The Games Monsters Play

  For my readers who always want

  just a little more

  SUNDAY

  ~ Chapter 1 ~

  Children.

  They shuffled through the warehouse, silent and clinging to one another. Nine bedraggled and terrified kids, ranging from three to twelve years in age, escorted by cold-eyed guards from the receiving dock to the private cells.

  Colin couldn’t help staring. He’d heard the rumors for years, yet the sight still horrified him. But he didn’t dare risk unwanted attention by asking questions.

  The tear-streaked faces, painted with fear and confusion, seared themselves into his mind.

  I have to get them out, Colin thought. Even if it means terminating the Paris operation early.

  It would be his final move in The Game against the European Chosen.

  But first he had to survive tonight’s meeting with Katarina Habsburg.

  ~ * ~

  Clack. Clack. Clack.

  Katarina’s high-heeled boots rang out against the white marble floor, sounding to Colin like a great clock ticking off the final seconds of his life. He stood between Philippe and Hiroki, and wondered if he stank of fear as much as the other two Chosen.

  Her powerful Elder energy pulsated as Katarina circled them, its heavy aura smothering their weaker ones. When she reached the front of the windowless room serving as her Paris office, she stopped at the ornate mahogany desk and faced them.

  Soft light from fixtures mounted high along the wood-paneled walls created shadows around her sharp cheekbones and bladelike nose, exposing the innate cruelty in a face that might’ve once been beautiful. Her statuesque figure, clothed in a forest-green pantsuit and framed in tumbling dark red hair, would’ve stirred his desire—if she didn’t scare the hell out of him. Copper-colored eyes, like those of a cheetah, analyzed the three Chosen underlings. Crimson flickering in her pupils, her gaze slid from Hiroki to Colin and he swallowed.

  “So . . .” Her thin lips curved upward as the word slithered from her mouth.

  By the Saints, she’s even more intimidating when she smiles.

  Colin waited for her to continue, keeping a firm hold on the energy masking his true aura, the one identifying him as an outsider. He’d never been this close to Gilles’s consort, and so far, the Queen matched her fierce reputation. Philippe, standing on Colin’s left, shifted his weight. The pompous Frenchman lacked his usual swagger, which Colin took as a bad sign. To his right, Hiroki remained statue-still, but tension vibrated the air surrounding the lean Asian.

  “I’ve decided to do something special for my birthday.” Her British accent carried a hint of Austrian. “I have a new game—one to assist those in the lower ranks elevate their status. It’s called ‘The Queen’s Birthday Game,’ and you are the first to play.”

  She paused, her red eyebrows arching with expectation.

  “Merci. Merci beaucoup, my Queen.” Philippe quickly half-bowed, his hand to his chest.

  Hiroki mimicked the gesture and Colin prudently did the same.

  The Elder resumed her feline stroll around the room. As she moved behind them, Colin’s back tingled from the weight of her sharp attention.

  Why did she choose me? Thought I was keeping a low profile.

  He noted the drain in the white marble floor, as well as Katarina’s extensive sword collection mounted on the wall opposite the wet bar, and allowed a visible shiver to run through his body. To show no reaction at all to the inherent threats of both the Queen and the room itself invited a scrutiny he could ill afford.

  Her boots continued their sharp rhythm toward the front of the office.

  “As players, you will each be given the opportunity to present an offering to me—a birthday gift—which will demonstrate you possess the ingenuity and understanding required to become a member of my court.”

  Oh, hell.

  “The winner will receive a place on my special council. The losers—” Her cold laughter chilled the marrow in Colin’s bones.

  Katarina halted in front of them, closer than before.

  “Well, there are no losers among The Chosen.”

  Crimson flared once again in her pupils, and this time it spread into her irises, turning her eyes blood-red. Her upper lip curled into a snarl, revealing long, dagger-like fangs.

  “You have three nights. Beginning now.”

  ~ * ~

  Katarina contemplated their retreating forms. Her fangs retracted and the ruby veil through which she peered faded, her eyes changing back to their normal copper.

