by Harper Wylde
“What on earth happened to you?” she queried, her eyes racking me from head to toe. I knew my mother was a clean freak and wouldn’t appreciate me dirtying her foyer—or her stylish, crisp, white outfit.
I tried not to let the disappointment I saw on her face get to me. I hated lying, but I also knew there was no way I could explain the odd sleepwalking that had been happening to me lately. They’d never done well with the oddities that surrounded me, and I’d spent the last number of years trying to appear as normal as possible.
Downplaying the morning’s events, I took a deep breath and dove in. “I went for a run but I tripped and the ground broke my fall.” I hoped my absence this morning hadn’t been noted. It was completely possible for us to miss each other in this big house, as long as none of us went looking for the other.
She tsked and shook her head. “Lorn, today of all days you decide to go running?” She looked exasperated. In her defense, running never had been my thing. Who the hell liked to run? “While I appreciate your effort toward physical fitness, you’ve got just over an hour to clean and prep, but then we have nail, hair, and makeup appointments this afternoon to get ready for tonight.” Her phone jingled, saving me from the scolding and gloating portion of the conversation about how I could work harder, how wonderful her own Solstice was, and all the minute details that would make tonight's event a smashing success—as long as I didn’t ruin all her hard work with a crappy placement. I escaped to my room as she answered her cell and quickly became preoccupied.
The covers on my bed were still a mess, and I scrutinized every inch of my room, searching for clues as to what happened last night. Other than having left the sheets in a tangle—a federal crime according to Avalon—nothing looked out of place other than the neglected suitcases in the corner that I hadn’t put away after returning home from the academy following graduation.
Huffing out a frustrated sound, I plunked myself down on the bed and fell backward across the mattress, letting my hair hang over the other side while I rested my hands on my stomach. The softness of my mattress was a welcome comfort compared to my inner turmoil. Nothing about my life made sense any longer, or maybe it never had. Maybe all the small, weird occurrences that had happened to me fit together like jagged pieces to a larger puzzle.
I reached into my nightstand and pulled out my journal flipping to the next available blank page. Writing as fast as I could, I detailed everything I could remember about the night before, noting down all my observations about the episode. Writing everything down had become my salvation when I had no one else to confide in, and it also allowed me to look back over each occurrence to check for similarities and differences, hoping that someday I’d be able to connect the dots and figure out what the hell was going on.
Glancing at the clock, I knew I was out of time to stew as I tried to figure everything out. The Summer Solstice was hours away, and Avalon’s strict schedule was not to be trifled with. Apprehension settled in the pit of my stomach.
There was no way that my being assigned a witching specialty was going to go well, and if it didn’t then I held no hope of snaring myself a good match.
I lifted my hand, cupping it as I brought my fingers together and whispered, “Suvasa.”
Magick gathered at my fingertips, and with a quick downward sweep of my hand, my wand appeared. Tentatively, I reached for it, wrapping my palm around the beautiful wooden handle. The moment my skin made contact sparks flew, branding the palm of my hand with a wicked shock.
I dropped the wand and rubbed at the black soot marks left behind.
This was hopeless. Growing up, I’d always tried my very best in the witching schools my parents had sent me to. I’d never had the knack for magick, and neither of them could understand my struggles. I was an anomaly among my own kind—the witch who couldn’t even use her wand without wreaking havoc on the world around me.
Sighing, I picked up the black tee-shirt I’d dropped onto the bed, hugged it to my chest, and buried my nose in it. Axel’s scent was somehow calming, an earthy mix all his own.
With a groan, I pulled myself up and headed for the bathroom, flipping on the shower. It was time to get ready and face the music. Whatever the outcome of the Solstice, I’d deal with it. I’d been juggling difficult situations my entire life, and this was no different. No matter what specialty I ended up with, I’d make the most of it, and if I was matched with someone I didn’t like, I simply wouldn’t marry them. It wasn’t a common option, but I was sure it had to have happened in the past. And if not, I’d just have to be the first. I wasn’t going to let one night change my entire life.
Grab your copy of Shadow Touched by clicking the book cover below to be taken to Amazon!
Also By Harper Wylde
The Veil Keeper Series
Shadow Touched
The Huntress Series
An Assassin’s Death
An Assassin’s Deception
An Assasin’s Destiny (releasing June 2019)
The God Trials
The Selected (Coming Soon)
About Harper Wylde
Harper Wylde is a paranormal romance author who lives in the countryside of Pennsylvania. As a wife and a mother of two young children, she spends her days chasing after little people and making crazy notes about story ideas all over her home. As a serial entrepreneur, Harper also dabbles in photography and graphic design…but has found that her favorite occupation is the one she’s doing now—writing fantasy and paranormal romance. She loves coffee, cooking, chocolate covered pretzels, and characters with hidden strength and endearing flaws! To connect with Harper, follow the link below to Facebook where you can join her author group and stay up to date on sneak previews, teasers, and new releases!
