He should not be here.
Not yet, anyway. I needed more time to get my shit together, and right now, my shit was, in fact, very much not put together.
It was dusk, after all, the night giving them the clear advantage. Even he should have a challenge with that many vampires. Surely, he hadn't become so proficient at killing that he could take care of a score of vampires in their prime?
But this was Zaydon Fucking Icarus, and he loved balancing being a cold, ruthless protector and a huge pain in my ass.
I could distinctly feel the presence of his magic nearby, confirming that he was on his way back to find me, but my thoughts were a tangled mess. Not only did I need to straighten out my feelings toward Zaydon to steer them toward hatred, but I also had to figure out what I was going to do about the predicament I found myself in. I was, after all, suffering from blood loss, paralysed from the shoulders down for now, and grappling with a vampire bite that could result in me turning into one of those parasites. And that was just the short list of my current sorry state.
My muscles felt heavy and unresponsive, as if they were sinking into the ground. I could sense Zaydon eating up the distance between us with those damn long legs of his. The stinging at my neck pulled my thoughts away from Zaydon again. I had more pressing things to worry about than that demonic gecko, and yet I couldn't ever stop my mind from wandering to thoughts of him. Even when the situation deemed it stupid to think of him, I couldn't help myself. I should be focused on, say, I don't know, the possibility of dying and turning into the perfect vampire bride for a slimy, spineless, bloodsucking prince.
I nearly groaned. I was so insufferable, even just thinking to myself in my own damned head.
Honestly, I deserved whatever cocky, I-wanna-punch-your-face comment came out of Zaydon's kissable and infuriating lips.
What? Kissable? Hells Gods, was I trapped in some kind of hellish romance novel? What am I thinking?
I hate him - well, more like I have to hate him, damn it, and here I was, still thinking about him in this dire, life-or-death situation.
This damn situation had my head spinning, but I felt like that was more the blood loss than my actual thoughts.
Who fucking knows? I wasn't a healer, so what the hell did I know?
All I knew was that I had been far too careless when Prince Darrin and his score of vampire soldiers attacked us. Why couldn't I separate Zaydon from reality? I had allowed my guard to slip in the chaos, allowing myself to get swept up in thoughts of concern for his safety as we parted ways, and it had cost me dearly.
I should have just run when Zaydon told me to, but how could I? How could I run when he was clearly outnumbered, with those leeches surrounding him? His fight had taken him far away from me, his goal to lure them all away.
That plan had clearly backfired, and I probably made things worse.
It was obvious, though, that this was all premeditated and planned because Prince Darrin had waited for the perfect moment to strike. He had taken advantage of my momentary lapse in judgment, lurking in the shadows until Zaydon was far enough away. Then, with chilling precision, he attacked, sinking his fangs deep into the tender flesh of my exposed neck from behind.
I shivered at the recent memory of his sharp, pointed nails digging into the skin of my forehead, tearing it open and sending waves of stinging pain through me. He had held my head in a vice-like grip, tilting it to the side to ensure his venom had ample time to course through my veins. My skin prickled as if remembering the cold brush of his breath and the guttural grunts of satisfaction that escaped him as he consumed my blood with greedy gulps.
The memory continued to play in my mind, a mocking taunt of my failure to heed Zaydon's orders. Darrin had grinned wickedly when the paralysis from his venom began to take hold. I could almost feel the waves of satisfaction pouring over me. He had shifted his grip, securing a better hold on my limp body, then harshly tossed me down onto the unforgiving, jagged rubble beneath us, indifferent to my pain. Once he was certain I was too weak to resist, his grin turned into a wide, toothy smile. Sinister and twisted, it made him look every bit the cowardly monster I knew he was.
It was then he started tearing at my clothes, his intentions becoming horrifyingly clear. I refused to let the memory go any further, forcing myself to stop the thought in its tracks.
"Damn you, Prince Darrin," I muttered under my breath, my voice weak but laced with venom as I shoved the fresh memory to the back of my mind. I couldn't deal with it now.
Right now, I needed to focus on the most pressing issue: the bite he had given me. It wasn't just a deadly wound; it was a promise of transformation and ownership. If I turned into a vampire, I would belong to him. That couldn't happen! The thought clawed at my insides. It was a dark fate, and I couldn't think of a single way to escape it.
Prince Darrin had retreated the second he sensed Zaydon's approach. His escape wasn't just a retreat; it was proof he had no desire to face Zaydon in combat. That much was clear. The magic that bound Zaydon and me ensured such fights were often avoided. To me, his retreat was nothing but evidence of his unworthiness—unworthy to rule my kingdom and certainly unworthy to claim me as his eternal bride.
Yet, despite my overwhelming contempt for his cowardice, the harsh reality was undeniably unavoidable. Even if I somehow managed to cure myself before succumbing to vampirism, the damage had been done. He had left me tainted and in more ways than one. No worthy man would want me now.
