by T. S. Ryder
“I am Prince Alastair Thorne,” he began, “Crown Prince and heir to the crown of Varlyn, Commander of the Ten Legions, Knight of the First Order, Lord of the Fire Islands, Protector of the Sands, Grand Master of the Northern Sea.”
Her eyes went wide as she stifled a gasp. Alastair Thorne, the Crown Prince of Varlyn. When old Grazen died, this vampire would be King. Uncontrollably, she began to shake from head to toe. He was so powerful, so strong, she was nothing to him, just a poor nomad who only knew how to hide and steal. She had never been so close to a person of such importance.
“Stand,” he ordered. Avery complied, rising to her feet, but keeping her head down. He reached for her and she forced herself to not pull away. His cold hand caressed her cheek and then reached for her chin, tilting her head up to look at him.
He turned her head this way and that, looking at her in the soft light of the candles. A tingle raced up her back and she shuddered in his grip. His cold hand cupped her cheek and he traced his thumb over her supple lips. His grip was firm but gentle and she couldn’t help the quiet gasp that slid through her lips when he touched them.
She let out a shaky breath and then finally looked him in the eye. He was staring at her intensely, his eyes boring into hers. He moved, leaning down to give her a chaste kiss. She kept her eyes open, unsure of what to do. All she could think about was the fact that this was the Crown Prince of Varlyn. He lived in a castle with hundreds of servants. He was powerful and he had chosen her. A strange feeling bloomed in her chest and it took her a moment to recognize it as pride. Of all the women in the camp, he had wanted her.
While she had been thinking, her body had moved on its own. She leaned closer to him, deepening their kiss as she closed her eyes. She allowed her lips to part and then his tongue was sliding into her mouth, dancing with hers. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her close, holding her tightly against him as he kissed Avery with a passion she had never experienced before. She felt like she was floating, forgetting who he was and where they were. All that was left was his strong hands on her.
He broke the kiss and looked down at her. His hands were clutching her hips, digging into her flesh. Her heart pounded and her mouth was hanging open. Was he going to kiss her again? Did she want him to?
He took her chin in his cold hand and tilted her head to the side. She felt his warm breath on her neck. A quiver went down her spine, all the way from her head to her toes. He must have felt it for he tightened his grip on her, his hand going around her back to pull her even closer.
He kissed her sensitive skin before licking it and then she could feel his fangs as he pierced her flesh. She let out a quiet cry, but it was quickly silenced. He sucked on her neck and she could feel the blood leave her as he began to eagerly drink it down.
Chapter Three
The taste of her skin was tantalizing. She was soft and warm and every time he touched her, he could feel the blood travelling through her veins. It was waiting for him just under her skin. She gasped, her head fell back and her heart rate sped up. Alastair held her even tighter. His hands dug into her hips, he couldn’t hold himself back.
She was falling for him, putting up no fight or resistance whatsoever. Her heart was thundering in her chest. He could feel every beat, every pulse of blood as it coursed the length of her body. He wanted her.
Pulling his lips back Alastair instinctively found the artery in her neck. His fangs bared, he quickly pierced her skin and then the vein. He moaned as the warm, fresh blood poured from her and into him. God, she was delicious. He never tasted anything so sweet.
For a split second after his fangs pierced her, she tensed and then her body went slack and he was supporting her with his strong arms. He knew his saliva would release a numbing agent when he was feeding. It flowed into her, draining her strength and her urge to fight, making her pliable. He bit harder into her and she gave out a long sigh and clutched his arms.
He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t get enough of her. Her pounding heart was pumping blood directly down his throat. Her blood was feeding him and refreshing him as it returned the strength he had lost in the battle. He drank and drank and always there was more. The metal tang of blood in his mouth was intoxicating.
She was weak in his arms, no longer standing on her own two feet, but instead held up by him. Her heartbeat was slowing. He let out a low growl and pulled her up and closer as the flow of blood began to slow.
