8. The Dragon King
8
THE DRAGON KING
M iria’s hooves clopped against the cobblestone pathway, companion sounds of marching to Graves’s snow-white steed, from where he walked alongside them.
Luella’s spine stiffened at the sight of the spires ahead, stretching up above a collection of shops as the winding pathway led languorously up toward the softly slopping hill on which the castle of Serpentis was perched.
Stone walls enclosed the main part of the city, tall archways etched in old markings of flame-spewing beasts and slithering serpents. The calling of merchants filled the city, along with the cajoling taunts of nearby Rys dealers—beckoning passersby down into the belly of the city, smoke drifting from the entrances of the stone stairways that led somewhere deep out of sight, joining with echos of laughter and bawdy tunes.
The whole kingdom was sinful. Lecherously free with displays of wanton desires. Scantily clad females stood in plain view, hands beckoning any passing villagers to come closer and have a taste, fingers teasingly skimming over their exposed stomachs and eyes half-lidded as pipes puffed purple smoke, flowing over their red-painted lips.
Luella pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders, chin held downward to hide herself as best as she was able. She felt too exposed. It was too open here.
Graves had taken the cowl away from her before they had entered the city, and his lower face was once more covered. He also had detached the hood from her borrowed cloak, leaving her features completely exposed, while he was, once more, shrouded in mystery.
At least he didn’t take the covering of the cloak away from her. The way eyes tracked her movements made her feel slimy and dirty; Luella could only figure it would be far, far worse if she was covered in the mere thinness of her gown.
This kingdom.
She had never seen something so wicked before. Even for all the books she had read in her short life, nothing could have prepared her for this . The tales from the cackling servants in the kitchens as she used to hide inside the pantry to escape… and the lady’s maids that used to bathe her that would often speak over her like she wasn’t even there, talking of their latest conquests and various bedroom activities they got up to in the middle of the night, stolen moments in between shadowed hallways or empty closets. Even with all of the words that had whispered secret things—stories she had taken and tucked far in her curious mind—still, she had never been privy to something so vile and open in sensuality.
The fae were quiet. Pious to the gods who were otherwise lost to the rest of the kingdoms. Gods so old that their names had been forgotten. And in that piousness, Luella had been raised under a shroud of demure secrecy, led to not ask questions. To not be curious.
Curiosity was as much of a part of her as her wish for freedom, and even as Luella hid her face in her shoulder, shrinking into Tharen where he was pressed flush to her back, her curious eyes never ceased taking in the sights all around, gobbling them up like something starved.
Dark blue eyes cut toward her, narrowing slightly like Graves heard the turmoil brewing within her mind and wished he could extract and dissect it.
Miria clopped along, Luella’s hips shifting with every uneven step.
At first, they drew no attention, for the inhabitants of this kingdom were far too caught up in themselves and their desires to pay heed to anything of curious or novel intent. Not until a passing merchant caught sight of their onward procession—a young female pushing a cart full of red-skinned apples, her deep, green eyes widening in recognition as she lifted one of her wares, weighing it in her hands, before quickly lifting it and hurtling it right at Luella’s face.
The apple hit dead on, smacking into Luella’s cheek and making her body jolt back into Tharen. She yelped, cowering back into the mage behind her, shaky hands coming up to protect her face from any more attacks. Her cheek throbbed from the impact, and she could feel blood welling up on her pulsing lip from the force of the fruit as it had busted the delicate skin open. Iron filled her mouth, and she let out a low whine from the pained throbbing.
"Hey!" Tharen boomed. His hand came to delicately cup Luella’s cheek, and she turned her head, watching through half-lidded eyes as he lifted his other hand, urging Graves into action with a swift gesture of his hand.
The cloaked male answered in equal quickness, lifting a dagger from his belt as he flipped it once, catching it with expertise. And then flung it right toward the female.
"No!" The plea was torn from Luella’s bruised and throbbing lips.
