Child of Blackwen (An Artemis Ravenwing Novel Book 1) by Melanie Rodriguez Read Free Book Online Page A

suggested she was a gift to him from the goddess of earth and the patron of the Woodland Realm, Willow—a gift to help him survive all that was to come. None rivaled Azrael’s speed; they would reach Talisa’s cottage in moments.
    Azrael slowed her galloping once the cottage was in sight. Stopping beside the wooden gate, Shadow dismounted and led her to Talisa’s stable. He knew the witch wouldn’t mind, especially since he was fulfilling the first of her many favors.
    As he patted her one last time, Azrael whinnied. Shadow shook his head.
    “I can’t, old friend,” he said. “I need you here.”
    Azrael lowered her golden eyes in defeat and pushed his shoulder with her head. Shadow chuckled as he rubbed her neck.
    “Yes, I promise to keep safe as well.” Reaching the door of the stable, he looked back one last time. “I’ll return soon. Behave yourself.”
    Shutting the stable door as quietly as possible, Shadow shifted the hood of his cloak atop his head and treaded carefully past the cottage. He stilled all thoughts and concentrated on the “music” of the forest. It was said that elves could sometimes hear the voices of the forest itself, but only if they listened hard enough.
    After hearing something that did not fit with the environment, Shadow dashed farther into the darkness and found a large ash tree to climb. Satisfied after finding a decent observational post, Shadow peered into the darkness of the forest.
    While surveying the grove of ash trees, he spotted traces of blood along the bark of the trees across from him. He just missed a disturbance.
    Or so he thought.
    Shadow sensed a presence that did not belong in the forest; the aura he felt was undeniably dark. He steadied his stance along the tree branch, and then flinched just barely when a bloodied body fell onto the ground, not far from his tree. Two figures dashed toward the carcass; he heard heavy breathing and the sickening crunch of breaking bones. There was no doubt in his mind that they were vampires. He watched as they feasted on the corpse.
    Shadow dared not move lest he give away his position. A vampire’s hearing was just as acute as an elf’s, and they were far swifter on foot. Looking closely, Shadow recognized the corpse as one of his race; the face was mangled beyond recognition, but he could still see the perfectly pointed ears. Shadow felt his pulse quicken.
    He heard a twig snap, and his attention shifted to a new figure that entered the area. Shadow studied it closely and recognized it to be female. Her red hair was unbound, resting atop her shoulders, and she wore a long black leather coat over black clothing. Such a fashion was common among vampire kind. A sheathed short sword hung from her waist, but it seemed as if it were more for show; the woman looked as if she could defend herself well without it. Her dark brown eyes narrowed at her companions, showing disgust.
    “Enough,” she declared. “Show some respect for the departed.”
    The figures above the elf separated, and Shadow noted the two were male. They too wore long black coats and black clothing. They did not appear to have any weapons—none that he could see. Their long red hair was bound, unlike that of the woman, and their pale faces were splashed with the elf’s now dark blood. The irises of their eyes were red, the sign of a full-blood’s bloodlust, along with the elongated fangs.
    One of them laughed.
    “Mistress Netira,” another one of them mocked, bowing dramatically. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence?”
    “Indeed!” the first who laughed began, while licking the blood along his lips and clawed fingertips. “Do you care for the sweet, honeyed blood of the elvenkind? It’d be a shame to waste the opportunity.”
    The one they called Netira moved forward, and she bent to inspect the body they’d gorged on. She kept silent as she rose, and she smacked the nearest vampire hard across the face. She drew her sword and pointed it at