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

Every screen in and around the stadium showed the woman in shiny burgundy, sitting beside Mr Ragnar –as his date- as the next performer. 


The staff member who stood close to Zeda to guide her to the podium lost control of his bladder when Kamaz looked at him. Eyes that could cut through glass, with a folded fist that showed just how badly he was going to break him if he took a step closer to Zeda enhanced Kamaz’s features. 


The staff knew to stay put, he couldn’t move forward or take a step back as mortification shared a womb with him. 


Zeda’s palms were clammy, and the well-ventilated space couldn’t stop the sudden heat at the back of her neck and the immediate tightness in the upper part of her dress. 


The last time she held the cello before so many persons, was the day she had planned to kill herself. Going up there felt like she was going to be re-living those emotions surrounding that event. 


THE GIFT OF HER FINGERS