Valentine seemed to think that dosing me with thrall was the answer to keeping me safe.

“Alright,” I said with a long sigh.

“Go on, then.”

I clenched my teeth. “You don’t ask for much.”

“Sarcasm is the instrument of the fool. How wonderful it is to confirm your membership of the dull-witted.”

“Oh, bugger off,” I snarled, only to generate a spark from my thumb.

“Miss Griffin.” The energy in the room shifted. The voice paused, seeming to think about how to phrase what he would say next.

My eyes narrowed. He still hadn’t introduced himself.

“You must not let anyone see this spark of magic.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Trust me.”

I rolled my eyes. Hiding my magic was pretty good advice, considering Kresnik probably thought he had stolen it all, but I wasn’t about to let this stranger think I was taking anything he had to say seriously. I’d seen enough TV shows where a disembodied spirit wreaked havoc on the life of someone who had reached rock bottom.

They’d start off super helpful, offering advice to help their victim out of their rut. Then, once they’d burrowed themself into their victim’s consciousness, mayhem would ensue. Either the disembodied voice would snatch their body or it would subject them to a lifetime of torment until they ended it by jumping off the roof.

No, thank you.

I was a prime candidate for such a haunting. Lying naked in a thrall-induced stupor, amid a nightgown fashioned into ropes was probably the lowest point in anyone’s existence.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I go by many names,” he replied.

I pressed my lips into a tight line. This entity was probably building up to asking me for a favor and thought he’d maintain the upper hand with cheesy lines. My situation was temporary, but his? I wouldn’t let him think I needed his help because I didn’t.

“You’ve already annoyed me a hundred different ways and established that you’re a prick,” I said. “Don’t backtrack now, trying to sound mysterious.”

Annoyed magic snappe against my skin. That was because all the power and intrigue he held over me was gone.

“Show yourself,” I said.

“What?”

“I can feel your magic in the room,” I snapped. “You’re either lurking outside the door, the window, or hiding in a laundry basket. If you want to continue this conversation, show your face.”

White mist seeped out from beneath the bed, forming the outline of a man.

My brows rose. “You’re a preternatural vampire?”

The mist bristled around the edges, sending more of those annoyed crackles across my skin. “I’m a demon,” he said. “The demon.”

I raised a shoulder. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

He expanded, trying to make himself appear bigger. “Do I have to spell it out?”

“Actually, you do,” I said with a smirk.

My life had really hit a low point when my biggest source of satisfaction was annoying a cloud of dust. I raised my chin, glaring into the section of the patch I guessed would be his eyes. After all that taunting, he deserved to squirm.

“You may call me Hades, I suppose,” he muttered.

“Then you may call me Helen of Troy,” I said back.

“You are no Helen,” he snapped. “Neither will you ever become queen unless you regain your magic and resurrect King Valentine. The Supernatural Council will prevail, you know. And every single soul in this building and the one below will belong to me.”

Realization struck me harder than lightning, and I remembered the awful king who stared down at me from his throne during my trial. He’d not only wanted me dead and in Hell, but he’d fought to claim the souls of Aunt Arianna and the rest of the coven. This creature had a nerve to enter Valentine’s bedroom, let alone approach me. He deserved a lot more than becoming a disembodied wisp.

I clenched my teeth. “You’re the Demon King.”

“I’ll excuse you from curtseying, seeing as you’re indisposed,” he replied.

My nostrils flared. How dare the Demon King expect me to show respect. This was the man who stole pieces of my coven’s DNA and hired a bunch of shapeshifter faeries to impersonate them, the same man who lured us into a trap, and the same man who worked with the Mage King to enslave Valentine. The Demon King had also wanted to destroy my body and keep me as his pet.

“Leave right now because I’m giving you absolutely nothing,” I spat.

“I want a truce.” He raised his misty hands.

“Why would I believe anything you say, when they also call you the Prince of Lies?”

I was sick of the sight of him and even more fed up with listening to his voice, which now poked at my