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    The Vanguard’s Gift
    The Vanguard’s Gift
    The Vanguard’s Gift
    Ebook50 pages42 minutes

    The Vanguard’s Gift

    By Eon de Beaumont

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Crispus Birchmount takes his responsibility to guard the gateway to the elven kingdom of Ashdale very seriously. But while the post itself is an honor, Crispus hates the human world—especially during the humans’ Christmas season when his elven ancestry is made into a mockery for the benefit of children! When he’s assigned to protect a young human, not even an altercation with a mall Santa can stop Crispus from locating Michel LeVandre, a unique man who awakens desires within Crispus he thought were long dead. The new distraction proves disastrous when enemy forces conspire to take the gate, but now Crispus has a human he really cares about and a renewed lust for life, and he’ll use the vanguard’s gift to defend Michel, the gate, and maybe the world.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDreamspinner Press
    Release dateDec 1, 2011
    ISBN9781613723050
    The Vanguard’s Gift

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      Book preview

      The Vanguard’s Gift - Eon de Beaumont

      The Vanguard’s Gift

      Crispus awoke, disappointed he drew breath another day in this wretched place. He knew his assignment was important, and he would never shirk his duty, but each night he went to sleep hoping the morning would not find him.

      But he stood and once more splashed water on his pale skin, dragging his wet hands up into the spiky, auburn locks that stood out from his scalp before he studied his face in the mirror. His lids felt heavy over his large, almond-shaped eyes with their deep, emerald irises beneath long, full lashes. Crispus pinched the bridge that began the slope of his thin, aquiline nose, attempting to dismiss the headache trying desperately to set up residence behind it. His tongue darted out, licked his slightly pink, bow-shaped lips and Crispus realized his mouth was very dry. That would be due to the drink of the previous night’s indulgence. Sometimes the drink was the only thing that would summon sleep in this place. His long fingers rubbed his strong, yet delicate chin, testing it for stubble and found none as usual. That was fine; Crispus hated to shave. He prodded the dark circles under his eyes before he grabbed the priceless, fine-toothed comb with its detailed engravings and inlaid gems. Crispus recalled the King of Ashdale smiling with pride as he’d presented the kingdom’s top Vanguard with the bauble. Crispus couldn’t remember which assignment he’d completed to earn the gift. He dragged the comb through his wet hair, sweeping it back from his temples, past his large, pointed ears. Despite his efforts to tame them, the locks remained spiked and only slightly less unruly than before.

      Ashdale, Crispus thought as he stepped back from the sink and looked down at his slender, muscular torso and its network of delicate scars earned through years of impeccable service to his king. He picked up the necklace Lady Melindra spelled to allow him to blend easier with the humans he was forced to live among since the attack of the Bloodshadows. Melindra was the most skilled caster in Ashdale, and even after all these years, the elfwitch’s enchantment remained as strong as ever. He slipped the cord over his head and let the acorn-shaped pendant rest against his skin. The tiny mystium charm was always warm, just like every perfect afternoon in the golden forest back home in Ashdale. Unlike this gods-forsaken world. Especially at this time of year. Crispus regarded the tiny window coated in frost, and he shook his head with remorse. He was assigned to this human village to protect the gate between the two lands and insure no further incursions from Torvack and his kin. The elf was aware of the enormous honor of this post, but it didn’t ease the longing for his homeland.

      Crispus left the tiny bathroom, switching off the light as he entered the equally tiny bedroom. He’d almost gotten used to the human mattress with its metal springs, but it was no match for a soft patch of grass. There was no closet in the room and no space for anything as elaborate as a chest of drawers. A small steamer trunk sat at the foot of the twin bed, and from this Crispus removed a shirt made from coarse human materials, slipping it on. His skin had chafed horribly when he’d first started wearing the garments, but it grew steadily accustomed to the sensation. The few clothes he owned were

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