Unlikely Queen (Crystal Castle 1)

Chapter One

His touch brands my very soul. I can feel it all the way down to the depths of my bones. It’s like a fire licking at its victim and being drenched in ice water at the same time. His lips touch mine, branding me, marking my soul so anyone and everyone can see or feel it.

I am his.

In this moment and forever, I belong to him.

It feels like I’m in a daze. I shouldn’t know what he’s doing, but somehow, I know every single detail. It’s like a puzzle in my head, working it out, putting it together piece by piece.

A sweep of his tongue, and the fire smolders.

A bite of my lip, and the fire burns brighter.

My insides are shaking, not understanding but wanting as much as he can give to quench my insatiable need for him.

He pulls back, and in an instant, everything changes. I’m not blind. I can see clearly. His eyes shine brightly into mine, silver and steady. It feels like a drug is clearing from my system, cleansing me of him. I crave his intoxication once more—a hit—that one single touch or a single look can give.

“You feel it, don’t you?” My eyes close at the sound of his voice, and I shiver as it takes on an edge. “Now I need you to run… run as if your life depends on it. Because if you don’t, I will find you, and I will take you.”

Is it a malicious promise or a delicious threat? What I do know is that it’s one I delight in.

“The prophecy?” I ask, and he nods in answer, wings expanding out in all their glory.

And I find myself craving him once more.

“If it comes true…” he continues by way of warning, “…our worlds will intertwine. You will have more power than anyone could ever dream of, and no one will be able to stop you.”

“You won’t touch me again?”

I miss it already—his touch, his taste.

“I won’t be able to.” His lips meet my cheek, then the same words whisper once more in my ear. “Run, little fighter. Run.”

Chapter Two

All I want is to sleep right now, but Tanya is pushing my leg, trying to wake me. Kicking her, she falls backward, and I hear her hit the floor in a heap as I smile under the sheets.

“You bitch,” she hisses.

I pull the covers down as she rights herself at the end of the bed. She looks gorgeous, dressed and ready for whatever today will bring. With her hands on her hips, Tanya throws me her most menacing death stare, which is nowhere near as severe as she thinks. She wants to cuss me out—I can see it on her face—but she won’t. Tatiana is near, and she hates cuss words, unless they’re from her own mouth, that is.

I am the baby of my family. Tatiana is the eldest, with Tanya being the middle child. There are exactly three years between each of our births, with the three of us sharing a birthday. We also share the same thick, chocolate-brown hair and emerald-green eyes.

They say we look like our mother, who we miss deeply. It’s been years since she died. When you get sick in Cardia, only the rich get the help they need. Every potion we concocted to heal her, every mixture of herbs we tried to make her pain more tolerable, never worked on her.

And in the end, the sickness took her.

The word they used to define it was cancer. Today, it’s sickness.

We have never met any other family like ours, but there aren’t many families left in Cardia. Cardia was established before I was born and after things had changed for the worse. Our kind never mixed with others before the angels descended, taking over a world we are all deemed too incompetent to manage.

When they arrived, angry and condemning our actions, they destroyed everything we knew to be home and relocated us to what we now know as Cardia. Not everyone cooperated with the forced transition, many arguing that the angels had no right to exercise their authority in such a manner. While some never got to see Cardia for themselves, others—including my family—were lumped into their own wards.

That means we now have to play nice in the event we cross paths with ones considered undesirables. Those who survived are different and rarely ever see eye to eye. A mere grudge that had festered for thousands of years, beginning in the Biblical age, still haunts us in our present life.

My family are descendants of the great Witch of Endor, who had once been sought out by King Saul. Saul was a fierce, competitive man hell-bent on being anointed a prophet, his desire blinding him to a troublesome future that awaited. One particular night, under the glow of the new moon on the hill of Gibeah, he chanted his spell—a spell the Witch of Endor guaranteed would see his anointment.