As Zaydon's form came into my limited view through the cracks of the broken skeleton of the cottage, I felt my resolve crumbling. I hated the idea of Zaydon seeing me like this—weak, vulnerable, helpless. It wasn't just about dignity. It was about him. He had lost the right to see me like this a long time ago.
I tried to summon the strength to shield my vulnerability, but the venom coursing through me had reduced every attempt to a mere twitch of my fingers. The rest of my body remained paralysed, trapped under the cruel grip of Darrin's venom.
Desperate to avoid dwelling on Zaydon and the impending confrontation, I forced my thoughts back to Prince Darrin. Why had he attacked us in the first place? Perhaps the vampire prince had heard whispers of the Dragon's Bond—the spell that bound Zaydon and me together—and foolishly believed it made him vulnerable.
There was some truth to the notion. The bond had weaknesses. If Prince Darrin had done any meaningful research, though, he would have realised the only ones who could truly weaken Zaydon were the mage who cast the spell and, technically, me. The spell would hurt and cripple Zaydon only if he ever tried to kill me intentionally. That word, intentionally, was crucial. If I died by other means, the spell would break, leaving him free.
Perhaps that was Darrin's plan. Perhaps he thought the venom would do the work for him, killing me in the process of turning me into a vampire. If I died first, the spell would be broken, and Zaydon would be left unshackled, while Prince Darrin wouldn't have to lift a finger against him. A coward's move, as always. If I survived this, I'd kill him myself. I'd make sure of it.
My thoughts snapped to a halt as the world around me began to blur. My body's weakness screamed at me, reminding me that blood loss and venom was draining what little strength I had left. I tried to turn my head to gauge how far Zaydon was, but my vision wavered. The blood trickling from the gash on my head, courtesy of Darrin's sharp nails, distorted everything. Shadows swam in the edges of my sight, and the faint light filtering through the cracks in the shattered walls became a haze.
His imposing 6'8" frame loomed larger in my distorted view, the shadow of his presence growing ever closer as my strength ebbed away.
Move! I screamed at my body, begging it to make one final, desperate effort to shield me from his gaze. I couldn't let him see how truly vulnerable and scared I was at this moment. All he deserved was my coldness and rage.
But in the end, my body betrayed me. It refused to respond, leaving me crumpled and twisted amidst the debris, a helpless, shattered mess.
I felt as broken and reduced as the ruined cottage around me. Its shattered walls and jagged edges mirrored how I felt inside, a reflection of what the vampires had done. Surprisingly, their attack had been executed with chilling precision, a level of coordination my father wouldn't have believed them capable of. Vampires were impulsive and greedy by nature but not careful planners. This was different.
They had planted a bomb first, throwing us into chaos and leaving little time to react. Their intent had been unmistakable. The sheer number of them surrounding us made it clear they wanted to incapacitate us completely and take the upper hand. Luckily, neither of us had been inside the cottage when it went off.
But the fact that they had come fully prepared, armed with Dragon's Ire weapons, specifically designed to kill dragons, revealed a disturbing level of premeditation and malice. That alone confirmed my darkest suspicion:
We had been betrayed.
Zaydon and I were bound by the Dragon's Bond, a spell that made it impossible for us to keep our movements secret without careful planning. The furthest he could be from me was 500 meters before the spell enacted its cruel punishment for those who disobeyed its boundaries.
This bond, coupled with the details of our travel route and planned campsites, could only have been leaked by someone we trusted in the castle. The knowledge that every step we took had been compromised made this betrayal all the more painful. It had to be someone close to me, someone I cared about. Nothing new there, I guess. Everyone loved to screw over Princess Azalea.
Fuck, I really was beginning to feel sorry for myself now.
Whoever betrayed us had essentially delivered me into the hands of the vampires. I couldn't uncover their reasons right now, but by leaking our every move, the betrayer had ensured we'd be cornered and vulnerable. They had guaranteed the vampires would strike at maximum strength and with a perfect plan, and whoever it was had known just how formidable Zaydon was and understood that it would take more than a simple ambush to take him down.
We'd arrived at the cottage to prepare for a critical mission given to me by my father. The task involved discreetly entering the Kingdom of Rola to negotiate with Prince Samuel Roylan. As the rightful heir, Prince Samuel's position had been usurped by a tyrant who murdered his royal family and his wife, Seria Roylan. The negotiation was vital for restoring stability between our kingdoms. My father, unable to appear in such politically precarious circumstances, had entrusted me to represent our side.
Our kingdoms had a long-standing agreement, exchanging lytdust, a magical substance mined only in Rola and essential for illuminating our lands. In return, we provided rare, magic-absorbing metals critical for weaponry and military aid. Irisia's army relied heavily on Zaydon's expertise to guide these exchanges.
I clung to the details of this mission, desperate to focus on anything other than my current predicament. But, in typical Zaydon fashion, he crushed my attempts at distraction with the same ease he had crushed my heart years ago. The crunch of debris beneath his combat boots snapped my mind back to the present, leaving me with a bitter, anxious knot in my chest.
