Shevamp - The Dark One
Rowan

“Marcus, I beg of you, please leave this be. We cannot place our hope on a foolish prophecy,” Alena implored, angered by his distracted concentration on the matter at hand.

Unmoved by her desperation, having already chosen his course of action, he would keep to it.

He wasn’t intractable, just desperate.

A glance in her direction revealed that those enchanting eyes blazed with unease, her expression earnest.

The sight of her fangs peeking between those shell-pink lips betrayed her anxiety.

Did she even realize her fears and insecurities caused her fierce opposition to asking the one person she never thought she would meet or summon to their door for help?

The contrast of dark hair against porcelain skin, her pure, perfect features, and her eyes shining vampire blue cut quite a breathtaking picture.

The strong, compelling power of her ancestry was both intriguing and undeniable, and he might even have admired her sheer enchantment if he were less used to her presence and set on his task.

Distance from the situation afforded him the luxury of emotional detachment and clarity, which, for once, Alena lacked.

Who could blame her?

The circumstances hit home for her in ways he could only imagine, and although he wasn’t beyond sympathy, their survival trumped her sensitivities. This time, he could not afford to cater to her desire to avoid meeting the sister she only knew from the quiet hush of castle gossip. Pity stirred in his heart, not that he would allow it to show.

Did she blame Rowan for their father’s mistakes? Undeniably. She condemned Ilse, Rowan’s dead mother, for stealing their father from Carla. The tragic loss of her mother made her despise both mother and daughter for their part in it, but he judged neither woman. In his estimation, Victor caused all this heartache.

“It’s too late, Alena,” he sighed, coming upright from having spent the last couple of hours reading and rereading the prophecy. Stiffness in his back and tension in his shoulders as he stretched.

Attempts to understand it proved as fruitless as trying to avoid drawing Rowan into this, especially with some conflict between the sisters being inevitable.

The assumption that Rowan may have suffered for her inadvertent parentage wasn’t unreasonable, and he couldn’t imagine her being too happy with being summoned like a common serf.

A frown tugged at Alena’s brow as she considered the dark blond, ruthlessly handsome man.

The sculpted lines of his face carried both strength and maturity. Yet not being turned into a vampire when he was younger, lent character to his features, adding to his attraction.

None of the ever-youthful, pretty-boy looks most pure-born vampire males retained for centuries remained in this decisive man of tough disposition, and he never acted out of cruelty.

Arrogance, superiority, and disdain were absent from his character.

Nor had the reserved distance marking all pure-blood royalty been instilled in this experienced leader by his bloodlines, affording him a unique view of the world.

Despite this knowledge, hatred and resentment toward her father filled her soul for his choice of Marcus over her and the authority it granted this man over her life. Yet she saw the wisdom in it.

Although she had wanted to avoid this confrontation with the undeniable fact of Rowan’s existence, his insistence left her without choice.

His authority to command her gave him the right to punish her if she disobeyed.

Only as he cocked his head to listen did her sensitive ears pick up on the clatter of hooves on cobblestone. Her fears had diverted her attention away from her surroundings, something he would never do, and her mouth set into a firm line.

The fire snapped in the hearth, the light subtly flickered, and a shiver ran up her spine. Victor didn’t spend her entire life training her in his ways for her emotions to rule her senses. She glanced at the tall walls and ignored the shadowy corners usually lit by many candles, but they were alone, and there was no point in wasting resources.

Three sets of hoofbeats echoed through the night, making it hard to pick up on two human heartbeats, and she almost missed the slow thump of another.

The furrow of her brow turned to a scowl. They expected only one guest, and her gut clenched at the idea that this might be an ambush.

Should Marcus not have trusted Rowan? The dhampir wasn’t like them. Would she use her people to attack them while they were vulnerable, with only a few vampires guarding the palace? Fury raged to the surface at the possibility, but Alena fought it down, having no basis for her suspicions. Assumptions waste time. It was Victor’s favorite saying and true.

“She just arrived.” Subtle regret laced his words, and she nodded at him.

The choice was made, but she secretly wished this meeting wouldn’t deliver results. Was it wrong to hope the dhampir’s resentment and hatred would prevent her from listening to them? Perhaps she would leave, and they would replace another way to save their people.

Any other master vampire would characterize Marcus’s choice as desperation and proof of his inferiority as a made creature.

They would die rather than accept help from something they viewed as lesser than themselves. Rowan’s birth marked her as an abomination they would have killed before she gave her first cry, but Victor allowed her to live.

Marcus strode toward the massive wooden doors bound in heavy steel to withstand a concentrated assault, and she followed at his heels. They swung open with ease once he removed the beam.

The cool night air touched her skin as Alena fought her unwillingness and the burning curiosity she couldn’t deny.

Even though Rowan was living proof of her father’s betrayal of her mother with a human, she suppressed her anger.

As much as she didn’t want to see this child of her father’s folly, she also needed to meet her. A stranger to such inner conflict, it brought out unfamiliar character traits she believed she didn’t own. She was grateful Marcus was the leader, and she didn’t have to make this decision.

The memory of how Victor’s choice of a lover had undermined her mother and slowly turned the vibrant woman into a paranoid, angry shadow of herself, ate at her.

Disillusionment and the growing hatred toward her husband had created an unbreachable distance between mother and daughter that scarred Alena.

Unaware that Ilse had died a year earlier, Carla committed suicide, and her last act of spite in this world was to make it look like Victor murdered her to be with his human.

The poisoned knife she used to pierce her heart may have come from Victor’s study, but it belonged to Alena, something her mother didn’t realize.

The letter Carla had left with her solicitor “in case she should come to an untimely end” didn’t implicate Victor as much as reveal the extent of Carla’s growing madness.

With a growing sense of unease, Alena fought the ache in her heart and focused on their situation.

(Version 4. Wherever you see this, it means I’ve recently edited this chapter.)

I am turning this book into a series of 6 books, but this version will remain as is until the series has been completely finished so those who want to read it in its current format can.