The Forsaken Vampire (Dirty Blood Book 4), page 1
THE FORSAKEN VAMPIRE
DIRTY BLOOD
BOOK 4
PENELOPE BARSETTI
HARTWICK PUBLISHING
Hartwick Publishing
The Forsaken Vampire
Copyright © 2023 by Penelope Barsetti
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.
CONTENTS
1. Harlow
2. Harlow
3. Aurelias
4. Huntley
5. Harlow
6. Harlow
7. Ivory
8. Harlow
9. Harlow
10. Aurelias
11. Huntley
12. Huntley
13. Ivory
14. Harlow
15. Aurelias
16. Harlow
17. Huntley
18. Aurelias
19. Harlow
20. Huntley
21. Ian
22. Huntley
23. Harlow
24. Ivory
25. Huntley
26. Ivory
27. Huntley
28. Aurelias
1
HARLOW
A vase of lilies sat in the center of the table, the long stems extending to beautiful white flowers on top. Condensation formed on the surface of the glass like the flowers had just been picked that morning. My eyes glazed over as I stared at the flowers in the center, listening to Atticus speak to Violet beside him.
“How’s your family?” he asked, handsome in his buttoned coat and trousers.
“They’re well,” she said. “But Mother has been slowing down without my father around…”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“My mother is pressuring me to marry. As an only child, I don’t have a brother to head the household.”
It took all my strength not to roll my eyes.
Atticus clearly didn’t know what to say to that because he didn’t say anything at all. The awkward silence stretched until Atticus turned his gaze to the same flowers I stared at.
I decided to jump in. “Want my advice, Violet?” I turned to look at her head-on. “Don’t wait for a man to save you. Save yourself. Advice my mother gave me that I impart to you.”
Violet seemed to take that as an insult because she silently excused herself from the table.
Atticus released a quiet sigh before he looked at me. “Why do you do that?”
“What?” The room was full of the stewards of the other Kingdoms, stewards who served King Rolfe—my father. It was a luncheon, the kind of social event that my father despised but my mother encouraged. According to her, there were other ways of earning loyalty besides demanding it.
“Don’t what me, Harlow.”
I rolled my eyes and looked away. “There’s nothing less attractive than a desperate woman. Please tell me you’re smart enough not to fall for that ploy.”
“But you don’t need to be rude.”
“She was rude first.”
“How?”
“Because she only wants you for something—since you’re the future king. When a woman’s affection for my brother is true, then I won’t be rude.” I looked away again, ignoring the food on my plate.
“We don’t know if I’m the future king. You’re the eldest.”
“But I’m a woman.”
“You know Father doesn’t care about that.”
“But he also knows I’ve got a mouth that breathes fire just like a dragon.”
He cracked a smile even though he tried to hide it. “You’re right about that.”
The musicians stopped their song, and all the chatter in the hall died away. Our attention turned to the double doors that would soon open. I had to shift in my chair to see past the enormous vase that was too big for the table.
Then the trumpets started, and the servants opened both doors simultaneously, revealing my father in his king’s uniform, his sword at his hip, even though he hadn’t served in battle since before I was born. Tall, muscular, with eyes that could kill, he stared straight ahead with an attitude that clearly said, “I don’t want to be here.” He moved into the room, flanked by his guard, crossing the checkerboard tiles between the table as he approached the throne that waited for him.
As he drew close, his eyes shifted to the table where we sat.
I smiled, knowing how much he hated this diplomatic bullshit.
It was too subtle for anyone but me to notice, a smile in his eyes rather than on his lips. It lasted less than a second before his eyes were forward again. He reached the top of the rise, turned around and regarded all the stewards who served him, and then took a seat, the crown of jewels upon his head.
The room was full of sculptures by the best artists in the city, humanlike statues that captured beauty in solid rock. With glasses of wine in their hands, our parents drifted across the room and mingled with all the guests at the luncheon. My brother and I watched from our seats, trying not to laugh at the look of consternation on Father’s face.
“He looks like he’s in physical pain,” Atticus said with a smirk. “You’d think he’d be used to this by now.”
“Does anyone ever get used to bullshit?”
My brother looked at me. “You’re the one in a pretty dress with flowers in your hair.”
“Just because this is bullshit doesn’t mean I can’t look nice.”
“Look.” He nodded in their direction. “I don’t think he’s said a word this whole time.”
“Mother is much better at this sort of thing.” She was in a red gown with draped sleeves that exposed her shoulders. It was tight on her waist, her dark hair stretching down her back in beautiful curls. I looked just like my mother—but I had my father’s soul.
“Are you going to tell Father about Ethan?”
