Blood Queen Page 2

Leon couldn't stop his jaw drop dropping as he was taken by surprise. There was a part of him that had always known the outcome, but he had still allowed himself to have hope. Unfortunately for him, the queen had somehow sensed his unease and she stopped in her tracks just shy of where he was standing. Catching the drop of blood with her finger, she slowly licked it clean, leaving only a small trace of it smeared across her cheek.

  Leon didn't know what to do when faced with his fears and just froze on the spot, waiting for whatever pain and punishment Katherine would unleash upon him. However, despite the narrowing of her eyes and the brief silence that followed, nothing happened. She didn't lash out at him either verbally or physically, and merely studied his face for a few long seconds that seemed like they lasted for an eternity.

  The long pause was eventually broken by a simple command, as the stern look on the queen's face was replaced with a satisfied smile. “Call for the witch.”

  For the briefest of moments, Leon swore that he could see the woman for who she had once been, or at least the person who she had once pretended to be. Like him, Katherine had been born a human being, however long ago that was. As difficult as it was to imagine, she hadn't always been the Blood Queen and must have started out somewhere far less frightening.

  Whatever Leon thought he saw didn't last long, as the smile soon disappeared and the next order followed. “Oh, and make sure to have the mess cleared up.”

  Leon felt compelled to respond, a lump forming in his throat as he struggled to speak. “M… mess?”

  Katherine flashed a wicked grin before she turned to leave. “You’ll see.”

  Unable to move a muscle, Leon watched helplessly as the queen walked away from the throne room and down the long hallway that led to the courtyard, her pace still calm and steady. It took a little while, but as soon as she had made her way to the far end of the corridor and disappeared around the corner, he managed to regain control. He could feel the nervous eyes of the other guards upon him, none daring to approach the door to the throne room.

  Doing his best to ignore their gaze, Leon pushed by his colleagues and made his way to the room's threshold to peer inside. As he caught a glimpse of the room beyond, he couldn't help but gasp loudly. The state that the great hall had been left in was far worse than any of them would have expected, and the mere sight of it was more gruesome than anyone could have truly anticipated.

  As the others began to gather around him, their curiosity finally getting the best of them, Leon took in the sight before him. There were no bodies within the great hall, no corpses to let them know that there had been three captive vampires within that very room. Crimson pools had formed in their place, with red trails splattering out in all directions. Where there had once been men, there was little more than shredded fabric drenched with blood. The pillars around them had been liberally decorated with red streaks and smeared hand-prints, as if there had been a struggle. No, not a struggle… It looked far too one sided for that. It had been a slaughter.

  From what Leon could work out, at least one of the captives had somehow exploded without explanation, with the other two attempting to flee before they were subsequently torn apart. What he didn't understand was why there were no body parts to clear up. There were no bones, flesh or sinew. What had happened to the rest of them? They couldn't have just disappeared in a shower of blood and gore, could they? Perhaps it was best that he didn't know, as within the secret world of the undead, some things were beyond comprehension and were meant to stay that way in order to preserve what little sanity was left.

  The horrific sight within the great hall caused Leon to realise that Katherine could never have been a normal human being after all, it just wasn't possible. There had always been something dark inside of her, long before she had become a vampire. Her transition had either awoken that darkness or had served to intensify it further. Leon wasn't sure if it was possible for anyone to be born evil, but if there was evidence of such a possibility, he was certain that the queen was it. The title she had earned for herself was fitting and no one else in existence deserved it more. There was no denying it, Katherine Louviere was well and truly worthy of the name. She was the undisputed ruler of the damned. The one and only Blood Queen.

  Chapter One: A New World

  The night was cold, and harsh winds carried with them a bitter chill that forced the colonists to seek shelter within their homes. Entire families huddled together, stoking the fires of their hearths in an attempt to stay warm, praying that they had gathered enough wood to survive the long winter. It was safer to remain indoors, and only the brave or foolish would dare face the frigid air that came in off the ocean. As safe a haven as it was to those that sought it, the New World still held many dangers, some of which were yet to be discovered.

