Sacrifice of Darkness - Alexandra Ivy

Prologue

Human architects and artists had created a beautiful tribute beneath the city of Athens. The underground stoas were a hidden labyrinth of shops and villas—and even some temples. The beauty, however, paled in comparison to the grandeur demons created in the subterranean tunnels buried deep in the ground.

The sprawling fight club was built of rare marble with arched doorways that led to vast rooms filled with a wide variety of entertainment. Water sprites splashed among the sparkling fountains, and naked imps sprawled on velvet pillows for any vampire in need of blood.

Or anything else they might hunger for.

Even the actual fighting pit had been built in the style of an elegant amphitheater—a cage in the center, and marble seats sweeping upward in the shape of a fan. It was all very civilized. Except for the air that pulsed with thick, savage violence.

Leaving the pit–still covered in the blood of his latest opponent–Javad the Vanquisher strolled through the corridors with their fluted columns and heavy tapestries that depicted his rise as a fighter. He couldn’t remember each and every battle that had been embroidered on the heavy velvet. Still, he had a vivid memory of the first time his sire, Vynom, had placed him in a fighting pit. The orc he’d been about to battle had laughed at the sight of Javad in a simple loincloth, his dark hair pulled back, and his hands empty. The creature had assumed that Javad needed weapons to be dangerous. Javad had swiftly taught him the error of his ways.

The battle had ended when Javad ripped the tusk out of the male’s mouth and used it to slice open the orc’s chest, destroying the heart.

Stories of the gruesome victory had spread far and wide. Within a few decades, Vynom had abandoned the small demon club to create a larger, more exclusive establishment, offering the opportunity for demons to wager vast sums of money on their ability to defeat Javad the Vanquisher. They’d become successful beyond their wildest imaginings.

Lately, however, it didn’t feel like success to Javad. In fact, everything had started to feel like a prison. And in some ways, it was.

From the moment Javad had awakened as a vampire, Vynom had stressed the importance of loyalty. He reminded Javad over and over that most sires abandoned their offspring before they ever rose from the grave. And that Javad would be dead or roaming the mountains of Persia alone and feral if Vynom hadn’t taken him into his lair. It had been he who’d taught Javad to survive as a vampire. He who’d protected him when they were attacked by a roving band of hellhounds. He’d also honed Javad’s fighting skills.

And any time Vynom feared that he hadn’t fully earned his undying obedience, he used fists, whips, and even silver chains to bend Javad to his will.

Now, he was so indoctrinated, believing that he owed Vynom his very soul, that the mere thought of walking away caused him physical pain.

Grinding his fangs that still ached from the beating he’d taken from the vicious troll mongrel, Javad ignored the clutch of demons that surrounded him. Most of them were the usual admirers who attended each battle and desperately hoped to gain his notice. However, a few vampires were also there, trying to convince Javad to leave Vynom to fight for them.

They were like flies buzzing around him, refusing to leave even after he waved them away.

Turning into the hallway that led to his private rooms at the back of the club, Javad frowned when he caught sight of a large demon pressing something—or someone—against the wall.

Rastiv.

The nasty goblin had a square head that sat atop a bullish body. His features were brutish, and he had the manners of a… Well, the truth was, he didn’t have any couth. He was a depraved animal that should have been locked in the nearest dungeon. Unfortunately, Vynom enjoyed keeping a few savages around to maintain order. The fights stirred the mob of demons to a fever-pitch, not to mention the amount of money won and lost during each battle. They needed some sort of crowd control.

But a few weeks before, Javad had discovered Rastiv attempting to force himself on a water sprite. He’d warned the goblin that the next time he caught him behaving like a monster, he would throw him out of the club. Obviously, the idiot hadn’t taken his threat seriously.

Now, Javad shoved aside the slender imp currently trying to attract his attention and moved to grab Rastiv’s