He opened his eyes and suddenly pulled away. Removing his fangs from her neck was the hardest thing he had ever done, but he forced himself to stop drinking from her. And he stopped just in the nick of time.
Avery’s face was pale and her eyes were half-open. She was taking haggard gasps and struggling to stay standing. He had been too rough with her, taken too much of her essence. He had lost himself in her, almost killing her in the process.
Alastair cursed his own impatience. He carried her over to the bed in the corner and gently laid her down. Her hair fanned out around her head as she settled for a moment and then quickly slipped into sleep. Brushing the hair from her forehead he felt how cold she was. He brought a blanket up and wrapped it around her, tucking her in.
She appeared to be half-dead. Pale and still, with only the slightest movement in the rising and falling of her chest. He would have to get her some food, soon. Putting two fingers to her neck he felt for her pulse, it was weak but steady. He would need to be more careful in the future. He wasn’t done with this nomad yet. He had barely tasted her and there was still so much for him to discover.
Leaving a guard to watch her, Alistair stepped out into the darkness. A pit had been dug for the male nomads and one by one their bodies were dropped in while their women looked on and wept. He could see bite marks on most of the pale necks of the females, but other than that, they looked well. His men had been more disciplined than he.
Alastair walked towards the women and gestured for his men to join him. The women of the caravan looked at him with disgust through their red eyes. Some spit on the ground in front of him or cursed him in their native tongue. The mourning of woman are the song of victory, his father had once said.
“Your men are gone. Your possessions are mine,” Alastair said. “We keep no slaves in Varlyn, but we are always in need of human servants. Women with skills, those who can sew and cook should say so and you will be put to work. If you choose not to stay with us, then you may leave.”
“On our own?” one older woman demanded, “with no money or men to protect us? That’s a death sentence.”
In a moment, his steward, Sir Reese, was on her. He hit her across the face with the back of his hand. The slap echoed around them and she fell back with a loud cry onto to the dry grass. The other women gathered around her in a circle, putting their arms over her as if they could offer any resistance to his great fighters.
“You will speak to the Crown Prince with the respect his position demands,” the steward yelled as the women cowered.
“Stay or go,” Alastair said, “It means nothing to me. I am in need of a woman who can cook and clean. I will neither harm nor touch whoever chooses to come with me. I will pay them well and keep them safe. I leave it to you, Sir Reese.”
He turned to his steward and said quietly, “The human woman in my tent needs to be fed something to return her strength to her. Find a good cook among them.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Reese said with a nod as he turned to the group of women, some of them who looked hopefully up at him.
Overnight his men worked on the camp. They kept the best of the caravans and burned the rest. The women who decided to stay were put into one cart. Sir Reese chose a young girl named Theresa to take care of Avery. She fed the pale woman freshly cooked rabbit and a large glass of water. By morning, Avery’s color had almost completely returned. There was a pink flush to her cheeks and chest, as she remained asleep in Alastair’s bed. He was constantly turning around and staring at her as he attempted to work. He found resisting the u
rge to touch her was a constant struggle.
“What’s happening?” she mumbled as Alastair pulled her to her feet. She was still half-asleep and groggy, her eyes barely open. The pale sun was just appearing over the mountains.
“My men and I are done here, now we return to the Red Castle on the Sea,” Alastair said to her. He held her against him to help her walk. Her heart was thumping in her chest and the sound reverberated through his body. He leaned down and smelled her hair, resisting the urge to kiss the crown of her head. Every time he was close to her body he felt a primal drive to remove her clothes piece by piece, but he restrained himself. He needed to let her recover fully.
“Now we shall travel to the coast and board our ships. We will be in Varlyn within a week,” he smiled as he put her in a bed in the back of the best caravan. He made sure she was comfortable before closing the door and mounting his horse.
