Shadow Of The Vampire. Meagan Hatfield

cross between a chuckle and a grunt bubbled out of him.

      Gods, was he already losing his mind in this place?

      ALEXIA BRACED HER HANDS on the rocky shower wall and stood beneath a constant stream of water, relishing the warm spray sluicing down her scalp and back. Head down, she watched the water wash away the night’s blood and grime, wishing it could wash away the images of that dragon lord’s flesh splitting open under Lotharus’s whip. Of his golden body arched above her, his blue eyes, dark and smoldering, speaking volumes of what he wanted to do to her.

      She tilted her head to the side, wincing when the needles of water pricked her neck.

       His bite.

      She lifted a hand to her throat, flinching from pain and the memory it provoked. Why hadn’t it healed yet? She never went more than a few minutes without self-healing.

      Then again, she’d never been bitten before. Was this perhaps normal?

      The water automatically shut off when she moved toward the door. Pushing the beveled glass open, she took two granite steps to the main level. Stopping in front of the sink, she tucked her hair in a bun with a comb. After wrapping a towel around her, she pulled out one thin metal razor and laid it on the counter.

      A film of haze coated the mirror. Alexia lifted both hands, wiping the flat of her palms on the cool glass until the condensation was gone.

      The reflection staring back at her stopped her cold.

      Although she couldn’t stand to see, she couldn’t look away. The woman in the mirror looked desperate, sad and empty. Emotions she always felt, always carried on the inside, showed plain as day on her face.

      For a moment, she allowed the truth of those feelings to sweep over her, let them take her to a place where years ago she’d vowed not to go. Self-pity, sorrow, longing—they were all weak and selfishly indulgent emotions. Luxuries a future Queen could not afford to entertain. At the sound of her mother’s voice in her ears, Alexia allowed the wave of emotions to crest, the swell of anger to rise.

      Without taking her eyes off her reflection, she lifted the blade to the glass. She slid the razor across the reflection of her face, just below her eyes. Then she lowered her hand, slicing it across her mirrored neck. The hand holding the razor trembled. A small voice whispered through her, wishing she had the guts to do it for real.

      Alexia gasped and tossed the metal on the floor. Pinching her eyes tightly shut, she set her hands on the cool stone and hunched over the sink. A burning pit opened behind her stomach even though she tried to breathe it away. She covered the dull ache with her palm, acknowledging the cause.

      A shadowy space, always present inside of her, had grown over the years. The crawling darkness wound through her, digging its roots deeper, further into her soul. Although she knew it was wrong, she’d fed the shadow at first. Every act of torture, every soul she’d put in the ground, bred and nurtured it until now it threatened to swallow her, consume her. Worse, she’d begun to have the impression the reasons she’d been fighting all these years were not as black and white as they once had seemed.

      By the time she looked back in the mirror, the haze had cleared from the glass. Crisp and clear, her reflection stared back at her. Again she regarded herself, only this time she looked fine, composed, as if a mask covered her features, betraying the emotions truly bubbling up within. She did not look miserable, frightened or desperate, despite the fact she’d felt nothing but a blended cocktail of all these feelings since that night Lotharus…

      Alexia pushed off the counter, forcing the memories back. Striding to the closet, she pushed aside her leather combat gear with more force than necessary, selecting instead a powder-blue chiffon toga, befitting the presence of her mother. The fabric slid over her head, settling in no more than a whisper on her flesh. Smooth and light, the texture was shockingly airy, the antithesis of the confining gear she wore each day.

      At once, the air started to close around her. She felt naked. Exposed. She couldn’t seem to drag enough oxygen into her lungs. Hastily, she reached back into her closet, her hands burrowing beneath a neat stack of pants. Closing her hand over a short throwing knife, she secured the blade in a thigh holster beneath her gown. With each tightening of the strap, her hands, once unsteady, became more sure and confident. By the time she’d secured the latch and stood, the threadbare line she’d been grasping tightened and drew her to the surface.

      Exhaling, she moved to her bedside vanity and began methodically smoothing her hair. For some reason, the normal emptiness in the air smothered her tonight. Though the lack of men, females and children was always palpable, Alexia did not know anything different. She hadn’t seen but the occasional natural-born vampire in years. They dwelled in a different compound set farther within the cliff walls. A place she wasn’t allowed to go. Even her personal attendants were comprised of Lotharus’s soldiers, as it was his orders keeping her and her mother separate from the colony.

      Though he claimed it to be the best for their station, Alexia believed he did it as a way to keep them under his control, under his ever-watchful eye. Either way, it made her miserable. Again, something she assumed Lotharus intended.

      In truth, she was no different than the souls rotting in the dungeon. Granted, she wore no shackles and her cage was bigger, less filthy. But she was still a prisoner.

       Like him.

      Closing her eyes, she shut out the thought. Instead, she called to mind a more serene memory, one of the only ones she had. From back when her grandmother ruled. The long-ago, lilting sounds of laughter and children at play echoed in her mind. Images of her running barefoot through the compound flashed behind her eyes. She felt the beaming smile on her face. Saw her long hair trailing behind her like a kite. Another girl whose name she couldn’t recall chased along behind her. A friend, she thought with a wistful smile. How long had it been since she’d had one of those? How long had it been since she’d smiled like that?

      A knock sounded at the door, jerking Alexia out of her memory. Standing, she rounded the stool and crossed the chamber. Ivan, one of Lotharus’s most trusted men, opened the door before she reached it. His broad shoulders barely fit in the doorway.

      “The Queen’s been waiting for you.”

      Chapter Five

      DECLAN HEARD HEAVY footsteps progressing down the hall. The swaying of chain links rattled along the stones with each step.

       Closer.

      Each sound brought closer what he knew would be his death.

      Too spent from the crazy dreams and damnable collar, Declan closed his eyes. The animal in him immediately picked up what his eyes could not see. Cool night air with a hint of rain. He tipped back his chin, sniffing the sky. Filling his lungs with a deep breath, he shut out the drumbeat of the footsteps and focused on the sporadic yet heavy pattering of rain.

      His dragon spirit howled for freedom, roared to taste just one drop of fresh rain on his flesh, rolling down his back. Beneath his skin twitched the wings, begging for the sweet release of slicing night’s air with their instrumental precision.

      The rain picked up, tapping against the earth and stones like impatient fingertips. He cocked his head toward the tiny barred window. Fat droplets splashed on the cliffs and slapped against the ocean water, which churned louder with each howling wind gust.

      The cell door swung open. Two soldiers filed in, hauling him to his feet. Declan lifted a fist to fight back, confused when he could barely raise it to his chest. The collar weakened him more than he’d thought.

       And that dream…

      They slung their arms under his and proceeded out the cell door. The beast within whimpered when they tore him away from the window. The lack of air wounded him more than any amount of torture they could devise.

      The tips of his toes slid on the floor as they led him down the long, winding corridors. Declan tried to keep his head up so he