Beast of the Damned #2

*Chapter Six*

~ KINLEY ~

Staring into an endless abyss of black, the darkness of Tristan's soul pulls me deeper into his world of war and mayhem. The phantom tang of copper fills my mouth like each soul he claims dwells within him.

A wobbly exhale escapes me when a stream of fresh glistening scarlet drips off Tristan's mouth. He looks more demon than vampire as he stares me down after unveiling me from my hiding spot behind the curtain. Three hours ago, Tristan refused my blood. Now, he looks ready to take every drop I have to offer. Or, maybe, I should say he looks ready to spatter the crimson that flows through me across every surface of this room after he plunges his sword into me.

Tristan's right foot comes off the ground, the temperature around us plummeting 20 degrees.

I squeeze my eyes shut and clutch the book tighter to my chest, bracing for the gruesome demise foretold in Tristan's blacked-out eyes and lengthened fangs. If a vampire from the warrior bloodline could ever defy the Dark Prince, the Beast of the Damned would have to be the one.

Tristan has royal blood flowing through his veins that house the power he stole from the Dark Prince's first mate, Rakasha. She is the mother of the Vondarrie bloodline and the original female vampire made by Satan, the Mother of the Underworld. Somewhere in here, there is a secret passageway that leads to a cellar where Queen Rakasha sits encased in a prison of stone. I stumbled upon her when I was younger and Zaidan and I were playing hide-and-seek. There was something else down in that cellar too. Something that, after all these years, feels more like a bad dream I can't remember.

None of that matters anymore. I'm about to be slain by the son of Rakasha who possesses all her power.

A gust of arctic air rushes me.

Silence.

For a fleeting moment, I wonder if the reason I don't feel pain is because my head has been detached as swiftly as the guard Tristan decapitated earlier.

The temperature of the room rises, the heat of the crackling fireplace in the room overtaking the cold of Tristan's presence.

I peek through my lashes, opening my eyes all the way when Tristan is no longer in front of me. The door to the library is cracked open, a sliver of torchlight visible from the hallway.

The tension caged in my chest releases, my shoulders going slack with Tristan's disappearance. I set the ancient book down with depictions of wars before my time, grabbing the edge of the solid oak library table nearby for support. My reason for being here and tricking the guards falls to the wayside when I spot a body on the floor.

Before I can stop them, my feet move toward the bundle of crumbled fabric and flesh tones. I still in front of a human whose collar indicates she's a house slave charged with cleaning duties. The servant lies face down while ruby red pools underneath her. Bending down, I touch the silken scarlet next to her lifeless body, unable to tell where the blood is seeping out from. The drape I hid behind was too thick for me to see anything, yet this servant's neck appears intact and free from bite marks. So where is she bleeding from?

A gasp floods out of me when I roll the human onto her back to investigate the cause of her death. Her ribs are cracked open, the organ that grants her life missing. I knew some vampires dine on human hearts, but I've never seen it before.

Delicately, I touch the hole in her chest, her flesh still warm. Fascination causes me to bring my fingertips to my mouth. I smear the servant's blood on my bottom lip, unable to bring myself to taste it.

My heart aches with a sadness for the loss of this human's life, yet this is the world we live in. Everything revolves around a balance. The cycle of life composed in the most simplistic of ways. We live. We die. You're the hunted or the hunter.