Blood Prince: A Standalone Fantasy Romance Read online

  Blood Prince

  Celia Aaron

  Blood Prince

  Celia Aaron

  Copyright © 2018 Celia Aaron

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Celia Aaron. This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  WARNING: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.

  DIRE WARNING: If you pirate this book, your soul will rot in hell.

  Cover art by Font Diva

  Copy Editing by Spell Bound

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Also by Celia Aaron

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Helen

  Troy

  1251 BC

  The walls of the room shook with the tremors of battle. A flight of doves soared from the balcony of my chambers and into the cloudless skies. The carnage on the street below and the screams of terror and pain had not disturbed the birds at these heights. Only the rumble of danger from within spurred them out and over the golden rooftops of Troy. They dodged the plumes of black smoke that rose from the burning temple far below and flew toward the blinding sun.

  I wished Paris and I could make a similar escape. Too late. There was no safe haven for us anywhere. I cradled his head in my lap, the blood trail from the corner of his mouth now dry. He had no breath, no life. Taken from me and flung to Hades or Elysium, I knew not which. My heart bled out slowly, my end mixing with his in a never-ending river of sorrow.

  The sound of a thousand feet drummed up the stairs and onto the landing outside our room. The warriors began battering the door. They must have searched the entire palace before reaching these lofty corridors. They would raid every room and kill all within.

  Now they were on my doorstep, their voices harsh and full of blood.

  Barring the door and piling furniture against it in a heap would keep them at bay for only a moment. They would get in. There were too many of them bent on destruction. The soldiers had washed over the city like a bloody tide that was now lapping at my feet. The wave would soon engulf me right along with the skeletal remains of Troy.

  The cacophony of violence faded to the background as I looked upon Paris, the fine curves and lines of his face still beautiful in the morning light. I stroked his golden hair, glad he would not be subjected to any more of this world, this life, or the tortures inflicted by the demons outside the splintering door.

  The warriors continued their onslaught, eager to claim their prize. Before the door was ripped from the hinges, the assault ceased and the soldiers quieted.

  “Helen,” a voice called. His voice. “If you come out to me, we will stop and no harm will come to you. If you do not, you know the price that must be paid for disobedience.”

  A shiver coursed through me, and the air shimmered. I was all too aware of what he would do to me if I fell into his clutches again. The memories of his torments were still fresh. I cringed at the thought of his favorite punishment, the kind that happened in my bedchambers, only spoken of in undertones by my handmaidens.

  “Helen!” His voice rose with anger. I did not answer and, instead, whispered words of love to Paris, even though he could no longer hear them. The voice outside the door grew ever louder and ordered the door shattered. The soldiers roared back to life, violating my chambers with each vicious plunge.

  I gave one last look at my lover and settled my gaze on the besieged entry. The soldiers turned the furniture barricade into rubble before pouring inside and amassing around me. They watched me, cruel eyes hard as flint, and stood waiting for their leader.

  He strode through the opening, dressed in purple befitting his station and armored in glittering silver. His gaze settled on me and then Paris. He smirked to see the son of Troy bloodied and dead.

  “Come, Helen,” he ordered.

  I did not move, only stared back into his harsh visage.

  “Is it more punishment you desire? I’ve already laid waste to the city, all for you. And now you would deny me what is mine?”

  “I am not yours.”

  “You are mine and will always be mine. Now leave that disgusting piece of rotting meat and come to me.”

  I felt his gaze, and the gazes of the savage demons, on me, waiting for me to obey. I tenderly adjusted Paris’s head so he lay on the floor, and rose to my feet. My gown flowed out behind me in the wind of the balcony, as if seeking to escape right along with the doves.

  He smiled, watching my every move, no doubt making sure I was still as perfect as the day he bought me. He held his hand out. Maybe he hoped I would beg for forgiveness right then and there, prostrate myself and let him take me in front of his warriors. Never. Never again would I be his slave.

  The billowing fabric hid the dagger in my hand. Before any of the men had a chance to move, I plunged the blade deep into my neck. His smile faltered as I fell. My heart’s blood rushed out in a torrent, assuring me a quick death.

  I hit the floor hard next to Paris. His angelic visage was the last thing I saw as the darkness beckoned, taking me down into its cold embrace.

  Chapter Two

  Elena

  I crashed into the man on the sidewalk. I’d been walking in the Paris gloom for the past hour, trying to get used to the sights and sounds of the mortal world. I was far from the slopes of my home on Mount Olympus. Everything here was brighter, somehow harsher. I realized things were utterly different as I passed a fully nude, silver-painted street performer juggling three-headed baby dolls.

