Page 17 of Blood Sings (Beyond the Gloom #1)

Gale’s laughter danced on the night breeze as she twirled around the fountain, wings shimmering like living metal. “I like her.” She giggled, balancing two steaming mugs in her hands.

I eyed the chipped ceramic cup she handed me, the inky liquid sloshing close to the rim. A rich, nutty scent tickled my nose and stirred a flicker of curiosity. Throwing caution to the wind, I took a generous swig.

Sweet Darkness, what a mistake.

My taste buds revolted, every nerve ending screaming in protest. It tasted like a horrifying brew of distilled essence of damp earth and bitter regret. I struggled to keep my face neutral, but my treacherous lips puckered as if I’d just kissed a dirt clod.

Gale’s knowing smirk told me I wasn’t fooling anyone. So much for my legendary poker face. At least I managed not to spit the vile concoction in her face. My mother’s lessons in decorum were worth something, at least.

Her almond-shaped eyes sparkled with mirth. “Kafea,” she explained. “It’s… an acquired taste.”

“I’ve had worse,” I lied, mustering a weak smile. The truth was, it was so terrible even bacteria rebelled against it.

“Oh please,” Gale snorted, downing her own drink without a wince. “If you think this is bad, wait till Terraknight breaks out his home-brewed mead.”

We left our mugs perched on the fountain’s edge—mine untouched save for that initial, regrettable sip—and ambled toward the captain. The bitter aftertaste still clung to my tongue, making me wrinkle my nose with every swallow.

Gale moved with an effortless grace, the kind of poise usually reserved for someone who’d grown up at court. Her wings, fitted neatly through artful slits in her shirt, rippled like crimson silk in the moonlight. A flash of ink peeked from beneath the fabric, sparking questions that I mentally filed away for another time—when I wasn’t teetering on the edge of hysterical laughter.

Her boots, comically oversized and clearly ‘borrowed’, slapped the ground with each step. She looked like she’d raided some unfortunate giant’s closet—Terraknight’s, most likely. The contrast between her elegant bearing and those clownish shoes was my undoing, but I folded my lips and reined myself in. The last thing I wanted was to offend her.

Harbinger glanced up from his book and looked in our direction. His gaze landed on me. For a heartbeat, surprise flashed across his face, dark-blond brows arching high. Then curiosity took over, his scrutiny so intense it set my pulse racing. Those eyes shouldn’t belong to someone looking shy of thirty—they held centuries, millennia even. Empires could have risen and fallen in the depths of that gaze.

I knew I was staring. Underworld’s balls, I knew it. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sun-kissed planes of his face, the curve of his lips. The sharp edge of his jaw. His neck.

Unbidden, the memory of his blood flooded my senses. I ached to taste him again, to run my fingers along that golden skin and—

His features twisted into a sneer, dousing my wayward thoughts like ice water. I felt my face grow hot, equal parts embarrassment and irritation. I fought to regain composure. I was a professional, damn it, not some love-struck fledgling.

I held my shoulders upright, tamping down the inconvenient warmth in my belly. Time to focus on why I was really here.

His sneer deepened as I approached, but I refused to be intimidated.

“We need to discuss your mission logs,” I said. “There are… discrepancies that need addressing.”

Harbinger’s jaw locked, fingers tightening on the book. “What exactly do you think you’ve found?” he snarled. “Those reports contain everything necessary. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The Bloodthorn Nexus buzzed at my nape. I pressed the crystal, and Selena’s acerbic voice flooded my mind. “Having fun with your fake original? I’m heading back for our gear. Starving here.”

As her shadowy form melted into the forest, my body revolted. “Wait!” I cried, lurching forward. “I’ll come with—”

“I’ve got this.” Gale stopped me, her grip around my wrist firm, sure.

I hesitated, eyeing the lightening sky. Sel was strong, but alone out there… She’d need the extra help to haul the crate back in time. “Fine,” I huffed. “But be careful. And hurry back.”

Gale’s wings snapped open like a thunderclap. One powerful beat sent her rocketing skyward into the pre-dawn gloom, the burst of air scattering leaves and pebbles and pelting the roof with a staccato of tiny impacts.

A plaintive mewl drifted down in response, sending a tremor up my back.

What in the eternal fires was lurking up there?

“Did you hear that?” I hissed at Harbinger, scanning the roofline, searching for danger.

