Blood Vow (Vampire Warrior Romance) (Kyn Series Book 1) Read online

  Blood Vow

  Kyn Series: Book 1

  Mina Carter

  New York Times & USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  You might also like…

  About the Author

  Copyright 2016 Mina Carter

  Cover Art by Mina Carter

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

  Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  WANT THE LATEST NEWS AND CONTESTS?

  SIGN UP TO MINA’S NEWSLETTER!

  http://mina-carter.com/join-my-mailing-list/

  Chapter 1

  “Come on, sweetheart. Verran’s a good man and he cares for you. You could do worse for a husband.”

  Maria rolled her eyes, doing her best to keep up the appearance of a cosseted but slightly spoiled noblewoman as she turned to face her father.

  Garen Ravensford stood behind her, a long-suffering expression on his face. She bit back a sigh. He was just like all the other vampire males she knew—honorable, protective, and utterly insufferable. Just like all the rest, he was totally convinced all women were delicate little creatures that had to be protected at all times. To be fair though, most vampire women were. They knew their place in the world. Which was to stay locked up in their ivory towers, looked after and wrapped in cotton wool all their lives. Their sole duty was to find the right man, or the man their daddy said was right, marry him and give birth to the next generation. A generation the ailing kyn race desperately needed.

  She knew dozens of them, the daughters of her father’s friends. Not one of them would say boo to a goose. She, on the other hand, had always been a tomboy, apt to rush headlong into any new adventure. Climbing trees and pranking their father’s knights had always held more appeal than playing with dolls or dressing up. As she’d gotten older, learning to ride and fight had taken over. They’d considered her weird then, and now they kept their distance in case her freakishness rubbed off on them.

  And there was the problem. She was a dhampir, a half-vampire. Since most died in the womb or shortly after birth, they were rare. She herself only knew of three. She was one, there had been one a couple of hundred years ago, and her kid sister… Quashing the tide of anger and sadness that rose at the thought of Bella, she transferred her attention to her father, a set look on her face.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” her father said sternly, even if his lips did quirk a little. “He would make a good husband.”

  She popped an eyebrow up. Verran was the perfect knight commander, polite and genteel… And very, very traditional.

  “Yeah? So he’s happy to marry a half-breed freak, is he?”

  Her father flinched. Just a little, but she caught it. That was the big old elephant in the room… At just over thirty, she was in danger of being left on the shelf. In the human world her mother came from, she was an adult, capable of making her own decisions, but in the vampire world, she was considered barely more than a teenager, one who needed guidance in any and all decisions. But that didn’t stop the practice of marrying girls off as soon as they were old enough. All her childhood “friends” were either married or planning their weddings.

  Maria wasn’t one of them.

  No one wanted a half-breed freak for a wife, especially a knight like Verran. They might as well try to marry her off to the king himself. Even if a suitor could look past the fact she was half human, there was the fact that she even looked different. Short and curvy, rather than tall and elegant like most kyn women, she stuck out like a sore thumb. What man wanted something like that on his arm? No guy in his right mind, that’s who. And certainly not Verran, not unless her father blackmailed him. There was a world of difference between caring for someone, like one would a sickly puppy, and true love. No bets on which Verran felt for her.

  Shaking the bad thoughts off, she smiled brightly at her father. “It’ll all make right in the end, I’m sure. Now, if you don’t need me, I simply must go give Violetta a call. She was going over designs for the Marboroughs’ ball with her dressmaker and promised to give me all the gossip.”

  Rising on her tiptoes, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek and sashayed away, her full skirts brushing musically against the polished floor. Sweeping through the door at the end of the drawing room, she turned and then immediately ducked into the shadows behind it. The kyn as a race eschewed modern technology, their houses lit by candles and lamps instead of electricity, which meant there were plenty of shadows to choose from.

  Holding her breath, she waited. As she’d suspected, within seconds the door on the other side of the room opened.

  “She didn’t go for it then?” Verran’s voice sounded so hopeful that she’d said no that Maria grimaced. She didn’t want to marry the guy, but a girl had some pride.

  Her father sighed. “Not yet, no, but give it time. She’s not getting any younger and all her friends are getting married. If they start having kids…”

  Maria closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the door in front of her. Of course, that was how he’d gotten Verran interested. All kyn males were hardwired to need to pass their genes on, but with fewer and fewer kyn being born each generation it was a goal that eluded many. The fact that she was half-human… She might just be fertile enough to bear a child. That might persuade him to look past the fact she was dhampir.

  She shook her head quickly. Not that it mattered. Verran was cute and all, with a tall, muscled frame, and blond good looks, but she wasn’t looking to get married, or have kids anytime soon.

  That had been her sister’s dream, not hers.

