Page 1 of A Throne of Blood & Vengeance

Chapter One

Alaric

I was always in control.Every word I spoke. Every move I made. Controlled.

Even when I allowed my bloodlust to come out and play, I did it carefully and in situations where I’d mitigated the risks.

Most Moroi viewed the tight control I kept over myself as a disadvantage. We lived in a world of predators, and our bloodlust was what gave us enough of an edge to survive. By letting it rise, we became just that much faster and stronger.

Of course, if we let it out too much, we might never be able to pull it back. Some Moroi were willing to risk that. I was not.

But as I looked around the meadow that I’d turned into a sea of blood, a cruel smile spread across my lips. I’d pit my controlled brand of violence against their bloodlust any day.

My eyes scanned the tall grass, looking for any other threats, but only the broken bodies of howlers—canine-like beasts—littered the ground. With nothing left to vent my rage on, the desolation I’d been feeling all week started to creep back in.

“Bit much, don’t you think?”Samara’s voice said dryly in the back of my mind. I could practically envision her toeing one of the corpses with a smirk on her face.“You could have just gotten me flowers.”

But Samara wasn’t here. She hadn’t been for almost two weeks, and we only had rumors to go on for where she was.

Hence the carnage.

Several shadows moved from a patch of the meadow where the grass had grown over six feet tall, the tips ending in seed pods.Looks like I missed a few.Exhilaration replaced the despair as three howlers crept closer.

The howlers didn’t make a sound. Even if I hadn’t known they were sick, that would have been a clue. Normally, the beasts were loud, letting out excited yips and howls as they closed in on their prey, but these ones—like the ones I’d already killed—were rabid and not acting normal.

I watched them draw closer, fighting the revulsion as I slowly slid my sword back into its sheath and drew the bow from my back. Howlers were always a little freaky looking, having only a passing resemblance to the canines I was familiar with—mostly the lycanthropes. There were a few Fae murals that depicted domesticated dogs that, apparently, they’d kept as pets once upon a time.

“Can you imagine?”Samara’s voice once again spoke to me. Maybe I was finally losing it.“Keeping cute little dogs as pets? Such luxury.”She’d have drawn out that last word in a way that would’ve made me instantly hard. I still didn’t know how she did it. Somehow, she could make any word sound obscene.

Gripping my bow with one hand, I pulled an arrow from the quiver.

The largest of the three split off, and I adjusted my stance as I aimed the tip of the arrow towards it. Two pairs of eyes, one stacked on top of the other, watched me from a long, narrow head. The madness that rotted their minds did the same to their flesh. Its sleek black coat was missing large patches of fur in places, and its ribs were starting to show. Howlers were built with speed in mind—a lean body that cinched and narrowed atthe hips sat on long legs. Once they got going, they could almost outrun a horse, their stamina definitely better.

Bits of rotting flesh hung from its teeth as its mouth gaped open. The other fun part about howlers was they could open their jaw almost to a perfect hundred eighty degrees. Their teeth curved backwards, and their favorite way of bringing down large prey was for several of them to latch onto it, slowing it down, while others in the pack did their best to trip the panicked prey. Once the prey was on the ground, the pack wouldn't bother to kill it, they’d just start feasting.

I couldn’t fall. Howlers might be low on the food chain, but it was still three against one. A little of my bloodlust rose, and I let some remain while pushing most of it back down. It wasn’t enough to actually do anything other than change my eye color, but I found it easier to control if I let a small amount linger.

It would’ve been smarter to let more of it come to the surface. I was bleeding from at least half a dozen wounds that I hadn’t healed yet. Plus, I’d need every inch of speed I could muster up for this fight.

But I couldn’t bring myself to trust the bloodlust that hummed in my soul, begging to be set free.

Samara was confident that I would never turn Strigoi, especially if I continued to drink from her regularly. But it’d been weeks since I’d sunk my fangs into her soft flesh and swallowed the sweet elixir that was her blood.

As much as I wanted to share her faith in me, I’d seen my cousin turn Strigoi. The funny boy I’d grown up with was gone, and all that had remained was a monster that’d tried to rip out my throat. And he wasn’t the only one in our family who had been lost.

I wouldn’t risk it.

Besides, I was looking forward to more physical pain. Anything was better than the sharp, bitter feeling of loss and failure that I felt every waking moment.

I focused on everything Samara had taught me about shooting. Exhale when you draw the string and keep that exhale slow and steady through the release.

The sound of the bow string snapping echoed across the meadow, followed by the thunk of it sinking into the neck of the large howler.

Damn it. Missed. I’d been aiming for its fucking eye, but instead, I’d hit the meaty part of it’s neck. So all I’d done was piss it off.

Samara wouldn’t have missed.

One of the smaller howler’s heads swung away from me and towards the larger one, its nostrils flaring at the scent of fresh blood. Usually, they weren’t cannibalistic, but when they were this far gone, they’d go after anything that was potentially food—even each other.

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