Reign of Nightmares (Blood Throne Book 1)

  Reign of Nightmares

  Book One of Blood Throne Series

  Quinn Arthurs

  Copyright © 2020 by Quinn Arthurs

  Cover Design by Cover of Darkness

  Editing by Elemental Editing & Proofreading

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  The author acknowledges the trademark owners of various products, brands, and/or stores referenced in this work o fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Foreword

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Also by Quinn Arthurs

  Foreword

  This is a dark paranormal reverse harem romance novel and is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. It contains sexual situations and strong language. Potential triggers include but are not limited to psychotic characters, violence, torture, slavery, knife/blood play, sadism, and death. Please note that everything between the harem members is consensual. This book does not contain M/M but future books will contain M/M interactions between harem members.

  If any of those things are objectionable to you then this may not be your book. If you’re ready for the dark side then keep reading to see what trouble these characters can get into!

  Prologue

  Elsie

  Blood was life, but spilling it was just for fun. Waves and waves of it would fill the room, the scent thick and heavy enough that I could taste it when I entered before a single drop ever touched my tongue. Even the heat radiated, lingering for a time after it was spilled, warming my skin wherever it splashed, leaving sticky, lingering patches against the ivory of my skin. Cackling laughter echoed off the stone walls, mixing and flowing with shrieking screams and pleading voices. It didn’t matter what they promised or how they begged, they wouldn’t leave the chipped rock walls of the castle alive—the only remainder of their existence the drips of crimson that escaped our reach and stained the cracks of the stones.

  I stepped from the tower, licking the blood from my fingertips with a shake of my head. I didn’t see the necessity of scaring the living daylights out of my victims before their sacrifice, nor did I understand the point of the mess. It wasn’t as though blood was easy to remove from my clothing after I fed. There were far more civilized ways to have a meal or to gain the advantages of blood against my skin. I did not appreciate the grit that tended to embed itself there as well, no matter how much the servants scrubbed the dirt away. Part of that could be due to lack of motivation, since most were unsure if they would end up as the next visitors to the tower, their own blood spilling over the icy stones, adhering to the rock as it cooled.

  Traditions were traditions, however. From the time of my great-great-grandmother, the vampires had fed this way. Most of us enjoyed it, the fear and despair fueling something in us just as the blood we consumed nourished us. Others believed that fear was what contributed to the healing effects of the blood, as that emotion was so rare for our kind. Family lore stated that as we lost the ability to feel fear, it hardened our skin, cracking and peeling it, turning us into something more monstrous than human, preventing us from mingling with our prey and acting as the predators we were. I had experienced the painful cracking, peeling skin myself, which was one of the main reasons I still partook in “family dinners.” I knew they were termed as such with mockery, a mere nod to the humans we may have once been, a method of luring our victims in with a sense of pride. Only the washing of the affected skin with blood would soothe the weeping sores and cure the loss of use that would occur in the limb if blood was not imbibed.

  It wasn’t that I liked being a vampire, it was merely my existence. I had too high of a level of self-preservation to let myself rot away, though I had considered it on occasion. The passing of time tended to lower the thrill of killing and expand my knowledge about other subjects, amongst which was my prey. Much experimentation had followed, and I learned, rather painfully, that only human blood would suffice to keep me strong and whole. While I didn’t see humans as chattel, the way many of my kind did, I also wasn’t made of strong enough moral fiber to allow myself to die in their stead.

  My suggestion of not bleeding our meals entirely, of only taking minor amounts that could be replenished from our stock, was met with nothing more than mockery and disdain. This was our life, and the traditions would not be changed—not for me, not for anyone. My mother called it my “rebellious phase,” though I figured something that had evolved over a decade was far from a phase. My father merely sneered when the issue was brought up, commenting that the disintegration of my skin must have traveled to my brain, and he suggested a more frequent feeding schedule to combat the issue.

  The blood on my flesh had cooled enough for me to know it had done its job, so I increased my speed toward my chambers, intent on washing the offending stain away. “What is with you vampires?” Scorn was clear in the cool, clipped voice that spoke from the shadows, and I raised a brow, pulling my lip back to expose my fangs. We were inside the walls, no one was able to enter whom we did not allow. It wasn’t as if they would be able to do anything to me if they had. Humans, even armed with weapons, were far weaker than we were. It wasn’t exactly fair when my teeth and nails acted as weapons, and my body healed with every wound I placed upon them.