  Determination filled Maria, her back straightening as ice filtered through her veins. Bella would never get the big wedding to her Prince Charming she always dreamed of. The perfect dress, flowers… The crystal carriage to take her to the temple. She’d never have the perfect little family she’d chatted so excitedly about.

  Because Maria’s gentle little sister, the one beloved by all even though she was a half-breed like Maria, had been stolen by rogue vampires and slaughtered in cold blood.

  As hard as she tried, Maria couldn’t stop the image forming in her mind. Bella’s broken body when they brought her back home. Blood in her blonde hair, across her delicate features. The… wrongness of the form hidden under the cloak her father wouldn’t let her unwrap to give her little sister one last hug.

  Maria’s eyes snapped open, bor
ing into the wood in front of her as rage built within. Pushing off, she stepped back into the darkness. She had a job to do, and it had nothing to do with gossip and certainly nothing to do with that spoiled brat Violetta. Maria’s jaw set, she headed back to her own rooms and locked the door tightly behind her. Striding across the room, she threw open her wardrobe, hitting the catch on the panel at the back to reveal a hidden section.

  Her smile was grim as she perused the black leather and shiny blades within.

  The rogues had stolen her little sister, and now she was going to make them pay.

  “Married? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

  Marak, King of the Kyn, grimaced at the sound of laughter as it rolled through the large room and carried on pacing. He turned, his gaze sharp as he looked at the chuckling man lounging in the chair opposite the roaring fire.

  “Really? Could you find my predicament less amusing?”

  His companion just shrugged, not at all fazed by the deadly look as Marak flopped down in the chair beside him. With a sigh, Marak raked fingers through his close-cropped hair and glared at the fire in frustration.

  “This can’t be happening. Freaking politicians,” he muttered, not caring that Kalen heard the bitter note in his voice. Both warriors, they’d been friends since childhood.

  “Sorry, mate, you heard the man.” Kalen was blunt as normal.

  Earlier that night they’d sat in the Royal Hall as Elsveth, leader of the Lord’s Council, relayed the concerns of the council. It had been a lengthy list, covering everything from the cost of decent daylight shielding these days to local authority taxes on council properties. Marak had expected the complaint that the warrior caste were obsolete dinosaurs, but the attack over the fact that he still had no heir had been expected and unwelcome.

  “They want an heir, which means you need a woman. I love ya, man, but not that much. Besides, I don’t have the right equipment.” Kalen’s voice was full of amusement.

  Marak fidgeted. His annoyance at the situation he was being forced into translated into movement. The rasp of leather whispered in the room as he shifted and crossed his leg over his knee, lounging in the large chair with the indolent grace inherent to all kyn.

  “So…the Lady Kassandria doesn’t catch your interest?” Kalen stood up and strode over to the drink cabinet. He lifted a decanter and poured, swirling the contents in the heavy glass as he turned to look at Marak.

  Leaning his head, Marak closed his eyes as a wave of hopelessness washed over him. He knew his duty, and he’d known this day was coming. He was king, and a king needed an heir. The line needed to continue through his children…his sons. He wasn’t conceited enough to think he might be lucky enough to sire a daughter on any woman, not with how rare female children were.

  He kept his eyes closed. It was peaceful in the dark, the warmth of the fire on his face like the warmth of the sun he’d never seen, only imagined.

  “She’s a very beautiful woman,” he admitted.

  “But?” Kalen demanded, his voice suddenly closer. Marak opened his eyes to see the warrior standing over him, a heavy tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. Born with the distinctive warrior marks adorning his body, Kalen was silent as a cat when he moved. And a sneaky bastard to boot. Many times Marak himself would have fallen to the rogues if Kalen hadn’t had his back.

  “But what?” He reached for the glass but the other warrior held onto it, his dark eyes unreadable.

  “I can hear the ‘but.’ She’s beautiful and that figure would tempt a saint! Heaven knows it wouldn’t be a hardship to bed her. Hell, if I had a shot at her I’d start a damn nursery!” Kalen relaxed his grip on the glass, letting Marak take it, and frowned. “So what’s the deal?”

  Throwing the contents back in one move, Marak sucked his breath in as it burned all the way down to his stomach.

  “She’s not my bond-mate.”

  “And?” Kalen frowned, clearly puzzled. “Bond-mates are rare, have been for centuries. Why else do the courts watch the humans, looking for the mark?”

  Marak grunted. Rare and cherished women, bond-mates were born to be the other half of the warrior they were destined for. A precious few vampire females were born with the mark each generation. Each time it happened, it sparked a search for the lucky male she belonged to.

  If that had been the end of it, the kyn race would long have become extinct. But, by a stroke of luck or destiny, it had been discovered that some human females bore the mark as well and could be converted.

