Corsets and Crossbows: A Drake Chronicles Novella in Letters (7 page)

The bodyguard blinked. “Ladies aren’t supposed to do that.”

He was stronger than me, which was painfully obvious. He might have crushed my skull like a melon with one hand. But I was faster. I twirled and leaped around him until his breath huffed out and he went red with sweat. “Here now, no more games.”

On the other end of the attic, Winterson lifted his walking stick and a sharpened stake flipped out of the bottom. Dante danced out of the way. The candle flame fluttered. The return descent of the stick caught Dante’s chest, cutting through his jacket and through the skin below. Blood dripped onto the floorboards. Another blow and he stumbled, falling to his knees so quickly the candle tipped over.

The flame caught the tattered curtains and ate though the thin fabric. Another row of curtains caught almost immediately and the rotted wood of the windowsill began to smolder. Smoke poured into the room and I coughed. Before long there’d be no air left to breathe at all. I hurled a discarded vase at the glass, shattering it into pieces. Smoke and flames licked outside, kissing the roof. Someone down in the gardens screamed.

“We have to get out of here!” I yelled.

“Go!” Dante yelled back, clutching his seeping wound. It was too near his heart and weakened him. “Don’t wait for me.”

I ignored him, of course. Men are so silly sometimes.

Winterson shoved past me and before I realized what he was about to do, he and his bodyguard were safely on the landing. The door shut and I heard the ominous scrape of something being pushed against it to lock us in. Lord Winterson meant for us to die in that attic.

I had no intention of indulging him. I used a coat tree to break the other windows, coughing the black smoke out of my lungs. Dante pulled himself to the edge of the window and peered out. Guests were pouring out of the doors, panicking in their fine silk slippers and brocade frock coats.

“I can’t get us out of here in this condition,” he said as I crouched down beside him and tried to breathe clean air.

“I can get us out.”

“You can’t carry me, Rosalind,” he said. “But you can heal me.”

I stared at him.

“Please,” he whispered.

My fingers trembled but I held out my wrist for him. He clutched it as if it were fine pastry filled with strawberry cream. His lips were hot on my skin, the bite of fang was quick. The pain soon faded and a kind of pleasure swooned through me. He drank and drank, making greedy sounds. This moment was more dangerous than any power-mad earl with a stake at my heart. Dante could drink me dry, could give into the bloodlust and finish me here. No one would know. I would be part of the ashes of the burned-out house, a scrap of silk and bone for the inspectors to discover.

“Dante.”

He swallowed slowly, like a glutton testing a fine wine.

And then he pulled away.

Smoke drifted between us, obscuring the blaze of his eyes. And then his arms were around me and he was hurling me through the open window, tossing me up onto the rooftop. I swung through the air, the shock of it compressing my lungs. I landed hard on the roof and slid and might have fallen entirely if he hadn’t followed, gripping my arm hard and lifting me to my feet. The shingles were already hot under our feet. The smoke ate the stars.

“Hurry,” he urged, and we ran, leaping onto the roof of the next house.

We finally hired a hack and are even now on our way to the docks and then to Spain perhaps, or the New World. Who can say? I know what you must be thinking. But Dante is a good man. And I love him. There is no place here for us anymore. Neither of us will ever be accepted. Already we are hearing tales of Dante, the earl’s son, who turned vampire and killed a house full of hunters with fire.

No one will believe us over Lord Winterson. He has told the world that I tried to kill him because I fell in love with a vampire and wanted to prove myself to him. You know this to be untrue. But think of the scandal. I could never remove the stain on myself and it would only harm my family were I to try. We have stopped only to plant an incriminating letter in Lord Winterson’s desk concerning details of the fire. We’ve also sent an anonymous note to the Bow Street Runners. After they are done with him, Winterson shan’t be fit to lead the Helios-Ra. It’s the best I can do. I might be able to return someday but I do not hold out much hope for that. Please tell my family not to worry.

And truly, I have everything I need. I am wearing a silk dress stained with dirt and soot and I have never felt prettier. I haven’t a penny to my name and I have never felt wealthier.

Only know that I love you and think of you fondly and often. Do not fear for me.

Love always,

Rosalind Cowan

On Solange’s sixteenth birthday, she is going to wake up dead. As if that’s not bad enough, she also has to outwit her seven overprotective older brothers, avoid the politics involved with being the only daughter born to an ancient vampire dynasty, and elude an anti-vampire league.

This sixteenth birthday isn’t looking so sweet …

Book 1

Kieran Black, an agent of an anti-vampire league searching for his father’s killer, is intent on staking Solange and her entire family.

Luckily she has her own secret weapon—her human best friend Lucy, who is willing to defend Solange’s right to a normal life, whether she’s being smothered by her well-intentioned brothers or abducted by a power-hungry queen. Two unlikely alliances are formed in a race to save Solange’s eternal life—Lucy and Solange’s brother Nicholas, and Solange and Kieran Black—in a dual romance that is guaranteed to jump-start any romance-lover’s heart.

Book 2

Isabeau St. Croix barely survived the French Revolution and now she’s made her way back to the living. She must face the ultimate test by confronting the evil British lord who left her for dead the day she turned into a vampire—that’s if she can control her affection for Logan Drake, a vampire whose bite is as sweet as the revenge she seeks.

In this second adventure—told from both Logan’s and Isabeau’s perspectives, the clans are gathering for the royal coronation of the next vampire queen—and new alliances are beginning to form. But with a new common enemy, Leander Montmarte—a vicious leader who hopes to force Solange to marry him and usurp the power of the throne for himself—the clans must stand together to preserve the peace he threatens to destroy.

