The Replacement: A Culling of Blood and Magic

  The Replacement by K.M. Rives

  Copyright© March 2021

  Cover Art: Darling Cover Designs

  Editing: Whitney’s Book Works

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is completely coincidental.

  This book in its entirety and in portions is the sole property of K.M. Rives.

  The Replacement Copyright© 2021 by K.M. Rives. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit scenes, adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Reviews

  About K.M. Rives

  Acknowledgments

  For my kitties.

  Despite your sharp claws,

  you inspire me every day.

  Meowrl.

  Chapter One

  What the fuck was she even doing there?

  She knocked back her whiskey ginger like her life depended on it and signaled the bartender for another. Sitting on a barstool alone and tossing back alcohol like it was water wasn’t the way she typically handled her issues. She was better than that.

  Usually.

  Emery surveyed the club and sighed. She’d grown up in a bar just like this one. In fact, that one would be hers if she stayed alive long enough. Unfortunately, her luck had finally caught up with her, and she was trapped in a dance with fate. One that could end her life, and regrettably, she didn’t know the steps. As it stood, the Montgomery women didn’t have a good track record for staying alive.

  It should be a simple task. Wake up each day, put one foot in front of the other, and keep breathing. But there she was…the last one alive.

  For thousands of years, families like hers had been giving up their firstborn daughters for a chance to rule beside a vampire king.

  Lucky for her, she was born second.

  Too bad that didn’t stop the universe from placing Emery, throat exposed, right before the very teeth she’d spent her life avoiding.

  Replacement. Twin.

  Two words that brought her to her current predicament. She was losing the only life she’d ever known, a life that promised the freedom to choose her own path. All because her sister, the chosen one, had to go and get herself killed.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t love her sister, she did, but she never really knew Sloane. She was removed from Emery’s life at the age of five, which didn't leave a lot of time for sisterly bonding. Still, she’d always felt the urge to know her twin. Always hoped maybe one day they’d be reunited. It was too late for that now, though.

  And a part of her envied Sloane and the life she had at the castle.

  There were other women her age. People to talk to. People with shared experiences. Everything Emery lacked.

  The bartender brought her drink, his eyes everywhere but hers. “This one’s on me, beautiful. Looks like you’re having a rough night.”

  “You’re not wrong.” Emery smiled and lifted her glass, her eyes roaming over the handsome man. “Thank you.”

  Emery loved the bones of the place. A healthy mix of modern and vintage. Elegant, but with an underlying layer of blues and grunge where the metal tables met the worn wood floors. It felt like home.

  The stage was small, the talent big. They were a mix of everyday Joes playing on a Tuesday night because it was what they loved to do. Those were Emery’s people. People with a story. People with passion. People you could talk to for hours and never get bored.

  The singer took his place at the microphone, and Emery closed her eyes. It was something her Uncle Miles taught her during all those years growing up in his bar back in Los Angeles.

  He’d say, “Don’t judge a band by their looks. Instead, feel the music. That’s how you know you’ve got a winning act.”

  A deep, sensual voice filled the room. It was magic, lulling her mind into a false sense of contentment. Emery found herself swaying to the lyrics as the man belted out the first verse to “When a Man Loves a Woman.” While not the typical song choice for a blues bar, the irony of the song in that particular moment wasn’t lost on her.

  That kind of love wasn’t in the cards for her. At least not any time soon.

  Despite the slight pang of sadness, Emery smiled. If it were her bar, she’d hire the man on stage in an instant. Hell, she’d marry him based on his voice alone. The low grittiness, the emotion it conveyed, she believed wholeheartedly he loved the woman he was singing about.

  He could sing to her every night for the rest of her life, and she’d be okay with it.

  Emery opened her eyes and took her time memorizing every last detail as she drank him in. He was gorgeous, dripping masculinity. Dirty blond hair, short on the sides but longer and tousled on top. A curl formed on his forehead that glistened in the stage lights. With a five o’clock shadow, collared shirt, and low-slung jeans, he nailed the struggling artist look. And yet, he held a presence she’d never seen in a man before. He commanded the room with his voice. Sitting on a bar stool center stage, he demanded every patron take notice with each subtle move of his body.

  A slight reconsideration of taking her sister’s place in the morning sifted through the dark recesses of her mind, not that it was a choice she could make. If it was, she’d be taking him back to her hotel room after his set.

  She cocked her head to the side, her eyes raking over the singer. The royal family would never know if she took him for the night. They didn’t say anything about her needing to be a virgin when she showed up to the castle. For the first time, she wanted to be with a man.

