Page 18 of The Crimson Princess (The Ravengale Chronicles #1)

Chapter thirteen

A s darkness drapes the kingdom and slumber amongst the gales is near epidemic, I strap a holster to my leg, where I sheath my guardian blade, and do so nice and snug over the leather of my pants.

The idea that leather doesn’t tear is a joke, though it’s thicker than basic cloth, which is a welcomed advantage.

But the real upside of leather is the nasty way it tastes to the zombies, therefore, it became my hunting uniform a long time ago.

Only tonight, I’m not hunting zombies. I’m hunting the king of the vampires.

My first ever vampire, though I suspect Toren won’t be my last.

I leave behind the dagger Ambrose gifted me, choosing not to play with outside magic I do not know, when since the change, I barely know my own.

It’s the straight up midnight hour when I escape through a literal dungeon window of the castle to our rear gardens and do so dressed in the same pitch black of the obsidian night.

The clouds are low and dense, the howls of the frostburns who inhabit the nearby forest, lifting in the air.

Frostburns resemble wolves with the fangs and claws of a tiger, the white of their fur a canvas for ancient magic.

And right now, they’re hunting prey, I’d rather not be me, but I still head their direction.

The heavily wooded terrain is not only the fastest path to Toren’s location, but a guarantee I won’t be followed.

The forest is not friendly.

But then, while out hunting, neither am I .

Another howl pierces the silence, almost as if the frostburns beckon me.

The frostburns do not like royal blood, or so it’s whispered in our villages, a false narrative with only half truth, I’d learned firsthand years before.

I’d been in the forest, hunted by the frostburns, and bitten by one of the majestic creatures.

The beast had died, after brutally convulsing and foaming at the mouth.

Turns out, much like the tales of the vampires of old, frostburns crave blood, but royal blood is poison to them. I wonder if that’s true for vampires? If Toren dares cross me, he might just find out, but I suspect the king of vampires to be far too clever to end in such a simple way.

I clear the line of the forest, and pause, allowing my eyes to adjust to the thick inky cloak suffocating the closely knitted and towering Mallwood trees; trees that climb into the sky, beyond the eye’s reach, far taller than any tree in any other lands.

I hold steady, seconds ticking by, and my vision sharpens.

A fortunate gift of the highborns is night vision, an ironic twist of fate considering they are rarely the ones in battle who need it the most. I start moving again, my pace rapid but cautious, my entire body on alert, but unchanged by the transition it seems.

I feel the same.

Perhaps a facade and a dangerous one at that, as unpracticed magic can be as volatile as an unpracticed human holding a gun. Sometimes it ends up being turned on them. But I am no novice with magic , I remind myself, and focus on my destination.

The Crescent Moons village where Toren resides this week is a short run for any who dare risk mayhem and danger in the forest. Those curious about the village’s name are not curious for long, as it literally sits in the middle of what looks like two crescent moons resting on the bottom of their curves.

The crescent moons amount to the human pyramids for us as they’re ancient and originate from an unknown source.

I cut deep inside the heavily wooded forest, the predators awaiting me eerily silent, and while I am discreet, it’s hard to avoid a crack of a branch here or a twig dropping there.

Without question it’s known that I’m here, and so it becomes about whether or not any of the beasts within wish a confrontation.

I’m ready if they do, in fact I welcome every opportunity to keep my skills sharp.

Seems I might soon be battling the druid who wishes to drag me into his bed.

The terrain is familiar and it’s not long before I reach the open alcove where the masterpiece that is the Crystal Pond awaits my approach.

The pond that glistens with every color in the universe, even in darkness.

To gales it’s a sight to behold, a promise that there is always more to behold, more this lifetime has to offer.

But to the beasts in the forest, it’s simply a cold drink of water.

In other words, it’s survival to them and magic to us.

No matter how you try to pass through these woods, the magic in the forest always brings you here. You must drink from that water to leave this place. Should you fail to do so, should you reject the Crystal Pond, you will wander aimlessly until you cease to exist.

I step to the edge of the tree line, and study the clearing, allowing my magic to reach toward the pond and beyond.

What I find sets my pulse racing, adrenaline pinching at my veins.

The awareness within me is not animal but rather a powerful source of magic, not yet close enough for me to identify the carrier.

All I know is that whoever walks these woods with me is far more dangerous than the beasts who might try to label me as prey.

It’s now or never, and I dart toward the pond, closing the steps between me and it, and once I’m at the edge, the moon is a beam illuminating the rainbow of colors beyond the imagination.

It’s mesmerizing and blinding at the same time, as hypnotic as a snake, leaving its prey vulnerable to attack.

Shaking off the spell, I kneel, scoop my hand inside the pond, and sip the icy cold water.

Magic burns a path down my throat, and when the water glistens with a mix of gale green, I know I’m granted permission to leave these woods this night.

This small reward is ripped away from me as I bristle with awareness.

On edge, I push to my feet and whirl around, blanching at what I discover .

A pack of at least a dozen five-foot-tall frostburns stand in a wide circle, facing me, confining me.

They are, without question, stunningly gorgeous and brutally lethal.

This is not my first time being trapped by predators; in fact, I’m in my element.

