Excerpt:

There’s something there. Something in the air, and it’s sickly sweet. Sticky and sensual, warm and flowing. There are bodies strewn around the room, almost gaudy in its opulence. Almost, but not quite. There is class and there is age, antique meets creature perfect. Dark wood meets the softest of carpets, delivered from every corner of the globe. Every corner this creature has resided on, this creature of obscene age, who looks no more than a child. A child until she looks at you. Those eyes, those eyes that have not a sliver of innocence to their silver light. They radiate greys, charcoals, slate. Darkness with saucers as bright as a raven moon.

She lounges in nothing but a pair of panties, some brand, some make the modern children wear. The children who dance with her through the long night hours, her children who become her property more and more each passing night. The nights’ whose hours gain length as the boys do. The boys who can’t keep to themselves, who squirm and slither across the dirty, bloody floor. Drawn to her. Drawn to she who owns them, she who feeds them, but most important, she who gives them what they want. Why they come only to her, why they cum only for her.

Mishka Morokai holds their hearts, their cocks, in her hands. She owns them and they love her. She is a vicious demon, a monster. Demon, Daeva. Anvari. She and her sister own the drugs, the rave scene is theirs and no one else can touch it. The executives, the CEO’s, they’re another branch. Mishka does not own them, but she gets a cut.

Las Vegas is a druggie’s orgy. And Mishka is the Prince. What happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas, the the River Lethe flows deep. Memories are erased, secrets are kept, debauchery spread far and wide, runs through the streets like water. And it all flows back to the Prince. The Child-Like Prince, and her Consort, her Lover.

He smiles, and it's feral and inhuman. Cruel and loving all at once.

"I've brought you a present, la mia luce ."

She laughs because she loves him. Are creatures such as they capable of love? Love eternal, love everlasting? Love incapable of dying, just as they cannot?

Vampires can die.

Mishka giggles and climbs on top of the body at her feet. It is cold, so cold, and she straddles the woman beneath her. “Mama,” she coo’s, her breath warm, her face flushed with stolen life. The face of a cherub, but no child of God. No, Mishka worships something far greater than God. Far darker, more sinister.

She cradles the woman in her arms, Ana-Maria’s battered face coddled between Mishka’s small perky breasts, bodily fluids mixing from her chest to her false-sire’s face.

She presses her lips against the former Hierophants, and then rises to her feet, holding Ana-Maria now by her hair, like a little girl holding a teddy bear by the arm. Almost forgotten.

“This will be beautiful, Or-if-iel,” she purrs his name slowly, in their shared tongue of Italian. Says his name as it is supposed to be pronounced.

“They’ll never see it coming.” she winks playfully.

It’s only just begun.