The Former Vampire Queen
1093 Words
Ravenna.
Fortunately, I was not women.
I was Ravenna Selka.
Former queen.
Blood royal.
Financially distressed, perhaps, but still spiritually superior.
“I’ll make this simple,” I said. “Give me the princess alive, die with dignity, and I will tell Dorian you were less pathetic than advertised.”
Ashen’s jaw tightened.
“I’m not giving her to anyone.”
The princess’s fingers curled in his shirt.
Adorable.
Infuriating.
Solan coughed. “He is very attached.”
“I noticed.”
Ashen lowered the princess near a tree, careful even while facing me.
The motion exposed his right hand.
And the ring on it.
My entire body went still.
The ring was silver-white, old enough to hum across the clearing. Not flashy. Not jeweled beyond reason. Not gaudy enough for amateurs.
But old.
Royal.
Blood-bound.
Cursed, maybe.
No.
Not cursed.
Waiting.
A Frostveil ring.
My fingers twitched.
There it was.
The problem.
My refined hunger.
My little addiction, if one insisted on being insulting.
Some people looked at a dangerous royal relic and thought, How frightening.
I thought, Mine?
Ashen noticed my gaze.
His hand curled slightly.
Smart boy.
“Pretty ring,” I said.
His eyes narrowed.
“Do not touch it,” the princess warned.
Oh, I liked her.
Pretty and possessive.
“Relax, moon princess. I rarely touch cursed royal jewelry during first introductions.”
Solan arched a brow. “Rarely?”
“I am trying to grow.”
Then I attacked.
The fight was excellent for nearly a minute.
Solan was weaker than he wanted me to know. The princess was injured but angry, which made her more dangerous than expected. Ashen was annoyingly fast, especially for a wolf still learning what kind of monster he could become.
He did not fight like a prince.
He fought like someone who had learned survival in small rooms.
Efficient. Protective. No wasted movement.
Every time I moved toward Moon, he was there.
Every time Solan faltered, he shifted to cover him.
He was irritatingly aware of everyone.
That made him harder to kill.
It also made him, regrettably, interesting.
“You know,” I said after he avoided my claws for the third time, “I expected more kidnapping and less tragic competence.”
“I expected fewer comments.”
“Then we are both disappointed.”
I caught his arm and drew blood.
The scent hit me.
Cold.
Ancient.
Royal.
Not just wolf blood.
Frostveil blood.
The kind of blood that belonged in old contracts and sealed tombs. The kind of blood relics remembered. The kind of blood that made even a vampire queen’s hunger sit up and pay attention.
I froze half a second too long.
He shoved me back.
Rude.
Then something hissed from the trees.
A bloodsilver blade.
I smelled it before I saw it.
Marked.
Designed for vampire hearts.
Apparently another bounty hunter had decided I was competition.
Disrespectful.
I shadow-stepped.
The blade followed.
My eyes widened.
“Oh, that is new.”
I stepped again.
It followed again.
Someone had paid for expensive work.
The blade curved toward my chest.
Then Ashen moved.
The i***t saved me.
He grabbed my wrist and yanked me out of the blade’s path. Bloodsilver sliced across my palm instead of my heart.
Pain flashed.
I slammed into him with a hiss, one bloody hand catching his chest, the other gripping his right hand for balance.
My fingers closed over his ring.
Blood smeared across the Frostveil crest.
The relic woke.
Cold shot up my arm.
Then red.
I stopped breathing.
Which, for a vampire, was mostly symbolic but still dramatic.
The ring recognized my blood.
The ring recognized his.
And because he had saved my life while my blood touched a royal Frostveil seal, the ancient magic did what ancient magic always did.
It overreacted.
Something snapped between us.
Not a mate bond.
Do not insult me.
This was not warm or sacred or moon-blessed.
This was law.
Royal blood law.
A contract carved in frost and sealed in blood.
It wrapped around my wrist, sank into my veins, and pulled.
Toward him.
My body knew before my pride accepted it.
Loyalty.
Obedience.
Distance.
Command.
No.
Absolutely not.
I ripped my hand back.
Too late.
A red-frost mark curled around my wrist like a bracelet of thorns.
Ashen stared at his ring.
“What happened?”
I stared at him.
At his tragic eyes.
At his stupid heroic face.
At the ring I had absolutely known better than to touch and touched anyway because apparently centuries of life had taught me nothing.
“You saved me with a royal blood ring while I was bleeding,” I said, voice low, “you walking snow disaster.”
Solan looked between us. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” I snapped, lifting my marked wrist, “I am now blood-contracted to him.”
Moon’s eyes sharpened.
“How contracted?”
“Loyalty. Command obedience. Distance pull.” My teeth clenched. “And if the universe has chosen violence, mind-link.”
Ashen stiffened.
I felt it then.
A door in my mind that had not been there before.
Open.
Connected.
To him.
Horrifying.
So naturally, I used it.
Do not look so horrified. I am the victim here.
Ashen stared at me.
I stared back.
Then fury rose so hot I almost missed the cold pull of the contract humming beneath my skin.
“Oh,” I said softly. “I hate this already.”
I had been queen for nearly five centuries.
I had lost a throne and shrugged.
I had outlived husbands, wars, saints, and fashion eras that deserved extinction.
But this?
This was an insult.
A vampire queen blood-contracted to a werewolf prince who looked like he apologized to furniture after bumping into it.
Ashen opened his mouth.
“Don’t,” I warned.
“I did not mean to.”
“Worse.”
His brows drew together. “How is that worse?”
“Because now I have to be angry at destiny instead of you, and destiny is annoyingly difficult to bite.”
The contract pulsed.
His ring answered.
And somewhere deep in my blood, loyalty—horrible, unwanted, humiliating loyalty—turned its face toward him and waited for his command.
I looked at the Frostveil ring.
Then at the boy wearing it.
The bounty was suddenly much more complicated.
And my addiction to dangerous royal relics had finally done what my cousin, my debtors, and several assassins had failed to do.
It ruined my life.
Again.
- Writer
