Resistance (Dark Realm Series) by Patricia Mason Page A

were almost at the bottom the crowd parted and an
elegant figure came toward us through the aisle they'd created. A young man,
tall and graceful and fashionably pale. His hair was worn short and he had the
slender moustache and goatee. This was the face on all the money of the realm,
His Royal Highness, Prince Leopold.
    When I realized who stood before me, I
almost tripped but my father held me up. I don't think anyone noticed my
falter. We stopped in front of our monarch.
    "Ah, here she is," the prince
said, a red glow lighting his eyes.
    "Majesty," I murmured as I gave
a curtsey. A creditable effort, without a lurch or a stumble. "What an
honor to have you attend my birthday party. Thank you."
    "Delectable Amy." Prince
Leopold smiled, his fangs gleaming in the gas-lit room. "The pleasure is
all mine."

Chapter
One

 
    "If
ignorant of both your enemy and yourself, you are certain to be in peril."
      Sun Tzu, The Art of War

 
    Eight years later...

 
    Happy sodding twenty-first birthday, I thought as I strode along London's
Portobello Road, toward a meeting with a fire-spitting demon.
    "Thanks, but it's not my
birthday," said my companion, Lt. Howard Driscoll, glancing over his
shoulder at me as we walked.
    Bollocks! I'd spoken out loud.
    "Happy sodding Thursday, then,
sir." I added that last bit because even though Driscoll was a jerk, he
was still my superior officer in the Human Resistance London Regiment. Since he
was at least eight years older than me, Driscoll's age and rank should've
earned my respect, but somehow I hadn't been able to muster it up. He always seemed
to do something I considered stupid or, even worse, reckless.
    Driscoll shook his head. "You're a
strange one, Amy."
    "Corporal Amy," I muttered
resenting Driscoll's typical condescending tone. The other soldiers in the
Human Resistance knew me only by my rank. I wouldn't tolerate a last name. What
name would I use, anyway? My vampire father's? Not bloody likely.
    "You're close though," Driscoll
said with a chuckle. "My birthday is a month from today and I plan to have
a big celebratory party."
    "As if anyone would attend your
party," I muttered.
    "What?" Driscoll eyed me with
surprise and then anger. Apparently, he wasn't such an arrogant sot that he
couldn't figure out I'd insulted him.
    "Everyone will be too busy working
on the general's spring offensive," I said.
    He smiled in reply seemingly satisfied by
my explanation. "They'll make time for me," he insisted. "I'm
very popular."
    I choked down a burst of laughter and
turned it into a cough. Driscoll and his party , I thought with disgust. But then who was I to
laugh at him? No birthday party had been planned in my honor this year.
    For a moment the memory of a party for a
thirteen-year-old slipped into my mind and I ruthlessly shut it down. What a
joke. Anyway, parties weren't for me. Frilly dresses didn't suit. I'd resemble
a giraffe with a bow about its neck if I wore one.
    What was wrong with me? Sentiment usually
wasn't my thing. Besides, in the British Empire of Dorcha, I should've been
grateful just to be alive. Thanks to Prince Leopold, humans had become an
endangered species. Making it to age twenty-one these days meant you were a
tough fighter, an extremely lucky person, a genius intellect, or a bloody
coward. I sought to qualify as the first, prayed for the second, had no hope of
the third and I swore not to be the fourth.
    I'd been a Resistance soldier for the
last five years and surviving on my own since three years before that. Again
the memory of that party— my thirteenth birthday — threatened. Maybe those memories
hovering at the edge of my mind was the reason I felt so soppy and mawkish
today.
    Forget what happened, I commanded myself. Ha. I'd need a
lobotomy for that.
    We reached a corner. Driscoll barreled
forward, seemingly unaware of the surroundings and what might be lurking there.
He made no attempt to hide his face. I took care to stay completely hidden
under the hood