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    Blood Fever: Shadowmere Legacies, #1
    Blood Fever: Shadowmere Legacies, #1
    Blood Fever: Shadowmere Legacies, #1
    Ebook68 pages54 minutes

    Blood Fever: Shadowmere Legacies, #1

    By Jaide Fox

    2.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Pain and loss led Arsen to search the borderlands of Shadowmere, seeking the monster who’d taken away everything he’d ever cared for. In a tiny village, he found the bait he needed to set his trap—Amaria of the sun people--bitten and turning, cursed by the master vampire. She would rather die than live a twisted existence in the dark, but with Arsen she sees not only a chance at redemption but a man who needs her as much as she needs him—if only he can see beyond his pain.

    (This story was originally published in the USA Today Best-Selling collection: TAMING THE VAMPIRE)

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAndrea DePasture
    Release dateDec 10, 2016
    ISBN9781540182227
    Blood Fever: Shadowmere Legacies, #1

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      Book preview

      Blood Fever - Jaide Fox

      Chapter One

      The weary horse plodded along the beaten dirt path with only a pale sliver of moonshine to guide them along the trail. Ahead twinkled the firelight marking the town in the night, and Arsen held hope an inn or pub remained open to relieve his horse and water himself and get a bite to eat. His hindquarters ached from the long, fruitless ride into a town that looked little different from any other in this god forsaken land on the edges of Shadowmere.

      The black mountains which marked the Northern border blended seamlessly with the night, but they all knew the sheer surface held back the terrors beyond. Sometimes. Not his quarry, however, and Arsen held little faith of finding the creature this night or any other.

      His horse whinnied and snorted, diverting his attention ahead as they closed in on the town and a gathering commotion of panicked townspeople. He thought at first it was his arrival, yet he soon realized their panic was not caused by him. Shrill cries of women and the guttural mutterings of men centered around another hidden by their gathered bodies. Even with his height, he could not see what had drawn them all out.

      Arsen halted his horse and lapped the reins over a post, stretching as he watched the crowd grow and circle someone—or something—in the center of town. Torches burst into life and cast strange shadows in their eyes and gaunt cheeks, making them look garish as painted jesters.

      Burn the witch! Burn her! a woman with scraggly brown hair cried, turning to look at the men. Tis the only way to be sure.

      You don’t burn a witch. You drown ‘em! Fire is the mark of the devil, yelled another.

      Fools. You test with a hanging first—

      Calm yourselves! We know nothing of the woman. Be she witch or other, an elder man with bushy gray brows and a slick head declared.

      She was in the room of my son! He’s sick and hasn’t left the bed in a week. The outsider put a curse on him! said a slender woman held around the shoulders by her husband. Her face twisted in sorrowful fury.

      His curiosity piqued, Arsen strode to the gathering, dust puffing around his fur-lined boots and against the edges of the bear hide he wore as protection against the elements. The crowd quieted at his approach, as oft happened when he neared. Hushed voices whispered, tinged with fear. He knew himself an intimidating figure to the unprepared. Well-fed with years of trapping and tracking experience under his belt, he’d eaten like a king, moved like a predator, and towered over the tallest villager by a head. The draught horse was the only one stout enough to carry his bulk without defiance. He used his size to advantage, always, and now was no different.

      In their midst, a woman sat on her knees in the bare dirt. Her head hung down and dark fingers dug into the drab folds of her skirts. The sleeves of her blouse were ripped and torn, exposing slender shoulders of a deep, sun-kissed brown he’d seen possessed by the sun-worshipping tribe of the Ah-Nu-Rah Valley. The valley lay not too distant—certainly within a few days’ ride, and he wondered if that was from whence she hailed. Naught of her face showed, hidden by a cloud of tangled, curly vines of dark hair threaded with shots of light brown that glinted golden in the firelight.

      The bald elder stepped up, obviously a leader of sorts by his carriage. Be ye beast or man, stranger?

      The mouth of the bear’s fur covered Arsen’s brows, and he pushed the hood back off his head, revealing his face to them. Collectively, he could almost hear their relieved sigh in unison though their wariness remained. These borderlands made an isolated people hard and suspicious.

      Man as it happens, though barely so these days without a hot meal in my gullet and a warm ale in my hand. Ye know the beastmen remain in Shadowmere. The truce stands as far as I know.

      They cross when it pleases them, the elder said and spit into the dirt as if cleaning filth from his mouth. Ye gave us a fright with that skin borne on ye shoulders. Hunter?

      He nodded. Aye. Once in better times. What is this woman’s crime, that she be dragged into the streets this night? Arsen asked.

      The elder didn’t remove his locked gaze from Arsen’s. Trespass. Suspected sorcery. None of your concern. He nodded toward another fellow.

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