  That man

  A shift in tempo pulled her from her thoughts. There was comfort in his voice. A comfort where she forgot, for a moment, her whole life would change in the morning.

  That wasn’t entirely true.

  It changed the moment the fucking mark appeared on her wrist two days ago. All her dreams flew out the window in one gut-wrenching moment.

  Her gaze dropped to where her thick-banded watch covered the silver vines circling her wrist, entangling themselves with her destiny. The mark sealed her fate, naming her as a woman of the Culling and ensuring if she ran, she’d
be marked for death. The vines tingled as if it knew she stared at it, daring her to defy it by walking out the club door. To leave Chicago and her responsibilities behind.

  With a huff, Emery tossed back the remainder of her drink and slid from her bar stool. The room whirled as the effects of three whiskey gingers flooded her bloodstream. She stared longingly at the door, knowing one step toward it and the vines would sense her motives.

  It was useless. Her fate solidified.

  She made her way to the dance floor, turning her back on the door and any hope for escape. Couples danced in the center, but one stood out over the rest. They were slightly past middle-aged, but you’d never guess with the way they looked at one another. They might as well have been teenagers, young and in love. Tears pricked Emery’s eyes. That’s what love was supposed to look like.

  While Emery wished someone looked at her like that, she didn’t mind being a party of one. It’s what she’d always known, and no one was rushing to change that. Not even herself. At that point, she’d be happy if she made it out of the Culling alive.

  The voice of the sex-on-a-stick singer slowed, and a new song began. A popular sultry blues number she recognized immediately. She shifted her hips in time with the music, swaying as if she could drift away from the club and the family responsibility she owned.

  Family.

  It was a laughable term. Her biological family was dead. The woman who raised her, dead. Uncle Miles was all she had left, and he was every bit the fun uncle, not the adult she could count on.

  There was Wren. Her best friend. Her only friend, if she was honest. But Emery had left her in Madrid in the middle of the night when the mark showed up. She didn’t even bother to call and assure Wren of her safety after she’d spoken to the Culling liaison and confirmed she was to head to Chicago. The jury was out on if she’d still have a friend if or when she made it out of her adventure alive.

  The music around her swelled, and tears burned the corner of her eyes. She may never see Miles or Wren again. A Montgomery alive at twenty-five? The odds were not in her favor.

  Fear and anxiety flooded her veins, and the need to bolt for the door was all consuming. She didn’t want to do this. She looked down at her wrist and, for a fraction of a second, considered chopping it off. She could live without her hand. Prosthetics had come a long way, and she’d survive the amputation. At least her life would still be her own. It wasn’t glamorous, but she was just becoming who she wanted to be, and it was being stripped away. It was almost too much to bear.

  The mark itched, as the heat from within burned up her entire arm. Emery’s eyes flew open, her intent to run strong, but before she could move, she was paralyzed by the gaze of two piercing, steel blue eyes.

  The singer’s cold, intense gaze held her as he tripped over his lyrics, and his once golden face paled like he’d seen a ghost. His hands fisted and relaxed while he circled his wrists like he was preparing to throw a punch, and he never looked away from her as he regained his composure.

  Emery met his stare until someone pulled on her hand, breaking the trance. “Excuse me, ma’am. Would you like to dance?”

  “Ma’am?” Emery blinked and found a man standing beside her, the epitome of a Midwestern gentleman. Quite the opposite of the man on stage.

  She scanned him from head to toe, trying to pinpoint who he reminded her of. Holy fuck. Emery bit back an alcohol induced laugh. The man was an honest to God Dudley Do-Right lookalike.

  “So, would you?” he asked again.

  “Uh, sure.” She didn’t have anything better to do but drool over the singer who could never be hers.

  She was about to place her hand in Dudley’s when the deep voice of a man rasped behind her.

  “She’s spoken for.”

  If the singer’s voice was melodic sex, this voice was dominance incarnate. The tone raised the hairs on the back of her neck, freezing her in place. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away.

  “How ‘bout we let the l-lady speak f-for h-herself?” Even chivalrous Dudley was affected by the stranger.

  Dressed in all black, the tall, dark haired stranger stepped between them, and Emery instinctively stepped back. He was a rock solid wall between her and Dudley.

  “Leave.” The man spoke in a layered tone that sent a chill down her spine.

  Emery peeked around him in time to see Dudley’s face go slack, losing all expression, his eyes dilated.

