Shadow Of The Vampire. Meagan Hatfield

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СКАЧАТЬ urns. Her long hair was braided atop her head in a tight coil, almost concealing the crown above her brow.

      Catija stepped closer to the trunk, admiring the strong female. The profile was her family’s crest and the heraldry of Queens past. When her fingers touched the wood, she closed her eyes.

      At no other time had she felt the weight, the burden of her pledge and duty more than she had this past year. Although it had become nearly impossible for her to remember even the simplest of things these days, there was one task she would never forget.

      Keep moving forward.

      No matter the cost to self and sanity, no matter what happened. She had to continue playing, keep strategizing her next move. Life for her had become little more than a chess match. Her existence had no more value than the lowliest pawns on the game board. There had been a time, so long ago she could hardly remember, when she had believed it possible to succeed. Believed she could play this game, traverse her piece across Lotharus’s perverse game board and, not only endure every step, but come out on top. Yet now Catija could barely find the will and strength to get through a single day, much less hope to win.

      But it didn’t matter. She had to keep playing.

      “Have to keep them safe,” she murmured, pivoting open the heavy wooden top. A golden disc sat in the center of the box atop an antique phonograph.

      Play this when you feel lost or alone and know I will always be with you, a familiar male voice whispered through her mind.

      Almost in a trance, Catija lifted the tone arm and set the needle on the disc. At once a low hum of music began to pulsate and fill the room. Velvety and subtle, the orchestral notes spoke to her, transported her. A sense of peace rolled through her body with each wave of melody and song.

      In a heart-wrenching union of peaks and valleys, the music swelled to a crescendo. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A heartbeat later, a familiar and welcome presence seeped into the room. Heels clicked loud and firm on the marble floor behind her.

      “Is he dead?” she asked without turning around. Part of her dreaded the answer. When none came, she looked expectantly over her shoulder at her advisor and the only friend left in her corner. And she felt close to losing even him at times. “Did Lotharus kill the dragon prince?”

      “Not yet,” Yuri finally replied, moving away from the door and climbing the few steps toward her. Catija watched her brother cross the room with interest. Although she’d known him all her life, he never aged, his image never changing from the one she remembered so fondly in their youth. He still wore his midnight hair cut even to his shoulders. A perfectly shaped and trimmed goatee framed his lips. And although the style of his clothing may have changed over the centuries, she never saw him wear any color other than black from head to toe. Perhaps that was where Alexia got it from, she thought with a smile. One that faded once the dire consequence of her situation again weighed down her shoulders.

      Yuri, however, appeared to carry no such burden. He moved with grace and confidence, his demeanor giving nothing away as he stood alongside her. Warm and firm and real, his hand covered hers. He smiled, giving her a reassuring squeeze, although his words were anything but encouraging. “The dragon may be alive for now. But you know Lotharus. This will be like before. It’s only a matter of time.”

      Catija nodded and looked back at the revolving disc. Instead of a spinning blur of gold, images of the last time dragons had resided in her dungeon flashed behind her eyes. A visible shudder quaked through her body, cramping her stomach. Drawing her arms tight around her, she backed up, lowering herself to the edge of the bed.

      “I don’t know how much more I can take, Yuri.”

      A long, regret-filled sigh echoed in the stillness. The mattress dipped beneath Yuri’s weight as he took a seat beside her. “Times are dark for all of us, dear sister. But you must be strong. This will all be over soon.”

      Although she heard her brother’s words, tried to take them to heart, a tremor of helplessness and resentment vibrated deep inside her. “By the Goddess, I’m the Queen of this horde. I should be able to eradicate Lotharus with no more than a flick of my wrist. Yet we play this game of cloak-and-dagger and, at times, I feel I’m losing.”

      As he had when she was young, Yuri wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to his chest in a comforting embrace. Catija fell against him willingly. Slow and gentle, his fingers brushed her hair. The tender act calmed her nerves, a palpable dichotomy to the panic and fear pounding in her chest.

      “Yuri, he cannot find that crystal first. Alexia must possess it. I keep trying to push her, to goad her into getting her hands on that stone, but it’s not working. I am at the end of my reign and care not what they do to me. But I don’t want them to kill her.”

      “And I don’t want them to kill you,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

      Catija opened her mouth to tell him she’d almost prefer death, but stopped herself. The words would do nothing except hurt him, and she’d done enough of that to last them both a lifetime. Instead, she stared straight ahead and struggled to concentrate on her next move. However, a dense fog swirled in her mind these days, making it hard to think and almost impossible to concentrate. Her vision blurred as she tried to focus on the next move Lotharus had planned, until Catija saw nothing but clouded fears for her daughter. But beneath the tide of worry, an undercurrent of pride flowed fast and strong.

      “At least Alexia is not fooled by him,” she said, mindlessly rubbing the velvety fabric of Yuri’s lapel between her fingers.

      “She is very intelligent,” he murmured, a smile in his voice. “Like her mother.”

      “No,” Catija replied. “She’s smarter than I. Not once has Alexia been taken in by him, believed his lies.” She shook her head, annoyed at her stupidity and weakness.

      Admittedly, Catija had been reckless and brutal in her youth, spurred on by a wicked family and more than her fair share of demented lovers. Although she’d been too drunk on power, too blind to see it then, she knew now how foolish she’d been. Instead of laying the foundation for those who would follow her, she had spent her early days as ruler gorging on vices, flaunting her cruelty like a preening peacock and placating various men with what seemed like harmless ranks of power beneath her.

      Catija could no longer remember many things. Yet she recalled the day she had realized her life was a finite thing. A predetermined cycle with, not only an end, but a specific day her life as she’d been living it would end.

      On her daughter, Alexia’s, ascension day.

      She realized on that day that she would not be passing the proverbial torch or even a slim version of a legacy on to her child, but likely her demise. She may as well have clothed her in a burial shroud.

      “Goddess, I hate what I’ve done. Hate the way I have to treat her. The way she looks at me. But if Lotharus ever suspected her, if she ever found out, he would…”

      “Shh,” Yuri murmured, his long fingers continuing their lazy glides through her hair. “That is not going to happen.”

      Disbelieving, Catija shook her head. “Between hurting Alexia and Lotharus’s draughts, it’s killing me.” Catija licked her lips, tasting the horrid truth upon them.

      “Yuri, I…” She swallowed. “I think he’s killing me. Slowly.”

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