I turned at the mention of his name. “How do you know about that?”
He rolled his eyes slightly. “It’s not exactly a secret.”
“Well, I haven’t told anyone.” Was Ethan blabbing about his conquests to everyone?
“So, you admit it?” My brother looked at me head on.
“Did you just set me up?” My eyes narrowed.
A slow smirk moved on to his lips.
“Bastard.”
He gave a quiet chuckle.
“I can’t believe Ethan is talking.”
“He’s not. He’s showing.”
Now my eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
He looked past me and nodded toward a sculpture on the other side of the room. It was of a beautiful woman with a flower crown upon her head, one strap of her dress dropped to expose a single, perky breast. Even in stone, her expression was distinctive, and it didn’t take more than a glance to see the similarities. Heat flushed my cheeks in embarrassment because it was so obvious.
“You’re lucky Mother and Father don’t care for the art they commissioned.”
Ethan’s balls were going to meet my heel next time we spoke.
“Seems serious.”
“We aren’t talking about this.”
“Oh, but you can stick your nose in between me and Violet?”
“Are you sleeping with her?”
“No—”
“Then it’s not the same thing,” I said. “Please don’t tell Mother and Father.”
Atticus stared at me, an eyebrow raised.
“And don’t use it as blackmail either.”
“I didn’t realize you had such a low opinion of me.”
“You’re the one who hid rotten eggs in my bedroom because you were mad at me.”
“I was twelve.”
“Whatever. I still can’t get that smell out of my nose ten years later.”
A smile cracked his lips. “Your secret is safe with me, Harlow. So…is it serious?”
I didn’t have to think twice about my answer. “No.”
“Well, he seems to think it is.”
“I wouldn’t interpret the depth of his feelings based on a statue.”
“It’s not a statue. It’s a declaration of love.”
“We aren’t even sure if that statue is based on me—”
“Come on, Harlow.” He eyed me.
“Drop it,” I said in a whisper. “They’re coming.” We both rose to our feet to greet our parents.
Mother came to me first, her hands moving to my forearms to give me an affectionate squeeze. “I love those flowers.” She admired the white flowers woven into the crown made of branches.
“Thank you,” I said. “But you’re the one who’s a hot piece of ass.”
She burst into a laugh as she dropped her hands.
“You’re fire, Mother.” I looked her up and down. “That dress…”
Her laugh subsided into a grin. “Thank you, honey.” She brought me into a hug and kissed my temple.
Father came to me after he embraced Atticus.
“Doesn’t she look hot?” I asked.
A subtle grin was on his lips, but his eyes stayed on me. “Atticus tells me you chased off Violet.”
“That’s an exaggeration.” I wasn’t too annoyed, because I’d rather talk about Violet than my secret lover. Mother drifted to Atticus and smothered him in the same affection. “I just told her to take care of herself instead of expecting someone else to do it.”
“That would be fine advice if it weren’t coming from a place of privilege, Harlow.”
“I’m not coming from a place of privilege,” I said. “My father had to overthrow the barbarians who took what didn’t belong to them, and he and my mother had to defeat Necrosis to save everyone on the continent. You had to work your ass off for that crown—and that blood of survival runs in my veins.”
He stared with his crystal-blue eyes that reminded me of a frozen lake in winter. His thoughts were bottled deep inside, and the only person who could read his expression was my mother. But the seconds ticked by, and then the light returned to his eyes. “You’re so much like your mother.”
“Really?” I said. “Because she says I’m just like you.”
A subtle smile moved on to his lips as his arm circled my shoulder. He brought me in close and pressed a kiss to my temple before he let me go. “I have a meeting with the stewards. Stay out of trouble.”
“When have I ever been in trouble?”
The corner of his mouth cocked in a smile before he walked off.
I left the castle after dark and walked the cobblestone streets until I reached the shop where Ethan worked. He lived directly above it on the second floor, but I knew he worked all hours, whenever inspiration hit him, so he was probably downstairs. The door was unlocked, so I walked inside and made my way past the front counter to the wide space in the rear. A partially completed statue stood in the center, piles of broken pieces of marble on the floor beneath. He stood on top of a table, so focused on the chiseling of the stone he didn’t notice me. There were pencil marks where the cuts were supposed to happen, and he struck his tool and shaved off another piece.
It wasn’t a naked woman, but a king with a crown upon his brow, his sword at his side. The face was blank at the moment, but I knew exactly who it was supposed to be. “There’s no way my father asked for this.”
