Demon Kings Queen book two

“Jumpy eyes, isn't that what you're called?” King Vanchure asked as he dipped a painted brush into the palette. He knew the name my Pack called me because of my eye disorder. That was what I could ponder on later, after I had gotten my request granted. It took me a whole lot to get to him; I was coated with a magical liquid that masked scents that I stole from Eamonn. If Eamonn finds out I was here, in the dwelling of our enemy because I wanted to save my twin sister, he would forget we were ever mates and deal with me according to the law. One plan: get in, retrieve my sister, and get out.

If it would be as easy as I had plotted in my head.

“I have come to seek that which you hold dear to me, my twin sister. Where is she?” My chest heaved from the long trudge in the cool woodlands of Black Pack. I was shocked at the way I spoke. I spoke bravely like I wasn't in the presence of a powerful vampire. I laughed at my stupidity. I swallowed down the lump that built up in my throat as I spoke. It's so hard to stand in his presence. The room reeked of fresh blood and King Vanchure's dominance.

I can barely keep up with my jelly legs even as he has his back to me in an unbothered and unfazed manner. Oh, yes. He owned this place, and I was the intruder. The intruder who might become a prey with no escape even as I stood drenched at the doorway. The message of my sister in captivity was carried in a small note to me by a raven. Just like the old times.

Ravens don't belong to the werewolves who were formally known to be The soldiers. They were raised by the the vampires, which were as well, formally known as the Royalties. The Royalties used that bird to send life-threatening messages to the heart of the unfortunate victims. I read books about the Royalties so I knew. And the life-threatening message came from the nonchalant-looking king sitting shirtless at one end of the dim room. I remember the heaviness I felt in my chest as I read the note line by line. I watched out for when the sun was down and ventured into the woodlands of Black Pack on my own in the heavy rainstorm without the notice of anyone in the Pack house; sharp thorns pierced into my skin, but I cared not. My healing ability saw me through. Anything to get my sister out of Vanchure's hands.

“I'm not just the vampire king of tales, Ellie. I'm a talented artist.” Van said with every stroke he made on the canvas with his paintbrush. “So you can either be the one posing on the couch, behind the canvas or be the one whose blood I will use in replacement for paints.”

I suppressed the sob that wanted an outlet. “You... you've killed my sister, haven't you?” Hot tears rolled down my cheeks the moment I said the last words. His statement told me the obvious. I heard he does not only drink the blood of his victims, he goes as far as using the blood to paint on his canvas victoriously.

“I spared your sister’s life the moment I saw your willingness to show up. I heard stories of one omega soldier who was hopelessly fearless, and for some reason, I craved to see her myself. I'm very much pleased to meet you, Ellie.” He said without looking at me. The way he said my name, like he was irritated by the mere thought of ‘Ellie.’ It meant light. Vampire's weakness. “Make no move, Edgar. I'm trying to get the plumpness of your rosy lips.” He made a glance at his male consort, and then back on the canvas. From where I stood, I could see his artistic work. It was a duplicate half-done painting of his consort on his canvas. Such a talented devil.

It was his consort he gave more attention to, not me. Not that I ever wished to be his target of main focus, but how else do I expect him to listen to me if all I did was stand there like a chunk of wet wood?

If he said he spared Isla, then she's somewhere waiting for a miraculous rescue. I need to free my sister.

I needed to free Isla, even if it's the last thing I do to prove to her I cared about her.

“What is it you want from us?” I said breathlessly. What I have asked will either get me killed or save me. Vanchure paused his strokes on the canvas and set the brush at the base of the canvas. His back straightened.

“Edgar, leave us. Now.” He said to the man who lay on the white plush couch in front of him.