In the beginning...there were Vampire
Man’s fall from grace
sparked the birth of the Dark creatures from the underworld. To counter the
explicit threat to mankind, divinely-created immortals were brought forth. The
Witch encompassed seven Castes of power; their magic was most effective against
the nefarious agenda pursued by the evil ones.
She is Chosen
Kaitriana’s gift of
magic is unrivaled. A descendant of the most powerful Ancient in existence, her
birth was foretold ages before her time. Destined to lead the Witch faction,
she is betrayed by her own kind, destroying her birthright and all hope of
delivering the Realm from the sinister shadow of the Ancient Dark.
He is the Key
Lorcan is a mighty
warlord in the Vampire species. His animosity towards the magical immortals is
personal - his mother was their Queen. Having long since severed all ties with
his former kin, his existence remains plagued by the repercussions of her
treachery and a secret that threatens to be his downfall.
They are the Prophecy
An arcane prophecy from
the time of the Ancients proclaims that only two in all of creation can bring
peace to the Realm. When Kaitriana miraculously appears seeking his protection,
Lorcan must forsake his duty and disregard the dictates of his breed to shelter
the female. Together they must combat the Ancient Dark and surmount the forces
within their own factions that would oppose the Prophecy. Their fates have
always been entwined and only when joined can they triumph over a blood feud
that has shadowed the Light for millennia.
Excerpt:
Though the scene was being witnessed by
hundreds of warriors, at this moment none existed but the two before the gates.
Lorcan’s tone was icy, “What know you of my mother?”
“Apparently more truth than you….Lorcan.” Her
inability to locate Myrrdyn had caused her to seek the Vampire warrior; she
instinctively trusted him and she needed his protection. Kaitriana had not
intended to insult him nor broach the subject of his Witch mother, but the
pain, fatigue and hunger plaguing her now made her testy. She was not in the
mood to argue vampires and the falseness of their beliefs.
Anger rising, apparently she knew her enemy by
name while he had no inkling of her origin or purpose, Lorcan still managed to
check himself and he stepped no closer in response to her taunt. She had kept
her head down, the curtain of her hair continued to hide her face from him. His
ears and all those within the yards of the keep were keen enough to hear her
sharp intake of breath, accompanied by an ever so slight moan of pain. The
girl’s hands extended shakily from the skirts of her gown, still tightened in a
claw-like grip as though in reaction to immense suffering. Her fingertips
scraped over the snow, raising dirt as she hunched slightly forward.
He witnessed it at the same time a faint trace
reached his senses; a smattering of blood was on the bodice of her gown, much
more of it smeared over her arms. Anger abated slightly for the moment with the
realization that the creature was suffering. Lorcan released his hand from the
sword and in direct opposition to his cautionary nature he squatted closer to
her level. He scooped up a handful of the powdery snowfall, patiently sifting
it through his fingers. He provided her a minute, attempting to allow her to
regain some composure before he pressed, “You are injured?”
Her head remained lowered and Kaitriana eased
back as the wave of pain slowly subsided. She refolded her hands demurely in
her lap and followed with a short, rueful laugh. “I have been tending my
injuries for nearly half a millennium, Milord. At this moment I am in pain,
yes… but this blood is not mine, nor have I been injured during all the
bloodletting that has left me in such a state.”
Lorcan was appreciative of the response she
gave though her words were a bit odd. ‘Milord’…her language was dated. Damn, if
the creature would just push those curls back so that he could see her eyes and
ascertain her intentions. Lorcan did not lie to himself; he was curious and
cared to see if she was as pretty as he was imagining. How he could feel such
intrigue towards a supposed threat he could not gather, but there was something
about her that pulled at him on an instinctive level.
He could not garner a clear scent of her
either, which perplexed him further. She did not reek of any of the Witch Castes.
Her scent might be masked somewhat by the blood that marred her skin and gown,
but to be undetectable to one with his senses was odd indeed. In order to be
responsible for the death of the magnitude described by Jortha, the little
thing must be Ancient and of one of the stronger Castes.
Those delicate shoulders raised, just enough
to send snow cascading from them as he watched, “I am not an Ancient…nor nearly
so old as you...”
Lorcan stiffened; was she probing his
thoughts?
As if to confirm, Kaitriana slowly lifted her
head, raising her face to his view. The effort cost her. The splitting in her
head amplified immensely with the slight movement and her body felt as though
it were being torn apart on the inside. Her nails began shredding the fabric of
her skirts in earnest again as she attempted to control of the shrieks of agony
that wanted to escape her.
Lorcan took in the pain etched in her face,
the tears gathered at the corners of her eyes and the pallor of her skin. He
understood immediately her issue, noting the tips of tiny white fangs and the
marks they had had left on the bottom of her lower lip. Those observations
registered with him simultaneously through the impact of a shock that nearly
knocked him back physically. Lorcan’s gaze locked on her. Those eyes swimming
behind the pools of tears appeared as shards of ice. There was no sparkle
within them at this very moment but those eyes had haunted him for centuries.
He knew them well and only one in the Realm had ever possessed that amazing look.
