Page 24 of The Vampire's Bride

The guard studies me warily, and I do my best to keep my face impassive, trying to hide my worry. I pull lightly on the reins, causing the mare to dance back a few steps, readying to bolt if we must.

I rest my hand on Valaric’s forearm around my waist, silently conveying that we are in this together. I wonder if he can hear my rapidly beating heart as we wait anxiously for the guard to either allow or deny our entry.

After what feels like an eternity, the guard finally nods to another beside him and then yells out. “Open the gates!”

The heavy wooden doors groan as they swing open, and a blast of icy wind roars through the entry, tugging at our cloaks and swirling snowflakes all around us as we enter.

I’m surprised by how quaint the village appears. Rows of gray stone buildings and small houses line the cobblestone streets. Black smoke curls up from chimneys on the snow-covered rooftops. Golden light spills out from windows, and fae lights glow brightly in the lampposts, illuminating the paths and walkways.

“There’s an inn over there.” Valaric points to a small building on the left.

A wooden sign hangs above the entrance, creaking loudly on rusted hinges as the strong wind sways it back and forth. A green dragon holding a flagon of ale is painted on the dark wood. “The Tipsy Dragon,” I murmur, reading the name of the establishment aloud.

Light from the windows brightens the snow-covered walkway outside. A festive wreath made of branches and greenery, threaded through with red ribbon, decorates the door. Worry tightens my chest when I notice the string of garlic hanging beside it.

I’ve heard Vampires are deterred by this, and I wonder if it’s true.

I fight the urge to glance back at Valaric, praying the garlic will not prevent him from entering. If it causes him any sort of discomfort, he doesn’t show it as he dismounts from behind me.

Despite his injuries, he wraps his strong hands around my waist and lifts me from the saddle to the ground as if I weigh nothing.

Thinking of his injuries, I gaze up at him. His cloak is wrapped around his body, hiding his wounds. His hood stillcovers his face, shrouding his features in darkness. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll live,” he murmurs.

While I’m sure he meant his answer to be reassuring, I still can’t help but worry. He needs a healer. I’m about to say this but stop when an elderly man approaches. “You planning to stay at the inn?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful!” He grins. “I’m Bernyd. Just knock on the door and my lovely wife, Minda, will show you to a room while I take your horse to the stables out back.”

I hand him the reins. Unease ripples through me as he disappears around the side of the building with our best means of escape if anyone discovers the truth about my husband.

Valaric stands beside me, his hand resting on the small of my back as we walk to the entrance. I lift the knocker and before it even clacks against the door, it opens and a woman with short, gray hair answers. “Greetings, weary travelers,” she says cheerily. “I’m Minda. Come in before the storm blows you away, never to be seen nor heard from again.”

Despite my concern, a smile crests my lips at her warm welcome. “We apologize for arriving at such an odd hour. But my husband and I were on our way to Aralon when the heavy snowfall started, and we thought it’d be best to find a place to shelter until it passes.”

With dawn quickly approaching, I’m anxious to get a room.

“Of course.” She grins. “You’ve come to the right place. We’ve plenty of warm beds, food, drink, and hospitality here. Would you like something to—”

“If you could just show us to our room. We’re rather exhausted from our journey.”

“I’ll bet you are.” She frowns. “Did you come by way of Redcrest or Darkhaven?”

I’m not familiar with either of these places, and I’m not sure how to reply.

“Darkhaven,” Valaric answers, his face still hidden in shadow. “Too many Vampires in Redcrest.”

“Aye.” She nods. “’Tis the safer choice for sure. The good news is there aren’t any Vampires here in Corvania, and you’re less than an hour’s ride from Aralon.”

“Wonderful.” I force a bright smile on my face despite my growing anxiety. “We’ll sleep all the better then.”

“Follow me,” Minda says.

She leads us down a wide hallway, past several portraits of what I assume must be her ancestors or relatives, along with several shelves of various knickknacks and books. At the end of the hall, she stops at a door on the left. “This one is yours,” she says, using a key to turn the lock. “It comes with a cleansing room attached. Would you like me to draw you a bath?”

Before I can reply, she opens the door and Valaric shrinks back with a sharp hiss as early morning light filters in through the threadbare curtains.

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