Page 2 of Queen of the Wicked
She is Queen of the Wicked, and she belongs to me.
One
Adelasia
It’s been all but three days since I’ve become…
Well, I’m not sure. No longer a human, but not quite a vampire.
My senses are sharper, but I do not burn in the sunlight. I have fangs and crave blood, but I cannot drink human blood. Getting used to my newfound strength has been a challenge, for I bend and warp and break almost everything I touch.
It gives me…a sense of sadness, to know that Kaius had to use such care when touching me before. He never once left a bruise on me. The restraint he must have shown is remarkable.
The only physical indications of any change in me are the tips of my fingers, which have turned a deep black color as if frostbitten. I can still function and feel with them, so my best assumption is that it was the first part of my human body to “die” before I forced my own resurrection.
But more than that…I can feel something inside me has shifted too, yet I can’t describe it, nor can I tell if that change is for better or worse.
It’s strange, living in what feels like a body that does not belong to me.
Perhaps this is what I truly am, and the difference I feel is the lack of Yekaterina’s soul intertwined with mine.
Perhaps this is what freedom feels like.
It’s dusk.
In the time since Saddiq’s passing, I have never broken my promise to him. I visit him every day. His shrine was once flourishing with flora and bright green fauna, but since my resurrection, it’s degraded into weeds and dead plants. All the work I put in vanished with my death, as if the foliage here knew of my demise.
And ever since that change, I can’t seem to make any of the flowers bloom again. The shrine sits lifeless–and I wonder if this is Saddiq punishing me for attempting to become one of the demons he spent his life hunting.
As if he needed another reason to hate me.
I sigh as I look up at the shrine, and just as the dusk turns into the night, I begin to dance in front of it. No shoes, no precision, no expectations. I simply let the gentle whoosh of a sudden wind carry my body into expressive shapes.
The wind grows louder and as I come out of a turn, I pause, looking at the space around me. The wind begins to beat in a rhythmic pattern.
Whoosh…whoosh…whoosh.Almost like a heartbeat.
Then, it stops, and I hear a set of footsteps behind me. I tense and turn quickly. In my hand, a sharp knife appears at the throat of the intruder.
I blink rapidly, confused as to how I did that without realizing I could, and then meet the peculiar gray irises of a tall, dark-haired man. Expanding behind him in a brilliant flash of white are massive, feathered wings.
Still cautious, the man notices my stance and holds his hands up in surrender.
“My apologies for scaring you,” he says softly. His voice is a sultry, smoky baritone–almost a purr.
I continue to stare at him as if in a trance. I’ve seen him before–his eyes are so painfully familiar to me…as if I’m staring at an old friend.
Suddenly, I realize it’s not the eyes themselves, but the color of them. Their owner is an aloof creature that I just now realize I haven’t seen in days.
I slightly lower my knife and furrow my brow. “Cassius?” I ask inquisitively.
“Not quite,” he answers. He gives me a smile that is devilish andoh-so-handsome.Something about the gesture brings an unconscious blush to my cheeks. My skin suddenly feels hot and I have the urge to rip off my gown.
I rub my neck, suddenly very uncomfortable.
What is happening to me? Why do I feel…
“Who are you?” I demand through the racing thoughts in my head. Thoughts of touching and being touched. Thoughts ofwhimpering and sighing. My back hits the cold outer wall of the broken Obsidian Palace and relief washes through me at the cold marble cooling my molten skin.
