Read Online House of Judges (House of Royals Book 4) by Keary Taylor - Free Book Online Page B

my crown.
    They may be Royals. They may be Court members. But almost certainly, none of them are leaders. None of them hold real positions.
    So they will get off, watching a Royal House leader being a whore.
    The woman kneels on the bed and pulls me toward her. She smiles at me as I awkwardly crawl toward her. She rests a hand on my cheek, biting her lower lip.
    The breath catches in my throat.
    I just want to run.
    I want to rip the hearts out of every single chest here and find an exit. I want to get as far away from the vampire world as humanly possible.
    Because this…
    This…
    I was headed for this.
    I did things.
    Punished people in unfair ways.
    Look at what I did to Samuel once.
    What I did to poor, innocent Danielle.
    I was only months away from falling completely off the dark cliff of losing my humanity.
    But now I’m here. The King’s prisoner. Now, I must bend to his will.
    Just do this. Survive. Tell your story. And get out of here, I chant to myself as the woman pulls me even closer. As she guides my lips to her neck. As our audience leans in closer. As the hunger in their eyes goes wild. As my fangs extend and my toxins pool in my mouth.
    As I let my teeth sink into her flesh.
    Just survive this. And make it out of Roter Himmel alive.
     
     
    IT DOESN’T TAKE LONG TO discover the Club never sleeps. Over the next twenty-four hours, I move from one room to the next. Dancing. Drinking from other women, men. Some of the faces in the crowd become familiar. And soon it seems I have a fan club. They just move from one form of my punishment to the next.
    The crowd shifts throughout the club. People come and go. But it never seems to empty out. Even when surely daylight has broken outside once again.
    There is an entrance to the outside. When I go back out on stage again, I see a door, way in the back, that opens to the dark, letting in fresh, pure air. I could run. I could make it. I’m sure of that.
    But that remote detonator would go off, and then I’d collapse to the ground. Dead.
    So, I dance. I drink.
    The door opens just as I’m about to finish the seventh dance of my imprisonment, and my eyes flick toward it just as I twirl around the pole.
    And I do a double look.
    Because I know that face.
    And it takes me a pole grind and my second attempt at a flip to place the time and place.
    Five years ago, thousands of miles from here.
    He walks in the Club, that same light smile on his lips that captivated me back then. That same amazing jawline. The same toned body.
    It’s only been five years, but my enhanced eyes can tell: he hasn’t aged a day.
    Fear pounds in my chest and my grip slips on the pole. I catch myself in time, and the music winds down. I make sure to keep my face down, turned away from the crowd. Anything to keep him from seeing my face.
    Because if he does, if he recognizes me, it will be the end of so much.
    I glance at him from the corner of my eye and see him make his way to the bar, his back turned to me.
    The song ends, and I dart off stage as quickly as I can.
    Tears prick at my eyes, coming hot and welling fast as I race down the hall. The breath rips in and out of my chest with determined speed. I break into the dressing room and immediately go to a dark corner.
    In and out, I force my breath to go, otherwise I’m pretty sure I will stop breathing completely.
    There are so many implications of this. So much that this means.
    Natalia walks by, and I’m instantly on my feet, a hand on her arm, stopping her.
    “All the clients at the Club are Born, right?” I ask, the words thick in my throat.
    “Of course,” she says, furrowing her brows at me. “Like I told you, they’re all Royals. The employees of this club are the only non-Royal Born allowed in the city.”
    My stomach rolls. Heaves. I have to turn away. I race for the only bathroom and barely get to the toilet in time. A massive amount of blood heaves from my stomach and into the bowl.
    “Pull yourself together,” Madame