Clearly, they had no idea who they were dealing with. Therese was a First, one of the Twelve, and stronger than anyone in this land. It didn’t matter that her wounds weren’t healing because she had the strength of thousands of years running through her veins.
That foolish witch Selene Du Pont thought she’d saved the world bythrowing the Firsts into the enchanted tombs, but she’d doomed them instead.
Therese’s victory was so close, she could feel it. She was no longer the weak, broken vampire that had crawled out of her tomb. She was well-fed, powerful, and prepared to fight for what was hers.
She was a daughter of Ithiar, and that was her right.
Several minutes passed before the ground trembled. The quake was little more than a tremor, but it was ominous and foreboding.
The air warmed inexplicably, and Therese tasted the bitter, dark tang of ancient magic on the back of her tongue. There was something familiar about it.
Her eyes widened as she realized the last time she tasted magic like that was the night she’d been locked up. She stiffened, pulling her fangs out of the struggling, moaning man who was still holding onto a thread of life, and dropped his body on the ground. She’d deal with him later, if he didn’t die from his injuries.
The magic grew stronger, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
Her lips twisted in a snarl, and her nostrils flared as her gaze swung to the place where the darkness seemed thicker than the rest.
Therese rose to her feet, barely noticing the bite of the cold snow against her naked flesh. Clothes were confines used by humans to hide their imperfect, flawed bodies. As a flawless daughter of the moon, she had no need for such ridiculousness.
Shadows swept out from her hands, waiting to do her bidding.
A heartbeat later, the darkness before her rippled, and a pair of winged vampires dressed in black fighting leathers stepped into the clearing. They were beautiful… but so was she. They carried themselves with power, the crowns resting on their brows confirming their identities.
Therese narrowed her eyes andsnarled.
Thesewere the imposters. The ones who dared call themselves the king and queen of Eleyta.
A moan came from behind her as the mortal she’d been draining crawled away. Therese scoffed. Let him run. She’d deal with these two and then hunt him. It would be far more entertaining.
But first, the so-called royals had to die.
Honestly, they were little more than children. Their gazes had no depth, and their shoulders lacked the weight that came from having lived for thousands of years.
Did they think they could stop her on their own? The fools. She was a goddess compared to them, and soon, they’d realized exactly why Ithiar had blessed her.
They’d just made the last mistake of their very short lives.
“You,” Therese snarled, her smooth voice laced with darkness and death. “TheKingandQueenof Eleyta. You stole what rightfully belongs to me.”
She would take it all back.
Their crowns. Their thrones. Their land.
It would all be hers.
The male snapped his wings behind his back and stepped forward. “It seems we’re at a disadvantage.” He raised a brow and flexed his fingers at his sides. “You know who we are, but who are you?”
How dare he speak to her as though they were equals?
She curled her lip in disgust. “You should already know the answer to that question.”
Back in her day, everyone knew who she was. There wasn’t a single person, vampire or otherwise, who didn’t recognize the power of the Twelve.
“Humor us,” he said, shadows spinning around his hand.
Was he threatening her with a few wisps of darkness? This so-called king needed to be taken down a few notches.
She smirked. “Cute. I can do that, too.”
