How many hunters does it take to catch a vampire?
For those who roam the wilds of Tor’stre Vahn, the answer, of course, entirely depends upon both the hunters and the vampire in question.
But what about a vampire who leaves behind a trail on purpose? How many blood-filled footsteps would it take for you to find him? And how far would you be willing to go once you did?
Briseras Ravisthinia is ready to answer fate’s call and questions. One huntress and her wolf. No more victims. And however far it takes.
Each stride takes her closer to her destiny. Shadows flicker behind her heels. Briseras would be the first to tell you: There is no life outside the hunt. But here, death hovers all around.
“Blood Wolf Moon”: An Age of Azuria Story
A shadow stalks the mountains of Tor’stre Vahn. Two shadows, to be precise. The vampire Malthael flits from village to village, leaving devastation in his wake.
And the huntress Briseras is close on his heels.
Dive into the adventure-filled world of Azuria in this prequel story, set before the events of book one, Buried Heroes.
“The seers spoke of one born under the blood wolf moon. Only she can bring an end to Draego’s rule of Steymhorod.” Malthael’s slate-gray eyes glinted against his ashen skin. “You could then count the most powerful vampire in all the realms as an ally.”
Lucien pursed his lips as he studied Malthael. An ambitious creature, to be sure, though one prone to exaggeration. “And you are certain that Draego’s power, once drained, would pass to you?” Long fingers traced the stale air before him. “What of the Sisters? Mightn’t that be the way the one foreseen sets into motion Draego’s undoing?”
“He would never allow it,” Malthael spat. “Whoever he believes her to be. Nothing matters so much to him as his power.”
The lich nodded to the vampire. “You have given me much to think about, Malthael. Find the girl, do what you will, and report back to me.”
Malthael hesitated, his dark eyes narrowed.
Lucien leaned back in his chair, affecting ease. “You may wish to rush the dark goddess, but I do not.” He waved the vampire on. “I will find the best moment to speak with her of our plans.”
His relaxed air calmed Malthael’s suspicions, and the vampire strutted out of the room.
With a flick of his fingers, the door Malthael had exited slammed shut.
“Come here, my pet,” he drawled to the shadow tiger waiting behind his throne. Micaela raised her head, and Lucien ran his fingernails through the mist of her fur. “I see no reason to bother Alessandra with this until after Malthael has proved himself to be successful, do you?”
Micaela purred low in her throat.
“Quite right. And he has not seen Draego for an age and a half at least. Is it possible for vampires to change after thousands of years?” Lucien chuckled to himself. He had considered vampirism, in the early era of his own magical pursuits. But the thought of imbibing another’s blood was distasteful, in both senses. Far preferable to consume a soul instead and assimilate the creature’s power and life force. As he incorporated the soul, he could control the power and form it contributed to his own being. How often had Draego regretted his deal with the lord of undeath, the one who had promised to save his son from his wife’s tragic fate? “Better to take one’s life in one’s own hands, Micaela,” he mused to the tiger.
They all served their purpose in the spinning hierarchies of fate, a system that held him as fast as any other. But bending before the right hand of the dark goddess offered a perspective granted to him alone. There would come a time when his mistress ruled all. And at that fateful sunset, his own star would finally rise, and he would stand at Alessandra’s side, her heir in power. “Every era has its dawn and gloaming, my pet.” It was only natural that he should, one day, usurp Alessandra’s power and become the dark lord of all in her stead.
What was the druids’ saying for this? Sais lea-t-an, an’t le sai? Such is the way of the seasons of the world. Lucien snorted, dislodging some of the fresh mucus that had grown to coat his skin that very morning. A fatalistic belief for those who had once held themselves in such high esteem. And now? Like the witches, they had no purpose left but to die off, one by one.
The adventure continues!
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