No, she wouldn’t allow this female to be killed on her behalf! Not another innocent caught in the crosshairs… Maybe the female wasn’t quite so innocent, but the rage in her eyes was a protective sort. Luella could not fault her for taking care of her own, for being so consumed by rage that she acted before she could think through the consequences.
And the weapon of choice had been an apple. Not a sword.
Her lip was smarting, but she would live.
Graves cut his eyes toward Luella at her noise of protest. His dagger arced precisely as it flew through the air, right before pinning the second apple the female was weighing experimentally in her hands.
With a quick thunk , the sharp tip of Graves’s dagger dug into the succulent flesh, rending it from the female’s hands as the apple was thrown back against the wooden post behind her. The hilt of the dagger jutted out, the blade perfectly embedded clean through the apple and into the post, securing it there in a mocking warning.
"It is the Knight."
Echos of the Knight whispered throughout the square, hackles raising as the villagers caught sight of who, exactly, was in their midst.
The female backed away. It had all happened so quickly that it took a moment for everyone to catch up.
The calling cries of the merchants and the jovial talks of villagers were snuffed out, everyone in the square slowly backing away from where Graves and Tharen were perched high upon their steeds. The female’s eyes shifted from Graves to Luella. Tharen snarled behind her, and the female jerked her head away, not willing to risk staring at Luella, where she was tucked into the mage’s body.
"Prima," the female whispered, fear painting her voice. She did not look at Tharen and did not acknowledge the male who had thrown the dagger. Like she was too scared to even look at him—at either of them.
A cacophony of whispers slowly filled the silent spaces of the square. Curious, feared eyes were on them, and Luella shrank back under their cold weight.
Even with the anger she felt radiating off of the villagers like sharp steel caressing her skin, no one was brave enough to attempt a second attack, instead settling on curses and cries and pleas for death and all sorts of violent measures.
"Kill her!"
"Take her head."
"No! Throw her in the fighting dens."
"Tear her to shreds."
"Let our males have a taste before her death." Laughter rang out.
They cried and cried out, and her ears rang with the yells of violence. They spoke of doing unimaginable things to her. With her. Graves shot her a look, a gloved hand flexing on the reins of his steed, while the other reached for the second dagger Luella could see peeking out from underneath his cloak.
One male with slitted eyes ventured closer, fists clenching as smoke wafted from his flaring nostrils. "Let’s see how an heirus fae ," he sneered the words, "would last in our pits. We’d maul her."
Another deadly growl emitted from behind Luella, she felt it seep into her bones—why was it so comforting? Tharen tucked her further into him, a strong, thick arm wrapping around her torso. His palm rested on her stomach, and she hesitantly placed her own on top of it, holding him to her, seeking safety from the strangest of places.
She would take her chances with her two captors over this crowd. At least they had to bring her to the King alive. She would be torn apart if these villagers got their hands on her—but not before she was violated.
"Let’s go," Graves sharply commanded from their side. His words were slightly muffled by his cowl. "We should never have come this way, and you know it."
Tharen didn’t cower back from the lethality in Graves’s tone. "She needed to see." His fingers dug into her stomach, and the thick thighs that bracketed hers moved closer.
She was trapped by him, and right now, Luella could only feel relief. If not for these two males, she would be at the mercy of this crowd.
See what Luella didn’t know. Perhaps he meant the cruelty of his people. But she was already incensed against the shifters and Serpentis; she didn’t need any more fuel for the vengeance-filled fire that brewed within her.
The mage called Miria to continue, Graves clicking his tongue and urging his own horse forward. The throng of villagers receded as Graves led the way, flipping a dagger in his hands as they trotted on, head swiveling as he looked for threats, shooting anyone who dared to come close with what she knew would be a vengeful stare.
Their pace wasn’t quick enough, even for Graves’s silent warning. They couldn’t hurry through the square and villages at any faster pace than they now walked. The streets were packed too tightly, growing more and more crowded with every passing moment as word spread of their arrival in an angry hush of whispers throughout the kingdom.
