SapphirePeter

Lord Ragnar Kamazotz is a vampire and the first ever of his kind.
The beast in him only recognizes the tune of one lady…his Zeda. 
In his earliest years, she was the only person that could calm him down or get him close to sanity with the help of her instrument.

All that stopped when she was gruesomely murdered by the greedy members of the royal family. He slayed everyone involved but he was never himself again. 
He survived by relying on The Prophecy that promised her coming back.
Seven centuries later, he meets her again and his world is at peace until scenes from the ancient days rise up in this present one, threatening to kill her…again!

People called her his poison but he called her ‘his Antidote”.
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“I remember…I remember you now my love” Zelda said as more tears fell from her eyes as she looked at the man who had suffered through centuries seeking her return.
Kamaz was tongue tied…overwhelmed and his heart rate was faster than normal.
She remembers…

“I missed you so much Zeda” Kamaz said and Zeda lifted her hand to his face and he leaned into her small hand.
“I missed you badl..” Kamaz wanted to continue but the rest of his words were buried in Zeda’s mouth.
She had stood on her toes and slid her hands around his neck, dragging him to her level and placing her lips on his.
Kamaz was stunned but not for long…
He lifted her petite frame from her thighs and wrapped her around his waist for their heads to be at the same level and tears fell off their eyes as they kissed - pouring all of them into that soul uniting and heart joining kiss.
She moved herself impossibly closer to him, making him second guess his decision of taking things slowly with her.

“Quinzi toman,” Kamazotz groaned as their scents tangled.

The Vampire King's Only Antidote

“No one informed me that you are now a thug. 


A word of advice: lose the suit and the suave hairstyle, and you can begin the job properly,’’ Rena said, taunting Falkur. 


Her face was paler than ever, her lips chapped and even her hair seemed to have been robbed of its shine. 


Heavy mascara coated her lashes to hide the gaunt of her eyes but they still did a bad job in Falkur’s eyes. 


He had one hand shoved into his pocket and the other holding a medium-sized basket, the emotion of his eyes locked away with dark sunglasses. The medium-sized basket was an odd pairing with his navy blue striped suit but Falkur didn’t care. 


He had a purpose of traveling down to the lair, and he was going to fulfill it. 


When he arrived less than an hour ago, some messenger guards had stopped him from fetching Rena himself, and to say he had been pissed would be an understatement. 


SORROW AND PICNIC