Night Marked Sneak Peek

Ten minutes ago, my life at Tulane U had been nearly perfect.

But right now, ten minutes seemed like ten years.

One second, I'd been walking home from a late class and the next… I saw a strange man watching me from the sidewalk of a darkened art gallery. We were the only two people out in this weather, and despite my best intentions, our eyes met as I passed him.

There was something about him. Something wrong.

His face, dead white. His eyes glowed red.

How is that even possible?My brain stuttered while ice trickled down my spine.

My brain might be on slow-mo, but my feet were already moving as I took off down Royal Street. Sprinting for my apartment, the same never-ending litany looped in my head.

Am I fast enough? Is he faster? Keep going, Seraphina, stop freaking out.

I'd run from danger before, but never had it been this close. Never had I felt this threatened, like a mad dog staring down a shotgun barrel.

A quick glance, and he'd vanished from the sidewalk. I looked wildly around and caught a blur out of the corner of my eye.

No, check that, he's moving too.

My pounding footsteps echoed against the empty storefronts, closed up because this was the off-season, and there's no sense in staying open if the tourists are gone. His footsteps were nearly silent, but they're there. And he was closing on me.

I pushed myself harder, thighs burning. Being chased must be like a heart attack. You know what's happening, but you can't stop it.

You only hope you survive.

By now I was soaked, and water poured off my hair into my eyes, cutting off my vision. I veered left, slammed into the side of a parked car, then kept going.

A final burst of adrenaline rose, then fizzled, and my legs went weak and rubbery, instead of strong and reliable like I needed them to be.

Another panicked glance sent my heart pounding. I was too slow—he was right on my heels, but I was almost there. Home was less than a block away; I saw the lights of my apartment building through the trees.

Then he appeared right in front of me, blocking my way while my brain and my feet tripped over themselves.

How was that even possible?

I skidded to a stop, my tennis shoes sliding on the wet pavement, then fell face first, the skin on my palms tearing as my hands met the concrete. I rolled onto my back as his soft, mocking laughter echoed around me.

I hadn't imagined the red, glowing eyes, nor his death mask of a face. He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked me to my feet, handling me like he'd done this before, as if snatching girls off the streets was his job.

He re-firmed his grip on my hair, then spoke in a language I didn't recognize. I tried to break his hold, straining toward the safety of my apartment, but his grip was like iron, and my heavy backpack threw off my balance.

Mom taught me to use whatever tools I had as weapons.

I didn't know why he was attacking me, but I knew what I had to do. "Get off me," I warned. Using the backpack as a counterweight, I twisted my shoulders and spun into him, trying to loosen his grip. The impact caused him to stumble, but I still wasn't free.

If I didn't get away from him now, I never would. I jabbed my elbow into his chest, and my entire arm screamed. It was like hitting a steel wall—he must be wearing a Kevlar vest because no one was that solid. Again with the laughter, and fury replaced the fear.

I was exactly the right height to slam my knee deep into his groin.

Air exploded out of his mouth when my knee sunk in deep, his hand slipping from my hair, leaving just a few strands hanging from between his fingers, which were now clutching his balls.

I always thought I'd be the princess who saves herself. But then my attacker rose up, straightened his coat, as if I hadn't just ruptured his testicles.

"Stay away from me…" The warning died in my throat with a whimper.

He didn't hide his fangs when he snarled like some kind of animal. I didn't hesitate, sprinting away as fast as I could. But the lights of my apartment disappeared from view as he caught me around the waist, our combined momentum propelling us through the flimsy wooden fence into my backyard.

That apartment was my last view of the human world, just before he bashed my face into my very own sidewalk.

Today, there would be no heroes in my story.

Luthor

Hold it together, Luthor. This will all be over by morning.

I kept my gaze fixed on the cell door while I balanced on my good foot, drawing slow, agonizing breaths, my chest muscles protesting every one of them. Heavy chains hanging from the ceiling drew my arms above my head, my shoulders pulled so taut they were almost popping out of their sockets.

But I barely noticed the pain.

I was too focused on what's coming.