Harbinger didn’t even bother to lift his gaze from the book, his brows furrowing deeper as if my very existence was an affront to his concentration. “It’s just the wind,” he muttered through a rigid mouth. His fingers, long and calloused, flipped to the next page with intentional slowness, the message clear in the soft rustle: ‘Already scared, princess?’

Just. The. Wind.

The sheer audacity of this man. As if I couldn’t pick out each individual termite gnawing at the rafters, or the steady thrum of his own heartbeat. I fought the urge to snatch the damn book from his hands. Here I was, on high alert for potential Stalker threats, and this conceited, exasperating half-original was more concerned with whatever drivel he was reading. The same man whose sloppy reports were full of holes.

I unclenched my fists, giving him my best smile—the one that said I could speak presumption fluently—and bit back a scathing retort. I wouldn’t let him bait me into losing focus. There was a job to do, and by the Moon, I’d see it through.

Forcing my attention away from him, I surveyed the looming mansion. The structure stood out like a forgotten Tenth Ward lord who’d stumbled into the slums—sandstone and red brick with Romanesque arches clinging weakly to their bygone glory. Its once-proud Victorian bones were now a centuries-spanning patchwork of architectural confusion, scarred by boarded windows and hasty repairs.

The building’s haphazard array of ornate balconies looked one stiff breeze away from collapse. Kudzu had taken full advantage of the neglect, its dense tendrils scaling the walls, edges frosted by the encroaching cold.

Despite my enhanced senses—clearly superior to the oh-so-preoccupied captain’s—I couldn’t pinpoint the source of that earlier horrifying sound.

Let it go, Aurora. Focus.

I filled my chest with air, preparing myself for the confrontation ahead. “About the guild’s battle logs,” I said, keeping my voice level. “You sent the wrong ones. They all contained the same report—”

“What, you went through all of them?” Harbinger’s head snapped up, glaring at me with narrowed eyes.

I held my position and lifted my chin.

Something swirled around his pupils, like amber feathers or brushstrokes of liquid gold. I found myself leaning in, breath catching in my chest. Red flecks danced in honey as if someone had placed them with tiny tweezers. The crimson circle pulsed once, twice, then vanished entirely. His irises transformed before me, melting into pure, bright citrine that seemed to glow from within.

It was beautiful. Terrifying. A reminder of his otherness, of the unknown power that lurked just beneath that tough exterior. I knew I should pull back, maintain some semblance of professional distance but—

“…the Hell? You’re still doing that?” Terraknight’s bellow shattered the moment.

I jerked and stepped back, spine ramrod straight.

He launched himself from the fountain, all rippling muscle and a sly smirk. For a man who looked capable of demolishing walls, he landed next to the captain with surprising grace, his gaze ping-ponging between us.

“Yes, I have,” I told Harbinger, meeting his steely gaze. “I’ve examined all the reports since you took charge, including those of your predecessors.”

He blinked. The golden wonder in his irises froze over. “What exactly do you expect to achieve with them? They seem pointless to me.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Was he serious?

“Analyzing Stalkers’ tactics isn’t just a projector’s responsibility, it’s a crucial part of our survival,” I retorted. “You’ve been battling them for decades. You, more than anyone, should understand the significance of being well-prepared.”

After eighty years, Harbinger must have developed his own methods—his survival was proof enough. But I needed those details, the nuances of his countermeasures. Unlike my less-diligent colleagues, I’d made it my mission to dissect every facet of Stalker behavior. It ranked third on my priorities, right after mastering protective gear and keeping a ready supply of synthetic blood. Sweet Dark Father forbid I be caught unprepared or, worse, hungry during one of the Sparrows’ missions.

If Harbinger had some secret method that he didn’t want to reveal in his reports, I needed to know about it. And if he didn’t… well, then we had a much bigger problem on our hands.

I softened my expression, offering a closed-lipped smile. “I realize you might have assumed no one bothered to read these reports,” I said. “We’ve failed in that regard before, so I won’t hold it against you. But moving forward, I need you to submit them regularly. I assure you, I will read every word.”

My gaze never wavered from his. I was confident in my position, in my dedication. If he believed he could shirk his duties, he’d find out just how sharp my fangs could be—figuratively speaking, of course.

His lips—which I absolutely wasn’t staring at—flattened into a hard line. The silence stretched taut before he turned back to his book. “I can’t write or read well,” he muttered. “I have more important things to do.”

