A Duel with the Vampire Lord (Married to Magic), page 1
A DUEL WITH THE VAMPIRE LORD
A Married to Magic Novel
ELISE KOVA
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters and events in this book are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Silver Wing Press
Copyright © 2022 by Elise Kova
All rights reserved. Neither this book, nor any parts within it may be sold or reproduced in any form without permission.
Cover Artwork by Marcela Medeiros
Developmental Editing by Rebecca Faith Editorial
Line Editing by Melissa Frain
Proofreading by Kate Anderson
ISBN (paperback): 978-1-949694-40-6
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-949694-39-0
eISBN: 978-1-949694-35-2
ALSO BY ELISE KOVA
See all of Elise’s books and find where to get them on her website at:
https://elisekova.com/books/
MARRIED TO MAGIC
A Deal with the Elf King
A Dance with the Fae Prince
A Duel with the Vampire Lord
A Duet with the Siren Duke
(More to come)
AIR AWAKENS UNIVERSE
Air Awakens Series
Air Awakens
Fire Falling
Earth’s End
Water’s Wrath
Crystal Crowned
Vortex Chronicles
Vortex Visions
Chosen Champion
Failed Future
Sovereign Sacrifice
Crystal Caged
Golden Guard Trilogy
The Crown’s Dog
The Prince’s Rogue
The Farmer’s War
A Trial of Sorcerers
A Trial of Sorcerers
A Hunt of Shadows
A Tournament of Crowns
(More to come)
THE LOOM SAGA
The Alchemists of Loom
The Dragons of Nova
The Rebels of Gold
NEVER MISS A RELEASE.
Get exclusive giveaways, review copies, and a free gift on sign up by subscribing to Elise Kova’s newsletter:
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MAP OF MIDSCAPE
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Discover more from Elise Kova
Acknowledgments
About the Author: Elise Kova
for all the book lovers
with daggers and crowns
on their bookshelves
CHAPTER 1
“Marry me and I will give you such strong babies.” He slurs the words almost to the point of unintelligibility.
I cringe and shove—Walt? Waldor? I can’t even remember his name—I shove what’s-his-name’s arm off my shoulders. He stumbles back with a laugh, almost bumping into a group of women dancing in the street and howling at the moon. They’re down to their silken nightgowns, a haze of red and orange glowing on their skin from unnatural moonlight and the open doors of the smithy.
They can twirl and dance. They can sing and cry. They’re as free as the hems that graze over their thighs. What would it be like to be one of them? What would I do? I don’t even know. The bonds around me are as tight as the clasps on the sturdy leather apron I wear. Keeping me buttoned up. Contained.
What’s-his-name reaches for me again.
I slap his hand away. “That’s enough.” Touching me could get him lashed at best; the drink is keeping his better sense at bay. He couldn’t even claim that he doesn’t know who I am. Everyone in this small hamlet knows who I am. I’m easy enough to spot by my rough, soot-stained hands. By my rolled sleeves and arms of dotted scars. My duty is seen as more sacred than that of many of the hunters themselves. For I am the one who will arm and armor them for years to come. I know the secrets of the forge.
I am the keeper of steel and silver.
He, like all of Hunter’s Hamlet, knows the only one permitted to touch me is the man the master hunter decides will be my husband. No exceptions.
Not even on what might be our last night alive.
“Is there a problem here?”
Last I saw, Drew was in the smithy, speaking with a young woman in the corner. But my twin and guardian is never far. He must’ve stepped out when he noticed I hadn’t returned from my errand to the back shed promptly.
“Not a problem, just a drunk.” I adjust my grip on the bucket of charcoal. The fueler lives down by the marshes—he’s one of the few laymen permitted past the line of salted earth and into the land of the vampire. He brought up a fresh delivery tonight before the revelries started. I’m sure he’ll be staying with someone in town tomorrow. He does for regular full moons; he definitely will for the Blood Moon. We all look after each other in the hamlet, especially when the vampires attack.
There are three fundamental truths of the mysterious and bloodthirsty vampire:
The first is that they subsist on human blood for sustenance and for their dark magics. Because of this, the war between vampires and humans has been raging since the dawn of time. Without the fortress and its thick walls that surround all of Hunter’s Hamlet, they would overrun the world with their thirst for blood and death.
The second is that the vampire have only one true weakness—silver. All other tools are merely meant to slow them, or give their victims clean deaths. Catching a vampire’s flesh with a silvered blade kills them instantly. It’s our only defense, and why those who know how to smith the silver are revered in Hunter’s Hamlet.
