Vampire King Dethroned: Vampires & Chocolate, #3

By Keira Blackwood

We are death and shadow, we are nightmares come alive, we are vampires.

Thirty years have passed since vampire king Tyr Ulfhednar was torn from his throne and banished to the bottom of the sea. Freed from his prison, Tyr doesn't know what to expect when he returns home to Scarlet Harbor. But even a thousand years of existence can't prepare him for her.

Newly-turned vampire Ashley King does her best to rise to the never-ending challenges of being queen. When a sexy, powerful stranger shows up on her doorstep with a claim to her throne, she's as tempted to kill him as she is to kiss him. But this perceived enemy might just be the only chance she has at conquering the trials that lie ahead…if he doesn't conquer her first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paramour Press
• Release date: Oct 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393940944

Book preview

Chapter One

Tyr

December 20, 873

Unsettled Icelandic Coast

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The island was known by many names. Snæland rang truer than the rest, for more than anything else the island was, as the word suggested, a Land of Snow.

Waves crashed against black sand. The shallow water along the coast appeared whiter, yet also more majestically cerulean than it did along the banks of the Motherland. A blanket of white powder coated the rest of the landscape, from trees to blunt cliffs to open fields. It was said that summer brought as much green as the winter brought snow, but summer was not within sight.

Some traveled to this place for trade, others for the prospect of staking claim to its uncharted lands. Most were like me—rower, farmer, builder—whatever the master required. The man who’d most recently bought me was a warrior long past his prime, and a fool. He’d been on the wrong side of every trade I’d seen him make, and had allowed every bit of what he earned to dwindle away. That was the reason we were taken to Snæland—because there was nothing else left.

Icy wind bit my ears, and cut straight through thick layers of fur. I was grateful for the warmth of the thick hair upon my head, and that upon my face, though nothing combated the piercing gales. My shoulders ached, and I’d long ago lost feeling in my limbs. Surrounded by trees, I lifted the end of another log from the snowy forest floor, and hoisted it onto my shoulder. Arne and Geir pushed and pulled their long saw beside me, dropping another lumbering pine to the ground. The crash echoed through the cluster of trees, dampened by the powder below. The same sound repeated, and again from another direction, a thunder booming through the forest.

I moved one foot in front of the other, following the heavily carved path back toward the settlement. The snow beneath my feet was tightly packed, worn down from hours of dragging trees back and forth. Ten of us carried, ten cut, ten built. Daylight was too short for breaks, and soon, darkness would fall once again.

The first night we’d slept on the Karve, the longship that had carried us to the island. After a near endless night, we’d gone to work. Day had lasted a fraction of the time that the darkness had, and threatened to return all too soon. It was said that in warmer months the days were bright and long, but we’d have to survive winter to see it.

White turned to gray as the sun sank behind distant cliffs. I continued toward the site of construction, toward the sounds of hammers crashing down on nails. Two others headed again for the forest, and crossed paths with me as I walked—Gunnar, with his thick yellow beard, and Astrid, with her rosy cheeks and auburn hair. No words were spoken between us—there was nothing to say, but their tense faces told me they shared my fear—there was no chance of completing the longhouse before nightfall.

I delivered my wood, and turned back for more. Halfway between settlement and the forest, the sky turned from dark to black. Just one more log and I’d call it a night. Just one more trip and I’d be done.

The sound started just after nightfall, after the last shreds of light seeped away—light beating of a heart, a drum.

Boom. Boom.

There were people in the distance—the team chopping wood, other settlers in other camps. Somewhere, someone must have been creating the music. Still, the rhythm was unsettling, more so than silence in the blackness.

The hair standing on the back of my neck had nothing to do with the cold. And a sinking feeling clouded my wits. I had never been a superstitious man. Still, the stories haunted me—stories of vargar, cursed wolves with glowing red eyes, of wolves that transformed into creatures that looked like men, of violent death. It wasn’t difficult to imagine, not in a place of so much darkness.

The drum grew louder as I approached the woods. BOOM. BOOM. There were no voices, no sounds of saws, nor talk of returning to camp.

Hello, I called, as I reached the tree line. I could see no one, hear no one. There were only trees, snow, and still blackness.

There was no answer.

Squinting, I searched for signs of life between the trunks of towering trees, stepping carefully so as not to trip. At first there was nothing—only branches shaved from trees, wood pulp, footprints, and packed snow. There was no laughter, no voices.

Then I caught a flicker of movement up ahead. Someone was there, on the ground.

I ran forward, toward the form in the snow. I knelt beside him, and took his hand. Thick red beard, wide nose, and laugh lines around his closed eyes—it was Arne.

BOOM. BOOM.

It’s going to be okay, Arne. We’ll get you back to camp. All of you, I said. But I didn’t see any of the other men. Where is everyone else?

Arne’s eyes didn’t open. He didn’t respond to me at all.

The sound of the drum grew closer, louder. It mirrored my racing pulse, my instinct to run. But I didn’t. I rose to my feet and stepped further into the woods, searched for those who were missing.

Sets of glowing red eyes lit up in the darkness, some on the ground, some from the trees above. I stepped away slowly, one foot, then the next. I could still run. I could make it to camp, alert the others, and live to see another day.

My face hit the ground before I realized the creature was on my back. The snow was an ice wall on my face—hard, wet, and crushing on impact. I struggled to free myself, but his hands were on my shoulders, his feet on my back.