  No, this definitely doesn’t happen on Mount Olympus.

  Out of my depth. That’s what I was. Put me on an immortal battlefield—I was home. Here? I was lost.

  And it didn’t help that I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being followed. From the second I left the courtyard of Roth and Lilah’s French chateau, I could feel a presence. Something that flitted around on the periphery, staying just out of sight. At first I guessed it might be one of my warrior sisters, perhaps Iphi playing a trick. But it didn’t feel right. Apprehension tickled down my spine as I walked along the sparkling river.

  It was precisely this feeling of unease that caused me to stumble into the stranger on the sidewalk. I had turned my head, searching for whatever or whoever was giving me the odd sensation, when I collided with what felt like a brick wall.

 
; But it wasn’t a wall; it was a man. I sized him up quickly while righting myself. He towered over even my tall frame, but I wasn’t worried. After all, I was Elena de Artemis, the pride of the goddess Artemis’s warrior maidens. Skilled in witchcraft and battle, I had no cause to fear any mortal, no matter his size.

  “Pardon me,” I said and ignored his outstretched hand.

  “No, it was my mistake. I didn’t see you there.” His voice was a smooth baritone, and his dark eyes watched me intently. The gaze was so direct that I felt a twinge of…something. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. Something in the back of my mind. I didn’t like it.

  I moved to step to his side and continue walking along the path next to the Seine. The waters flowed smoothly and reflected the moonlight that flooded the city. The scent of the flower market was heavy on the air, lilies and lavender demanding notice almost as much as the stranger before me.

  “If you don’t mind.” He held out a well-manicured hand to pause my departure. “You see, I’m new to Paris”—he said the word as if it were distasteful—“and wondered if you could help me find my way to the Champs-Élysées? My hotel is there, and I can’t seem to remember which side of the river I should be on.”

  I did not want to stay and chat, especially since something about the stranger was giving me a faint sense of alarm. Having been in battle for most of my life with Artemis, I always trusted my instincts. And my instincts were telling me things were not what they seemed.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help. I’m new here too.”

  He didn’t move, didn’t give even a hairsbreadth of space for me to pass. I could either step into traffic, dive into the river, retreat, or get him out of my way. Never one to turn tail, I chose the last option. Stepping toward him, I expected him to turn for me to pass. But he was unmoving. He was large and well-muscled, such that my first thought of him as a brick wall was proving to be more accurate by the second.

  “Let me pass.” The hairs on the nape of my neck rose as he stared down at me.

  “Perhaps we could catch a late dinner?”

  Was I speaking in a completely different language or did the man have a hearing problem? “I said let me pass. I need to get home.”

  A hail of honking horns drew my attention to the busy road. A sleek black limo cut through traffic and pulled up to the curb, blocking me in even more. My adrenaline ratcheted up. No, something was definitely not right.

  He smiled and waved to the car. “In that case, may I give you a ride back to your home?”

  Alarm bells were ringing loud enough to awaken all my fighting senses. I backed up from him a pace, my green eyes no doubt flashing with annoyance and power. I was ready to cast at him if for no other reason than to get him out of my way. But then I looked around. There were dozens of people taking an evening stroll, enjoying the crisp Paris night. The nearest bridge was covered with lovers and locks, the former hoping for a bit of magic from the latter. A smattering of tourists were beneath us, walking along the quay next to the glittering river.

  I could not cast here. Not in the open. As Artemis’s master tactician, I was in charge of every battle, mindful of every move. If I used my powers, there would be a panic, which could put the mortals in danger. Though not particularly fond of mortals, I never took the life of an innocent. Not even in war.

  The stranger did not back away, despite the fact that he must have noticed the shimmer of otherworldly power rolling off me. He held out his hand toward the waiting car. He was no mortal—something darker lived beneath his handsome surface. He continued to assess me, but not as a stranger would. He seemed more like a merchant, checking his newly arrived merchandise to assure himself no damage had befallen it on its journey to him.

  Never one to look away first or ignore a challenge, I studied him right back. He wore a black suit, formal, with a deep sapphire shirt that was unbuttoned at the top. Far more formal than the jeans and sweater I had borrowed from Lilah, my closest sister, for my stroll. I would have worn my customary forest-green tunic and pants, but Lilah’s commentary—“You can’t go out looking like a wood elf, Elena; people will notice”—prevented that. The sweater proved itchy—even now, my back was irritated, almost burning, from the rough fibers.