  The ‘Le Cochon de Lait’ was a simple tavern in the heart of the Acadian colony that had a reputation for getting quite rowdy most evenings, but bad weather had kept the regulars away. As quiet as it was, the doors were never locked and all were welcome to drink there until the early hours. The tavern was less than a decade old, but had a quaint and rustic feel that made most feel welcome. A large fire crackled in the corner across from the bar, doing its best to fend off the night's chill. On a normal night, there would be laughter and folk music, a perfect sanctuary for those who had nowhere else to go, or anyone unable to resist the call of alcohol; but with the storm blowing, the whole place was devoid of the usual signs of life and friendly banter had been kept to a minimum.

  It was a wonder that the creaking sign outside managed to remain on its hinges, as severe storms brought with them the threat of more snow. The wooden walls of the tavern groaned under strain as they were battered by a sudden gust of wind that rattled the shutters within their frames. The bartender eyed them up with suspicion under the dim lantern light, as if he expected the windows to burst open at any moment, unleashing the full fury of mother nature upon him and his remaining two patrons.

  “Sounds like we are in for a harsh winter, non?” the large, hairy man grumbled in his thick French accent.

  The gentleman at the bar simply nodded his head, his new drunken friend in danger of toppling off the neighbouring stool, having consumed more than his fair share of ale.

  The drunken man mumbled and slumped forwards, his breath ripe with the smell of beer as he tried to prop himself up on unsteady elbows. His clumsy actions didn't seem to phase the bartender who was seemingly well acquainted with the alcoholic that frequented his establishment night after night.

  “The wind will chill right to the bone, it will.” the gruff fellow behind the bar stated as he scrubbed at a stein with his dirty rag. He stopped for a moment to peer over at the reserved, yet handsome gentleman who was still staring at a full glass of beer that he had yet to touch. “Not so thirsty, eh? So, what brings you to our little slice of the New World? Why did you come to Port-Royal?”

  Still sitting upright in his own chair, the gentleman tugged at his waistcoat in order to straighten it. “What made you believe that I am from out of town?” His accent was prim and proper.

  The surly bartender chuckled. “For one, Monsieur, I have not seen you in my establishment before. Then there is your accent… The English are not too welcome here, non. You will not catch many people here wearing fancy clothing either!”

  The gentleman managed a smile, ever so slight as it was. “How very astute of you.” He rubbed a hand across his clean shaven chin.

  The large man behind the bar beat a fist against his chest. “Nothing gets by Bon Jon!” He snorted loudly. “Bon Jon, that is me! And who am I speaking with?”

  The well dressed man tipped his bowler hat in greeting before taking it off and placing it carefully on the bar. “Just a simple man here on business.” He clearly wasn't one for sharing, his black suit still a little dirty from his long journey across the Atlantic.

  Bon Jon shrugged. “Simple? Non! You are not so simple, I think. You are the secret sort, eh? That is fair, Monsie
ur. Bon Jon is not here to steal your secrets!” He returned to cleaning the same stein, humming to himself with no sense of tone or volume. The tune was poorly kept and unrecognisable, but that didn't stop him for a second.

  The mysterious gentleman slowly turned his glass in his hand before picking it up to examine the cool liquid inside. He didn't appear to particularly enjoy the beverage, having not drunk a drop in the time since ordering it, whereas the man to his right had clearly consumed far too much and was in no fit state to do anything. It seemed that his arms were no longer able to support his weight, causing him to slump over the counter, his face pressing up against the woodwork.

  A hearty laugh signified Bon Jon's amusement, but he did nothing to assist the man and left him lying there on the bar, empty glass in hand.

  “It appears that my friend has had a little bit too much to drink.” the gentleman casually stated, not even taking the time to peer over at him.