"A captive." The words echoed all around. "The Princess of Solis."
They finally stopped at the crest of a slow-rising peak that reached a crescendo at a towering stone wall that curved around the castle that lay within its midst. A fortress.
Luella felt a strange wave of surrealness settle over her.
This was it. This was where she would die.
Tharen said something. His words were drowned out by the roaring in her ears. It was like she was standing underwater and listening through the crashing waves as he, no doubt, called for the sentinel standing by to let them in through the gates.
A loud groan pierced through the haze of roaring shock that clouded her senses. Two arched doors of the gate slowly opened, revealing the courtyard and castle of Serpentis.
Green grass grew in a carpet of lush scenery, trees sprouted from a nearby garden, and red succulent apples dangled from their limbs. The castle was light grey stone, built to weather the elements where it was perched right on the edge of the cliff, privy to all sorts of storms and gusts of wind. It was a large and imposing palace, much more grand than the castle in Solis. Towers lined the wall, keeping it safe, soldiers positioned at every guard tower, their bows at the ready, as they trained right on her heart.
She distantly wished one arrow would fly loose and take her out now before she met an even more violent end. She thought of the fighting dens the villagers had spoken of, the chopping block where heads rolled, the dungeons full of rusted knives and torturous instruments she knew would be lurking below…
Luella’s palms grew clammy with fear.
The double doors of the castle banged open, and she looked up.
Her gaze instantly locked on his … and it was like everything stopped. Drawn toward piercing and snakelike green eyes, like a moth drawn toward a burning flame. She was a mere insect, caught in the sticky web of a spider’s trap. He tracked her, never breaking away from her golden eyes, startled wide, all while Tharen and Graves led their horses closer to the grand, curved stone steps that led right to him.
The King of Serpentis. The Cruel Dragon King.
She gulped, growing dizzy.
He wore a striking red cape, the ends sweeping off his shoulders and billowing out behind him as he spread his arms wide in some sort of twisted welcome. Golden hair shone under the dimming light of the eve. His cape was clasped at his neck with a gleaming, green jewel-encrusted in gold twine. The same sort of green that emanated from his eyes. The green of the serpentine shifters. Ruthless and cunning and wicked.
She truly had no chance.
"There you are," the King proclaimed. His voice boomed over the courtyard, and even Miria grew nervous under her, feet kicking up in her fear. This male beckoned fear from all around, radiating cunning dominance like the startling shockwaves of an earthquake. Undeniable and lingering.
Tharen dismounted, and she felt empty without his presence. He immediately reached out to help her down. She did so unsteadily, placing a shaking hand in his firm grip as she clumsily got off the horse. Graves came to stand beside her, and she was so wrapped up in the imposing force of regality in front of her she had missed the shadowed male dismounting as well; his snow-white steed kept tethered to him by the reins he held, his hood was pulled back, and his cowl rested under his neck like a scarf.
He felt free enough to reveal his face here… She wondered what made him cover up outside the confines of the palace gates.
Graves took to his knee, a closed fist pressed right over his heart. "My King. We have delivered her to you safely, as requested."
"Kneel," Tharen whispered harshly in Luella’s ear, before pressing her down with a firm palm against her shoulder.
She had no choice but to relent under the weight forcing her to both knees. The mage followed suit, but only on one knee, the other crooked in front of him. She assumed her position as a prisoner did not allow her the decency of such a pose. She was forced to both knees like some common traitor or the worst of criminals, wholly at the King’s mercy.
"Princess Luella Ilis Eritrais of the now conquered Kingdom of Solis," Tharen declared, shoving a hand against the small of her back to force her face to the ground.
She was forced to fully prostrate herself. Vulnerable. Luella could do nothing but allow her already bruised cheek to be pressed firmly to the stone path. It grated against her skin and the cut on her lip from the thrown apple. Her hands came to rest beside her head as if attempting to protect herself as much as she could.
