Page 60 of Halfblood Deceived

Aella felt as if she were falling from a great height—weightless, petrified, her stomach flipping with that sensation of emptiness. Panic raced through her veins.

She landed hard inside her body.

Her eyes opened immediately, but dark spots were clouding her vision. She clenched her hands reflexively around soft fabric and tried to breathe, but no air reached her lungs. Her ears rang and her heart sped up like the blades of a helicopter. A choked whimper left her dry throat.

“Easy,” said an unknown female voice.

A firm, but gentle hand cupped the back of Aella’s head and something was pressed against her lips, something cool and smooth. A few drops of liquid entered her parted lips and fell on her arid tongue. Her body narrowed down on that sensation, on the violent thirst that made her feel dry as a bone left under the sun. Her breath left her in a whoosh and she chased the promise of liquid blindly.

“That’s it, breathe,” the feminine voice with a slight British lilt encouraged.

Aella obeyed, and soon, the cool mouth of the vial was back. She eagerly gulped something that tasted like spring, sunshine, and comfort.

She blinked over and over, feeling her sore body relax against a comfortable, yet firm mattress. Her sight cleared, and she saw an unfamiliar white ceiling. She turned her head and found the female that had given her a calming potion, sitting beside her on the edge of the mattress.

Aella stopped breathing.

Long, gently waving hair the color of spun gold. Topaz eyes. Stark, yet unearthly harmonious features that seemed carved by an artist. Plump, red-painted lips softened the formidable set of her eyes. Clad in a figure-hugging blue dress that covered only half of her thighs. Even seated, she was obviously tall, slender, and athletic, but with supple curves.

Aella knew who the female was. She had seen her picture once years ago, and her perfect visage had been carved into her mind.

Kamilla Davashkov.

The vampire princess.

Daughter of the vampire king.

More powerful than two dozen common vampires.

Slayer of hundreds of gargoyles.

As brutal as she was gorgeous. And considering how inhumanly beautiful Kamilla Davashkov was, that meant her brutality should know no end.

Her porcelain brow furrowed, head tilting, causing a long swathe of hair to fall over one shoulder. “You recognize me.”

Aella didn’t even dare to blink.

Kamilla Davashkov let out a small sigh. “I will not hurt you, Aella. So please breathe in before you faint.”

Aella hastened to inhale so she could ask: “You know my name?” her voice was raspy, barely above a whisper.

The vampire princess nodded. “Zeydan has told us about you.”

Zeydan.

An avalanche of images fell on Aella’s mind, making her feel heavy and cold.

“Luce, Mari, Gabby,” she heard herself blurt. “Mari was buried under a shelf, and Luce hit her head to protect Gabby—Oh, God. Gabby and her baby…”

Kamilla Davashkov, the most lethal vampire female the world had known in the last three centuries, placed her warm hand on Aella’s. “They are all alive and well. Thanks to you.”

Aella shook her head, remembering with painful clarity how she’d frozen like a coward when she’d seen Micah.

Had the vampires killed Micah?

What would she feel if they had? Relief?

The vampiress brought her back to the present by gently extricating the empty vial from her fingers and setting it on the nightstand.

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