You’ve been chosen. His voice was sharp.

Chosen for what? I couldn’t ask, my face was buried. I wished to run, to be anywhere but here.

I am known as Odin, he said.

Stabbing pain pierced my neck, and my strength was drained. The drums faded, as did my wits. He was the wolf in man’s clothing, bringer of endless night. There was no escape. My life was over.

Welcome to the Ulfhednar.

Present Day

Atlantic Ocean

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My eyes opened, only to find a rippled metal ceiling above me. I reached over to my right, and switched on the bedside lamp. How much time had passed since I laid down to rest was uncertain, but it couldn’t be much longer before the ship arrived.

I dressed in the ill-fitting attire that had been provided for me—slacks an inch too short, a short-sleeved shirt with shoulders two inches too narrow. Given the circumstances, I was grateful to have dry clothing of any sort.

The feeling of solid ground beneath my feet was still foreign, a surprise with every step. Lush carpet tickled between my toes, offering no indication of the hard metal of the floor beneath. I opened the freezer, and took out a pouch of A negative.

The hunger had been undeniable since I’d been pulled from the water. I hadn’t managed to regain the control I’d had for so many years. The mirror was a testament to that. After decades in the ocean, I should have been a water-logged husk of the man I used to be. I wasn’t.

The face that looked back at me was one I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t due to damage, nor age. It was youth—the smooth skin of a young man. Every wrinkle had been a testament to the man that I was. All of that was stripped away with the healing power of human blood. The appearance of youth was a reminder of the lives I’d taken on that boat. It was a reminder that I’d lost everything that I stood for, and broken my promise to Lyra.

The life that I had chosen had been stripped away, from my oath of nonviolence to my place in the world. I was distant from everything—my home, my family, even my face. I’d been consumed by the need to feed when I’d been pulled from the water, a need that hadn’t driven me in centuries. Their blood had healed the damage the water, the fish, and time had caused, and with the blood I took, the self I recognized disappeared.

I put the unopened bag of blood back in the freezer and walked across the shipping container to the tablet by the door. I was still in awe of the technology, of how something so small could do so much. A computer the size of a book. With two taps on the glass screen, I could see outside, that it was night, and that the weeklong ship ride across the Atlantic was at an end. Bright lights grew closer, a skyline I would know no matter how many years had passed. I was home, returned to Scarlet Harbor.

Chapter Two

Ashley

The gold plating was cold beneath my fingertips. It was an awesome choice—a new throne for the new me. The fabric was black velvet, the cushion—super cushiony. It was perfect for looks, and for comfort.

With the new ‘Visit Me’ hours in place, I needed something to be right, even if it was just a chair.

Ronaldo, shirtless and scrumptious, ushered in the next of my guests before returning to his place by the wall. There weren’t enough vampires left in my royal guard after the attack a month before, but the ones that hadn’t croaked were super loyal.

The third vampire of the night entered and kneeled at the base of my throne’s dais. He was big, in a round way. His face looked young, too young for the bushy beard that covered it, and his scowl told me this was going to be another boring hour of whining.

Thank you for seeing me, Ms. King, he said.

I wondered if he meant anything by that. I usually got ‘your majesty,’ and ‘queen.’ If he meant to insult me, he failed.

Sure, I replied. What can I do for you, Mr…?

My name is Alejandro Velasquez, he said.

It sounded fancy the way he rolled the words off his tongue. I figured eventually I could be one of those jet-setting vampires who toured the world in their eternal lives. But not until the dust settled—which it never seemed to do. It hadn’t been that long that I’d been queen, but I was ready for a vacation anyway.

I’ve come to you with a dispute over feeding ground, he said.

Oh great, another one of those. I rolled my eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. Either way, he kept talking.

It’s mine, he said. I’ve hunted the same block by the strip club on Nutmeg Street for years. No killing, mind you, long before you set the rule. It’s smart for business anyway, no cops if there’s no bodies. Anyway, I like the dancers. They’re just the right amount of desperate to follow me to an alley for the promise of cash.

Eww.

So everything’s been good for a long time, for always, he said. "Then this guy shows up from nowhere, in my alley, draining one of my girls."

What did you do? I asked.

Beat the shit outta him, he said. Of course.

All thoughts of fancy speech were gone, replaced by genuine interest. If this guy bested the other, then why was he here? The story wasn’t over.

And then? I asked.

I told the bastard not to come back, he said. Except next night, he did. This time he had two of them.

The girls? I asked.

Yeah, he said. "And he had the balls to threaten me. Can you believe that? Guy comes to my place and threatens me."

And you came crying to me about it? I asked.

He had a gun, Velasquez said. Said he had those shiny purple bullets. He can’t threaten me with that and get away with it.

I looked up to find a pretty redhead leaning in the doorway. Violet. The grin she wore told me she was enjoying the show.

How old are you? I asked Velasquez.

Ninety-seven, he said.

Really? I asked. Because you sound like a child, coming to Mommy to cry instead of dealing with your problems like a big boy.

I nodded to Ronaldo, the guard by the wall.

He’s not killing. You’re not killing, I said. Have some complimentary blood packets and work it out yourselves. You know, like adults.

Velasquez’s baby face contorted with displeasure, as he looked from Ronaldo to me. The shirtless guard held out a