Footsteps sounded, growing closer and closer as the King descended the steps to come to rest right before her splayed form. She could see his shoes, polished to a shine, stopping right near her head.
There were shuffling noises as Tharen and Graves stood, now anchoring either side of her.
"She’s not much," the King remarked. This close, she could make out the rumbling lilt of his voice, deep and throaty, brimming with power. This was the voice of a male who could command armies and lay siege to kingdoms with a mere word. This was the voice of a male who so easily upended her entire life and slaughtered innocents.
Her chest heaved in anger. Fury pounded a staccato of war drums behind her ribcage. No hands were keeping her forced to the ground any longer.
And so Luella rose.
Palms pressed to the rough stone, she supported her weight on slightly shaking arms, coming to rest on her heels. She refused to be in this cruel male’s presence without staring him down—or up , as it were. A softly uttered challenge shined in her wide, golden eyes. Or maybe that was the shine of tears.
Because those in Solis did not get the privilege of meeting their deaths head-on, she would bear it for them.
Slowly, Luella raised her eyes to his, going from thick thighs up to a silk-swathed chest, tracking over the pulsing vein in his neck as golden eyes met deep, green pits of unfaltering and cruel intent. His face was chiseled. Hard features that wore an even more severe expression. He had a regalness about him. Yet, he did not truly look like the King he was. More like a rugged and ruthless soldier masquerading as commander. His light, golden hair was the only soft part of him. Her head barely brushed his thighs from her seated position. With Graves and Tharen on either side of her, she felt closed in. Trapped. Unable to escape.
She attempted to settle herself with a breath, feeling sticking in her lungs.
The King’s eyes tracked over every little part of her being. Categorizing the stolen cloak she wore; her frizzy, pale blonde hair, the ends matted in red blood; her golden eyes; and soft cheekbones that spoke of innocence and her status as an heirus. His gaze landed heavily on her lips, bruised and swollen, with a split right in the center from the apple.
She raised her chin defiantly, refusing to cower even when she wanted to return to her prostrate position and bury her head under the stone of the pathway and pretend it was all a nightmare.
The side of his plush lips tilted up in amusement like she was some game or prize and not a living creature.
"She has a fire brewing within her." The King turned his attention to Graves and Tharen. "I thought the soldiers would have snuffed it out by now. If not by the depraved wolf shifters, then by your hands," he commented.
They did not respond to him, both remaining completely silent.
"No matter," the King continued. "Small blessings. I will relish being the one to break her and take away any traces of that fire and rebellion. This sheltered little Princess of Solis won’t last a day in our kingdom. We’re far too twisted for the likes of such delicate fae." A hand adorned in glittering, golden rings came to rest against her cheek. His bare palm flattened to cover the whole side of her face.
He could crush her. A mere twist of his wrist could turn the bones of her jaw to dust.
Fingers moved to dance across her cheeks and lightly traced her lips before brushing against the split, delicate skin. Skirting over the corners of her mouth, moving to settle right under her chin. He gripped her face firmly, the pads of his fingers a rough force, unbending as they moved her head to the right—toward the outside of the gates, which were closed, trapping her. She hadn’t even heard the thundering boom as they slammed shut, wholly entrapped by the King. Though the gates were closed, sealing them off from the prying eyes outside, she knew what lay behind the towering walls: the wicked depravity that was the heart of the Kingdom of Serpentis.
The King forced Luella’s head back to meet his gaze, looming over her in supremacy. His other hand flicked up, fingers snapping as green eyes never left hers.
Who would bend first?
Who would look away?
She had read once that the wolf shifters asserted dominance by a game of wills. Holding eye contact until one broke away first—the one who never strayed was proclaimed as the alpha. It felt exactly like what the King was doing to her now, asserting his dominance over her like they were both no more than the feral beasts that ran amuck in the woods.
