Passion of the Vampire King (Blood Fire Saga Book 5) by Bella Klaus (read novels website txt) 📕

Beatrice broke away from Lazarus and stared down at me, her wrinkled features etched with concern. “Mera?”

“I know what’s wrong.” My voice cracked.

“What?” Lazarus and Beatrice both said at the same time.

Through sobs and stuttering and stumbling over the words, I told them both about the morning I’d invited Beatrice to stay in the spa beneath the Notting Hill safe house and how Beatrice had ended up hospitalized because my power had flared out of control.

She lowered herself onto the side of my armchair, and pulled me into her skinny chest. “That can’t be the reason. That was ages ago, and I felt better the next morning.”

“You don’t understand,” I croaked. “My magic has the power to do terrible things.”

Lazarus exhaled an impatient breath. “Don’t you think that’s the first thing I checked?”

“What do you mean?” I drew back from Beatrice, meeting his annoyed hazel eyes.

Lazarus lowered himself onto the sofa, wrapped his arms around Beatrice’s waist, and pulled her onto his lap. “I told both healers she’d probably been attacked by a fire user, and I wanted to know if you’d decided to turn her into a preternatural.”

Her eyes widened. “A vampire?”

He patted Beatrice on the thigh. “She can only turn a supernatural vampire into a preternatural like she did to Valentine. Her power turns everyone else into the magicless undead.”

Beatrice shot me a quizzical glance.

“He means zombies,” I rasped.

Her mouth formed an O.

I gulped several times in quick succession, my insides roiling with a burning curiosity. Leaning forward, I clasped my hands tight enough to grind my bones. “What did the healers say?”

“They confirmed traces of supernatural fire in her blood, which put her at risk of turning if she ever died, but something else had taken her youth.”

“Did they say?”

He shook his head. “Dozens of creatures feed upon humans while they sleep.” Lazarus blew out a long breath. “Nobody supernatural has gotten close to Beatrice. I stay up every night, watching for attackers, and I stalk the office during the day.”

She turned around, meeting his eyes. “You do?”

His features softened. “I’d do anything to save you, including giving you half my life-force.”

My shoulders sagged. Lazarus was just as protective as Valentine. If it wasn’t me, then who? Istabelle was a natural healer and would never hurt an innocent person, Jonathan was spiteful enough to commit such an act, but he’d lost his magic, and I couldn’t think of any other supernaturals Beatrice might have met.

I rubbed my chin. “Can I try something?”

“What?” Lazarus.

“If no one is attacking Beatrice directly, what if they’re doing it remotely?”

“Explain.”

My mouth opened and closed, but no words came to mind. There was no such thing as a remote parasite, and psychic attacks could cause a person pain but not steal their essence. Something about this scenario reminded me of Kresnik. He had sensed something when I had given my teammates a sound bath because the vibrations had disrupted the effects of the ritual that linked him to me and me to Coral, Gail, Racon, Clarence, and the twins.

“It’s just a theory,” I said to them. “Sound healing can dislodge any parasitic attachments.”

“Isn’t that a human technique?” Lazarus asked.

“It’s worked against powerful people,” I replied.

He raised his shoulders, pulling Beatrice into his chest. “What harm will it do?”

“Excuse me for a moment.” I rose from my seat and made my way to the spare room.

Scorch marks still covered the walls from our fight, and my throat thickened with guilt. Lazarus and Beatrice probably hadn’t spared much thought for redecoration, considering he’d been so badly burned and she had succumbed to premature aging so quickly.

I walked past the wall of closets and around the mahogany sleigh bed to a matching chest of drawers where I kept items I used for practicing new healing techniques on Beatrice. Dropping to my knees, I pulled out the bottom one, which contained a Tibetan singing bowl I’d left at her apartment weeks ago.

My eyes fluttered shut. Even if the sound bath couldn’t heal her, it would certainly stop an energy drain. Whoever was doing this to her was no Kresnik, and Beatrice would have remembered any funky rituals or suspicious time gaps.

When I returned to the living room, I pushed back the tea tray, placed the bowl on the coffee table, and knelt on the floor with the mallet poised.

“What’s this going to do?” Lazarus asked.

“The last time I played these, the sound waves disrupted the flow of energy from a parasite to its victims,” I said. “If my speculations are right, it might stop whoever is attacking her from getting a meal.”

Beatrice raised her head and groaned. “Let’s try it. Maybe a sound bath will stop this annoying cold.”

Lazarus and I exchanged shocked glances. It was as though the information we’d just shared with her wasn’t fully registering. He squeezed his eyes shut, wrapped his arms around her frail body, and sighed.

My heart sank. Whoever did this needed to have every ounce of stolen life-force drained from them and be left to flounder. Pushing those thoughts aside, I hit the edge of the bowl, letting the sound resonate. When the vibrations faded to the barest whisper, I turned to Beatrice and said, “How does that feel?”

She smiled and shook her head. “It didn’t make a difference.”

“As long as I’m not hurting you,” I murmured. “But you’ll say if anything starts feeling worse, right?”

“I’ll stop you if I notice any changes in her blood pressure or heart rate,” said Lazarus.

I played the singing bowl for another five minutes, keeping my gaze on Beatrice, who rested against Lazarus’ chest, looking as relaxed as she did during sound bath sessions. Maybe I was wrong about a remote parasite and something else was at fault. My throat thickened, and I gulped several times in quick succession. We desperately needed someone more perceptive like Istabelle, who could feel and analyze auras.

After striking the final note and letting it fade, an insistent buzzing came from the other side of the room.

My brows