“The balls on you, I swear,” Terraknight hissed, shaking his head.

I almost laughed in Harbinger’s face. If I hadn’t met him, read his eloquent letter, or seen Noica’s name embossed on the leather-bound tome in his lap, I might have believed him. He wasn’t illiterate any more than I was mortal.

Two could play at this game. I had a century of practice dealing with stubborn arrogance. My most recent difficult charge was Stoneheart, but he was only the latest in a long line.

I closed my eyes, silently begging for patience from any deity willing to listen. Father’s voice echoed in my mind, a memory from the grand halls of Corvin Palace when he shared his wisdom.

‘Restraint and understanding, my dear daughter, have been the cornerstones of Tepes’ rule for millennia,’ he’d said. ‘Even Dracula, for all his bloodthirsty reputation, was a king who listened. He gave his subjects the benefit of the doubt, a chance to air their grievances.’

His statement burrowed under my skin, stirring a pot of frustration that was already nearly overflowing. I despised being played for a fool, but how to respond? Match Harbinger’s mockery or rise above it?

The decision was easy enough in the end.

I leaned in, close enough to see a tiny birthmark perched atop his upper lip. My mouth curled into a wolfish grin. “My mistake,” I purred, running a finger along the corner of the book. “I assumed you’d penned that letter yourself.” Our knees brushed, and I watched, transfixed, as those golden feathers completed another rotation around his dilated pupils. “But if that’s not the case, well… these reports are the perfect chance to practice. I’m sure they’ll be tremendously beneficial.”

“Will they, now?” Harbinger grunted, his throat working as he gulped. Those otherworldly eyes spoke of violence… and a Blood Pact that could send you over the edge for a swift journey to the Underworld and back.

Heat pooled low in my belly, my rebellious flesh responding to his proximity with embarrassing eagerness. I filled my lungs with air, savoring his scent. My suit felt too tight, too confining. Especially when my mind wouldn’t stop picturing him tangled in satin sheets, looking at me as he was right now.

My fangs dropped, aching to sink into his neck. Dear God. I had never craved someone like this.

After Lev, I never thought I’d tolerate a man’s touch again. But something about Harbinger drew me like the sweetest drug, impossible to resist. For a few moments, he’d made me forget the scorching sensation of fangs piercing my unwilling skin.

I knew, as surely as I knew I was standing here on the battlefront with Selena and a guild of powerful mixed-breeds, that this fixation on him—on the man and the blood flowing in his veins—was going to come back and bite me in the ass. Hard. It was a certainty, like the rising of the sun or the phases of the moon.

That day was barreling toward me like a runaway train. And it was going to be bad. Catastrophically, earth-shatteringly bad.

I couldn’t decide if this foreknowledge was a blessing or a curse.

“She’s not wrong, you know,” a lyrical voice drifted from the gravel path, pulling me back from the brink of utter mortification and drawing Harbinger’s gaze away.

I sucked in a ragged breath, desperately clinging to the notion that it had simply been too long since the Sparrows’ Initiation. Surely, the proximity to mortal blood was addling my senses. It had to be the bloodlust. Because if it wasn’t… By Dracula’s fangs, I couldn’t even begin to fathom what this attraction to Harbinger meant, and that terrified me more than any Stalker.

Pearl glided to a stop beside me, her high ponytail swaying. The scent of saltwater and seaweed wafted from her like a breeze.

She winked one azure eye at me, blowing delicately across her steaming cup of kafea. “It could help you, Cap,” she said, popping the ‘P’ with relish. “You’re always nose-deep in some book. Is that Constantin Noica? ‘Being and Logos’ bored me senseless, but you seem riveted.”

Harbinger’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he masked it.

Pearl’s gaze slid to me, and I felt heat creep up my neck. There was something in her voice that beckoned you to follow her into the depths of the sea. A daughter of Kotys, the varva carried the very essence of the ocean in her tresses, shimmering in hues of turquoise, emerald, and sapphire under the moonlight.

Guessing Pearl’s age was about as easy as nailing jelly to a wall. She exuded a timeless beauty that made centuries look like mere blinks of an eye. The way she carried herself—all regal patience, as if she and time were old friends—reminded me of Sonya in a way. It was that eerie calm you only get after you’ve seen all the world’s wonders and horrors and filed them away like so many dusty books.