  Every hair on her body stood on end. She swallowed hard, thanking the gods that for once Ada had the mind to teach her something about vampires. She knew what compulsion looked like. Sounded like. And the man before her was not a man, considering he’d just compelled Dudley.

  Fuck.

  Her guardians prepared her for that moment. Unfortunately, their suggested action was to run like hell and not get caught. Any witch, even a defective one like her, would be dead at the hands of a vampire. It was a miracle Sloane had lasted as long as she had at the castle. If Emery could run, she would, but the mark on her wrist ensured even if she did, she'd be dead.

  Dudley spun on his heels and promptly left with Emery following right behind him. She made a beeline for the door despite the fact the vines sizzled upon her wrist. She made it two steps when a large hand claimed her forearm and spun her back to slam against his hard body.

  Before she knew it, she was in the arms of the very being she’d been raised to hate. She struggled momentarily before she squeezed her eyes shut, wondering if she was about to be his next snack.

  When she didn’t feel the sharp cut of teeth at her neck, didn’t feel her throat being ripped open, curiosity got the best of her. Emery craned her neck to peek at his dark features. He stared back, studying her in wonder. His short hair was disheveled and falling in his face, though it didn’t hide his handsome chiseled cheekbones or strong jaw.

  His obsidian eyes narrowed on her face. He leaned in, whispering in her ear, “Dance with me, Sloane.”

  Chapter Two

  Sloane.

  He knew her sister.

  Emery froze, confusion morphing into panic. Blood rushed in her ears, but struggling was no use against the strength of a vampire.

  Finally finding her nerve, she tried to push away, but he wrapped an arm around her. “I’m not Sloane, you have the wrong sister.”

  The vampire reached up and fingered the strand of pink hair that had fallen into her face. “No, you’re not. Still, dance with me.” His hand dropped to her wrist, toying with the watch band as if aware of the mark beneath it.

  Emery hesitated. He was a fucking vampire. Everything in her body said run, hyper aware of each and every way he could kill her, with no doubts he would. But he knew about Sloane, and that was enough to make her go against her better judgement.

  “Tell me who you are, and I’ll dance with you.”

  The stranger smirked, pulling her so close she could feel the chuckle rumble through his chest. “It’s cute you think you have a choice in the matter.” He pushed her out into a spin, bringing her right back to the spot against his chest, and dipped his head. His breath fanned her ear. “I know you know what I am. Don’t worry, Emery, I’ve already eaten. And lucky for you, my family has interest in you untouched. You’re the key to keeping us off the radar.”

  His words did nothing to calm her worry. Quite the opposite.

  “Wait, what? How exactly am I going to do that? And what makes you think I’ll agree?” Emery stopped dancing, meeting the vampire’s stare with a false confidence she hoped he didn’t see through. “I’ll ask again. Who. Are. You?”

  He looked over her head toward the stage and nodded. “Come with me.”

  Before Emery could turn around, he yanked her hand and went to lead her off the dance floor.

  She jerked from his grasp. “Listen, asshole, I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what’s going on. Promising me I’m not your next meal doesn’t mean much considering what you are.”

  In a blurred movement,
the vampire was on her, deadly still and breathing down her neck. “I would not feed from you if you were the last human on earth,” he growled. Pulling back, his eyes warred with hers. She watched as they dilated followed by his layered voice. “You are going to follow me to our table so we can have a conversation.”

  Thankfully, the small amount of witch blood running through her veins made her immune to vampire compulsion. She played along, not willing to risk him knowing about her ancestry.

  Even if she was defective.

  She widened her eyes and did her best zombie impression. “I am going to follow you to your table so we can talk.”

  Creases formed at the corner of the vampire's eyes, as if he were trying to hold in a laugh. “I will admit, you’re a good little actress. Your sister was too. Too much zombie, though, not enough passion. Keep it simple. Stick to the truth as much as possible if you must lie.”

  “What?” Emery gaped at the vampire. Why was he helping her?

  “Sloane defied our compulsion as well.”

  “She did?” Emery had never known if Sloane had the same abilities as she did. Her sister never answered any of the letters she sent.

  “Yes. I know what you are, but let’s keep it our little secret. No one else at the castle knows.”

  Emery crossed her arms and raised her brow. “How did you know? What exactly were you to my sister?”

  Without acknowledging her, he turned and walked away, seeming to know she’d follow.

  The way she saw it, she had two choices: follow him and potentially find out more about her sister… or, she could run. Well, at least try to. She wouldn’t get far.