That anger was easier to deal with than the frustration and vulnerability I'd felt earlier when he was further away. Anger I could use. Anger I could redirect. I had been doing so every day since he'd broken my heart.
Each heavy step he took reverberated through the wreckage of the demolished cottage, amplifying my senses and making my heart pound painfully in my chest. The faint glimmer of light, barely managing to pierce the encroaching darkness, was swallowed by the shadow cast by his formidable presence.
His figure loomed over me, blocking the soft moonlight peeking through the shattered roof.
His shadow felt like an oppressive weight, pressing down on my already battered body. My anger flared, fueled by the sight of him, but panic bubbled beneath it, threatening to consume me. I stomped the panic down hard, focusing on the small, stubborn flame of my fury instead.
Then, silently and without even a hint of hesitation, he grasped my shoulders with his large, strong hands, lifting me against the remnants of the bedroom wall as if I weighed nothing. And I was no small woman. His touch was eerily smooth and mechanical, as though he were manoeuvring a lifeless puppet instead of a person in agony—or at least that's what I told myself. In reality, he was being sickeningly gentle and attentive.
I couldn't make out his features clearly through the haze of my blurred vision, but his image was indelibly etched into my mind. If I had any artistic talent, I could have recreated him blindfolded.
To most people, Zaydon exuded a menacing aura, almost as if he were a demon incarnate. But to me, he was strikingly handsome—maybe even dangerously so.
His medium-length blue-black hair, tousled and wild, framed his face, sharply contrasting with the taper fade on the sides and back. The unruly length on top made his appearance seem effortlessly commanding. His tanned skin and pointed, elf-like ears, adorned with multiple piercings, created a silhouette that stood out even against the surrounding darkness. His top lip was thin and bow-shaped, while the bottom was fuller, giving his expressions an intense, almost hypnotic quality. Even in his human form, the sharp upper and lower canines were always visible, a glimpse of the feral nature that simmered beneath his composed exterior.
In his demi-form, those canines extended further, adding a primal edge to his already imposing presence. But the most striking feature of his appearance was always his eyes. After the recent fight, my mind conjured the image of his demi-form, where his eyes had glistened a deep, glowing red, consuming everything around them. In his more human-like form, they were a deep forest green, cradled by a golden ring that framed his pupils.
With a leather-gloved hand, he tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His breath was warm, almost scalding against my face, and his irritated sigh cut through the silence like a blade.
His other hand withdrew a cloth from his pocket, and he used it to wipe the blood from my eyes, his gentleness a sharp contrast to the violence that radiated from his presence.
As my vision cleared, his eyes came into focus—unnaturally glowing, siren-like red eyes that seemed to burn hotter than a funeral pyre. Their ferocity was almost otherworldly, and I had only seen him like this a few times before. When his eyes burned this red, it was as if his Dragon self was in complete control.
Most knew nothing about the Varagons, Zaydon's dragon-shifter people, which might explain why Prince Darrin underestimated him. However, the fact that Zaydon was the reason no one dared invade the Naga lands should have been enough to terrify the vampire prince. Zaydon alone was proof of their power—a force that should never have been taken lightly.
I remember him telling me once when we were kids that a dragon soul lived within him, speaking in his head. Two souls, one body. One human, one beast. He hadn't shared much beyond that, but the fragments he had told me, I had kept locked away in my memory like the foolish, lovesick girl I used to be.
"Can you see better now, sweetheart?" His voice was a dark, seductive purr, the word sweetheart dripping with mockery instead of affection.
The pet name was a bitter twist of irony. I had seen him command the minds of weaker beings, his voice resonating with a power that could make lesser souls tremble. This wasn't a term of endearment. It was a calculated jab meant to enrage me—and the bastard knew it. That's exactly why he used it as often as he could.
I spat at his face in response. Not the most princess-like action, but who gave a shit? I was angry at him, at the world, and, if I was being honest, mostly at myself. But anger was better than everything else I was trying not to feel. And Zaydon was the perfect target for all that rage.
He chuckled darkly, amusement flickering in his glowing eyes as he let the spittle trickle down his cheek. Calmly, he dabbed at it with the blood-soaked handkerchief he'd just used on me. The cloth absorbed the mix of my blood and saliva, leaving a streak of crimson across his skin.
His movements were slow and deliberate as he shifted his grip from my chin to my throat, leaning closer until his face was only inches from mine.
Since the Dragon's Bond remained unresponsive, he likely didn't realise the full extent of my condition. He probably assumed the blood pooling on my head and neck, soaking into my shirt, was solely from the gash on my head. The bite mark and venom-induced paralysis were secrets I wasn't ready to give away. Not just yet.
Summoning every ounce of defiance I had left, I forced a weak, mocking smile onto my face.
One last fuck you to him, just in case this was the last thing I ever did.