Two star crossed lovers.
Nations divided by blood and power.
A war to end all others.
She is heir to the brutal Darkling kingdom and daughter to the most vicious king ever known, Vlad the impaler.
He's the Demon prince ru...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I can feel it.
I feel the heat of the sparks, running up and down my body, setting every nerve ablaze. It isn't a horrifying feeling, I realize. In fact, I feel... alive. Alit. Awake. Like I've been living my whole life blind and now I've opened my eyes. Something moves beneath my skin and I look at my hands, my arms, marveling at the lightning as it glides over me. Cloth burns, charred black by the heat, but my skin doesn't change. The current of light — electricity— torches the thick and heavy iron-colored coat, but it does not do so to my flesh.
It all seems wrong.
I try to push myself up, to get to my feet, but pain shatters from beneath me and I fall again, tumbling over myself. The winged shifter who had crashed into me was long gone, definitely leaving me bruised and weak in the muscles, but still in one piece. I small cornel of gratitude for managing to land in a pile of snow not covered by jagged glass.
All around me, murmurs and gasps echo through the winter field. I can feel all eyes on me, the burned Darkling heir, and above me to the Dæmon male, The Flame of Helsen. He stares down at me, his eyes wide.
He looks lost, confused—and scared.
Of me.
Somehow, he is scared of me.
Words linger at his lips, as if about to be spoken, yet his mouth remains open in shock. I'm sure I look the same as I peer around, wondering what has just happened.
But The Flame of Helsen halts. And his whole demeanor changes.
The sudden uneasiness in his eyes moves me to look behind, to where his attention has been hinged. And I see what has caused the ripple of power in the air.
The Alpha King of the North glides up the aisle with preternatural grace, sliding through the bodies and stepping over the fallen; his stride too quiet.
Fenryl doesn't deign to look my way as he passes.
He stops, that fur-lined, cobalt cape of his cascading behind him like molten liquid over the white veil of snow. His eyes, orbs of angry seas, don't leave the enemy atop the podium. Embers flicker at the Dæmon's finger tips, and I half expect flames to burst out right then and there.
The Alpha King's voice is sharp as a razor, full of menace as he regards the enemy. Any second now, these two titans will collide.
So, before the king can speak again, I coil onto my feet and bolt, pushing past the stunned spectators.
A blaze of fire erupts from behind me, curling through the air like a flaming snake. It roars overhead, illuminating the dimmed terrace. Flickering shadows paint the colorless bushes and pines and the upturned faces, transforming the Gardens into a nightmare of red and death. A female screams nearby, bent over the body of a ginger-furred Bear. The spry, old ursine alpha, Driskell Louden, wrestles her off the corpse, pulling her away from the chaos. The dead shifter's eyes stare glassily up at the shattered ceiling.