Reign of Nightmares
by Quinn Arthurs
Prologue
Blood was life, but spilling it was just for fun. Waves and waves of it would fill the room, the scent thick and heavy enough that I could taste it when I entered before a single drop ever touched my tongue. Even the heat radiated, lingering for a time after it was spilled, warming my skin wherever it splashed, leaving sticky, lingering patches against the ivory of my skin. Cackling laughter echoed off the stones of the walls, mixing and flowing with the shrieking screams and pleading voices. It didn’t matter what they promised or how they begged, they wouldn’t leave the chipped stone walls of the castle alive, the only remainder of them the drips of blood that escaped our reach and stained the cracks of the stones.
I stepped from the tower, licking the blood from my fingertips with a shake of my head. I didn’t see the necessity of scaring the living daylights out of my victims before their sacrifice, nor did I see the point of the mess. It wasn’t as though blood was easy to remove from my clothing after I fed. There were far more civilized ways to have a meal or gain the advantages of blood against my skin; I did not appreciate the grit that tended to embed itself there as well no matter how much the servants scrubbed away the dirt. Part of that could be due to lack of motivation; most were unsure if they would end up the next visitors to the tower, their own blood spilling over the icy stones, adhering to the stone as it cooled.
Traditions were traditions, however. From the time of my great-great-grandmother, the vampires had fed this way. Most of us enjoyed it, the fear and despair fueling something in us just as the blood we consumed fed us. Others believed that fear was what contributed to the healing effects of the blood, as that emotion was so rare for our kind. Family lore stated that as we lost the ability to feel fear, it hardened our skin, cracking and peeling it, turning us into something more monstrous than human looking, preventing us from mingling with our prey and acting as the predators we are. I had experienced the painfully cracking, peeling skin myself, which is one of the main reasons I still partook in “family dinners.” I knew they were termed as such with mockery, a mere nod to the humans we may have once been, a way to lure our victims in with a sense of pride. Only the washing of the affecte
d skin with blood would soothe the weeping sores, the loss of use that would affect the limb if blood were not imbibed.
It wasn’t that I liked being a vampire; it was merely my existence. I had too high of a level of self-preservation to let myself rot away, though I had considered it on occasion. The passing of the years tended to lower the thrill of killing and expanded my knowledge about other subjects, amongst which was my own prey. Much experimentation had followed, and I learned, rather painfully, that only human blood would suffice to keep me strong and whole. While I didn’t see humans as chattel, the way many of my kind did, I also wasn’t of strong enough moral fiber to allow myself to die in their stead.
My suggestion of not bleeding our meals entirely, of taking only minor amounts that could be replenished from our stock, was met with nothing more than mockery and disdain. This was our life and the traditions would not be changed; not for me, not for anyone else. My mother called it my “rebellious phase,” though I figured that something that had evolved over a decade was far from a phase. My father merely sneered when the issue was brought up, commenting that the disintegration of my skin must have traveled to my brain, and he suggested a more frequent feeding schedule to combat the issue.
The blood on my skin had cooled enough for me to know that it had done its job, and I increased my speed towards my chambers, intent on washing the offending stain away. “What is with you vampires?” Scorn was clear in the cool, clipped voice that spoke from the shadows, and I raised a brow, pulling my lip back to expose my fangs. We were inside the walls, no one was able to enter who we did not allow. It wasn’t as if they would be able to do anything to me if they had. Humans, even armed with weapons, were far weaker than we were. It wasn’t exactly fair when my own teeth and nails acted as weapons and my body healed with every wound I placed upon them.
While fear may not be a sensation I was accustomed to, surprise was. Identical men stepped from the shadows, their movements a mirror of each other. They towered over me, though I was considered tall for a female; they must have been close to six and a half feet in height and rippling in layer after layer of hard muscle. Their hair was a dark brown, the rich color of freshly turned soil. The light was too muted in the hallway to give me an impression of their eye color, though it wasn’t dim enough to match the disdainful curl of their lips and show the only visible difference between the two -- one sported a ring in his lower lip.
The site caused my own lip to curl in response. “Witches.” No vampire would be foolish enough to decorate themselves with a ring through their lip, and they were far too outspoken to be human. Blood witches were the only humans who escaped our hunger, many living in comparable peace within our walls. Although they didn’t consume blood, they needed it for their spellcraft, and enjoyed our practices, joining in with eager abandon as they collected the offerings they needed. “As if you have room to talk about my practices.”
Although I hadn’t seen the two of them in the castle before, it was far from a surprise. I preferred my solitude and my studies, inevitably ignore the ebb and flow of both the humans who acted as both servant and food supply and the blood witches who came to utilize our resources in exchange for their manipulation of the technology in the castle. “We tend not to roll in our food,” the one with the lip ring grumbled.
“At least we utilize the food source.” I retorted, crossing my arms and ignoring the blood that crackled there with the movement. “Rather than simply wasting it on spells for your fake idea of power.”
Both sets of eyes flared, the pair moving in harmony as they held up their hands, red lightning sparking in their palms. “We are far from faking our power.”
I drew my shoulders back, unintimidated by their display. “I am Elsie Crauford. This is my home and my people. I am next in line for the vampire throne, and you will give me the respect which I am due.”