Ethan stilled when he heard my voice, and then he glanced at me. He didn’t let me interrupt him and finished the shoulder that he was carving. A minute of silence passed as more debris fell to the floor. Then he hopped off the table and tossed his tools aside. “Your mother did.”
“I hope you aren’t attached to it—because he’ll destroy it.”
He wiped his hands on a towel as he approached me, dust and paint on his clothes. “The best part of art is making it.”
“I thought it was looking at it?”
“I enjoy looking at art—as long as it’s not my own.” He tossed the towel aside then came close, stopping just an inch from my face. His dark eyes looked into mine, shifting back and forth. “You have something to say to me?”
“How did you know?”
“Because I know you, Harlow.” He stepped back without giving me a kiss. “What is it?”
“You thought no one would notice that statue you did yesterday?” My arms crossed over my chest.
“I hoped they’d notice.”
“And what if my father noticed?”
Unapologetic, he just stared. “Art is about truth. And I won’t lie—not even to him.”
“Lie about what?”
He stared, his eyes hard.
“It’s like you want to get caught.”
“Maybe I do.”
I stepped closer, my arms still crossed. “Well, you got your wish, because my brother figured it out pretty quickly. You know how awkward that was?”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I didn’t have to tell him anything because the truth was too apparent.”
His face remained stoic, but there was a flash of triumph in his eyes.
“Don’t do that again.”
“Don’t tell me how to make my art.”
“I’m not telling you how to make your art. I’m telling you not to use my image without my consent. You had my tit hanging out, for fuck’s sake. If my father figured it out, you’d be dead right now, you know that?”
“King Rolfe is a fair ruler. The only people he’s put to death are traitors.”
“He’d make an exception for the man who put his daughter’s body on display without her permission.”
Now he crossed his arms over his chest. “I won’t apologize for it.”
“I’m not looking for an apology. Just don’t do it again.”
He stared at me.
I stared back.
“Is this fight over?”
Not for me. “What are you trying to do?”
“You need to be more specific than that.”
“You made that statue for a reason.”
“I’m an artist—”
“Bullshit.” I walked up to him, like I might push him in the chest. “What’s your endgame?”
He tilted his head slightly to look down at me. “It’s been three months.”
“Wow, you’re good at math.”
He ignored my sarcasm. “If this were a fling, it would be over by now. So that means it’s a clandestine affair—and I don’t want to be a secret anymore.”
“You definitely aren’t a secret with a statue like that.”
“Harlow.” His voice deepened in annoyance. “I know how smart you are. You knew this conversation was coming. You’ve known my feelings for a long time, and if you didn’t, you know now.”
My heart raced like the flapping wings of a frantic bird.
“I don’t want to be a secret anymore.”
“I’m the Princess of Delacroix.”
“So?”
“I can’t just marry anyone—”
“Your father would let you marry anyone you wanted, so that’s a bullshit excuse.”
My eyes shifted away because his stare was too much.
“Harlow.”
I still wouldn’t look at him.
“Come on.”
I took a breath and looked at him again.
“What is it? I’m not good enough for you?”
“Please don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what, Harlow?”
“This.” My arms tightened over my chest. “You should have just left it alone.”
Once the truth seeped into his pores, he hardened his stare in a new way.
“It was fun…easy. And now it’s a thing. A thing we have to talk about. And I promise you, the more we talk, the worse it’s going to get. So, let’s just…stop.”
He breathed in the silence, his hard expression slowly morphing into one of pain. “All this meant nothing to you?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Then it meant something to you.”
“Of course it did, Ethan.”
“Then why am I getting dumped right now?”
“You wouldn’t be getting dumped if you’d just left it alone.”
“Why?” he pressed. “Why?”
I stayed quiet.
“Harlow.”
“Just because I enjoy being with you now doesn’t mean I want to be with you forever.” It was a harsh thing to say after he’d basically told me he loved me, but it was the truth. “Just because you won’t be my husband doesn’t mean I wanted it to end yet. Not every relationship needs to end with a happily ever after. Most don’t. But now that you’re forcing this conversation…it has to end.”
His expression hadn’t changed at all. His face was still hard as stone. He didn’t blink.
I felt like shit. “I’m sorry—”
“Because I’m an artist? Because I’m not rich?”
“No,” I said. “I just don’t love you.”
2
HARLOW
I sat in the nook beneath my windowsill, flipping my dagger out of the sheath before flipping it back. Back and forth I went, not paying attention to my movements because it was second nature at this point. My four-poster bed was unmade because I hadn’t left my quarters for the maids to clean. My sword leaned against the wall beside my bed. The curtains over the windows were champagne pink. My bedroom was in the corner of the castle, so I had a view of the village and the mountains in the distance.