  But there was a fly in the ointment. Where there were kyn, there were also rogues—kyn males who had succumbed to the blood rage and allowed darkness to flourish in their souls. They preyed on kyn and humans alike, killing indiscriminately. And there was nothing they liked more than finding one of the marked and killing her to deprive the kyn of fertile females. Unlike their other victims, the bodies of the marked were dumped in front of kyn houses, broken and bloody. One more female lost, and her male a step closer to darkness.

  Marak sighed, the enormity of his race’s situation bearing down heavily on his shoulders. He tapped the empty glass against one leather clad leg, the hefty tumbler delicate in his large hand.

  He focused on it. He was king, but his hands were more used to killing, marked with heavy calluses and bearing a myriad of small scars. In some ironic quirk of fate, he’d been born with the warrior’s marks over his face and body, sealing his destiny twice over.

  He traced the edge of a holster strap over his thigh. He was suited and booted for a night out on patrol with Kalen and the team. Human stories often had vampires as languid and hedonistic. Lovers not fighters. In his case, nothing could be further from the truth. He was no romance hero. Instead, he was something altogether more dangerous—a kyn warrior in the prime of his long life.

  He put the glass down and rose in one lithe movement, the demon blood in him expressed in a fluid and predatory movement.

  “Move your ass, K. We need to hit the streets.”

  Their patrols were waiting for them when they hit the compound—a group of low-rise buildings tucked away at the back of the estate. Unlike the rest of the estate, these buildings were squat and utilitarian. Heavy-duty shutters adorned the windows and doors, operated by remote from the control room deep inside, as much security as protection against sunlight. Strengthened steel bars sat behind the windows, preventing access should someone be lucky enough to actually get through the shutters. Lucky enough or stupid enough, anyone that got inside would then face warriors. Averaging six-foot five and a couple hundred pounds apiece, with years of combat experience, any intruder would have to be seriously suicidal.

  Marak swept in through the doors, an ankle-length leather coat swirling around his powerful figure. A t-shirt and leather pants with heavy combat boots, all black, completed the ensemble.

  “You’re late,” a voice announced from the back of the room. “We should have been out an hour ago.”

  Feral, one of his warriors, rounded a row of lockers. Built along the lines of a small tank, massive muscles corded his heavy frame. The lines of his warrior’s mark were startling against his skin. He swept a hand over his shaved head as he spoke.

  “The other teams left just after sundown. Mikal said to tell you he’s got your lazy ass nailed.” Feral jerked a thumb toward a wipe board in the corner of the room where the patrol teams recorded nightly kills—some friendly but mission-specific competition. Marak didn’t care who took down the most rogues, as long as someone did. But competition helped the teams bond. And with independent and highly aggressive warriors who had a tendency take that aggression out on each other when bored, Marak really needed them to bond.

  “We’d have been here earlier but the council happened. They want pretty boy married off so he can father a posse of brats,” Kalen commented.

  Feral looked at Marak in sympathy. All the warriors knew the constant battles Marak ran against matchmaking mothers and enterprising females with an eye on being th
e next queen.

  “So…which vision of loveliness are they offering on the sacrificial altar?”

  The question came from the back of the room as another figure rounded the lockers behind Feral. Dressed in leathers similar to Marak and every other guy in the room, the newcomer filled them out in an entirely different way.

  “Vixen,” Marak nodded, an edge of respect in his voice.

  All of the warriors in the room outweighed her, but none of them wanted to take her on in a fight. Tall for a woman, easily topping six feet, with the distinctive warrior markings tracing over her left temple and cheek, she was every young kyn guy’s wet dream. And, as the only female warrior, ever, a living legend.

  She was dressed in black, as usual, ready to hit the streets. But her t-shirt was scandalously tight over an impressive rack, and her leather pants were virtually sprayed onto her curvy hips and ass. Some of the men in the room watched her out of the corners of their eyes, appreciation on their faces, when she wasn’t looking. Which wasn’t often. Vixen was as sharp as a razor and twice as deadly.

  Marak looked her in the eye, his expression indicating he wasn’t about to take any shit. Not tonight. Not when they were already late for patrol.

  “Kassandria of House Santien.”

  “Stacked.” Vixen shrugged, contempt in her voice. “And brainless. She’d be good for sex, but if you want good conversation you’d do better moving in Ugly over there.” She motioned to Kalen.

  “Bite me, bitch,” Kalen threw over his shoulder, busily arming up from the large weapons locker in the corner. Only his and Marak’s weapons still remained; the rest of the small arsenal the locker had contained was already secreted about the bodies of the patrol.

  “You wish!” she snarled back without looking. It was a ritual the two of them had been going through for years.