Beast of the Damned #2

*Chapter Four*

*Bonus points to the reader who gets the above picture

~ KINLEY ~

From my chambers on the far side of the castle, I can hear the festivities I left in a hurry. The haunting strings of violins and cellos fill every quarter of this grand old structure. I consider these stone walls a home I'm lucky enough to live in. None of that matters now. I've been embarrassed in front of everyone who matters. My station cast down with the swipe of a hand.

To be a massarra is to be desired by all vampires. We are the epitome of what blood should taste like, walking temptresses forged from the purity and light that flows within us. Our life force should be a standard only fit enough for the Dark Prince to drink.

So why? Why would Tristan Darkos refuse my offering as if it were pigs blood unfit to be tasted by the likes of him? He not only shamed me publicly, he denounced my whole worth as a massarra!

I had one task today. Fill the Prince of Darkness's cup. I failed. My blood is unworthy to even a stupid beast who slays in the name of My Lord. The Prince must be so displeased. He's waited all this time to find out I'm a waste of flesh he gifted immortality to.

The creak of my chamber door being opened turns me away from the window I've been staring out for the last fifteen minutes. Marianna's face does little to comfort me. I know not what to expect. Am I to be tossed out like garbage or made a house or trades maid since my blood isn't to vampire liking?

"I hate him," I say as she assesses the red splatter covering me from head to toe.

"Hate who, child?" she asks, signaling for me to turn around.

"The Beast of the Damned. I hate him. He humiliated me." I turn around, letting Marianna help me out of the exotic lace I've been draped in same as the other massarra. The difference is they deserved to be decorated in such fine fabrics whereas I don't. Not anymore.

"Don't take it personally, dear." The snug fit of my ruined dress loosens, Marianna working free the last of the buttons with a silver-plated hook. "That's the way Tristan is and always has been. You needn't worry yourself about him. It's best you keep your distance from him and his feral army."

"What do you mean I needn't worry? I'm not one of you. My whole status is dependent on my blood, and Tristan Darkos tossed it across the room like a piece of spoiled meat. The Prince has no use for me now. I failed him. He's waited all this time, saved me for this special moment, and, for what? To find out I'm rotten inside to the point that even the most bloodthirsty of vampires wouldn't dare drink my blood?"

A rumbling chuckle of amusement sounds behind me. The warmth of my anger doesn't come close to the heat I feel as I stare at the Prince dressed in only the nude slip that was underneath my dress.

I fall to my knees and bow my head. "My Lord." I keep my head down and hands in my lap. I usually don't greet him in such a manner. However, it's my way of seeking his mercy.

As silly as it sounds, the Dark Prince is like a father figure to me. He raised me. Indulged my childish whims when I was younger. He even let me sit on his lap from time to time when he was on the throne. I felt so important then like I was destined for more than any massarra ever before me. Now, I feel less than rancid table scraps that are about to be thrown out to the hounds.

"Is that really what you think? That after all these years, I would toss you out because you failed me?" The Dark Prince crouches down in front of me.

He lifts my bowed head, flashing a radiant smile while he tenderly glides his thumb over the dried scarlet caked on my face.

My cheeks grow unbearably hot when he pops his thumb into his mouth sucking off the dried bits of my blood. For a fleeting moment, I'm filled with hope. That hope gets dashed, the ire I felt radiating from Tristan when he tossed the chalice full of my blood clear across the room resurfacing.