The final truth is that the vampires share one mind. The beasts that torment us month to month are little more than living golems that heed their lord’s will. If the vampire lord is felled, the rest of his spawn will follow. But he is protected by the Fade, coming only once every five hundred years with his dark knights to attack on the night of the Blood Moon when the Fade is weak and he can lead his armies in force.
Tomorrow the Blood Moon will rise in full and the hunters will try to use my weapons to kill him and save humanity. Everything could change in a single night, for better or worse, and no one beyond Hunter’s Hamlet has any idea.
The hunter that has been bothering me is aghast. “I’m not a drunk, I’m a noble hunter!”
“You can barely stand up,” I retort.
“Enough, Wallice.” Ah, that’s his name. “You shouldn’t be caught alone with the forge maiden,” Drew scolds.
“We’re, we’re not alone.” Wallice sways and hiccups. “See, all our friends are here!” He jumps into the group of dancing women, who accept him with open arms as if he really had been dancing with them all along.
In an instant his hands are on a brunette, running over the curves of her thighs, up to the swell of her stomach. Even the hands of a trained killer like Wallice can look elegant smoothing over silk. It pools between his fingers, spilling over as he hikes up her dress.
I can’t stop myself from wondering what it would feel like if it were me. My own thighs tingle, heat rising to my core. I don’t want Wallice. But I do want to know what it feels like to be touched. To be desired for more than my skill with a hammer and position in the hamlet. Wallice bites the woman’s neck as a vampire would. She moans, head rolling back, and I turn to the smithy before a flush rises to my cheeks. At least inside I’ll be able to claim the redness is from the heat.
“He didn’t do anything untoward, did he?” Drew gives a final scowl at Wallice and then catches up to me.
“Nothing other than being so drunk that his better sense has vanished.” I have no interest in getting Wallice in trouble. The hunters live hard enough lives as it is and tonight is a night of revelry, recklessness, and indulgence. Besides, he didn’t do anything worse than throwing an arm around my shoulder. “I doubt he even knew who I was.”
“He’d have to be pretty drunk to forget that.”
“He seemed it; you saw him with the other women.” I glance back over my shoulder. Wallice is stumbling off with one of the dancers.
“Thanks for not being too hard on him, Flor.” Flor, short for Floriane. Only my brother and mother use the nickname. “It’s just how things are the night before the Blood Moon.”
“Should all the hunters be drunk to the point that it might impair their ability to hunt tomorrow?” I arch my eyebrows at him. Drew mirrors the movement. We’re almost the same height and of similar build. We share the same black hair and eyes as our mother. Looking at him is truly like looking into a mirror and seeing a more masculine version of myself.
“We have until sunset to nurse our heads and stomachs, and the Hunter’s Elixir to aid us. No second day ache is stronger than the elixir.”
“Tomorrow isn’t like a regular hunt.”
“No one knows that more than us,” he says with a note of severity.
I shrug rather than arguing further. Drew lets it drop. We enter the smithy side by side.
The smithy is one of the larger buildings of Hunter’s Hamlet, set off slightly from the rest of the clustered cobblestone structures cramped together like too many teeth in a vampire’s mouth. Unlike the other thatched roofs of the hamlet, its roof is slate, like the fortress’s. Wooden awnings cover the front, welcoming us inside. The forge is at the center of everything, wooden tables stretching out from it. Usually they’re covered in tools and blades. But tonight they’re covered with food and flagons.
This is the hub of Hunter’s Hamlet, as everyone needs the work of a blacksmith, at some point, and tonight is no exception.
The brewer has brought a cask of ale and tapped it fresh. Farmers have gathered around, sipping on the fruit of their labors. The milliner is spinning stories to children up far past bedtime. And thrumming underneath the din of it all is the beating heart of Hunter’s Hamlet—the smith matron, the shield of Hunter’s Hamlet. My mother.
Mother’s hammer rhythmically rises and falls. Her dark hair escapes the tightly braided bun she wears at the nape of her neck, clinging with sweat to the sides of her face. Even now, late in the night before the Blood Moon, we’re still hard at work. There’s still much to be done.
“By the way, who were you talking to before?” I ask Drew as we weave through a gaggle of gossiping elders.
“When?”
“Earlier. Over there.” I gesture toward the corner. Whoever the young lady was, she wasn’t waiting for Drew to come back.