  Two of the players were common Chosen underlings competing for Elder attention in The Game, their scents and auras bursting with ambition. But the third one, the nondescript blond with an average face and medium build . . . something was different about him, a careful blandness not normally seen in younger Chosen.

  She’d spotted him the previous month from across the warehouse, puzzled by his respectful handling of the livestock. Katarina had recalled the quiet Chosen as she considered the players for her birthday game and decided he would make an intriguing addition to the roster.

  Peeling back his layers to see what makes him tick gives me something to look forward to.

  The idea for the game occurred to her during her long flight back from Colorado. It had kept her mind busy, and now promised to provide a necessary distraction until she could leave Paris for her London home.

  She frowned at the rasping sound behind her and turned as Gilles de Rais entered the room through a secret door hidden within the wood paneling. His eyes, normally the rich brown of his hair and finely-sculpted beard, gleamed a pale gold, indicating he’d just enjoyed a bloodmeal.

  Her hunger stirred.

  “What little game are you up to today, ma chérie?” Her mate strode to the wet bar and opened the refrigerator-sized wine cooler.

  Katarina watched him examine the bottles, his hand pulling first one, then another from their slots. She suppressed the loathing generated every time she beheld his trim figure with its military carriage and precise movements.

  “Ah. Here it is. And you thought to keep this all to yourself.” He straightened, closed the door, and pivoted, smirking at her with his prize in hand. The bottle, a rare bloodwine infused with the blood of humans kept on a special diet, was the last from the case Antonio had given her for her birthday. She’d intended to enjoy it with better company.

  I can’t wait to get home to London.

  Katarina grimaced as Gilles uncorked the bottle and filled two wineglasses. He raised one to his nose, eyes closing and nostrils swelling as he inhaled the bloodwine’s honeyed fragrance. He opened his eyes and shook his head.

  “Really, ma chérie. You can be so greedy sometimes.” He took a sip, swished it around in his mouth, and slowly swallowed.

  Nodding, he beckoned her to the bar. Katarina sauntered across the room and picked up her wine.

  “A toast, my dear, to a successful trip.” Gilles raised his glass. “It was successful, wasn’t it?”

  The menace underlying his polite tone triggered a surge of rage, and a growl leapt from her throat.

  Goddamned bastard, sending me into that viper pit without the least concern for my survival.

  His eyes flashed scarlet and he snarled, exposing his fully descended fangs.

  “Careful, Katarina. You forget with whom you’re dealing. Put away your childish angers and let’s focus on the task at hand, shall we?” He tipped his head expectantly.

  She nodded, seething.

  “Your agent disembarked in New York undetected?”

  “Yes, as far as I know. His plane landed a few moments after mine. I believe Éva was too focused on my presence to notice.” Katarina took a sip of her bloodwine.
<
br />   She’d sensed the powerful aura of her longtime enemy sweeping through the airport toward her only moments before stepping on the plane to Denver.

  “Éva.” Gilles snorted. “She’s always despised you, ever since you stole that Magyar bastard out from under her nose and persuaded him to break his mate bond with her.”

  Katarina smiled, but deep inside she winced at the heartbreak she’d suffered from Nicolas’ later rejection of her. Though it had happened centuries ago, it spurred another flash of hatred, this time directed at Nicolas—the only one she’d ever truly loved.

  “And what of the bitch he’s proclaimed as his new Queen? You did meet her, I assume.”

  It wasn’t just the threat beneath his words that enraged her.

  As her vision reddened, she thought about the dark-haired beauty with the piercing blue eyes who now graced Nicolas’ arm.

  She’s as good as dead. I’ll savor every drop of her blood, and then she can join Nicolas on the shelf Gilles has reserved for him. They can stare at one another for all eternity.

  Katarina glanced over at Gilles and walked to her desk before answering.

  “She’s nothing. A commoner. She bore a strange scent, and her aura was unusual as well. I could not detect the signature of any major lineages. She’s rather puzzling, and my guess is that she’s unbound, an independent, and nothing to fret over.”