  While fear might not be a sensation I was accustomed to, surprise was. Identical men stepped from the darkness, their movements a mirror of each other. They towered over me. Though I was considered tall for a female, they must have been close to six and a half feet in height and rippling in layer after layer of hard muscle. Their hair was a dark brown, the rich color of freshly turned soil. The light was too muted in the hallway to give me an impression of their eye color, though it wasn’t dim enough to mask the disdainful curl of their lips or the only visible difference between the two—one sported a ring in his lower lip.

  The sight caused my own lip to curl in response. “Witches.” No vampire would be foolish enough to decorate themselves with a ring through their lip, and they were far too outspoken to be fully human. Blood witches were the only humans who escaped our hunger, many living in companionable peace within ou
r walls. Although they didn’t consume blood, they needed it for their spellcraft and enjoyed our practices, joining in with eager abandon as they collected the offerings they required. “As if you have room to talk about my practices.”

  Although I hadn’t seen the two of them in the castle before, it was far from a surprise. I preferred my solitude and my studies, inevitably ignoring the ebb and flow of the humans who acted as both servant and food supply and the blood witches who came to utilize our resources in exchange for their manipulation of the technology in the castle. “We tend not to roll in our food,” the one with the lip ring grumbled.

  “At least we use the food source,” I retorted, crossing my arms and ignoring the blood that crackled there with the movement, “rather than simply wasting it on spells for your false perception of power.”

  Both sets of eyes flared, the pair moving in harmony as they held up their hands, red lightning sparking in their palms. “We are far from faking our power.”

  I drew my shoulders back, unintimidated by their display. “I am Elsie Crauford. This is my home, and these are my people. I am next in line for the vampire throne, and you will give me the respect which I am due.”

  “I’m Draven.” The man with the lip ring executed a mocking bow, and I hissed my irritation. “This is Crowe.” He indicated his twin with a lazy wave of his hand. I merely arched a brow, turning away from them to continue my course. Witches weren’t worth my time. “I assume we’ve missed the bleeding?” he called after me, and I snorted. As if that was a challenge to deduce. Besides, our family fed at traditional mealtimes, and all visitors were made aware of when those times were—even if it was just to ensure that they did not end up on the menu themselves and were safely ensconced in their chosen rooms. Witches were fools, there was no question about it.

  Chapter One

  Elsie

  The door to my chamber clicked shut behind me and I sighed, wrinkling my nose at the stale smell that now emanated from me. Dried blood aged far too quickly, especially when pressed against our skin as if we leached every source of life from it and into ourselves. I headed to my shower, letting the spray warm as I stripped the clothes from my body and dropped them to the floor heedlessly. Blood had even soaked through the thin cotton of my tank top and shorts, and barely a hint of my ivory skin could be seen through the crust that had formed on me.

  I breathed out a sigh of relief as the water cascaded over my frame, rinsing away the reminder of what I was and what I could never be. Even my hair was stained with blood, and I began to scrub it enthusiastically, knowing it would take time to return it to its natural shade of blonde. The flush on my body remained as I washed away the blood, my ivory skin holding a rosy, healthy glow that wasn’t due to the heat of the water.

  I often wished I could get the same enjoyment out of water that I received from the fresh blood coursing over my skin. The sensations were similar—the liquid heat, the warming skin, the momentary sense of peace at the soft sound of flowing fluid. Yet no matter how many showers or baths I took, or the scents of herbs I chose for the soaps, there was still a difference in the two that was unavoidable. Blood was sultry, sending a pulse deep into my being with every wave as if pouring life and pleasure into me. Water merely cleansed the human dirt that remained.

  Flicking the water off with a sigh, I reached for my towel and groaned when empty air met my hand. I really needed to learn to check for those before I got in. I preferred the privacy of bathing alone without the aid of an attendant. With a grumble, I rang the cord that hung in each of my rooms, calling for assistance. I rarely utilized it. Servants meant interference with my work and solitude, and interacting with them increased the risk of me becoming attached to a human. I didn’t relish the idea of knowing my food intimately.

  A soft series of knocks heralded the arrival of a servant, and for a moment, I debated sending them away rather than requesting their services. Servants were a hard lot to measure. Some were forced into service, owing us a debt or being sold to us to pay off the arrears of another. Others hoped to become one of us, to claim what they saw as a gift. I wasn’t sure how any of the humans who had seen our daily lives would perceive them as glamorous or as a goal to achieve, although I had never lived in the squalor that was common amongst humanity after the plagues had decimated the population.