“I’ve spoken with a lot of people tonight; you’ll have to be more specific.” He knows exactly what I’m talking about and is being obtuse.
“Fine, keep your secrets. But if I saw then Mother did, too, and I can promise you’ll have a harder time dodging her questions.”
“It’s just a woman, nothing serious.” Drew rubs the back of his neck.
“Mother is going to lay into you if you keep up this ‘nothing serious’ business with every lady in the hamlet.” I drop the bucket by the forge and shovel in some of the charcoal, moving to work the bellows to alleviate a burst of frustration. Drew can touch, and dance, and feel all he wants. But me… I pull the bellows even harder.
Mother spares me an appreciative glance before promptly returning to her conversation with the tanner. Whatever they’re discussing must be important, because her expression is severe. Could it be there’s something wrong with the last batch of leathers we sent for the hunters to wear tomorrow? I’m instantly trying to recall every clasp and buckle I made, every pauldron and needle. Did I hammer a defect into the metal without realizing?
“I’ve no complaints from anyone I’ve been with.” Drew shrugs. “I’ll settle down eventually, whenever I decide.”
“Must be nice to just decide whenever you want to be with someone or marry them,” I mutter under my breath. I might gracefully accept my role for the betterment of Hunter’s Hamlet around everyone else. But Drew is the one person I don’t need to be graceful in front of.
“I shouldn’t have phrased it like that. I’m sorry, Flor.”
I shake my head and sigh, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders. “It’s true.”
“But it might not have to be for long.”
My heart skips a beat. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“But—”
“Normal time.”
“Nothing about tonight is normal,” I hiss. Our voices have dropped to a whisper. I can’t believe he’s talking about our midnight training within earshot of so many. “Look at how many people are here; we’re not going to have time to—”
I don’t get to finish because I learn what made Drew so confident we’ll be able to sneak a moment alone.
The smithy falls to a hush. Even Mother’s hammer is silent as she rests it on the anvil and plunges the iron she was working into the almost white-hot coals I’ve stoked in the forge. All eyes have turned to the silhouette in the doorway, outlined by a pinkish, festering moon.
This gnarled and fearsome man is Davos, the master hunter, the man whom our world would be lost without.
His clothes are finely made of velvet. A rare material reserved for the master hunter himself as it can only be procured outside the hamlet. His hands are folded atop a walking stick adorned with the silver head of a raven—one identical to the large bird perched on his shoulder. I fight a chill that runs down my spine at the sight of the raven.
The black eyes of the master hunter.
That’s what the townsfolk refer to the bird as. It has a name; Drew told me it once. But I promptly forgot it. The name was as uncomfortable as the bird’s gaze. A fitting name that sounds like shrill cries and sharp nails on stone.
The old stories say that not one master hunter, dating as far back as the fortress itself, thousands of years, has been without a raven. When one master hunter dies, the raven takes to the skies. Then, when it is time for a new master hunter to be masked, a raven returns to perch on their shoulder. Some claim it has been the same raven for every master hunter since the first stones of the forge were laid. Drew says the raven is so revered in the fortress that it is usually the one to choose the next master hunter from worthy candidates. Others in the hamlet go so far as to think that the creature is an ancient god in the shape of a beast, defending Hunter’s Hamlet against the vampire scourge.
If that is true, the old god does a poor job of it. Because even though the vampire lord himself can’t come through the Fade, he still sends monsters every full moon to attack, to remind us that he is there, waiting. And the rumored divine could clearly do nothing to prevent the impending Blood Moon.
“Hail, Hunter’s Hamlet,” Davos says in that weary way of his.
“Guide and guard us,” the room intones in response.
“Tonight’s revelries seem to have been a delight.” Davos smiles. I think the expression is intended to be fatherly, but to me it always looks wicked. There’s a gleam to his eyes that deeply unnerves me. Drew has never found my unease surprising.
Davos is baptized in the blood of our enemies, he says. The man has seen more vampires, more of his kin live and die, than any of us.
And none of us are strangers to bloodshed in Hunter’s Hamlet. Death keeps a summer home in this forsaken place.
“But the night is growing thin,” Davos continues. “And I must recall my hunters to me.”
Men and women slowly step away from the crowd, as if in a trance. They are the hunters and have the scars, both visible and not, as a testament to their bloody work. I want to grab Drew’s hand. To ask if he’s sure he’ll be able to come later. I can’t stomach the thought of him marching out tomorrow evening without a chance to speak to him alone just one more time. Even though I don’t know what I want to say yet.