I ease my hand to my thigh, and slowly unsheathe my blade, slipping it from the leather, holding it in ready position at my side.

The frostburns flatten, flush with the ground, all of them lying down in unison.

It’s in that moment, that magic rushes over me and out of nowhere, Toren appears by my side. “Is the ability to tame the beasts new or old?”

I’m aware of the vampire king in every possible way, but I don’t dare tear my eyes from the frostburns , “You can blink,” I accuse. “No one knows you can blink.”

“I don’t blink,” he says, his tone slightly indignant, as if having such a sought-after skill is an insult. “I’m simply very fast when I want to be.”

Now I think he’s joking. Maybe. Do kings joke? My father certainly does not.

“When I thought you might be under attack,” he adds “I wanted to be, but it seems that isn’t the case. And your father knows.”

All news to me, but as for the frostburns, he’s right.

Time stretches and they continue to rest in a submissive position that cannot be denied, and I sense no hostility in them, not toward me nor Toren.

“You can relax, princess,” Toren urges, and as if determined to prove his point, he rotates to face me, and I can feel the calmness of his magic. “They mean us no harm.”

They’re killers who mean us no harm , I think and I’m still not understanding what is happening, why they aren’t attacking us.

Is it my magic? And if it is, what is the magic?

No. No, this can’t be magic, but rather my reputation as a frostburn killer.

Magic knows magic, I think, and killers know killers.

I’m the princess who bleeds poison. He’s the vampire king who bleeds them .

I dare follow Toren’s lead, sheathing my blade, before turning his direction, and basking in the full alpha glory of the vampire king’s presence; the moonlight caressing his perfectly carved features.

He radiates masculinity, power and control, carved into his very essence by time and experience.

He’s dressed much like me to fade into the night, his clothing all black, from his pants to his boots, every inch of him etched from hard muscle.

He is dangerous and I tell myself I should fear his abrupt appearance.

I am, after all, alone with the vampire king in the deserted forest. But there is no apprehension in me at such knowledge. I am without reason and fear.

My chin lifts his direction. “Why are you here?”

“The forest is alive.”

“In other words, you came to eat,” I observe and it’s not a question. He might not need blood to survive, but he still craves its metallic lure.

“Depends on what the menu has to offer.” He motions to the frostburns, and there’s a tilt to the corners of his mouth as he adds, “Apparently, they don’t think it includes you.”

It’s near legend that blood and sex are one with vampires, and the purr to his voice says that is exactly the things that are on his mind.

“Are you suggesting I should be?”

“That, my beautiful princess, would be a pleasure I would never be so bold to take without asking.” The implication being he wants to take, but it’s his turn to lift his chin, his attention on the frostburns. “Is your ability to seduce them old or new magic?”

“I’m not sure it’s magic at all,” I dare admit. “One of them attacked me years ago and one drop of my blood delivered a brutal death. I think they remember me.”

“You’re poison to the frostburns. Interesting .”

“Perhaps I’m poison to you, too, vampire king.”

“I’m willing to take my chances.” His tone is pure seduction and unbidden, considering the frostburns, and who he is, fire licks at my body as if he licks my body.

“That’s a dangerous proposition.”

“Worth it,” he assures me, and I am acutely aware of being alone in a wide expanse of the forest, not another gale, or vampire for that matter, for miles.

He’s a king. I am but a princess whose powers cannot compare to his.

Instead, I’m wrapped in the blanket of seduction his words, and the heat in his eyes, suggest.

“I can almost taste how sweet you would be right now,” he adds, his voice sandpaper and silk in the same moment.

“Until death comes,” I dare.

His lips, that I dare envision on mine, curve ever so slightly as he rather nonchalantly says, “I’ve tasted gale,” though this is not a shocking revelation. We were at war with the vampires long before my time. “And I’m still here,” he adds.

“Gale blood is not my blood. It’s royal blood that’s poison to the frostburns.”

“I amend my statement. I’ve tasted royal gale blood.”

The stunning admission stabs at me, sharp and brutal, and my anger is fire between us.

“My mother?!” I demand, and I swear the wind lifts around us, as if it’s responding to my magic, to my mood, though such a connection with nature is nothing I know as familiar.

The frostburns react as well. They bristle, low growls escaping several of the beasts, and I whip around to face them. Several angle toward Toren, butts in the air, ready to pounce.

“Still think they’re afraid of your blood, not your magic?” Toren asks, his tone casual, unaffected by the volatility of me or them, but he’s also right. They’re responding to whatever has changed in me. Either I really can control them in some way or they simply fear what they sense in me.

Either way, I no longer fear their attack and I challenge Toren. “Maybe I should order them to attack you.”

“Assuming you can do such a thing,” he says, casting doubt on my skills, I already doubt, “why exactly, princess , would you want to do that?”

“You said you and my mother were friends. Just friends . ”

His lips twitch as if he’s pleased at my anger which is far more telling than I’d like to admit where Toren comes into play. “It wasn’t your mother I tasted.”

“Then who?” I snap, not believing him at this point. There’s a reason my father doesn’t trust him and I was too foolish to see the truth.

“Your father.”