Page 33 of The Crimson Princess (The Ravengale Chronicles #1)

Chapter twenty-four

A wareness comes to me in a rush of pain and darkness, my automatic reaction is to jerk upward, but strong hands hold me in place. “Stay where you are. You’ll tear your wounds deeper.”

“Toren,” I whisper, my voice raspy from the rawness of my throat.

“I’m here, princess.” He leans over me, and I blink through the dimness of the room, the sight of him is a balm to my soul. I’m not dead. I’m not alone.

Don’t try to use your voice, he says in my mind. Your throat needs to heal.

Every part of me feels as if it’s being ripped apart.

I imagine it does, but you’re healing , he says . I promise.

Emotion is as thick as the acid in my throat. You came for me.

Did you doubt me? Don’t answer that. Of course I came for you. And you’re going to be okay.

Am I?

Yes. My blood is healing you, but it’s too newly introduced to your body, for me to go too fast. I have to feed you slowly or we risk you going into shock.

So I’m alive because I’m part vampire?

That’s complicated to answer and better saved for later. He strokes my hair from my face, his touch gentle, and somehow it alone soothes the burn of my body.

Where are we?

This is my bed, in my home, in Bloodstone , and when my eyes go wide with this news, he cups my face, his eyes meeting mine. Listen to me, princess, and don’t panic. It’s seven days here to every twelve hours in Ravengale. Okay?

Yes. Yes, I knew that.

Then you know bringing you here was the only way I’d have the time and resources to heal you.

Your father wouldn’t have let me and they can’t treat you properly when you’re part vampire.

You would have died. Raven is covering for you.

As far as anyone knows you’re hunting werewolves in the villages.

I would have died. I still might, a thought as bitter and terrifying as my present inability to vocalize my thoughts.

I can feel myself hanging on the edge of life and death.

Toren seems to read my mind, cupping my face.

You are not going to die. I won’t let you.

I’m about to give you more blood and it’ll numb the pain until the next dose.

A sharp pain rips through my neck and s omehow, I manage to lift my hand but find a bandage barrier between me and the wound.

Toren captures my wrist and eases my hand downward.

“Don’t touch, princess.” He speaks the words, a tenderness to the way he says “princess” that even in my current state I do not miss.

The way he cares for me is beneath a vampire king, and I don’t understand why he’s doing it.

“There’s a magical salve on the wound,” he explains, “it’s helping it heal. You have some on your belly, too.”

My mind goes to the werewolves biting a chunk from my core and I squeeze my eyes shut. Half of it was missing.

You will be whole again, he vows . You have my word.

My lashes lift to find myself swimming into the sea of his striking blue eyes just as I had been that first time we’d met, and it’s a good place to be lost. Why are you doing this? Why risk a war with my father to help me?

If saving his daughter causes a war, it’s one I’ll willingly fight.

He bites his wrist and I can smell the iron scent transform to the amber of his blood before he trickles the thick liquid over my parted lips.

I struggle to swallow but Toren is patient with me, offering me only what I can handle.

Too slowly, it seems, the pain fades, my body easing into the plush mattress beneath me.

The last thing I remember before sleep claims me is Toren’s hand on my face, as he whispers, “Sleep, princess.”

Heaviness slides over me and I sink into the peaceful darkness of slumber, until it transforms into the Ravengale forest. One minute I’m running down a path.

The next I’m reliving my attack, the werewolves’ fangs sinking into my flesh.

I cry out with the excruciating tear of my belly and attempt to sit up, but Toren holds me down, his mouth at my ear as he murmurs.

“It’s a nightmare. It’s not real. I’m real and I’m right here. ”

I pant with the sensations in my body, each breath fire in my throat and chest. “Where am I?” I ask again, so very confused.

“With me, princess. With me .”

“ Toren ,” I murmur, his name lingering on lips, a whisper and a promise of something oh so out of my reach, oh so impossible to name. The tension slides from my body and I fade back into the darkness in the aftermath of his comfort, my body eases, tension sliding away.

From there, I manage moments of awareness, but I have no real idea how long I sleep or how many times I wake in pain with Toren tending my injuries.

Time transforms into a confusing mix of day, night, pain, and blood, with Toren ever present.

