The Vampire's Throne: A Paranormal Romance: Royal Blood, #1

The Vampire's Throne

A Paranormal Romance

AJ Tipton

Illustrated by

CirceCorp

Copyright © AJ Tipton 2015 The right of AJ Tipton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (or other similar law, depending on your country). All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author, except in cases of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles. It may not be edited, amended, lent, resold, hired out, distributed or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s written permission. Permission can be obtained from a.j.tipton.author@gmail.com

This book is for sale to adult audiences only. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and incidents appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is purely coincidental.

All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

Created with Vellum Created with Vellum

Alice Jones stifled a gag as she entered the perfume-saturated air of the high-end art gallery. Everything about the daunting gallery's decor was first-class rough chic, from the staggering large rooms with artistically exposed pipes in the ceiling to the intimate nooks of brick and glass .

Alice's borrowed stilettos threatened to dump her on her ass with every step, but she was determined to keep her head up. Classy. Remember you're supposed to be classy, she thought. With each nervous step, Alice half-expected someone to shout plebeian intruder! in her direction and tear her photographs off the wall. But, so far, the wealthy guests were nodding at her work politely and smiling as widely as their Botox allowed.

A heavy glass of wine materialized in her hand, and Alice looked up into the flashing grin of the gallery's owner, Margot Dal.

You looked like you needed a drink. Margot nodded towards the glass, which was filled so high Alice was sure a slight breeze would spill it down her front.

To wear? Alice asked. She made a show of carefully craning down to sip at the brimming drink without moving her hand, while still sending Margot a grateful smile. Alice had been working closely with Margot over the last few weeks to prepare for the opening, but the tall, statuesque woman still intimidated the crap out of Alice.

What can I say? A good friend pushes your boundaries. Margot seemed to only be paying half attention to what she was saying, her eyes already roaming the crowd like she was looking for someone.

Alice forced herself not to fidget. She'd give anything for even half of Margot's composure. Margot looked effortlessly comfortable wherever she was, but within her gallery she was striking. Her dark skin glowed golden in the light, and her black dress was simple, tasteful, and probably cost more than twice Alice's rent. For her photographs' first big debut, Alice had scraped together every spare penny to get a new dress. She caught her own reflection and frowned. Her red hair was coming undone from her tightly-wound braid, sending out stray tendrils, and her bright blue eyes looked unnaturally wide between the thick lines of eye makeup. The strapless green dress wasn't too bad. It hugged her body, emphasizing the curve of her waist, with elaborate white beading along the top drawing the eye to her peeking cleavage. A purple shawl covered her shoulders and across her neck, the same color as her chandelier-beaded earrings. She resisted the urge to hide herself in the folds of her shawl. The longer she was here, the more she wished she'd taken up Margot's offer to borrow one of her many designer gowns.

So, do you know if there have been any sales yet? Alice sipped her drink cautiously, keeping her voice casual like she didn't particularly care about the answer.

Margot chuckled, not fooled at all. Don't you worry, sweetie. Little red dots indicating finalized sales are going up all over the place. She raised her eyebrows at Alice. But you know what would help those sales?

What? Alice's stomach sank. She already knew what Margot was going to say.

"You need to talk to people. Help them get to know you, the stories behind your work. Margot flicked her wrist, the small gesture taking in the rest of the people in the gallery. You know these rich folks; it's not just the art they want, it's the secrets behind the art. Margot gave Alice a stern look. Sip down at least an inch of that wine and then shoo from this corner before I prod you out with a broom." Her tone was joking, but Alice had no doubt Margot would actually do it.

A woman who looked like she'd stepped off the cover of a magazine walked by and winked at Margot. The gallery owner grabbed a new glass of wine from a passing waiter and smiled.

Duty calls. Margot licked her lips and then gave Alice's hand a squeeze. You can do this. This is your big night! Enjoy it. And then she was gone. Alice blinked and Margot was already on the other side of the room, smiling wide and standing intimately close to the cover girl.

Alice stared down at her drink. A couple more sips and it would be at a manageable height for mingling. She contemplated hiding in the corner for another hour just to be contrary, but she knew Margot was right. This show was her big chance to make the connections and cash to launch her photography career and escape her crappy day job as an administrative assistant. She took a deep gulp of the wine.

No more paperwork.

No more endless commutes.

No more wedging in photo shoots during thirty-minute lunch breaks.

Talking to strangers was downright palatable if it meant she could quit her soul-sucking corporate job. Her hand tightened around the stem of her wine glass. A well-dressed couple Alice vaguely recognized from a reality TV show were staring at her. The woman played with the edge of her leopard-print jacket while the man kept fiddling with his phone.

It's all so derivative and prosaic. The woman sniffed loudly. Rhys will have a good laugh over Margot's descent from good taste. What's with all the... The woman pointed at Alice's closest photo, a high-contrast image of the bolts on the side of a trashcan at dusk.

Alice fought to keep a blush from creeping up her face. The man looked up from his phone. What’s that, snookums?

"The title of the show, Detail Wonders. What's wondrous about a stupid trash can?"

The man shrugged. Some rock star just bought the one with the hairbrush for five figures. He said it was urban or something.

"Humans, am I right? Such bullshit." She rubbed her nose, mumbling something about having to go to the bathroom, and the man nodded and followed.

Alice fought the urge to bury herself deeper into the corner. Bullshit? Getting the perfect photo required understanding the precise angle of the light, or catching the exact moment when the sun hit the--

Alice shook her head.

You can do this. You don't need their respect or their understanding. Someone just bought one of my photos for five figures! They can't all be shallow jerks. Just step up.

She managed to push forward one foot, then the next, until momentum pulled the rest of her toward the center of the room.

No day job.

No day job.

The words were a steady chant in her head as she smiled and nodded her way around the room. The folks who recognized her from the program's bio called out a few generic congratulations about her first big show. It was all very nice, but by the fiftieth time Alice told someone, Yes, it's a real honor to be here, she worried her strain was starting to show.

Alice dabbed at the sweat behind her neck, looking around for Margot. Will she skin me if I just pretend to have a headache and leave? Alice wondered.

I didn't think it could be possible for the artist to be more beautiful than the artwork, a smooth voice said from behind her.

Alice whipped around. Her glass tilted in her hand and she watched in what felt like slow motion as wine flew out of her glass in an arc toward a tall man with a trim beard standing a few feet away. The wine sprayed across him like a murder scene.

Noooooo. She reached out a hand like she