FCRAs Runner-Up!
Take a step back from the Snow White tale you know. Step back to get a better look.
Skin pale as snow.
Hair black as ebony.
Lips red as blood.
What does that sound like to you, dear reader? A creature of the dark. One that lives...
Red as Blood has hit 2k reads!!! *squeals and does a happy dance* Honesty, guys, I would've never thought I could write a story like this, or that anyone would like it enough to keep reading past the first chapter. But thank you all for getting me this far, it really warms my heart to see Maris, Beck and Snow getting more and more reads! I'm super sorry that it's taken me this long to update, life in the real world has been slowly killing me with stress. But, bonus!! I am legally and officially an adult!
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ANYWAY, thanks much again for being so patient and sticking with this story! Back to Maris and Beck!
I didn't even think. I just acted, which was a first for me.
Hiking up my tea soaked skirts, I rounded the corner of my desk and ran across the room to Beck. My feet thumped loudly against the thick carpets blanketing the floors, almost as loud as my heart. My knees burned against the same carpet as I fell my his side, hands instantly lifting his face up to see if his eyes were still open. Hands that no longer cared if they were stained with blood.
"Beck?" My voice was strained. "Beck, look at me!"
Nothing. Those searing blue eyes remained shut.
"Zepher!" I cried out to the open door, hanging open like a gaping wound. "Zepher!"
It didn't take him long to run into the study; he was never too far away from me. But with the toxic combination of adrenaline and fear burning through my veins, it felt like ages.
"Dear God . . ." Zepher murmured when he caught sight of the Huntsman. His usually furrowed eyebrows rose up in surprise and his hand instantly went to his sword. "Your Grace, how–"
"Get Thayer," I told him, trying to keep my voice from wavering. When he didn't move, I added, "Now!"
He wasn't happy about it, I could tell. But the Captain of the Guard reluctantly hurried out of the room and left me alone with a bleeding man on the floor. But heavens help me, I couldn't find the wound.
I tried to take a calming gulp of air, licking my lips as I did so, and set to word. Blood and mud coated my fingers in a gritty, slimy paste as I tried to find a hole in Beck's tough leather armor. The metallic smell nearly made me gag, but I swallowed the sensation down. Shoulders first, I lifted up pads of armor but found no wounds. Across his chest, down his stomach but still nothing. No matter how much leather I unlaced, no matter how much mud I wiped away, all I was greeted with was pale, tattooed skin.
A large hand suddenly gripped my wrist in an iron tight hold. I bit back a yelp of surprise, quickly retracting my fingers from his skin as I met Beck in the eye. In those eyes was a desperation I hadn't ever seen in him. And maybe even . . . fear.