  Bon Jon guffawed. “Oui! But as long as he keeps on paying, I will keep on pouring!” The bartender was easily amused and strongly motivated by profit.

  The unusual thing was the alcoholic didn't have his usual rosy cheeks and jolly red nose. In fact, he was looking a little paler than his normal self. If anyone had bothered to check, they would have discovered his distinct lack of breathing, the fact that his skin was increasingly cool to the touch, and a dried smear of blood across his wrist originating from a point that strangely had neither cut nor wound. If the gentleman was aware of his friend's unfortunate state, he was hiding it well.

  Another gust of wind caused the support beams to creak once more, but they stood firm and showed no sign of giving in to nature's fury. Seemingly unconcerned with what dangers the night held in store, the gentleman pushed his glass of beer away and prepared to pay his tab. He was just about to stand when the quiet of the tavern was interrupted by the crashing sound of the front door as it slammed against the wall. The sudden noise was soon followed by a chilling rush of air that caused the flames of the oil lamps to flicker as it whistled by.

  “Putain! Ferme la porte!” came the bartender's frustrated cry as he snatched up a bottle just before it came crashing to the ground.

  The gentleman caught his hat in the nick of time, turning his head to look at whoever had stumbled into the tavern at such a late hour. What he saw there was something that he had not expected to see at all. It wasn't another drunk rushing in for a quick pint of ale, but a woman in her thirties who struggled with the wind as she attempted to close the door.

  “One moment, madam!” The smartly dressed Englishman didn't waste any time, rushing over to help her push it shut as any man should, but he wasn't met with gratitude. Instead, once the door was shut tight, the woman turned to meet his gaze, a fire burning in her hazel eyes as she scolded him for lending his aid.

  “Do you think me helpless, Monsieur?” Her thick, French accent betrayed her origins. “I am quite capable of such a simple task as closing a door!”

  The gentleman was taken aback, stumbling over his own words in a way that was unusual for one such as himself. “My apologies, my lady. I did not mean to cause offense…”

  She glared at him, seemingly annoyed by his choice of words. “Lady? I am no lady! We have never met before, so do not presume to know me!”

  Struck speechless, the man couldn't think of anything else to say as he clutched his hat tightly. The woman's long brown hair was a mess, her eyes were streaming and her pale skin was almost purple from the cold, but there was something else about her that grasped his attention. There was something inside of her that was strong willed, independent and ready for whatever the world threw at her. A thick, woolen shawl hid her figure well and was bunched up around her shoulders, held in place by a large brooch and narrow fingers. Just beneath it lay a white cotton dress that had been carefully embroidered in an attempt to make it appear of higher quality than it actually was.

  From the expression of annoyance on the woman's face it seemed that she didn't appreciate being gawked at. “You better have coin if you insist on staring at me! What is the matter with you? Have you never seen a woman before?”

  It was clear from her shivering and irregular breaths that she was suffering from the cold. The gentleman would have offered his jacket if he knew that it wouldn't offend her further. It was unusual for him to meet any woman who could turn him down, especially since he was usually considered to be quite the charmer.

  With an exaggerated huff, the hot headed woman rudely pushed past him, making her way towards the bar where she proceeded to order a shot of whiskey that couldn't come fast enough. As she waited there, the gentleman kept watching, completely enthralled by the woman who had just stormed into his life. There was no ring on her finger as far as he could see, and no sign of there ever being one. It was unusual to see someone of her age unattached and seemingly alone, a fact that only served to intrigue him further. She didn't waste any time once the drink arrived, slamming it back with force before wandering over to a door in the back of the tavern. The well dressed man still waited by the main door at the front of the tavern, unsure of what to do or say as he struggled to focus on anything else but her.

  A fit of coughs slowed the woman's pace to more of a stumble that resulted in her having to catch herself on the closest object that she could find, the back of a wooden chair that almost wasn't enough to keep her from falling. Her powerful presence seemed to diminish, leaving her looking weak and frail. Hobbling over to lean against the nearest wall for support, she covered her mouth with a handkerchief as she struggled to gasp for air. From the sound of it, the woman was in very poor health, but she was far too proud to admit it. Even in that brief moment of physical weakness, she displayed more determination than most would in their entire lifetime.