He rode out in front of the caravan, leading the way. He would have rather ridden with Avery, but Alastair wasn’t an old man. He wasn’t going to ride in a caravan with the women. It would make him look weak. Still, his resolve was not so strong. He could not stop his eyes from travelling to the caravan where Avery slept. He imagined her sleeping form—naked on the furs. The thought forced him to adjust himself on his saddle.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He longed to feel the steady drumbeat of her heart and to bask in the warmth of her body. He wanted to watch her breathe and trace his fingers along her cheek and collarbone.
His first and only night with her, Alastair had lost control. He had come so close to killing her. Only foolish vampires killed humans when they drank from them. It was better to keep them alive, leaving open the option to come back for more. But she had tasted too good. She felt so right in his arms. Waiting was a torture, but he knew she wouldn’t survive if he fed from her now.
He wanted to stop the caravan and go to her. There were a hundred warriors and dozens of captives as well as the wagons trailing behind him filled with bounty. He would have brought it all to a screeching halt for just a few drops of the woman waiting for him. That was what a foolish, prideful Lord would have done. But Alastair was smarter and better disciplined than that.
On this expedition, he had captured gold, gems and weapons. He had secured the disputed borders and killed the nomads who had been stealing from local villages. Peace had been restored. But in his heart, he knew that none of that compared to his new human captive. Avery was the real prize. Alastair couldn’t wait to show her his splendid palace with its gorgeous rooms. He would have a dressmaker come and make anything she wanted. He would drape her in gold and jewels solely for the pleasure of removing them. He would have her whenever he wanted.
And what of Myrcel? A small voice in his head asked. Myrcel was his wife. He tried not to think of her. They had been engaged when they were both five years old and married when they turned sixteen. Theirs was a political union, almost doubling the lands under his father’s rule.
For ten years they had been married. Ten long miserable years. She hated him. She hated his touch and his embrace. She wanted nothing to do with him. They sat together at political functions and once a month he went to her bedchamber as was required. But neither of them enjoyed it and still she bore him no sons.
He would have to keep his new human woman away from his wife. He would keep Avery a secret from Myrcel. He would protect this frail human from his bitter princess. He had to. He wasn’t willing to give Avery up.
Chapter Four
She continued to sleep. It seemed at times that she could barely keep her eyes open. Sitting up was exhausting and eating drained all of her strength. The bite marks on her neck were sore, but she was alive. More than that, she was well-cared for and well-fed.
Avery had only the vaguest memory of getting on the ship. She smelled the salt in the air and heard the cry of the gulls, but then she was in a hammock and sleep overcame her. They traveled for five days and nights on the boat as her strength slowly returned. By the fifth day, she felt almost totally recovered.
As the great city of Varlyn came into view, Avery took to the stern of the ship with the other women. The cold ocean wind whipped her hair around. Slowly the spires and towers of Varlyn could be seen as they passed the huge battleships bearing the seal of King Granzen Thorne.
The city was huge and buildings crowded the shore. They were all built practically on top of each other. They towered high into the sky, shading the streets below them. Flowers grew from window boxes and in elaborate gardens. They passed a crowded market where fish sellers and furriers peddled their wares.
And then, the castle came into view. It was magnificent. It was so huge with hundreds of windows lining the parapets and four high towers at every corner. Guards paced the ramparts as small figures hurried here and there. The flags of Granzen Thorne flapped proudly in the wind.
There was a huge crowd waiting for the ship. Hundreds of vampires and humans stood in the streets and cheered as the ship came in. Sir Reese ordered Avery to wait below deck. She would not be part of the ceremonial parade. She would instead go straight to the palace to wait for Alastair.
Was that good or bad? Avery had no idea. All she knew was that she was happy to not be paraded down the street. But what might be waiting for her at the palace? According to Theresa, Alastair was not a cruel man. But he had almost killed Avery and even though he had spent the last few days bringing her back to health, she still didn’t quite know what to make of him.
