Stormwind (The Storm Chronicles Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

inside of an ancient cathedral.
    Dominique, Valentina’s familiar stood near the door to the large dining hall, a leather garment in her arms. The young-looking blonde woman, barefoot as always, smiled at Raven and held out the clothing. “You are just in time, Miss Ravenel.”
    Raven pulled off her torn blouse and bra and laid them on a nearby chair. “Dominique, you helped raise me. I think you can call me Raven, don’t you?”
    Dominique blushed and looked down. “That would not be proper, love. Now let me get this on you.”
    Raven rolled her eyes, but turned. Dominique wrapped the leather corset around the taller woman’s waist and laced it tightly. Raven ran her hand over the leather and found that her knives had been slipped into sheaths at her waist, which meant her mother was expecting trouble.
    The athletic redhead turned and let Dominique put her official badge of office around her neck. The family crest hung quite visibly at her throat, the silver glistening wetly in the light.
    “You look beautiful, Miss Ravenel,” Dominique said, bouncing on her toes.
    “I feel like I’m stuck in a vice and my boobs look like a pair of barely restrained zeppelins,” Raven replied. “Why Mom insists on this crap is beyond me.”
    “It is tradition, love,” Dominique said. “Now get inside, the Mistress is waiting.”
    Raven kissed Dominique’s cheek and pushed through the doors into the dining hall. Close to fifty vampires were seated at the long oak table, a handful of familiars standing or kneeling nearby. Raven shook her head and moved to stand next to her mother.  The day she asked Rupert or Aspen to kneel was the day she ate the barrel of her own gun. Familiars were friends and confidants, not pets or portable snack trays.
    Valentina sat in her chair, her leather dress cut to reveal far too much cleavage and thigh. Her black hair had been piled on her head, held in place with an antique comb and pin that dated back to twelfth century Germany. Her red-nailed hand was playing with a glass of warm claret while she listened to Evangelina, a vampire who had once followed Raven’s brother Xavier.
    “…and what of Lord Strohm?” she was saying. “It is well known he didn’t die when you and your human lover claimed. Your right to the throne is in dispute until his whereabouts are determined and his assassin, if there is one, dealt with.”
    “My late husband did indeed pass as Mason Storm and I reported before the council,” Valentina replied in a calm voice. “His subsequent means of resurrection is a mystery currently being investigated by my son Andre along with Igor. Regardless, my claim to the throne is not in dispute.”
    “It is if Strohm lives!” another vampire, an Embraced named Lankan Choum, interjected. 
    Valentina stiffened and Raven laid a hand on her shoulder. She knew what was being asked of her. She stepped forward, her eyes locked on Choum. “Strohm is dead. He’s nothing but ash sitting in a mausoleum and a charred sword sticking out of an ancient stone.”
    “So you claim,” Choum said, swirling his own glass of claret. “I somehow doubt a half-breed, even a Fürstin such as yourself could have destroyed the great Lord Strohm. Where is your proof?”
    “You want proof?” Raven asked, turning and walking around the table toward Choum.
    “I do indeed!” the lanky vampire replied.
    Raven stopped next to him, her eyes glowing green. “By the laws of the Totentanz no proof of my kill is required, save the absence of the deceased. This was decreed in 1366 due to the… volatile nature of vampires when their heart is pierced or head removed. I claim that Strohm is dead by my hand and sword. Do you dispute this claim?”
    Across the table Evangelina leaned back, one hand going to her chest. Raven watched her from the corner of her eye and waited for Choum’s next move.
    “You do not frighten me, Fürstin Ravenel,” Choum said. “You are a half-breed with no claim to the title