PROLOGUE
The blade glistened under the light of the blood moon. The scarlet and silver glittering against the ceremonial weapon that had drained her Harvest sisters of life. She was held with the power of the Witches. Her people. The terror clenched her heart as she began to scream as the knife began to dig into her throat.
Her screams woke her, and she sat up in the small bed that had been provided for her in her prison. She took a deep breath, and let her bright eyes focus in the darkness of the church attic. Struggling to calm herself, feeling the pulse of the magic coursing through her.
" You have a lot of nightmares. I used too, before I was turned."
His voice was smooth, and it didn't take long for her eyes to find him in the relative darkness of her new room. She asked softly.
"What do you have to fear, Marcel?"
He smiled, his teeth gleaming white, his fangs carefully tucked away for the time being.
" We all have terror and regrets in our past, Davina Claire. Now sit up. You need to eat. "
Her nose wrinkled at the tray he set on her lap. Eating in bed wasn't her style, and after the nightmare, and the fact that it was nothing compared to the truth of the previous night had left her with little appetite.
He murmured after she ignored the food and was silent for some time. "I have ways to force you to eat, Davina. I don't want to have too. " He leaned closer, his eyes imploring her. "I did not save your life just to watch you waste away before me."
She escaped his gaze by peering down to the white china, and the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, on white bread, and a stack of potato chips, Pringles by the design. She frowned and finally brought herself to raise her eyes to his. "Why did you save me?"
He considered her question, leaning back in the chair he reclined in beside her bed. Murmuring after a moment. "I don't like to see kids hurt on my watch, and this is my city. New Orleans is everything I have built. I won't say anyone hurting children on my watch."
Her eyes narrowed, and rage roared in her soul. After all that she had faced, how dare he call her a kid? She threw the tray away from her lap with the use of the magic she had inherited by her survival. She watched the plastic tray and the white plate shatter against the wall. Her eyes flashing.
"I am not a child."
He rose, his eyes narrowing. "You're behaving like one. You will eat, and after we will have a chat. " He stalked to the door, pausing and studying her.
"We have much to discuss, Davina. They will be looking for you. I am your ally. Your friend. I will do what I can to keep you safe, but we need to have mutual respect for each other. I understand you've been through a lot. But don't forget that I am the King of New Orleans." His eyes glittered, and a smile played on his lips.
"Play your cards right, and you could grow into my Queen."
She blinked and watched the door close. She pushed herself up from the bed, surprised by the aches in her body. All of the stress of this, and the crying, all of the crying, appeared to be taking their toll.
She tried to open the door, and growled when she realized it was locked. Surely she could open it, but then what? Run down Bourbon street until she was once again taken by her people, and then slaughtered? No. She wouldn't do that.
This was a prison. One more frenzied attempt at opening the door proved that, and she moved to the window, pushing aside the gauzy cloth that served as curtains, and peering up to the night sky.
The stars were obscured by the city lights, and she frowned, struggling to identify constellations. She let her gaze lower to the street below, the drunken activities of college co-eds catching her attention.
She watched as a blonde girl, lowered herself in the alley before her fraternity boyfriend. And she watched as things she had heard her friends talk about happened before her, the pane of glass her television. Watching the debauchery, and unable to prevent herself from letting her mind wander back to Marcel's words.
Queen. The idea of all of that power sparked something within her abdomen, and the idea of the territory that came with such an offer ignited something lower, between her thighs. A small shiver ran up her spine as she watched the vulgar and exciting display in the alley.
She let her hand slide down the front of the white gossamer nightgown she hadn't remembered changing into. Had Marcel been the one to undress her, and put her in these chaste pajamas? She had allowed that thought to propel her hand further as she pushed the nightgown aside at her thighs, and continuing her exploration.
For the first time since all of the insanity of the Harvest, she allowed herself to enjoy the explorations and pleasures of being a teenager, and enjoyed the discovery of youth. Her mind awash with a powerful vampire, and when she returned to sleep, exhausted and sated, she dreamed no more.