Reign of Blood

Chapter Three

"Hmm," The Queen of the witches hummed, staring down at the body in contemplation. "Prince Chronos." Once again, she tasted the name on her tongue. "Prince Chronos. I like it."

She heard the rustle of leaves behind her. A vampire was approaching.

"What do you think of him?" She asked, lifting her brows.

The vampire frowned, following her gaze.

Amid the dirt and fallen leaves, the Prince of the werewolves laid still, his eyes closed. Right now, he was probably going through unimaginable pain. For the moment, that was unimportant. Annaliese didn't care what he was feeling. She didn't need him to feel things. She needed him to sit tight and serve a purpose.

He was built and muscular like most male werewolves, with short, curly, muddy blonde hair and a shadow of stubble across his jaw.

Not ugly, she noted. Surprisingly, he was quite attractive. Nothing Annaliese would lift tail for—since she didn't do that kind of thing anymore—but truly not too hard on the eyes. It was odd. Whenever she thought of werewolves, all she saw were mangy mutts running naked in a forest. Rabies, too.

If his attire was anything to go by, he was one of the less friendly werewolves. Especially for a royal. For a royal, he dressed modestly. With black jeans and a plain black shirt, he didn't look much like a royal.

"What did you do to him?" The vampire asked.

With the casualness of someone talking about their dinner, Annaliese said, "Nothing much. The blood's all gathered at his brain. Probably too much for his veins to handle at once. Some could've very well exploded. But he'll heal. The dogs always do." The vampire ducked down beside him, tugging one of the wolf's eyelids open.

Annaliese had done her work on him alright. The whites of his eyes had bled to red.

"He won't be waking up for a while," She said with an evil smirk. "Fitting, isn't it? The dog's taking a catnap."

Annaliese had been fighting the werewolves all her life. She'd been born and raised into a war. The same war she now led as Queen.

In all her life, she'd never had the opportunity to do the same damage she did now.

She'd never struck out on a royal. But she hadn't started this. She was calling this 'scheme retaliation'.

With a royal werewolf at her feet, she had the power of a bloodline in her hands. After Lorcan himself, this wolf was the sole heir to the throne.

It would be such a pity if something were to happen to him. Take, for example, his blood turning to acid. Or perhaps his head somehow detaching itself from his body.

His life in her hands? Annaliese could get high on the feeling.

"If he's anything like his brother, he'll put up a decent fight when he wakes," The vampire said.

Annaliese cast him a stark look.

Azrael was her favourite vampire. Perhaps the only vampire she tolerated. Tolerated was pushing it. Azrael was the only vampire she didn't constantly long to kill. Unlike the others, he knew how to keep a lid on it. For now, his kind were under her rule.

It made the whole expo part of dangerous day-trips a million times easier. See, certain vampires had this nifty, genetic ability to teleport. Fortunately, Azrael was one of them. The skill was draining, sure, but terribly useful. Which was why he'd accompanied her here today.

"He won't be here when he wakes," She said with that same malicious smirk. A repeat from a week ago wasn't going to happen.

Just one week ago, Annaliese had dispatched a gang of fifteen competent (or so she'd mistakenly assumed) vampires to go and retrieve something that was missing—or, rather, who. She'd sent ones that were well versed in fighting. In the end, only two had come back alive- Azrael being one of them. They'd failed.