Lorcan’s entire body weakened in a rush,
requiring all his brute strength to keep himself steadfast. The air expelled
rapidly from his lungs as he began counting; Lorcan realized he was crazed even
as he did it. Eighteen…eighteen little freckles smattered across the beauty’s
face. The creature at his feet was the very image of the beautiful witch that
had been burned to memory nearly five hundred years before when she had fled at
the Festival of the Moon. Kaitriana. Did he whisper it aloud?
Maybe he did, he thought a smile was taking
her lips before she gasped in pain again. The fang on the right side pierced
her lower lip as she arched back in agony. There was a rumbling among the men
behind him. They were aware too that she was near the end of transitioning. The
pain of the process that changed one into the Vampire form could cause a strong
warrior to beg for death. Blood traced from the corner of her mouth and this
time he could scent her. Lorcan reacted, his fangs extending sharply.
He closed the distance between them in less
than a blink. The streaks of light in the sky were nearly unceasing now and
Lorcan thought it may be connected somehow to the pain she suffered. Heedless
of the female’s current state, he knelt down in front of her; his hands tightened
around her arms and he gave her body a hard shake. He was uncaring when she
responded with a tortured cry. Lorcan was greatly tormented now too, the brief
feeling of relief and hope that had risen in him had been extinguished just as
quickly. The despair he had felt earlier this night increased tenfold as he
gazed down at the being.
Lorcan dragged her writhing form flush against
the metal plating on his chest, demanding through gritted teeth, “What
treachery is this? The witch is dead!” His mind was not making sense of her
appearance and fury ensued. Lorcan shook her again, harder, before tossing her
bodily ten feet from him to the snowy ground. A bolt of sizzling light flew
from the sky and pierced the ground but a few feet from him, accompanying her shriek
of pain. He was oblivious to the threat but his men began to shift uneasily as
Lorcan ground out “Answer me!”
She moved not from where she landed but only
drew her knees towards her chest. Kaitriana was panting through the pain, tears
freely flowing down her cheeks. She lifted those watery eyes to him, hearing
the crunch of his boots over snow as he approached, and extended a trembling
hand in his direction.
Was she attempting to ward him off or reach
for him? Having seen enough transitions to know that she was in the final
stages, he also knew that in such state, no matter how powerful, she would be
in no condition to fight him. He crouched on a single knee next to her, using
her extended hand to jerk her roughly to him. Supporting her torso on that bended
knee, he encased her upper body in the steel bands of his arms. Lorcan’s fangs
extended further, his eyes blackening with his rage. He leaned to put his face
in hers, his voice deadly cold, “Tell me, you deceitful bitch, why I do not
tear your throat wide and end you now?”
Her lids lowered slowly, she thought the pain
must have made her daft. The blackness of his eyes, induced by his Vampiric
traits when his emotions were heightened, was ringed in vivid blue. She
experienced a rush of cool breath from his mouth as his fangs touched the vein
of her neck in warning. She would not give him the pleasure of witnessing her
fear, just as she had not with those evil vampires of the Dark that fateful
night long ago. In the throes of her misery she was too beleaguered by it to
spend energy imagining her death at his hands. Death would be a welcome escape
from the relentless agony that had arrived so suddenly. Overwhelmed by it, she
had possessed barely the strength to take leave of the last of Rhydach’s manors
that she had destroyed.
In her quest for the death of a killer she had
destroyed any and all of Rhydach’s possessions and people that stood in her
way. She had found the other bastard responsible for her parents’ murder and
had exalted in his torment and the horror of his allies before she had ended
them all. The pain that had come upon her immediately afterwards was crippling;
although she had called desperately for Myrrdyn, he had not come to her rescue.
Her memories had pushed her here and God had answered her prayers. Lorcan was
in residence this night.
Another series of knifing pains shot through
her entire being and the moan of misery escaped despite her best efforts. In
response she rolled her body tighter against Lorcan, as if seeking comfort in
the fold of his arms, rather than away from the threat he currently presented.
Buried under that pain, in the recesses of her mind, she still had a tenuous
grip on the deep-rooted belief that he would protect her. Her action exposed
the slim column of her neck to him only more fully.
He found it odd that she offered no defense.
Was there no fight in her? To him her silence was an admission of guilt,
treachery. Lorcan tucked her up higher against him as he readied her neck for
his bite; he wanted her tormented and he wanted her fear. Her blood stained
hands splayed across his chest, but she did not push, she did not resist. Damn
it, he wanted her to fight and he wanted to relish in the victory of her death.
Lorcan grazed his lips over her ear and paused there to whisper as she
shivered, “I will have you begging for my mercy.”
His mouth slipped downward and his fangs found
the top of her throat, under the jaw line. He pressed only hard enough to drag
sharp tips roughly down the entire length, leaving two thin trails of blood
glistening against her pale skin. This evil would cower to him. By all that was
Ancient, the creature would be begging for the end when he decided to deliver
it.
About the whole series and author:
http://vampysramblings.blogspot.com/2014/07/welcome-to-realm-inthe-beginning-there.html
http://vampysramblings.blogspot.com/2014/07/welcome-to-realm-inthe-beginning-there.html
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