  The stranger’s face was a classical daydream of masculine splendor. Black hair cut to fall pleasingly across his olive forehead, with dark brows to match. Beauty had marked him, truly, but there was something else. His eyes. Instead of a window to his soul, they were a bottomless abyss. They did not speak of passion, love, or emotion. Instead, they were cold and dark, as if whatever light that had once lain within them had been snuffed out long ago.

  I bristled at the thought of what a creature with eyes like those wanted with me. I’d seen enough. I whirled on my heel, staring contest be damned. The sooner I got back to Roth, Lilah, and my sister maidens, the safer the city would be. The stranger could go straight to Hades, for all I cared.

  But what I saw behind me stopped me dead. It was Paris, the famed vampire, charging right at me. His fangs were bared, a look of raw fury on his face. The last I’d seen of him, he’d been fawning all over my mistress, Artemis.

  I marveled at the rage in every one of his movements. It was as if he were giving off sparks of hate and anger. Then he disappeared and reappeared much closer, teleporting through the crowds.

  If the stranger was a wall, Paris was an avalanche, his malice bearing down on me with a violent certainty. Why was he picking a fight with me? And in the mortal world of all places? He was a block away, no more, and closing fast. My palms began to tingle, the beginnings of a vicious hex taking shape. But I still had the onlooker and collateral-damage problems.

  “Please, allow me.” The stranger held the car door open. His gaze was still glued to me, as if he were totally unaware of the homicidal vampire charging right at us. With only seconds to make my decision, I glanced from the stranger to Paris, and chose.

  “Where can I have my driver drop you?”

  I certainly wasn’t about to tell him the location of my sisters at Roth’s chateau. “Just drop me in front of Notre Dame.” Though unfamiliar with the Paris streets, I knew how to make it back to the chateau from there, at least.

  “Surely not. Allow me to take you to your home.”

  “I, ah, I am staying at a hotel near there. So that’s as good a place as any.” I shifted in my seat, leaning away from the stranger, who now seemed uncomfortably close in the confines of the car.

  The second I’d stepped in, the stranger had followed me and the car tore from the curb. But Paris had teleported again at the last second, covering the remaining distance in a heartbeat and fixing me in his dark glare as I sped away from him. Something told me it would not be the last I saw of the vampire prince, though I had no idea what quarrel he had with me. Not that it mattered, I’d gut him if I had to, though my mistress wouldn’t be too pleased about it. I kept checking behind the vehicle for any sign of him.

  “Don’t worry about him,” the stranger snapped. He scowled, contorting his otherwise handsome face. “He is and always has been beneath you. Nothing more than a peasant.”

  I glanced at my door, my hand itching to pull the handle so I could escape into the darkening streets.

  “Locked.” The stranger smiled. “For safety, of course.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, sizing up what it would take to turn him to dust. Getting into this car was a mistake. I’d foolishly been caught in a snare. But something about the stranger was familiar. All these events were more than simple happenstance. The run-in on the sidewalk was no accident, but I couldn’t tell how Paris fit into the picture.

  I focused once again on the playing field, trying to determine how to gain the upper hand. But my heart sank when I realized how thoroughly trapped I was. Though not familiar with the City of Light, I knew the car was speeding away from the river, the center of town. Away from my sisters and safety. And the stranger seemed fully aware of what had gone on at t
he riverbank. He must have known Paris was following me. He also knew where I would be and how to get me where he wanted me—here, in his car, hurtling through the night, with no clear avenue of escape.

  “This isn’t the way to Notre Dame.” I turned to face him directly. The darkness in his eyes made me wince inwardly. But I wasn’t afraid. This was a situation I could handle easily, though the stranger would be much the worse for wear. I wasn’t about to be the punchline of some kidnap plot retold by my enemies on Olympus at my expense. I kept calm and summoned my power. My palms tingled again, the harbinger of the stranger’s death. He may have sprung the trap, but I was no ordinary quarry.

  He raised a hand and rubbed a lock of my hair between his thumb and forefinger. He moved so fast I barely caught the flicker of his arm. Now I knew he was no ordinary hunter. He sifted the golden strands and looked at them with something edging on wonder. My palms were no longer simply tingling, they were burning with the desire to strike the presumptuous stranger down. Never had a male dared to take such liberties with me. But I sat still, playing along until I saw the perfect opening to strike. Moves had to be made in their turn.

  “I thought you were lost to me. Do you have any idea how long I have been searching for you?” He spoke softly now, but he stared past me, through me, as if lost in memory.