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

theater illuminated by red lights. A sunken orchestra played the can-can music, while a quartet of faeries pranced about on stage with their butterfly wings and frilly pantalettes on full display. They raised their skirts, kicked their legs, and cartwheeled across the stage.

The audience clapped and cheered at what they thought were acrobatics but were really faeries taking to the air with their magic. Under any other circumstances, I might utter something about the exposure of the Supernatural World, but not tonight. Tonight, I was more concerned about Valentine and my safety in a place where enforcers could descend on us at any minute.

We continued to a much smaller room where a quartet of women wearing outfits of peacock feathers swayed to a hypnotic rhythm upon a stage surrounded by thirty or so booths. Behind the stage was a walkway where a small orchestra played music that sounded like it could charm snakes.

Each semicircular enclosure was private with leather backrests tall enough to conceal the patrons from their neighbors.

Karsten stopped at a booth large enough for four with a circular glass table. “What’s your choice of condiment, Your Majesty?”

Valentine guided me into my seat. “Red velvet. And bring me a bottle of Quell.”

As he sat beside me, I leaned into him and asked, “What did you just order?”

“He wanted to know how I wanted you.” He leaned into me and ran the tip of his nose down the column of my neck. “Seasoned, debauched, or au naturel.”

“What?”

“We’re going to try something different tonight.” He drew back and stared at me with a broad grin.

Before I could ask what he was talking about, Karsten returned with a red milkshake topped with whipped cream and pieces of red velvet brownies. Whoever had prepared it swirled a maroon-colored sauce on the glass’s interior and atop the cream. I leaned in and inhaled the rich scent of chocolate.

I glanced up at Karsten, who stared down at me with a smirk. “Red velvet milkshake?”

He turned his gaze to Valentine and inclined his head. “Enjoy, Your Majesty.”

My gaze darted from the host to my date, who stared back at me with reddening eyes. Something about this arrangement suggested that the purpose of the drink was to flavor my blood. I pulled the straw to my lips. Right now, I had bigger things to worry about than being bitten by Valentine.

He slipped his hand into the slit in my dress and ran his fingers up and down my thigh. Valentine’s smoke and sandalwood scent wrapped around my senses, making me forget all about the red velvet.

“Try it,” he murmured into my ear.

I took a sip of the milkshake, letting the cold liquid slide down my tongue. It was more ice cream than drink, decadently sweet, with rich chocolate base notes that mingled creaminess with acidity that reminded me of raspberries.

Valentine’s lip grazed my ear. “How is it, Innamorata?”

“Delicious,” I replied, “but is that all I’m going to eat?”

“I’ll make sure you also get something savory,” he replied with a chuckle that made my skin tingle.

I continued drinking, letting the milkshake calm my nerves and chase away my anxiety. My energy increased with each mouthful of the sweet, creamy liquid, making me suspect that the shake contained magical ingredients to prepare its drinker for donating blood or something else.

While we were courting, Valentine had taken me to all kinds of eateries, including temple-style establishments where women in kimonos served green tea with matcha-based desserts. This was the first time I’d ever had a milkshake as a meal.

Valentine kissed my neck throughout the milkshake, confirming my suspicions. I swept my gaze across my surroundings. On the other side of the glass table, a woman dressed as Marie Antoinette sauntered onstage to the applause of the patrons seated in the booths opposite. Her white wig was nearly as large as her head, topped with fluffy white feathers that matched her voluminous gown.

As I reached the end of my drink, the band played striptease music, and the woman plucked out a feather from her wig. Valentine stopped stroking my thigh and rose from his seat.

I glanced up to find Kresnik entering the booth, clad in a white tuxedo jacket that clashed with his pale eyes and contrasted with his blood-red hair. His cold gaze landed on me with the force of an icicle through the gut, making my breath catch. The interrogation was about to begin, and it didn’t help one bit that Valentine would sit between Kresnik and me.

Kresnik lowered himself into the seat, and a young woman whose red curls and freckles made her look like a teenaged Orphan Annie slid into the booth beside Kresnik.

“Thank you for the gracious invitation, My Lord,” Valentine said in a voice as smooth as butter.

Stiffening, I turned my gaze to the stage, where the woman removed the long train of her dress and tossed it at the band. She drifted to the other end of the stage and removed a feather from her wig.

Kresnik ordered steaks for himself and his date. After confirming how they wanted the meat cooked, the host disappeared, leaving us alone to talk. A boulder of dread settled in my gut, making me slide further down the seat.

They started with a bit of small talk, mostly centered around how much the Supernatural World had changed since his heyday five hundred years ago. I leaned into Valentine’s side, listening for useful tidbits that might give me clues about why his phoenix flames had failed this afternoon, but all they talked about were the demon communities sprouting up around Great Britain and what that would mean for the upcoming war.

As the conversation continued, my breathing calmed, and the host returned with two plates, one containing chunks of raw meat arranged into a patty and topped with an equally as raw egg. The other contained a steak so bloody they might have just sliced it straight from the cow.

The host placed the plate swimming with blood in front of the Annie