A King's Sight | ON HOLD

~Prologue~

*CRASH!*

The ghost of shattered glass reverberated across the room as Alaric slammed the Æsir Crown Priestess against the bedroom mirror. Her breath forcefully knocked from her lungs (unlike the silver blade still clutched in her fist).

"We're on the same side, Tara!" Alaric gritted through fury gleaming fangs. "Fighting each other will NOT stop the King!" A startled gasp piqued his ears as he gripped the witch by her tense neck. His predator nose smelled the mix of sweat and fear that seeped from her pores. Yet, the scent of surrender was not in her blood.

"It-s... the...on-ly... way... to... protect Er—zulie!" She forced from her blueing lips.

He growled at her blatant ignorance. "No it's NOT!" His grip tightened around her carotid—squeezing mercilessly in the hopes of her passing out. He had little desire to kill her, though, he knew she had every intention of staking his heart.

Her vision was blurring to darkened halos with strength quickly leaving her limbs.

She had but only seconds left to act.

"Ianuae Magicae..." She teleported behind him—plunging the silver blade into his left side.

A visceral roar thundered from Alaric's chest.

More mirror shards fell to the floor like the sharp pit formed inside the blind fang's stomach. This was a betrayal he couldn't see but most assuredly felt.

He fell to his knees enduring the tingling flames. His severed muscles contracting around the piercing silver—feeling the excruciating, fiery wrath that seared his magpiric core.

Crimson fury now filled Alaric's azure eyes.

He almost ignored the burning fire that quickly turned into cold, shooting pain. His breath and very skin shook from the radiating throb of treachery.

A morbid smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

The witch's poor aim was her mistake.

"Valeo!" He loudly rasped, flicking his wrist in a repelling motion. A bright blast of forceful magic sent the Crown Priestess thudding unconscious the other side of the room. Her blade still left impaled in Alaric's gut.

He mustered to his feet, gripping the hilt of the hunter's knife. Him heaving a dread-filled breath before another sharp roar gravelled through his clenched teeth as the point was yanked out.

A metallic ping vibrated the air upon the weapon hitting the floor. Alaric hissed, firmly clutching the gaping wound; his fingers wet with the bitter blood that oozed from the blade's exit.

He turned his head feeling a new tension in the air. His unsighted senses locked onto the witch's change in vitals as she regained consciousness.

Slowly, he began stalking towards her with calculated steps, while his ears perked to a sound not in the room.

"HEY! What's going on in there?!" A voice abruptly yelled from the hallway outside. Their concerns being completely ignored as Alaric continued his unwavering path.

The witch's eyes locked on the crimson irised beast approaching, his nostrils angrily flared with fangs just barely peeking beneath a stiff upper lip. In this moment he was more vampire than witch.

Such a sight disgusted her.

"You may share Æsir blood but you do not share our mission." She declared, pulling herself to a sitting position.

The magpire stopped in front of her, his face stoic. "And what mission is that? Dying? No. I suppose I do not."

*BAM! BAM! BAM!*