  An odd smell caused the gentleman to bear his fangs, revealing his true nature as a creature of the night. Neither the bartender, nor the woman caught a glimpse of them as they were both too preoccupied to notice. The smell that peaked his interest was the coppery scent of blood, but this particular fragrance reeked of disease and death. It seemed that sickness had claimed the woman and that it would likely cut her life short, a fact that for some reason filled him with great sorrow. It would be a shame to let such a fascinating creature such as her waste away to nothing. Perhaps the situation required some sort of intervention, not from a doctor or a priest, but from something of a personal and intimate nature of his own making. More specifically, one of the supernatural kind.

  The sickly woman managed to regain her composure and directed a quick scowl back towards the men that couldn't help but stare. Her look was powerful enough to cause Bon Jon to avert his eyes, but the gentleman was awestruck and was unable to follow suit. Despite her illness, the woman had the strength of a survivor. She would fight with all that she had left to resist the sickness that had spread throughout her aching body. A few moments passed before she managed to gather herself together enough to proceed, pushing her way through the swinging door and into a room in the back of the building, out of sight of the prying eyes of men.

  Continuing to watch the door as if he expected it to open again at any moment, the gentleman let his hat drop to the dusty, unswept floor. He carefully made his way back to the bar where he leaned over to speak to Bon Jon in a hushed tone, as to not be overheard.

  “Tell me, sir… Who is the woman?” All thoughts of his precious bowler hat were purged from his mind as he focused on one thing and one thing only.

  The bartender leaned over and spoke as quietly as he could, which wasn't all that quiet at all, the smell of rotten teeth coming over in waves with each breath. “Not one a respectable man such as yourself should be meeting with, Monsieur.”

  “Why is that?” The gentleman replied with increased curiosity, his eyes still focused on the back door.

  Bon Jon inclined his head to one side. “You see, mon ami... She is a whore.”

  The gentleman frowned, not appreciating the man’s crude cho
ice of words, but he was too distracted to berate him for them. “And the lady is ill?”

  Bon Jon nodded, a foul smell following each and every word. “Oui. Syphilis...”

  There was a brief moment of silence as the gentleman pondered. A lady of the night she might be, but that didn't seem to matter to him. Sickness wasn't a problem either, and death wouldn't be much more of an obstacle for him to overcome. It was clear that the woman had ambition far beyond her lowly status, but life had been cruel and was already taking its toll upon her mortal frame.

  “Pray, tell me her name…” the gentleman said with keen interest. He absolutely had to know who the woman was and desperately needed to learn all that he could about her.

  Bon Jon didn't appear to understand what all the fuss was about, but he clearly didn't have the same eye for potential. He stood up straight, shaking his head slowly as he answered wearily. “Katherine, Monsieur. Her name is Katherine Boucher.”

  Katherine Boucher! Alice's eyes sprung open, her thoughts racing through her head. Boucher; Katherine's original surname before she changed it for reasons yet unknown. Alice didn't understand why her dreams kept showing her visions of her old mentor’s past, but anything that she could discover would ultimately prove to be useful in the weeks and months ahead. Katherine had been hunting them down since they left Miami and it would only be a matter of time before they would have to meet her face to face.

  Sitting herself up at the edge of the fold out bed, Alice took a moment to look back at her sleeping companion, his body cold and lifeless. She had gotten used to seeing Matty in this state, no longer freaking out when she woke to his dormant, corpse-like state. He looked so peaceful, his rough face relaxed as he slept the day away. At least she thought that it was still daylight out there, as the heat was penetrating the blacked out windows of their run down campervan. Fortunately, they had parked at the side of a trail in the woods, out of sight of the main road in order to avoid the curiosity of passers by.