But Luella refused to bend. Even when her shoulders shook, and her lower lip trembled under the weight of his predatory stare…
From the beckoning wave of his hand, more footsteps sounded out, stopping further away. She refused to look and lose this game she had found herself trapped in.
"Take her to a holding cell for the night. Perhaps the sight of the executions will chip away some of that strength," the King commanded of the male who arrived.
She tried not to focus on what his words meant.
"Yes, my King," the newcomer spoke. His voice was so familiar to her. Warm and lush, like amber-tinted liquor spilling into the finest of glasses. She smelled bergamot, and the scent unlocked memories of the dream she had tucked away.
Warmth from a crackling fire; the plushness of a chair under her bare thighs, the leather sticking to her skin as she shifted; cool fingertips pressed against her face; whispered words of I’m sorry .
The vampire in the study.
Luella gasped, her eyes tearing away from the King as she looked toward the steps leading to the castle.
And there stood the male—the vampire . Familiar, red-tinged eyes with glittering points of silver dangling from his lobes. A high collar of deep, black silk, enterlaced with red, cracked embroidery that gave way to a fine suit, embellished with more blood-red accents and peculiar lapels of silver.
She was glad she was already kneeling; otherwise, she would’ve fallen to her knees at the sight of the vampire in front of her.
Vampires had magic of the Mind. And in the aftermath of her second assault, she had tucked away that particular tidbit back into the recesses of her memory—too wrapped up in unwanted touches that she had forgotten the dreamy memory of his fingers against her skin, his reddened eyes, the sound of his voice as he whispered that demeaning endearment, pet .
That was all fae and other creatures were to the vampires: pets and blood bags. Food.
They used their magic to prey on minds, chipping away at blocks and breaking into the quiet spaces and safety of innermost thoughts, walking along shelves of memories and planting a fervent desire to give in, tearing away free will and compelling victims.
Had he… Had he done that to her? Compelled her to be drawn to him, making her the perfect, willing food source.
She shuddered as the vampire drew closer.
Surely she would know?
Right ?
The vampire was impeccable in appearance. More regal than the King in front of her. Like seduction and sin and …
No .
She stopped her thoughts from going any further. She didn’t find him attractive. She couldn’t. He was deplorable. A vile, twisted creature who would drain her dry in a mere instance if he so wished.
The King stepped back, making way for the vampire with a flourish of his rugged hands. An adornment of a red sash was tied around the vampire’s waist, and he unlooped the stylish knot that kept it tied, stepping closer as he unfurled the ribbon-like material, waving it before him with a sensual smirk.
"You smell divine, pet. Fear makes for a wonderful aphrodisiac." The vampire inhaled deeply. "It will be even more potent when I rob you of sight," he murmured, large and imposing body right before her as his hands elegantly wrapped around her head, placing the sash over her eyes.
She lifted her hands in an attempt to stop him. "Please," she whimpered as the darkness clouded her vision.
Luella could no longer see, hands fluttering in front of her as she felt whispers of cold against her cheeks and the back of her head—the vampire tied the blindfold off in a knot behind her head, giving it a light tug to make sure it was secure.
"Stand," the King commanded.
She experienced everything in far more detail, with her sight robbed of her. As though all her other senses were heightened in the grip of the darkness. And her fear, too.
From her left side, a gloved hand settled on her shoulder. Graves. He urgently called her to rise to her feet, and another hand, this one bare, settled on her right shoulder, so large a thumb pressed into her collarbone as the male’s palm spanned her skin—Tharen.
Luella suddenly wished she was back on the horse, tucked safely into the cocoon of the mage’s body. At least they were the evil she knew. Compared to the two males standing before her: one with a reputation of violence and bloodshed, the other with the power to cripple her from the inside out—wholly unknown. And sometimes, the unknown is worse than the known.