  Maybe I would feel differently about life if I lived every day hungry, cold, tired, and in fear. Despite that and our consumption of them, humans still bred rapidly both inside and outside the castle. Few were blessed with the witch gene and, instead, faced a life of destitution.

  “Come in,” I called. At the soft creak and click of the door, I continued, “There were no towels placed in the bathroom.” Shuffling and shifting noises met my ears as the servant dug through the storage cupboards on the far side of my rooms that held the linens. I didn’t bother concealing my body—nudity around humans was not something many were hesitant about.

  The young man who entered was surprisingly attractive for a human, enough to have me shifting slightly as he approached, his head angled to prevent himself from staring at my naked, dripping form. He was only a few inches taller than my own five foot eight, and his hair was a golden brown, nearly blond in some spots and dark in others, which created an oddly appealing mixture. His skin was heavily tanned from his work, adding an attractive, healthy glow that had hunger tickling at the pit of my stomach, though which type of hunger I was hard-pressed to say.

  “Miss,” he offered, his husky timbre quiet as he held out the towels for me.

  I accepted them quickly, tightening the thick cotton around my body and letting it absorb the water lingering on my skin. I twisted my hair up into another towel, knotting it to absorb the weight and stay on its own as I studied the servant. Apparently it was the day for new faces.

  “I apologize for your rooms not being properly stocked. The servants are undergoing a shift, though it’s no excuse for your discomfort.”

  I arched a brow at the apology, considering him. There was no blatant pleading, which was not uncommon from servants who believed one of us to be angry at them, merely a statement made in a calm, quiet tone.

  “You aren’t normally in these quarters,” I commented, as he executed a bow and placed extra towels on the nearby racks, ensuring I would not run out again soon.

  “No, miss. I am assigned to this wing for the foreseeable future, should you not have any objection to it.”

  I cocked my head to study him, interested in the human who showed so little fear. I had never had a pet human, unwilling to take on one of the fawning, quivering, weeping women who were my usual companions. None of them had appealed to me as sexual partners, nor had any of the personally claimed servants who were mockingly referred to as pets.

  “Your name?” I asked quietly, the question falling from my lips for the first time with a servant.

  “Sebastian, miss.” His reply was low, his head still bowed.

  “Are you claimed, Sebastian?” It was rare, though not completely unheard of, for a pet to continue to work in a general capacity for the servants. Usually it was seen in sexual pets whose companionship and servant skills were not necessary for the vampire’s day-to-day life. Even rarer, a blood witch might be granted a pet whose blood was incredibly powerful for the spells they specialized in. Once claimed, even if rejected later, a human could not be claimed again.

  Many pet humans bore a mark of the one who had chosen them, though it was not a necessity to claim ownership. Some were possessive of their pets and chose to warn other vampires away from them. Others enjoyed inciting fights amongst their peers by not openly marking their possession and allowing another vampire to essentially trespass against their pet.

  “No, miss.” His reply was so soft I could barely hear it, let alone distinguish his thoughts.

  “Look at me, Sebastian,” I ordered, my tone even and calm.

  Eyes of brilliant blue met mine, his head lifting proudly. Neither fear nor resignatio
n were in his eyes, though it was the most common thing I would see in the humans here. Not even worship, which was oddly disconcerting in some of the humans. Instead, they were heated, anger bordering on violence flashing in the ocean-like depths. That was unique. I wondered how this human had come not only into the castle but into such a high level of service if he contained that much fury inside of him toward my people. Not that he would be a threat, merely an inconvenience.

  “Can you read?” I inquired curiously. He blinked, surprise momentarily replacing the anger in his gaze as he considered my unusual question.

  “Yes, miss.” His response was slower this time, most likely from confusion at my odd question, though it lacked none of the propriety that vampires required from their humans.

  “Can you write?” I queried next, moving past him into my room, letting the towel fall from my now dry body.

  Surprising me with his speed, he trailed after me, sliding my clothes from the wardrobe and approaching to lay them on the black satin comforter of my bed before responding. “Yes, miss. I can write as well.”

  “Why?” Even amongst vampires, literacy was not common. I was sure it was fairly minimal amongst humans.

  His mouth twisted down, his lips tightening, and I was sure he didn’t want to answer me though he knew better than to ignore my question. “My mother was a witch. I learned from her.”