The King arrived and a hush fell over the crowd. Through a crack in the boards of the ship, Avery watched as everyone fell to one knee. Granzen Thorne ascended the gangplank and embraced his son. The crowd cheered. The sound was deafening as the spoils of Alastair’s battles were displayed for all the people.
Avery was quickly secreted into a carriage. The windows were closed and shades pulled down. Silently and under the cover of darkness, she travelled up the steep hill to the palace. She was not permitted to look out through the curtains. Sir Reese travelled with her. When they left the carriage, he placed a heavy veil over her face so no one could see her.
When the veil was removed, Avery found herself in a suit of opulent rooms. The floors were covered in a thick carpet and elaborate draperies softened the hard stone walls. There was a huge soft looking four-poster bed in the center of the room. A fire roared in the fireplace and Avery warmed her hands over it. There was a basin filled with water next to soft towels and a soap that smelled of lavender. She walked to one window and looked out to a stunning view of the sea.
Where was Alastair? What was she supposed to do with herself? She could guess why he had brought her here. She knew that he had enjoyed drinking from her that first night. Maybe that’s all he wanted from her—food.
She paced around the room. She touched the marble mantelpiece and smelled the fresh flowers in a vase. She ran her hands over the rich tapestries on the walls and the heavy curtains that ran around the large bed. The bed intimidated her. Would she be brought to it? Would she fight him if she was?
Finally, the door opened and she fell to her knees. There was a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. He was dangerous, powerful and handsome and she still hadn’t sorted out the feelings she had for him. She was his captive, she should have hated him, but she felt exactly the opposite, she was excited to see him again.
She looked up hopefully, but instead of seeing the strong, chiseled jaw of Alastair Thorne, she saw a haughty woman. She was tall and thin, pale with long blond hair twisted into spirals that cascaded around her shoulders. She was wearing the most beautiful dress Avery had ever seen. It was black and fit her slim form perfectly. Her face wore an unpleasant expression, as if she had just smelled something foul.
“Do you know who I am, peasant?” the woman demanded. She spoke in a short clipped voice, her arms were crossed over her chest as she looked down at Avery in disgust.
“No, My Lady,” Avery said with a shake of her head. What was happen
ing? Was she not going to be with Alastair? Was she instead going to be a gift to this horrible woman? The thought made her ill.
“I am the Crown Princess of Varlyn, wife of Alastair Thorne,” she proceeded to rattle off her long list of titles, but Avery had stopped listening after the word wife. Of course the Crown Prince had a wife. Avery knew that, everyone knew that. She had just allowed herself to forget. Avery knew nothing of Myrcel besides her name. Rumor had it she didn’t leave the palace that often.
“Why were you not with the rest of the parade? Why were you brought here?” the Princess asked. She had not given Avery permission to stand and so she remained on her knees.
“I do not know, My Lady,” Avery said.
The woman reached down and grabbed Avery’s hair roughly, pushing her head aside to reveal the two small red dots on her neck. It was the only thing that remained of Alastair’s touch. The woman traced her hands over the wounds and then roughly pulled Avery to her feet.
The Princess was tall and she towered over Avery, looking at Avery in disgust, she glared at her full breasts and thick thighs.
“Why would a fat thing like you be brought to the palace in secret?” she asked. Avery could guess this was a question she wasn’t expected to answer.
The Princess shook her head and then pulled Avery close. “Humans like you disgust me,” she hissed. “You are weak and soft, built to feed us and nothing more. Were it up to me we would keep the humans in cages like you keep cows. You would be our food. Born to breed and be devoured, nothing more.”
She tightened her grip on Avery’s hair and jerked her head back exposing Avery’s pale throat. She licked her lips and Avery, understanding what was about to happen, struggled to free herself. It was too late. Myrcel descended on her, biting savagely into her neck, reopening the old wounds.
Avery fought against it as hard as she could, but the venom entered her system and made her slow and sluggish. She pushed weakly against the Vampire Princess, and let out a weak cry, but this just made the woman bite down harder.