The vampire could be an even worse creature than the Cruel Dragon King—even for all of the King’s might and the horror stories that trailed after him like phantoms, uttered in the quietest parts of the night and regaled around firepits. The heirus told tales of treachery and gore passed down from the dominium. Mere folklore to them, some distant, far-off notion of horror, now brought to their very doorstep and weeding into their homes like a thief in the night, stealing the heirus from their beds and tearing them away from their parents. Pillaged villages and heads on spikes that lined the roads into towns, all so the King might scare away anyone who tried to defy or overpower him.
This vampiric creature was a total mystery to Luella. With his Mind magic and forcible entry into her dreams, she could only shudder at the prospect of what he may have planted in her head. What he may have found there. She felt cracked open and defiled. All her thoughts, all her wishes… Stolen by this male.
The hands that were on her shoulders fell away, but not before she felt the gloved hands of Graves work to unclasp the cloak. He slipped it from her shoulders, leaving her in nothing but her ruined nearly see-through gown. More than just her shivering, hurt body was exposed. She felt like some object, paraded about, her skin flayed and bones pried back so that all could see the bleeding heart encased by the cage of her ribs. She was at their mercy.
Luella couldn’t hide herself away from the eyes she could almost feel burning a path into her skin as they tracked over every bit of her. Two pairs of eyes, like flickering flames, left a scorching trail of fire on her. Graves and Tharen had already had their fill. Now, it was time for the King and the vampire to scrutinize her as if she was mere breeding stock or some prized cattle up for auction.
She inwardly seethed, but outwardly, she was a mess—and she knew it, too. Everyone did.
"Take her," the King commanded. His tone was clouded with dismissal. He was done with her, then. At least for this eve.
The future dangled over her with foreboding, even more prominent, as she was robbed of sight. An unstoppable force, just as the King was an unstoppable ruler.
She felt ice-cold hands on her bare arms, fingers tap tap tapping along her skin like the vampire was pressing on her veins and nerves like the keys of a piano. Playing her, discovering the right tune and notes to hit—all to find the sweetest and most satisfactory symphony of sounds.
The vampire was gentle. Much more so than Graves and Tharen had been with her. His hands lightly skimmed along her flesh, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake from the unnatural coldness of his skin. He urged her forward but in a softly guiding motion—not at all like her two previous handlers.
She didn’t let her guard down. Not for a moment would she become complacent in the face of this strange display of innocence and… kindness. And almost what could be described as reverence and awe, the way this vampire touched her. Each brush against her skin was more pronounced without her sight, every nerve ending standing to attention.
She felt everything in startling detail. Even down to the whisper of air against her bruised skin.
Her bare feet brushed over the stone of the path, giving way to lush grass under her feet as they entered what must have been the garden and orchard within the palace grounds. Low-hanging limbs tickled her shoulders and the top of her head as they passed, and she felt trepidation, afraid she might run face-first into some tree or statue. But she never did. The quiet vampire led her onward, never faltering or misguiding her.
How peculiar.
They came to a stop. Once again, stone under her feet. It felt like they had walked through a short maze full of twists and turns, going from rough stone to grass and back again. She heard the faint tinkling of chains as though the frigid mountain air was blowing them and causing the sound. He guided her a step further, and her foot landed in something wet and sticky. It was cold and thick, whatever it was. Like something that had congealed or been left to dry under the sun. Her mind immediately conjured images of coagulated blood, and she felt churning in the pits of her stomach.
Luella knew where the vampire had taken her.
The cornucopia of the palace.
She could see it now. The image was so clear in her head, as though the blindfold wasn’t even there. From the path her feet had tracked, her mind conjured up a shining light focused on deadly horrors, surrounded by a short maze of trees and stone pathways interlaced with green grass carving symbols into the ground. All leading right toward the centerpiece of a grotesque place of sick performance. She imagined it to be a well-crafted stage, lined with various tools for execution. Blood-rusted knives; thick, knotted rope; whips and chains; or even wickedly curved blades to cut out the innards of treasonous villagers and draw out their deaths.
