He tasted like warm magic, sparkling moonlight, and blood frosting. I wonder if that's what he really tastes like. I wonder if his kisses taste like his blood.
I press my fingers to the brim of my nose. What is wrong with me? I'm seriously losing my damn mind if I'm dreaming about kissing Rhyland. I shouldn't feel that way toward him, not when he's treated me like shit for years.
Get a grip over yourself, Raven.
What happens if Rhyland finds out what you're thinking about? What if his voice was in your head last night?
I lie in bed until I've cleared my mind of warm, sparkling, frosting tasting kisses. Although, if I'm truly being honest with myself, I can still taste him on my lips when I climb out of bed.
I do my best to ignore my own stupidity and throw open the curtains, letting the fading sunlight cascade into my room. Then I turn around, assessing the room that is now my chambers.
A black rose trimmed dresser and armoire matches the massive four-poster bed I slept in last night. The purple velvet blanket that covers the bed contrasts well with the charcoal black walls and glittery ceiling. Black and white tiles checkerboard the floor, and thorny, metal vines and glistening lavender diamonds form a chandelier that filters shimmering light across the fireplace and a few sets of chairs. To my right, a massive bookshelf stretches across the wall and merges with a doorway that opens into the biggest closet I've ever laid eyes on.
"This room is seriously badass," I say to myself. Then I quickly realize the badass room holds none of my belongings.
Sighing, I dig my phone out of my pocket to text my mom.
Me: Have you by chance left the house yet?
Mom: Nope. Just getting ready to, though. Why? What do you need?
Me: Can you bring some of my stuff?
Mom: Was already planning on it.
Me: You're the best mom ever.
Mom: I'm glad you think so.
I smile and head toward a closed door near the closet, wondering if it's the bathroom. As I'm passing by the armoire, I notice a metal stand perched on top, made for hanging up pieces of jewelry. Like chokers.
I don't know why I do it. Sheer curiosity, perhaps? Or sheer insanity. Whatever the reason, I send my mom another text.
Me: Can you bring my jewelry box from off the dresser?
Mom: Sure.
I'm not sure what I expect to find. I haven't even looked in the jewelry box for ages since I'm not much of a jewelry girl. But a tiny part of me is curious if I'll find that choker Rhyland gave me in my dreams. A crazy part of me, of course, but a part I'm going to tolerate the insanity for now. I can't shake the feeling that the dream was so much more than just a dream. So much realer.
I just wish I knew why.
13
By the time I'm done washing my face, a dull tingling sensation has formed on my neck. I use the mirror to get a good look at the skin and wince.
Rhyland warned me that if I didn't drink his blood straight from the vein that the burns would return quicker. I just didn't expect them to reappear so quickly. Not only that, but last night, when I'd first been burned, I didn't check out the full damage. Now, in the light, I can see how grotesque the injury is, my skin flaking and singed like embers at the bottom of a fire pit.
"I look like I'm turning into a dragon." I crinkle my nose as I lightly sketch my fingertip across the charred wound. When a chunk flakes off, I nearly throw up. "And, on that note, I think it's time to go drink some blood." I exit the bathroom and cross the room to leave, but the door swings open before I ever reach it.
No one walks in, though.
"I told you to knock first." Kingsley's voice drifts through the doorway.
"And I told you I don't need your assistance, yet here you are," a light, male voice quips.
"I'm here for her. Not you," Kingsley says. "You may be part of the royal circle, but I still don't trust you. I don't trust anyone except for my brother and the queen."
"Well, that seems like a sad way to live," the voice replies. "Kind of depressing, actually."
"It's the only way I can live without risking the king and queen's lives," Kingsley states in a low tone that carries a silent threat. "I'll do anything to make sure they stay alive, even if it means following around annoying assistants to the queen."
"Assistant?" I accidentally say aloud.
A blood drop of silence trickles by, and then Kingsley and a male vampire I've never seen before appear in the doorway. He looks around his mid-twenties, although it's sometimes hard to tell with vampires, and has black hair shaved shorter on the sides and longer on the top, the tips of the strands glinting silver. His outfit screams stylish; black jeans tucked into clunky boots, a black shirt, and a silver tie, topped off with a vest laced with chains. His startling icy-blue eyes are framed with kohl eyeliner and thick lashes, and his lips are stained blue.