Chapter Two
“No,” Avery heard the vampire warrior say. “She is mine. Let no one touch her.”
“Yes, My Lord,” the soldier said as he pulled her away from the blood-stained corpse of her father. She wanted to say something to the vampire warrior but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. She felt numb and empty. Only a few moments prior she had been scrounging together a dinner for her ungrateful father. Now he was gone and she was a captive of this vampire, out of the frying pan and into the fire.
She glanced back to make sure her father was really dead. His corpse offered no resistance as the vampire soldiers grabbed his wrists and ankles and hefted him toward a pile of bodies. He was truly dead. He was gone for good. She had watched the life drain out of him. He would never hit her again.
Feeling numb and confused, she offered no resistance as the soldier led her through the burning remains of her camp. She could hear other women wailing and weeping for their lost husbands and sons. They were loud, tortured sobs carried to her by the wind. Avery imagined the tortured lamentations could be heard for miles.
Avery was grateful she was not with the other women. She didn’t want to have to pretend to mourn for her father. She felt no sadness at his passing, only relief. If he was gone, that meant he would never raise his hand to her again. She would never have to cook or clean for him again.
I’m glad he’s dead, the thought made her stop in her tracks. The guard prodded her in the back. She stumbled for a moment and then resumed walking. She should have felt afraid. All around her, vampires were ripping apart their caravans. Women were screaming and crying, but she only felt a detached numbness. She had no say in what would happen to her now. She could only march forward and do as she was told.
The chilly night air combed through her hair. The camp was growing quiet and anyone who might have put up a fight was dead or gone. Avery wondered where her brother was at that moment, how long it would take for the news to reach him. He had gone ahead to scout the nomads route to the next town, he was miles away. A dark part of her wished he had been here for the vampire’s slaughter. He was as bad as her father, worse maybe since he was still out there somewhere.
With her vampire guard close, Avery left the burning remnants of her caravan behind and arrived at the small vampire camp. Squires were racing about, setting up tents and building fires. They were orderly and efficient, a far cry from her haphazard nomad life.
Avery was led into the finest tent of them all. It was made of a white canvas material and inside there was a large wooden table covered in scrolls and maps. There was a thick carpet under her feet and several thick blankets piled in the corner for a bed. Candles were lit all around the room casting a soft light. Surrounded by such splendor, she felt dirty and insignificant. This tent was far finer than anything she had ever lived in and she wasn’t sure what to do with herself once she was inside it.
“You will wait here. If you leave this tent you will be found and strung up. Your body left to the crows. Do you understand?” the guard asked in Varlyn.
“Yes, sir,” she answered with a nod. He glanced around the room, as if he were taking note of everything in case anything went missing. He gave her one last glare and then turned on his heel and marched outside. The tent flaps closed behind him, but before they did Avery glimpsed two guards standing at the entrance.
She was trapped. Anything might happen to her now. Her hands shook as she nervously moved around the large tent. On the back wall, painted in a vibrant red was the seal of the King of Varlyn, Granzen Thorne. It made sense, the vampire warriors who had descended on her camp were no amateurs. They were well-trained warriors, sent by the King.
She stared up at the seal, the image of a spike piercing a heart, blood dripping down the side. The Vampire King of Varlyn was the strongest leader and wealthiest Lord in all of the Severed Lands.
Avery traced a finger down her neck. She could feel her own pounding heart. That was what the vampire warrior wanted, no doubt. To drink from her, drain her. But most likely he wouldn’t kill her. The vampires weren’t stupid, if they killed every human they drank from they would quickly kill the entire populace and then starve themselves. It was against the law for a vampire in Varlyn to kill a human by draining their blood.
She heard movement at the door. Spinning around, she saw the vampire who had killed her father. He had just entered the tent. Without being told, she knelt down and lowered her eyes.
He said nothing. She watched his shiny boots as he trod over the carpet and past her. She glanced up at him and then quickly looked away. He was handsome, tall and muscular with a chiseled jaw, strong cheekbones and a pair of large, dark eyes. He was a commanding presence, one that made her feel meek and small merely from being near him. His hair was dark and cut short, his exposed arms were covered in tattoos, spiral designs that moved up and down his arms.
“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.