Page 27 of The Crimson Princess
Now I think he’s joking. Maybe. Do kings joke? My father certainly does not.
“When I thought you might be under attack,” he adds “I wanted to be, but it seems that isn’t the case. And your father knows.”
All news to me, but as for the frostburns, he’s right.
Time stretches and they continue to rest in a submissive position that cannot be denied, and I sense no hostility in them, not toward me nor Toren.
“You can relax, princess,” Toren urges, and as if determined to prove his point, he rotates to face me, and I can feel the calmness of his magic. “They mean us no harm.”
They’re killers who mean us no harm, I think and I’m still not understanding what is happening, why they aren’t attacking us. Is it my magic? And if it is,whatis the magic? No. No, this can’t be magic, but rather my reputation as a frostburn killer.Magic knows magic,I think, and killers know killers. I’m the princess who bleeds poison. He’s the vampire king who bleedsthem.
I dare follow Toren’s lead, sheathing my blade, before turning his direction, and basking in the full alpha glory of the vampire king’s presence; the moonlight caressing his perfectly carved features. He radiates masculinity, power and control, carved into his very essence by time and experience. He’s dressed much like me to fade into the night, his clothing all black, from his pants to his boots, every inch of him etched from hard muscle. He is dangerous and I tell myself I should fear his abrupt appearance. I am, after all, alone with the vampire king in the deserted forest. But there is no apprehension in me at such knowledge. I am without reason and fear.
My chin lifts his direction. “Why are you here?”
“The forest is alive.”
“In other words, you came to eat,” I observe and it’s not a question. He might notneedblood to survive, but he still craves its metallic lure.
“Depends on what the menu has to offer.” He motions to the frostburns, and there’s a tilt to the corners of his mouth as he adds, “Apparently, they don’t think it includes you.”
It’s near legend that blood and sex are one with vampires, and the purr to his voice says that is exactly the things that are on his mind.
“Are you suggesting I should be?”
“That, my beautiful princess, would be a pleasure I would never be so bold to take without asking.” The implication being he wants to take, but it’s his turn to lift his chin, his attention on the frostburns. “Is your ability to seduce them old or new magic?”
“I’m not sure it’s magic at all,” I dare admit. “One of them attacked me years ago and one drop of my blood delivered a brutal death. I think they remember me.”
“You’re poison to the frostburns.Interesting.”
“Perhaps I’m poison to you, too, vampire king.”
“I’m willing to take my chances.” His tone is pure seduction and unbidden, considering the frostburns, and who he is, fire licks at my body as ifhelicksmy body.
“That’s a dangerous proposition.”
“Worth it,” he assures me, and I am acutely aware of being alone in a wide expanse of the forest, not another gale, or vampire for that matter, for miles. He’s a king. I am but a princess whose powers cannot compare to his. Instead, I’m wrapped in the blanket of seduction his words, and the heat in his eyes, suggest.
“I can almost taste how sweet you would be right now,” he adds, his voice sandpaper and silk in the same moment.
“Until death comes,” I dare.
His lips, that I dare envision on mine, curve ever so slightly as he rather nonchalantly says, “I’ve tasted gale,” though this is not a shocking revelation. We were at war with the vampires long before my time. “And I’m still here,” he adds.
“Gale blood is not my blood. It’s royal blood that’s poison to the frostburns.”
“I amend my statement. I’ve tastedroyal galeblood.”
The stunning admission stabs at me, sharp and brutal, and my anger is fire between us.
“My mother?!” I demand, and I swear the wind lifts around us, as if it’s responding to my magic, to my mood, though such a connection with nature is nothing I know as familiar.
The frostburns react as well. They bristle, low growls escaping several of the beasts, and I whip around to face them. Several angle toward Toren, butts in the air, ready to pounce.
“Still think they’re afraid of your blood, not your magic?” Toren asks, his tone casual, unaffected by the volatility of me or them, but he’s also right. They’re responding to whatever has changed in me. Either I really can control them in some way or they simply fear what they sense in me.
Either way, I no longer fear their attack and I challenge Toren. “Maybe I should order them to attack you.”
