Blood Debt: A Reverse Harem Vampire Romance (Kingdom of Blood Book 1), Callie Rose [best free ereader .TXT] 📗

as if they don’t do this all the damn time. He drinks in their excitement like it’s lifeblood—ironically—and continues to amp them up. As he’s gesticulating, he moves back behind the pedestals, to the center of the stage. He pulls a rope that I mistakenly assumed was a pull rope for the velvet curtain, and a second later, the whole stage begins rocking and shaking under my feet.

“Escorts, to your tributes,” the auctioneer says.

Just like that, there’s a massive vampire by my side. His chest is bare except for the two straps of leather crossing it, which end in a belt slung low around his hips. He’s wearing combat boots, and his pants are covered in chains. Apocalypse punk seems to be the standard uniform for these “escorts,” though none of them are wearing exactly the same thing. He glances down at me, clearly bored. He must have wanted a flight risk. He keeps glancing eagerly at the tear-streaked woman in front of us, silently daring her to bolt.

She doesn’t. She seems smarter than that, even if she did end up on the auction block along with the rest of us. She must’ve done something stupid at some point to get here.

The part of the stage behind the pedestals has sunk into the ground now, revealing a broad hidden passage almost as big as the auction room itself. At the end, stairs lead down into the dark. I glance around for a mechanism to open the stage from below, but I can’t see anything. I want to look harder, but I don’t think I can get away with it. Not now.

Two vampires guard the top of the stairs. The escort-tribute pair in front of me is stopped, the tribute is searched, and then they’re allowed to pass.

I deliberately keep my breathing even and steady, trying to keep my heart rate down. I expected to be searched and prepared for that eventuality, but there’s always a chance I didn’t do as well as I think I did. I’m not a master-level seamstress, although I’m usually handy enough when I need to be.

Unaware of my inner anxiety, my escort drags me to a halt in front of security. I paste on my most inviting smile and look up at the guards through my lashes.

“Is it a… strip search?” I ask, trying to look both nervous and excited by the idea, instead of just nauseated.

“No,” one of them says shortly. His expression is hard and blank. Unlike the raucous crowd who came to watch the auction, he’s clearly just here to do his job. “Only a quick once-over. Don’t need you accidentally bringing garlic down there.”

I gasp, forcing my eyes to go wide. “Garlic? I would never do that. It could hurt someone.”

Not even bothering to acknowledge my words, the guard jerks his chin, and his friend gives me a perfunctory pat-down. My nerves scream with awareness as he reaches for the skirt of my dress, but he doesn’t run his hands over the length of the fabric, just parts the slit at one side and reaches beneath the heavy layers to check that I don’t have anything strapped to my legs.

My breath hitches a little, but I hope he’ll think that’s just from having his hands on me. It’s a good fucking thing I hid my weapons, but I’m so used to having daggers sheathed at my thighs when I hunt that I almost worry he’ll somehow feel the lingering imprint of metal against my skin.

But he doesn’t. After running his hands up my thighs again, way too close to my fucking vagina for comfort, he steps back, then nods and waves us through.

“Pretty little thing, that one,” I hear him murmur to his stoic counterpart as we walk away. “More muscular than I usually like them, but soft where it counts.”

I almost manage to suppress a shudder. My escort glances down at me, a vague sort of concern on his face.

“The stairs are cold,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly. “Palace is warm, though. Don’t worry.”

“I can’t wait to get there,” I say breathlessly, rubbing my arms as if for warmth. I’m not even cold—I’ve worked in ice storms with just enough layers on to avoid frostbite—but I’d rather him assume that than realize that I’m disgusted by this whole thing.

The stairs are loud. They’re steel on steel, with rattling grates on every step. The walls are smooth, hard, and multi-faceted in just the right way to make every sound echo. The railings aren’t really railings, but smooth steel bars standing vertically from floor to ceiling, with a handspan between each one.

Fuck. So much for sneaking out once I find Nathan. The stairs are clearly set up to be an early warning system of any intruders—or escapees—and there’s no chance of climbing a bannister.

We go three stories down beneath the ground. I don’t see any other openings, just smooth walls at every landing. There are more guards at the bottom, but they don’t stop us. We’re waved through to a steel vault door, which opens from the inside after one of the escorts nods his head to a camera embedded in the wall. I try to suppress the curling dread in my stomach as I’m herded forward with the rest of the women. So far, I’m not seeing any easy way out. I can’t imagine that this is the only entrance to the palace, not with how big the place must be. There have to be other ways in and out. Hopefully they won’t be quite as secure.

The vault door closes with a dull thud behind us, and I glance around my new surroundings to see a female vampire waiting just inside. She steps forward, giving us a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Her face makes her look middle-aged, but that just means that’s how old she was when she turned—it has no relation to the actual amount of time she’s walked the earth.

“Welcome, darlings,” she coos,