Book 3

Hunter Wild is the youngest in a long line of elite vampire hunters, a legacy that is both a blessing and a curse at the secret Helios-Ra Academy, where she excels at just about everything. Thanks to her friendship with Kieran Black, Hunter receives a special invitation to attend the coronation of Helena Drake, and for the first time, she sees the difference between vampires that must be hunted and vampires that can become friends—or even more.

When students at the academy fall victim to a mysterious illness, Hunter suspects they are under attack from within. She will need someone she can trust to help her save the future of Helios-Ra … help that shockingly comes in the form of Quinn Drake, a drop-dead-gorgeous vampire. Who said senior year would be easy?

Book 4

Violet Hill is under attack by the ruthless
Hel-Blar
vampires, who are determined to take their rightful place alongside the other vampire clans at the Blood Moon gathering. The royal Drakes might be powerful, but their love for a mere human—Lucy—leaves them vulnerable. The
HelBlar
’s plan to exploit that weakness goes horribly wrong when they try to kidnap Lucy but take her cousin Christabel by mistake.

Connor Drake immediately heads off in pursuit, willing to put his own life on the line for the girl he has grown to care so much about. Can he save Christabel, the Blood Moon, and his mother’s newly forged vampire alliance?

Book 5

When the vampire tribes convene for the rare Blood Moon ceremonies, Solange’s fight with her feral nature, a mysterious stranger, family secrets, and forbidden magic put all of the Drakes in danger.

And when Nicholas is caught between saving his little sister, Solange, or his girlfriend, Lucy, who will he choose?

Alyxandra Harvey is the author of
Haunting Violet
,
Stolen Away,
and the
Drake Chronicles
. She studied creative writing and literature at York University and has had her poetry published in several magazines. When not writing, she is a belly dancer and jewelry maker. She lives in an old farmhouse with her husband and two dogs.

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For more information on Alyxandra Harvey, visit
www.alyxandraharvey.com
.

Violet Willoughby doesn’t believe in ghosts. But they believe in her. After spending years participating in her mother’s elaborate ruse as a fraudulent medium, Violet is about as skeptical as they come in all matters supernatural. Now that she is being visited by a very persistent ghost, one who suffered a violent death, Violet can no longer ignore her unique ability. She must figure out what this ghost is trying to communicate, and quickly because the killer is still on the loose.

Afraid of ruining her chance to escape her mother’s scheming through an advantageous marriage, Violet must keep her ability secret. The only person who can help her is Colin, a friend she’s known since childhood and whom she has grown to love. He understands the true Violet, but helping her on this path means they might never be together. Can Violet find a way to help the ghost without ruining her own chance at a future free of lies?

When a cute guy dressed like a Victorian pirate kneels in front of Eloise the day after her seventeenth birthday, she knows that something strange is going on—and that’s before he vows to be her champion.

But this appearance isn’t a coincidence, and when Eloise is attacked and pushed into an alternate world called Faery, she becomes embroiled in the underground politics of their world. Her captor is Lord Strahan, the ruler of Faery, who is desperately clinging to his throne and will do anything to keep it. The only one who can break his power is his wife, Eloise’s aunt Antonia—and Eloise has become his bargaining chip.

Now Eloise must find a way to save her aunt from Lord Strahan, and she’ll need the help of her best friends Jo and Devin, along with the other Fae captives of Strahan’s hall, including his son, Eldric. With a whole world of Faeries out to get her, Eloise must stop Strahan before both worlds are thrust into complete chaos.

Tuesday evening

Shakespeare said, “What’s in a name?”

Well, my name’s Hunter Wild, so I say:
a lot.

For instance, you can tell by my name that our family takes our status as vampire hunters very seriously. Good thing I’m an only child-if I’d had brothers or sisters, they might have been named Slayer or Killer. We’d sound like a heavy metal band.

Hard to believe, in reality, we’re one of the oldest and most esteemed families in the Helios-Ra. When you’re born into the Wild family, no one asks you what you want to be when you grow up. The answer is obvious: a vampire hunter.

Period.

No ifs, ands, or buts. No deviations of any kind.

One size fits all

“I hate these stupid cargo pants,” my roommate Chloe muttered, as she did at the start of every single school year. Classes didn’t start for another week, but most of us moved into the dorm early so we could spend that extra time working out and getting ready. Chloe and I have been friends since our first day at the academy, when we were both terrified. Now we’re eighteen, about to start our last year, and, frankly, just as terrified. But at least we finally get to be roommates. You only get to make rooming requests in twelfth grade, otherwise they throw you in with people as badly matched as they can find, just to see how you deal with the stress.

Have I mentioned I’m really glad this is our last year?

Even if the room will probably smell like nail polish and vanilla perfume all year. Chloe already had her bare feet propped up on her desk, applying a second coat of silver glitter over the purple polish on her toenails. She was, most emphatically, not wearing her regulation cargos.

I was, but only because my grandfather dropped me off this morning, and he’s nothing if not old-school. He’s still muttering about our friend Spencer, who has long blond dreads and wears hemp necklaces with turquoise beads. Grandpa can’t fathom how Spencer’s allowed to get away with it, why there’s a newfangled (his word) paranormal division, or why a boy wouldn’t want a buzz cut. Truth is, Spencer is such a genius when it comes to occult history, the teachers are perfectly willing to turn a blind eye. Besides, cargos are technically regulation wear only for drills and training
and actual fieldwork. And Grandpa still doesn’t understand why I won’t cut off my hair like any warrior worth her salt.