  Katarina lowered her gaze, fearful she’d revealed more than she intended to her mate, who was as much adversary as ally. He’d enjoy using her jealousy against her.

  “Unbound? That’s curious. I wonder how Nicolas proposes to utilize her if she has no affiliations. What is this Chosen’s name?”

  “Sunny Martin. I ordered an investigation into her origins upon my return to Paris earlier this evening.”

  Gilles laughed.

  “Yes, I heard about that. Who was the designer you wore, my dear? I’m not aware of anyone branching out into straitjackets. Or ball gags.” A slow, condescending smile crept across his face.

  Her nails ached to slash that smile from his face. His threats were one thing, just part of the nasty game between them. But laughing at the humiliation she’d suffered at the hands of their mutual enemy was another.

  Katarina’s anger mushroomed as she recalled the indignity of Nicolas forcing her into the straitjacket, and the sting of Éva’s slaps before that Hungarian bitch thrust the ball gag into her mouth. Thankfully, Nicolas’ Elders on his private jet had refrained from further insults on the flight from Denver to Paris, only requesting she give Gilles their best wishes as they shoved her and Lars onto the tarmac.

  She slammed her wineglass against the desktop and the fragile stem shattered. Bloodstained droplets flew into the air and the broken glass tipped from her hand, spilling the precious wine across the polished mahogany surface.

  “Go to hell, Gilles. I’m your Queen, not your lackey. I deserve better from you.”

  Katarina flung the liquid from her fingers and stormed past him toward the door. Air exploded from her chest as his weight smashed her into the wall and pinned her there.

  “My Queen, you do forget yourself,” he whispered, his icy breath chilling her ear. His body pushed against hers and she shuddered.

  The pressure on her back eased and he grabbed her shoulders and spun her to face him.

  Gilles brushed a strand of hair from her eyes.

  “How was Lars? Did you have fun with your birthday present, the present I gave you?”

  Fear shot through Katarina. She’d grown somewhat fond of the Nordic giant, and had hoped to get Lars back to London before Gilles realized how much.

  Her mate sneered.

  “You’ve bonded with him, haven’t you? That’s sweet. I’m glad he brought you a little happiness.”

  Gilles released her and stepped back. He appraised her a moment, then nodded.

  “You’re right. I haven’t been treating you as my Queen, as you most assuredly deserve. We’ve been together so long I tend to forget.” He stroked his beard. “So, with that in mind, the first thing I shall do is reassert my position as your King. And no self-respecting King would allow a member of his court to bed and bond his mate—and live to talk about it.”

  “Gilles, no! He’s mine! You gave him to me—” Katarina clenched her jaw.

  He’d even said I was free to do whatever I wanted with Lars.

  As Gilles laughed, her throat tightened.

  He set me up.

  Obviously he’d expected her to bond with the young Chosen, knowing what it would do to her when he killed the Norseman.

  The pain from the bond breaking . . . I can’t go through that again. How could I have been so stupid?

  She had nothing with which to barter—except herself.

  But she wasn’t sure what Gilles wanted from her this time.

  Submission? Resistance? Do I cower, or do I fight?

  Katarina studied the pale brown eyes, trying to see through his impassive mask. His mouth quirked, an indication his mood was shifting toward amusement. She shook her head, weary of the centuries-old game that formed the core of their relationship.

  “What do you want from me, Gilles? Whatever it is, just say it and let’s be done with this.”

  “Aww . . . Did my Kat have a rough weekend? Too tired to play?” Gilles moved closer to her, slowly pressing her into the corner. He nuzzled her ear, her throat. She stiffened as he dragged his fangs against her skin.

  “I tell you what, ma chérie,” he murmured. “I’ll let you keep Lars a little longer, but I want him out of sight, especially mine.”

  She nodded.

  “As always, my generosity has a price.” His cold tongue slid along her jugular. Katarina froze.

