The Vampire Queen: A Young Adult Paranormal Romance

By Veronica Shade

I don’t have a lot of time.

When my best friend Iris goes missing, my entire life grinds to a halt. Forget school. Forget familial obligations. Everything about me ceases to matter anymore. Because I have exactly one hour to save her life.

And I’m already ten minutes in.

The Vampire Queen is a short paranormal romance story fans of Kiera Cass will enjoy.

Scroll up and one click to start this short romantic fantasy adventure today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Independent Publishers Group
• Release date: Nov 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9780999625606

Veronica Shade

Veronica Shade writes fast-paced young adult and new adult paranormal romance reads. When she's not busy writing about snarky heroines and darkly dreaming vampires, she spends her time binge-watching Game of Thrones and reruns of Firefly, playing with her cats, or gaming. Veronica’s love for writing comes second only to her love of reading. If you like her books, she recommends you also check out Bella Forrest, Kiera Cass, and Cassandra Clare. The Veronica Shade pen name is a joint-venture persona of authors Rebecca Hamilton, Heather Marie Adkins, April Canavan, Anna Applegate, and Leigh Anderson.

Book preview

11

Chapter 1

I don’t have a lot of time.

When my best friend Iris went missing, my entire life ground to a halt. Forget school. Forget familial obligations. Everything about me ceased to matter anymore. Because I had exactly one hour to save her life.

And I’m already ten minutes in.

I burst through the front door, rush past my mother in the kitchen, and turn on the kettle before I throw open the cabinets.

Where are they? I start pulling things out—a jar of Nutella, a box of angel hair pasta—and growl as I push things aside. I need my tea! Why can’t anyone just leave my stuff where I put it?

I put it in the other cabinet, Mom says. Really, Hadley, it’s not a big deal.

I don’t have time to glower at her. I don’t have time to explain that yes, it is a big deal. And besides, even if did have the time, I still wouldn’t tell her. First of all, she probably wouldn't believe me. Second, if she did realize I was telling the truth, she’d want to do something stupid, like call the cops. And you can’t call the cops on vampires. That’s not how any of this works.

So I abandon the first set of cabinets and begin rummaging through the next. When I find my tin of tea leaves, I snap them up and set them on the counter. Then I grab a clean mug from the dishwasher no one ever unloads and place that next to the canister.

I check the flame on the burner to make sure it’s already up. Our stove sucks!

Language, Hadley, Mom reprimands.

I pace back into the living room and look out the front window, then come back and check on the water. My brother giggles from the kitchen table where he’s doing his school work.

A watched pot never boils, he says.

Shut up, stinkbutt.

Hadley! Mom says sharply.

I raise my hands. "Yeah, I know. Language. But he’s so annoying!"

Am not, he says.

And it’s categorically untrue, by the way. Watched pots do boil. When the stove doesn’t suck.

Before mom can grumble at me again, the kettle whistles. Finally.

My brother’s mumbling something to her about me being way too obsessed with tea lately. I could tell him it’s not the tea specifically I’m obsessed with—it’s the answers within the tea that I’m after—but my breath would be wasted.

I put a pinch of tea leaves into my cup, pour the boiling water on top, and then watch the clock for three minutes to pass. I spend these three minutes pondering how much it royally blows that the only want to save my friend is to stand around waiting for tea to steep.

The note that had materialized in my hand had been clear. IRIS'S LIFE OR YOURS. ONE HOUR.

There’d been an address beneath that. One that I intend to go to as soon as I have the right spell. But while other witches have spells recorded for them in a book of shadows, mine can only be revealed through tea leaves.

When the three minutes are up, I drink the tea as quickly as I can, leaving the leaves at the bottom of the cup with a small amount of liquid. Then I bolt upstairs, cup in still in hand, before my mom can tell me, No drinks upstairs.

She won’t follow me, though I’m sure she’ll yell at me about it later.

I lock myself in my bedroom and fall to my knees on the thin beige apartment-quality carpeting. Real tea-leaf readers would balk at the fact that I ran through my house, disrupting the liquid, but my gift is a little different. Instead of holding the handle of the cup in my left hand and moving it in a circle rapidly three times, I cradle it in my palms, close my eyes, and say the incantation my mentor taught me.

Show me the spell I most need to tell.

When I open my eyes, the bottom of the cup glows golden. The liquid swirls itself, creating