Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Our bodyguard-slash-carriage driver opens the door for us but before I can even move, an older couple steps out from the barn.
They’re vampires—I can tell, because when they smile, the sharp points of their fangs show just beneath their upper lips—but otherwise, they look like any elderly farming couple. The man is tall and stooped, wearing worn boots and a flannel shirt. His wife is bundled in a knitted shawl, her silver hair pulled back neatly into a grandmotherly bun.
The farmer vampire bows deeply.
“You must be our new queen! Lord Lucian sent word that you and your friend were coming.”
I blink, startled at this welcome.
“Welcome, Your Majesty! You are most welcome at our humble orchard,” the old lady vampire says, dropping into a deep curtsy that makes me want to dive out of the carriage and catch her.
“Oh! Oh no, please don’t do that,” I blurt, worried for her knees. “I’m just an accountant.”
“The Lord Lucian said you would be modest, my Lady,” the old lady says kindly as she rises, smiling at me. “Come—please. We are to give you and your esteemed friend a tour of our orchard, where you may pick as many Pomme de sang as you wish.”
“And after that,” the farmer adds, “perhaps you’d like to peruse our store. We’re proud to have you on our premises.”
“Oh—thank you,” I say, still flustered. “That would be great.”
Hanna and I exchange a glance.
This is weird…but it’s also kind of nice. A private tour of a beautiful place and people who seem genuinely pleased to meet us. I mean, what’s not to like?
I step down from the carriage, my boots crunching on gravel, and follow the old vampire couple toward the orchard—my heart lighter than it has any right to be.
49
Jules
We follow the old vampire couple around the side of the antique barn, crunching over gravel that gives way to soft earth as the land opens up behind it.
The orchard stretches out before us in neat, gently sloping rows, disappearing into the distance like something out of a dream.
At first glance, they all look like apple trees—with gnarled trunks, spreading branches, and glossy leaves—but the fruit hanging from them is anything but ordinary.
Blue apples catch the light like polished sapphires, their skins faintly iridescent. Emerald green ones gleam like cut gemstones, almost glowing against the dark leaves. There are dusky purple apples too, deep and velvety, like plums dipped in twilight.
But the apples that stop me dead in my tracks are the darkest ones.
They hang heavy on the branches, their skin a red so deep it’s almost black, as though every fruit has absorbed the shadows around it. When the light hits them just right, they gleam like garnets—or dried blood.
My gaze is pulled to them irresistibly.
“What are those?” I ask, pointing before I can stop myself.
The vampire farmer’s chest puffs out with pride.
“Oh, those are the Pomme de sang I told you about, my Lady. Our farm is famous for them,” he says. “Why, without our Pomme de sang, much of the territory would go thirsty.”
“Oh, uh… does everyone here drink a lot of apple juice then?” Hanna asks.
For a split second, the old couple just stares at her…then they burst out laughing.
It’s warm, genuine laughter—the kind that makes their shoulders shake and their eyes crease and I can’t help smiling too, even though I don’t understand what’s so funny.
“Bless you, no, my Lady,” the old lady vampire says, dabbing at her eyes. “It’s the juice and flesh of the Pomme de sang—which means apple of blood, in case you didn’t know—that sustains most of our people and satisfies their thirst for blood.”
“But… I thought vampires drank blood,” I blurt. “I mean, real blood.”
The words tumble out of me, and I immediately wince, hoping I haven’t said something rude or ignorant.
But instead of being offended, they laugh again—kindly this time.
“My goodness, no,” the old lady says. “Think of it—we’re a nation of vampires. If we all drank each other’s blood all the time, we’d die out from blood loss. It just wouldn’t work.”
“Indeed it wouldn’t,” the vampire farmer agrees. “Which is why long ago our ancestors developed a strain of apple that produces all the nutrients we need to survive—that’s the Pomme de sang, you see. These days we mostly only bite each other when we’re Bonding.”
His wife gasps and swats his arm.
“Now, Alfred! Don’t you go talking about Bonding to these two innocent girls!”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek hard to keep from laughing.
Alfred. A vampire named Alfred. It just doesn’t seem right, but strangely, it fits the old farmer to a T.
Aloud, I say, “No, please—we’re not all that innocent. Er… wait, that came out wrong.”
“What my friend—your Queen—is trying to say is that we’re really interested in your culture and we’d like to know more about it,” Hanna says smoothly, saving me. She gives me a look, and I see that her green eyes are dancing with amusement.