  “First, I insist you join me for this week’s bloodgames. We’ve assembled fighters from rival street gangs to demonstrate their skills each evening prior to dinner. Which will be them, of course, followed by several special treats. On our final night, the winning owner will have their choice of dessert from a veritable nursery of tender young morsels.”

  She nodded again, keeping her face expressionless. “When? Where?”

  “Ten, tonight, in the game room. We have a delicious evening ahead of us.”

  “I’m sure.”

  She waited, hoping he would release her, but he only pressed his body harder against hers.

  “Ma chérie, do you realize how long it’s been since we renewed our bond?” He licked her throat again and she nearly retched.

  Gilles’s twisted version of bonding possessed little resemblance to the Chosen mating ritual. The simultaneous and complete exchange of emotion-charged blood was usually euphoric, radiating waves of rapture through the couple as their blood mingled. Katarina enjoyed bonding with the inexhaustible Lars, basking in his worship of her. They renewed their bond frequently.

  But Gilles delighted in causing pain, and he relished inflicting it upon her.

  “I’ve missed your flashes of hatred and disgust, my little Kat, as you’ve no doubt missed my exotic tastes and my joy at your misery.”

  His hand gripped her hair and a cry slid from her throat as his fangs tore into it. She tried pushing him away, then beating on his head and back with her fists, but nothing slowed the incessant pull on her veins as he drained her blood in great gasping swallows. Her legs weakened and she started sliding down the wall, only to have Gilles yank her back up by the hair and continue drinking. All thought ended as her emptying veins ignited in flaming agony. The burning hunger deep in her belly roared to life and she shrieked.

  “Oh, my little Kat, how I love to hear you sing. It’s been so long.”

  She was vaguely conscious of being lowered to the floor, the wall behind her holding her upright. Gilles sat beside her, then shifted her into his lap with her back against his chest. The fiery torture raged throughout her body, and she envisioned her skin blackening, splitting, curling, the imaginary flames crawling within her like molten snakes.

  Katarina b
it back another cry.

  “There, there, ma chérie, it’ll be over soon. God, how I love the hatred you bear me. It’s your greatest gift,” he moaned into her hair and, fondling her breasts, hugged her tighter to him.

  You bastard. Finish it.

  The blazing torture pulsed through her again and again. Weakening, she gave in and the screams erupted from her throat.

  “Yes. Yes. Oh, my Kat . . .”

  The blackness was crowding in when his arm pressed against her lips. Katarina opened her mouth and bit down, hard, and began taking in the blood her body so desperately craved. His hand stroked her hair as she swallowed, and much too soon, he wrenched it from her teeth. The burning in her veins eased, but not the hunger in her belly.

  He always takes so much more than he gives, goddamned pig.

  She shoved herself from his lap and staggered to her feet.

  “That’s the spirit, my little hellcat!” Gilles stood.

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  He laughed, and she felt his amusement echo in his blood coursing through her, accompanied by gloating and superiority.

  “Yes. Hate me. Just keep hating me, Kat, because the day you no longer do is the day I’ll have no further use for you. And then you can join the others on a shelf.”

  The steel clamp of fear gripped her and his blood in her reacted with glee.

  “Tonight. Ten. And bring your appetite. I’ll savor your hunger as much as your revulsion when you see the specialties I’ve arranged.” The door closed behind him.

  Katarina resisted blasting him with one last shot of anger, knowing he’d only enjoy it. She realized he must’ve felt it anyway as his blood in her veins hummed with satisfaction. It blossomed into joy at the despair washing over her as she thought about the months it would take her body to claim the blood as its own.

  Months of complete submission to the iron bloodwill of the one who was her Maker. And months of feeling every emotion from the sick monster who was also her bonded mate and her King.

  ~ Chapter 2 ~

  Colin parked the BMW in the Metro parking lot and took the stairs down into the station two at a time. He needed to lose whatever tail might be following him as quickly as possible, and wouldn’t feel safe until he’d made several transfers on the RER, Paris’ commuter train system.