At times, I think he speaks to me in my mind, but it’s hard to truly know what is real and what is not. Am I dreaming? Am I dead?

And then finally it happens, blessed relief claiming me.

My lashes lift, and I’m actually aware of the beautifully carved wooden ceiling above me, and the silk sheet draped over my body that no longer burns with my injuries.

I feel no pain . It’s incredible. With a tentative lift of my hand, I touch my neck to find no bandage there, no wound, and a smile spreads across my lips.

I sit up quickly and shove away the luxurious bedding to find myself wearing an equally luxurious red silk gown, my nipples puckering beneath the thin material.

The idea that Toren has picked this for me and dressed me in it, even with his magic, is far too alluring for someone who just almost died.

My body hums with the very idea of it and him.

But for now, I’m still focused on the miracle of my healing.

I inch the silk up, all too aware of my lack of panties, while my belly is completely normal.

I allow the silk to slide from my fingers, and I actually feel a pinch of tears.

I’m whole again and as my gaze sweeps my surroundings, I realize I’m not just whole again, I’m in a beautiful place.

The room is stunning, the floors a dark wood etched in a delicate design to match the ceiling, the low platform bed, a brown leather, golden ball lights dangling from above the mattress.

But all of this would be nothing without the view outside the wall of windows to my left.

We seem to be sitting right inside the nook of rolling green mountains, a lower half of lush hill all but pressed to the glass and it’s spectacular.

But even with the incredible view my gaze lands on a leather loveseat, positioned between the bed and the glass with what looks like a finished and glossed tree trunk end table next to it, with good reason.

Memories of Toren sitting there, watching over me, slide into my mind.

It’s in that moment that he appears next to me on one knee, at the edge of the bed. “I leave you for five minutes and that’s when you decide to finally wake up?”

And just that easily I’m drowning all over again in the sea of his vampire blue eyes, remembering the same sensation when I was buried in pain and he was there.

I wonder if there will ever be a day that I’m unaffected by his presence, but I think not.

He personifies masculinity, carries himself as a king, and is truly everything a woman of any race could wish for in a male, other than of course, him being my father’s sworn enemy.

“I know you were here for me. I remember . And I thank you, Toren.”

He captures my hand, curling my fingers beneath his. “You don’t have to thank me. Everything I did was selfishly about me wanting you to live. And before you question why, that selfishness is one hundred percent personal.”

I dare to touch him. On some level, I need to touch him, and my fingers find his face, trailing along the strong cut of his jawline, a king’s face etched with power, strength, and a thousand years of magic.

“The notorious wicked and lethal vampire king is taking care of me,” I murmur, a smile in my voice. “Be careful, King Toren, your reputation might be scorned.”

He pushes to the edge of the bed and sits next to me. “I’m every bit as wicked and lethal as they say I am, my little princess. Nothing has changed.”

I tug the blanket upward a bit but angle toward him. “Now I know there’s more to you than the stories.”

His hand settles on my leg, as if it’s now acceptable with the blanket to shield me from the onslaught of his touch, when I don’t want to be shielded.

Not even a little. “I ask you to judge me by my actions not the stories floating around but I’d prefer your observations stay between us.

I strongly believe that fear prevents wars and when that fear fades, it has to be recreated and that means bloodshed. ”

He’s just offered me a look into how he thinks, how he approaches war and his honesty and directness surprise me, and suggest trust I find myself wanting to deserve.

He’s certainly shown me plenty of himself by bringing me here and saving my life.

His approach is all about never repeating the wars and battles of the past.

I approve.

He is nothing like the vampire king my father has always declared him to be. “I will maintain your reputation at all cost, King Toren,” I vow.

He leans in, his hands on my face and says, “You scared me, Princess Satima, and I don’t scare easily.

I don’t like it. Don’t do that again.” His voice is gravely affected, as if I matter to him, as if we’ve known each other for all his thousand years.

His kiss follows, a long, sensual lick of his tongue, followed by another, until his lips have parted mine and I’m panting with the intensity of the moment.

“I’m going to stop now before I don’t, and you’re not ready for where that leads,” he says, one of his hands settling on my leg as he straightens and places just enough distance between us to ease the intimacy to bearable.

“I feel fine. I’m pretty sure I’m ready.”