By. Linda M. Crate 

Her usually green eyes were shining red in her rage beneath the sunset. She was the third vampire made in existence and the true Queen of the Vampires. Her best friend and her husband had betrayed her, leaving her for what they believed was dead. But she hadn’t been dead just injured, and for a long while she had been sleeping.

Now Frika was awake, and she wasn’t taking any prisoners. She would have vengeance on all those who attempted to take her kingdom from her. Who the hell did they think they were?

She pushed red hair from her dark skin. Her mother had been black but her father had been white. She had gotten his hair and his eyes but her mother’s skin and features including the shape of her eyes which was large and almond shaped in appearance.

Frika was recognized by her distinctive characteristics when she rose from the place where her husband and once friend had left her. Some were terrified and ran to warn the king and queen but she had set them on fire before they could warn her husband and the new lover he took.

She was going to reclaim her throne whether or not they liked it. She was the rightful owner of this place, after all.

Frentenia needed her, she noticed, as she walked through the quiet streets. Her husband was working the poor mortals to the bone, and taking more gold than he could ever possibly spend undoing the good relationship her parents had with the common mortal that allowed them to rule over them without fearing death by their hands.

“Frika lives, oh, God forgive us, Frika, he said you were dead,” came a voice of a vampire elder she had not seen in years.

“My anger is not for you, Antonio. It is for Lincoln and Livia. They both shall pay for their insolence. But first I need allies. Can I trust you, old friend?”

“Always, my lady.”

“I need the element of surprise on my side. Few vampires can walk in the light as you and I. Find the old ones and see who is willing to help our cause. If they are not willing then sacrifice them to the earth because I have no need of traitors.”

“Of course, my lady, and gladly so. It does my heart good to see you again. Lincoln is ruining everything.”

“I know I’ve slept too long, but I couldn’t will my eyes open sooner than this. I will undo every damage he has done, mark my words. Now go. We are wasting precious time here.”

Time was of the essence. She had to strike tonight. She knew that. Frika hoped she still had allies. Antonio had always loved her, and she hadn’t given him the time of day when she was younger. She regretted that now. Clearly, he would have made a better husband than Lincoln.

Vengeance, whilst a human emotion and something she felt rather futile in most circumstances, would be hers. She was not weak and easily broken as the limbs of an old tree. She was fierce as fire, stronger than the mighty eroding arm of the ocean, and had more songs than the wind. The sun couldn’t shine as brightly as the rage that coursed through her veins.

She felt the thirst prickling at her, serving to irritate her further.

Patience, Frika, patience, she told herself.

Antonio returned to her some time later with four men and one woman. This was a disappointing turnout she had to admit, but it was good to know that some still honored loyalty to their queen.

“When shall we strike, my lady?”


“Excellent, I’ve been looking to spill those bloodlings little veins. They have not the strength or the wisdom of us, Queen Frika. They are frail as human babies, and I want to dash their brains for their insolence.”

“Fret not, Venus, you shall do just that. However, Lincoln and Livia are mine. Their deaths are mine and mine alone. Understood?”


All six of the figures bowed at Antonio’s simple agreement.

“You are the strongest and wisest of us all, Queen Frika.”

“Not to mention oldest,” she added, eyes twinkling. “But even I still have a lot to learn. There is a lot of wisdom in the world that we have to learn. It is arrogant to assume we are gods jut because we are blessed with these gifts and eternal beauty. Because even we rely on the blood of others to survive.”

“And we can die, too.”

“Yes, but tonight we shall live,” Frika said, turning her eyes to the castle. “Today I will reclaim what is mine.”

Frika walked so quickly that the others had a hard time keeping up with her.

She walked to the courtyard setting several of the younger vampires on fire until even their ashes couldn’t find anything other than wind to scatter them so they could not return. She then jumped to where she saw Livia’s face full of horror glancing down at her.

“Frika! It wasn’t my idea. It was his.”

“Still you helped him to betray me, and so you must die, too,” Frika scowled. “No excuse will save you from my wrath.” She then bit deeply into Livia’s throat, draining her of all her blood. She then set her on fire making sure she scattered the ashes of the woman before the wind got a chance.

Lincoln seemed to hear Livia’s screams, but was all too late.


Frika smirked, with a twisted grin, Livia’s blood still on her lips. “You will succumb to my power, you weak worm!”

Before Lincoln could respond she had tackled him to the ground, and was pinning him down to the ground. Her fangs were mere inches from his throat. “Die fool!” she snarled before she drained his blood and set him on fire, too.

Now her kingdom was hers again even if there was work to be done.

Linda M. Crate’s works have appeared in many anthologies and magazines both online and in print. She is the author of three published chapbooks and the Magic Series.

Pearl Charles is a musician from Los Angeles, California.