“I’m Draven.” The man with the lip ring executed a mocking bow, and I hissed my irritation. “This is Crowe.” He indicated his twin with a lazy wave of his hand. I merely arched a brow, turning away from them to continue my course. Witches weren’t worth my time. “I assume we’ve missed the bleeding?” he called after me, and I snorted. As if that was a challenge to deduce. Besides, our family fed at traditional meal times and all visitors were made aware of when those times were -- even if just to ensure that they did not end up on the menu themselves and were safely ensconced in their chosen rooms. Witches were fools, there was no question about it.
Chapter One
The door to my chamber clicked shut behind me and I sighed, wrinkling my nose at the stale smell that now emanated from me. Dried blood aged far too quickly, especially when pressed against our skin as if we leached every source of life from it into ourselves. I headed to my shower, letting the spray warm as I stripped the clothes from my body and dropped them to the floor heedlessly. Blood had even soaked through the thin cotton of my tank top and shorts; barely a tint of my ivory skin could be seen through the crust that had formed on me.
I breathed out a sigh of relief as the water cascaded over me, letting me rinse away the reminder of what I was -- and what I could never be. Even my hair was stained with blood, and I began to scrub it enthusiastically, knowing it would take time to return it to its natural shade of blonde. The flush on my body remained as I washed away the blood, my ivory skin holding a rosy, healthy glow that wasn’t due to the heat of the water.
I often wished I could get the enjoyment out of water that I got from fresh blood coursing over my skin. The sensations were similar; the liquid heat, the warming skin, the momentary sense of peace at the soft sound of flowing liquid. Yet no matter how many showers or baths I took, the scents of herbs I chose for the soaps, there was still a difference in the two that was unavoidable. Blood was sultry, sending a pulse deep into me with every wave as if pouring life and pleasure into me. Water merely cleansed the human dirt that remained.
Flicking the water off with a sigh, I reached for my towel and grumbled when empty air met my hand. I really needed to learn to check for those before I got in. I preferred the privacy of bathing alone without the aid of an attendant. With a grumble, I rang the cord that hung in each of my rooms, calling for assistance. I rarely utilized it. Servants meant interference with my work and my solitude; it also ran the risk of me becoming attached to a human. I didn’t relish the idea of knowing my food intimately.
A soft series of knocks heralded the arrival of a servant, and I debated a moment sending them away rather than requesting their services. Servants were a hard lot to measure. Some were forced into service, owing us a debt or being sold to us to pay off the debt of another. Others hoped to become one of us, to claim what they saw as a gift. I wasn’t sure how any of the humans who had seen our daily lives would see them as glamorous or as a goal to achieve, though I had never lived in the squalor that was common amongst humanity after the plagues had decimated the population.
Maybe I would feel differently about life if I lived every day hungry, cold, tired, and in fear. Despite that, and our consumption of them, humans still bred rapidly both inside the castle and outside of it. Few were blessed with the witch gene and, instead, faced a life of destitution.
“Come in,” I called. At the soft creak and click of the door, I continued. “There were no towels placed in the bathroom.” Shuffling and shifting noises met my ear as the servant dug through the storage cupboards on the far side of my rooms that held the linens. I didn’t bother concealing my body; nudity around humans was not something that many were hesitant about.
The young man who entered was surprisingly attractive for a human, enough to have me shifting slightly as he approached, his head angled to prevent himself from staring at my naked, dripping body. He was only a few inches taller than my own five foot eight, his hair a golden brown, nearly blond in some spots and dark in others, an oddly appealing mixture. His skin was heavily tanned from his work, adding an attractive healthy glow that had hunger tickling at the pit of my
stomach--though which type of hunger I was hard-pressed to say.
“Miss,” he offered, his husky voice quiet as he held out the towels for me.
I accepted them quickly, tightening the thick cotton around me and letting it absorb the water that lingered on my skin. I twisted my hair up into another towel, knotting it to absorb the weight and stay on its own as I studied the servant. Apparently it was the day for new faces.
“I apologize for your rooms not being properly stocked. The servants are undergoing a shift, though it is no excuse for your discomfort.”
I arched a brow at the apology, considering him. There was no blatant pleading, which was not uncommon from servants who believed one of us to be angry at them, merely a statement made in a calm, quiet tone.
“You aren’t normally in these quarters,” I stated, as he etched a bow and placed extra towels on the nearby racks, ensuring I would not run out again soon.
“No, miss. I am assigned to this wing for the foreseeable future, should you not have an objection to it.”
I cocked my head to study him, interested in the human who showed so little fear. I had never had a pet human, unwilling to take on one of the fawning, quivering, weeping women who were my usual companions. None of them had appealed to me as sexual partners, nor had any of the personally claimed servants that were mockingly referred to as pets.
“Your name?” I asked quietly, the question falling from my lips for the first time with a servant.
“Sebastian, miss.” His reply was low, his head still bowed.
“Are you claimed, Sebastian?” It was rare, though not completely unheard of for a pet to continue to work in a general capacity for the servants. Usually it was seen in sexual pets whose companionship and servant skills were not necessary for the vampire’s day to day life. Even rarer, a blood witch might be granted a pet whose blood was incredibly powerful for the spells they specialized in. Once claimed, even if rejected later, a human could not be claimed again.