Claimed by the Vampire Kings

Violet.

Crimson, amber, and indigo—I blend the pigments with careful precision, watching them dance across the canvas. The portrait takes shape beneath my fingertips, shadows cascading down the subject's neck, melting seamlessly into the collar. My brush trembles slightly as I trace the curve of a collarbone, the pigment catching the light like sweat on sun-warmed skin. Perfect harmony of light and dark, just as I envisioned.

My brush hovers mid-stroke, loaded with burnt sienna, when Irene's voice breaks my concentration.

"Violet, darling!"

I whirl around, paintbrush still clutched in my hand, to find her framed in the doorway. Her chest rises with the effort of the journey, the low neckline of her dress clinging to curves softened by age but still commanding attention. Two bags dangle from her arms—one bulging with art supplies, the other with groceries. Joy bubbles up inside me as I abandon my work and rush toward her.

"You made it!" I throw my arms around her, my fingers grazing the damp skin at the nape of her neck as I inhale the familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla that always clings to her clothes. Her embrace lingers, her palm sliding down my spine in a gesture that’s equal parts comfort and possession. "I’ve missed you so much."

It’s been a full week since I last saw her. Ever since she started working at the manor, our time together has dwindled. The Blackburn estate only permits workers to visit family once or twice weekly, and for Irene, it’s even less. Her position as head cook demands more hours than most other staff positions.

"As if I could stay away from my little artist." She cups my face in her weathered hands, her thumbs brushing the hollows beneath my cheekbones before pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Let me look at you."

Irene is my entire world—the only family I’ve ever known. From my earliest memories, she’s been there, raising me as her own. I never knew my birth parents, never felt the sting of being an orphan because of her. To me, family begins and ends with Irene Powell.

"Come in, sit down." I tug her toward the bed, my hip accidentally bumping hers as we navigate the cramped space. She lets out a breathy laugh that stirs the hair at my temple. "The boat journey must have been exhausting."

She chuckles at my fussing but allows herself to be led. "I brought your colors from the market. Check if I got everything right."

I accept the bag, peering inside at the glass vials of liquid pigment. "They’re perfect," I declare, setting the supplies aside. "Now tell me everything about your week."

"The usual chaos," she says, but her eyes darken with something more. A flicker of heat, or mischief. "Though I do have some rather… stimulating news."

"What is it?" I perch beside her, curiosity piqued. My knee brushes hers, and she doesn’t pull away.

"You know how working at the manor comes with certain… advantages?" Her voice drops, roughened by the kind of implication that makes my pulse skip.

I nod, uncertain where this is heading. "Yes, but—"

"I’ve secured you a position there!" The words burst from her like fireworks.

I freeze, processing her announcement. "Wait—seriously?" I leap to my feet, heart racing. The hem of my skirt catches on the bedframe, yanking the fabric taut against my thighs.

Everyone knows how coveted these positions are. The Blackburn family only employs a select few humans, while the rest of us submit to monthly blood collections to satisfy the vampires’ needs. Manor workers live on the grounds, their services required at all hours, especially during the elaborate festivals the vampires are known for.

"Yes!" Her excitement mirrors my own.

"Oh my gods, Irene!" I squeal, pulling her up and spinning us both in a clumsy circle. She gasps before dissolving into laughter, her hands sliding to grip my waist to steady us.

My excitement isn’t about the job itself but the prospect of seeing Irene whenever I want. The solitude of our cottage grows oppressive when inspiration abandons me. Having her nearby would fill those empty hours with warmth—and perhaps something sharper, if the way her fingers dig into my hips is any indication.

"You silly girl," she says, smoothing my tangled hair. Her knuckles graze the side of my breast as she tucks a strand behind my ear. "What’s gotten into you?"

"I just can’t believe it! We’ll be together again." I squeeze her hands, ignoring the flush creeping up my neck. "How did you manage this?"

"That’s not even the best part," she says, her voice dropping conspiratorially.

I tilt my head. "There’s more?"

"You’ll be serving as the personal attendant to the Blackburn brothers."

The blood drains from my face. My euphoria evaporates like morning mist, replaced by cold dread. "The… the vampire kings?"

Irene’s smile falters at my reaction. "What’s wrong, Violet?"

"I can’t—" I stammer, backing away until the edge of the dresser bites into my lower back. "Please, anything else. Kitchen work, laundry, gardening—anything but serving them directly."

"But why? The pay is excellent, and the hours are reasonable. You’d only work half days, with evenings to… entertain yourself." Her gaze flicks to my unfinished portrait—a nude study of a man’s torso, muscles rippling beneath imagined candlelight.

"I’ve heard stories," I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself. My nails bite into my upper arms. "They’re cruel, Irene. Merciless. They drink from servants who displease them, and they despise humans. One mistake and I could—"

My words are cut short by Irene’s unexpected laughter. The sound is rich and throaty, the kind that used to make the village men press coins into her palm after last call at the tavern. "Who filled your head with such nonsense?" she asks, wiping her eyes.

"It’s not nonsense," I insist. The Blackburn brothers are dangerous—everyone knows this.

"It absolutely is," Irene counters. She rises, her skirts swishing against my bare calves as she closes the distance between us. "They’re not monsters, Violet. Strict, yes. Demanding, certainly. But not cruel without cause." Her hand settles on my hip, her thumb stroking the bone there. "If they truly hated humans, do you think any of us would still be breathing? You know their power."

"But people say—"

"People say many things," she interrupts gently. Her breath ghosts over my ear as she leans in. "Most of it is nothing but rumors. The Blackburn brothers are vampires, yes, but that doesn’t make them heartless. Reserved, perhaps, but not the monsters of fireside tales."

I exhale slowly, considering her words. My body tenses as her palm slides up to cradle the base of my skull, her fingers tangling in my hair. "Fine," I concede. "I’ll do it."

Her face brightens. "You’ve made the right choice, sweetheart."

"I hope so," I mumble. The heat of her lingers on my skin like a brand. "Are they really brothers? The kings?"

"Triplets, actually. Non-identical." She sits beside me again, her thigh pressing against mine. "Adrian is the eldest—just one minute older than Nicholas, who’s the middle child. Felix is the youngest." She pauses, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "All of them… formidable."

"Oh." The word comes out strangled.

"Don’t fret," she says, patting my knee. Her hand lingers, squeezing. "You’ll do wonderfully. Now get some sleep. We leave at dawn."

"Goodnight, Irene."

As I prepare for bed, my mind races with possibilities. Tomorrow marks the beginning of something entirely new—serving the mysterious Blackburn brothers, vampire royalty known throughout the realm. I trace the dip of my waist beneath my nightdress, wondering if their hands would settle there with the same casual authority as Irene’s. The thought sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

The vampire kings remain an enigma, and working for them promises to be the adventure of a lifetime—whether I want it or not.