In fact, the entire dungeon held its breath—iron and rock, guard and prisoner alike—because down here, the King had many tortures. Some, you healed from. Some you didn't.

Right now—the worst was moments away.

I closed my eyes, sensing the rough edges of the stones beneath my feet, the clammy coolness seeping from the walls, the faint shiver of magic guarding this ancient dungeon, and the heavy scent of blood hanging in the air.

As if on cue, scuffling boots echoed through corridor outside my cell, underscored by faint sobbing. I twisted against my restraints, feeling the iron shackles cut through the brand-new flesh, still healing from today's punishment.

The crying grew louder, the guards' taunting crueler as they marched the prisoners straight past my cell. No one spared me a glance, and why should they? After this long, I was as much a fixture in these dungeons as the walls themselves.

I stayed quiet when the line of bedraggled girls passed by, innocent victims of Reaping Night.

They might deprive me of the moon; I hadn't seen a clock in a century, but there were other ways to mark time here in the dark.

From the coolness in the walls, I knew it was December.

This was the Winter Reaping.

I cursed the King's cruelty, the slaughter of innocents, condemning Viktor's soul to the darkest reaches of hell. Not it would save any of them.

The prisoners' eyes darted through the dungeons on their way past, a string of confused, frightened humans filing past my cell on the way to their own. I closed my ears to their begging, their pointless pleas for mercy, offers of obscene amounts of money in exchange for escape.

I didn't have the heart to tell them there was none.

Cursing, one guard limped past, kicked open the door to the compartment beside mine, and dumped a body on the floor with a curse. I sniffed the air and smelled bruising on the guard as he passed by. Had this girl fought back?

Good. I hoped she hurt him.

A second later, the prisoner's scent hit my nose.

Or should I say invaded my every sense?

Her blood was rich, so sweet my fangs punched out of my gums painfully fast.

Dear fucking God, just one small inhalation of her blood—because it was definitely a her—and I devolved into a shaking, starving monster, my craving so strong my good leg went out from beneath me, yanking my left shoulder from its socket.

I knew what I smelled, knew to my bones who was in the cell beside me.

Ever so slowly, I turned my suspended body until I faced the wall dividing us, staring through an open sliver between the blocks that had once been filled with mortar.

The female lay on her side, a disorganized mass of limbs where he'd dropped her. A sheaf of tangled black hair slipped over her face, but I didn't need to see it to know exactly who she was.

A queen.

I hadn't smelled a queen's blood in a century.

Agony mixed with ecstasy at her nearness, the realization that something I've wanted my entire life was so close I could almost touch it.

Her.

My Queen.

Rage burned inside me at what she'd endured. What she might yet endure, if I didn't do something.

Working my blood-coated wrists, I slipped my shackled hands free and dropped like a stone.

The second I hit the floor, I crawled to the wall. I dug my fingers into the open space, pulling out more of the mortar, widening the gap by another inch, until I had a full view of the female sprawled on the stained floor.

Pressing my face to the hole, I drew a deep breath. Then another.

Her scent was seductive, a heady mix of sweet-honey-jasmine underlaid with the scent of woodsmoke. I braced my good hand against my cell wall while I searched her prone form for any sign of life.

She was delicate, fragile almost, her creamy smooth skin glowing beneath the dim lights, one small hand thrown out, her long legs in a tangle. She smelled so good.

If she tasted anything like she smelled…

I pulled away, scrubbed my face, and then backed up against the wall. Then I was right back at the hole, where I couldn't take my eyes off her.

It was far too long before I saw her chest rise.

Hours passed before she moved, the smallest twitch of her fingers curling, her legs scissoring as she tried to push herself upright.

Fresh-blood scent bloomed in the air, and my hands clawed against the rock until my fingers bled.

Consumed by hunger, my only thought was getting through these stones to her.

If you enjoy steamy,fast paced reverse harem, check out Night Marked, book one in the completed Darkfell Vampire Clan series!

A virgin queen determined to choose her own fate.

Two warriors marked by darkness.

The traitor who betrayed them.

And the king who will kill them all to keep his throne.