A cold breath whispered over her ear. "This is your future."
"Why don’t you just kill me now?" Luella trembled as she spoke.
"Where would be the fun in that?" The vampire huffed a quiet laugh.
She felt something sharp poke her neck, not piercing the skin but merely flirting with the idea of it. The temptation. His fangs traced up her neck and ghosted along her pulse point, where she knew he could feel her little heart hammering in a thunder-like rhythm. "If you breathe a word of our dream trysts to anyone, I will drain you dry until you’re nothing but a shell of the little, fae heirus you once were."
"We had no trysts," she countered. Her tone grew emphatic in her plight to defend her purity.
"As far as I’m concerned, we did. I smelled you." His tongue flicked out to trace over her neck. "I felt your dried blood on my fingers. I tasted you. You may not know this, pet, but once I set my sights on something, I will not rest until I have it. You will be mine. It’s just a matter of time, and I will go against the King himself if I have to stop your death. So don’t fret. You will live." He nudged her head with his nose in a mockery of a comforting action. "I will make sure of it. Just as I will make sure that I have you."
Her mouth parted as she drew in a breath. She felt a strange thrumming in her lower belly, right below her navel. A place where she had never felt such a pulsating, incessant heat before. She tried to ignore it.
"No one has ever had me, and you certainly will not be the first," she vowed.
"But the second, then?" The vampire laughed against her skin. "I can make peace with that; just know that I’ll be the one to have you unlike any other. Your very lifeforce is mine." His thumb came to rest upon her split lip. She had forgotten about it, but now, with his forceful touch, it started to throb anew. His fingers flaked off some of the blood against her chin, where it had dribbled from the cut on her lip. The faded scent of iron drifted to her, and she felt him groan loudly. "The purest of nectar."
In a quick flurry, he untied the blindfold from Luella’s eyes. She squinted at the change, even in this dim of the evening.
And with that strange promise echoing between them, his hands left her body as she looked around.
She heard a wailing groan as the iron bars of the small holding cell before her were opened. The vampire shoved her forward onto the blood-stained ground, and she let out a startled noise. He wasn’t gentle this time.
She landed on her hands and knees, and the doors clanged shut. There was a click behind her, and she turned, head whipping.
He pulled a key back, and she realized. He had locked her in!
"No," she pleaded, still on her hands and knees. Her matted hair hung around her shaking shoulders, and she knew her golden eyes were wide with terror.
Luella stood quickly, her features quickly turning to righteous fury. This was the first of many horrors she would be forced to face. But he had been so gentle with her. If he had visited her dreams, surely there was some part of this vampire that was… curious about her? And his promise, still hanging heavily in the air between them—he swore she would not die.
That promise was the only thing keeping her sane.
He stood right outside the bars of the small cage. Luella could barely stand and had only enough room to hold her arms out straight on either side of her.
The cage faced the execution grounds. Built like a small arena, it was surrounded by pathways of stone and enclosed in walls of apple trees, their red skin gleaming in temptation.
The iron bars separated them, and she knew she shouldn’t get so close—he could easily reach a slender hand between the bars and crush her throat, pull her wrist to him, sink those gleaming fangs right into her pounding pulse point, drain her dry…
She knew all of this, and yet, something was drawing her closer. His rich scent soaked her skin, and she wanted to drown in it.
The vampire was even more frightening up close. Luella felt his breath stir her hair from his proximity, and his hands gripped the bars between them. She refused to let herself cower back from his presence. Feet firmly planted on the chilled ground below her, she watched him with a glint in her eye, jaw grinding in anger and loud resentment. All while a soft tremble gave away her true feelings.
Pale fingers tapped on the bars. The vampire bid her farewell with one last word. "Tomorrow."
A warning, a threat, or a promise… Luella was unsure of which. But what she did know… She was doomed.