It took every bit of my resolve to tear my eyes away from her and remember I still had to sort things with the insufferable captain. “Harbinger?”

“Fine!” he snarled, slamming his book shut. “Will audio records suffice?”

I tilted my head, meeting his glare with one of my own. “No. I need handwritten reports. Summaries of all patrols for the past six months, combat included.” With millions of purebloods at stake, I couldn’t afford to let him off easily.

Harbinger’s disapproving ‘hmph’ painted Pearl’s cheeks a delicate shade of pink, but their silent exchange lacked the intensity of the stern looks he usually reserved for me. If I could’ve peeked into their minds, their wordless conversation might’ve gone something like:

“Sorry, I didn’t expect her to push this hard,” I imagined Pearl’s downcast eyes saying as she scuffed her boot against the gravel.

He shook his head, exhaling a sigh that seemed to come from his very bones. “Nah, this one’s on me.”

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. For all my skills at reading people, I could’ve been dead wrong. They might’ve been plotting my demise for all I knew, and I’d be powerless to stop it.

“To effectively counter the Stalkers, we need real-time intel,” I said, forcing steel into my voice. “Your experience is invaluable. Work with me here, Harbinger. It’s in everyone’s best interest. Cooperation could save lives on all sides.”

His eye twitched, but resignation banked the rage in his gaze. He gave a curt nod, so slight I almost missed it. The muscles in his jaw popped as if the very act of conceding caused him physical pain.

I held back a smirk, mostly because I understood. It wasn’t easy to step over your pride and not get a little bit damaged. God knew I’d tripped over mine enough times.

This was progress. Painful, grudging progress, but progress nonetheless.

Footsteps faded onto dew-kissed grass as the rest of the Black Guild drifted toward the house. My gaze darted to the forest, and worry sank in my gut.

No sign of Selena or Gale.

The sliver of pre-dawn light peeking through the trees felt like a blade against my spine as my fists balled.

“One more thing,” I said, maintaining a neutral tone despite the adrenaline thrumming in my blood. “These reports are twenty-five years old. Did you get them from another outlier, or have you been sending them all this time?”

A twig snapped, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Yeah, Captain’s been sending those fake reports for ages. Even before I met him,” a husky male voice whispered in my ear.

I jolted, avoiding a near skull-to-skull collision.

Only by Derzelas’ mercy did I stop myself from tapping into my magic and retaliating. “Dark Father Almighty! Don’t do that!” I hissed, putting some much-needed distance between us. No man of his size should be that quiet, but he snuck around me like a ghost. It was… disconcerting.

Quakelord flashed a grin that would’ve made a shark proud. I showed my fangs in return, sizing him up. Six feet of pure muscle—not bulky, but far from lean. Thick, hard, and defined, the kind of strength that could send him scaling a roof or cracking a Limus skull with one well-timed slap. His straight black hair skimmed broad shoulders, and those hooded olive-tinted eyes… they radiated danger just like Katerina Wurdulak’s.

An uneasy quiet fell between us, broken only by the whisper of grass in the gentle wind. Through the gaps in the boarded-up windows, flickering candlelight danced like trapped fireflies as the other outliers ventured deeper into the mansion.

I hugged my ribs, fighting the hollow ache in my chest. My eyes darted back to the woods for what felt like the hundredth time.

Where are they? What’s taking so long?

Resisting the impulse to charge into the forest, I asked, “Did you know Harbinger before joining the Black Guild, Quakelord?”

Should I go after them?

The scent of moss and rain wafted over as Quakelord shifted his weight. I glanced at the trees and back at him, catching his easy shrug.

“Yeah, most of us go way back,” he said. “Phoenix and Ember? Those two’ve been joined at the hip since day one of enlistment. I crashed their party seven years later.” He jerked his thumb toward the others. “Hummingbird, Pearl, and Gale—they’ve been with Harbinger and Terra since forever.” He squinted at the vice-captain, scratching his chin. “How long’s it been, old man? Five, six decades? I lost track.”

Terraknight’s jaw stiffened as he gripped his ankle, crossing it over his knee. His eyes darted warily toward the treeline. “Longer,” he muttered.

“How long since you were drafted?” I pressed, even as anxiety ate at me from the inside.

Quakelord seemed unnervingly calm. If he was worried about his guildmate being late, or worse, meeting any Stalkers, he hid it well.

“Me? Thirty-five years, give or take. Phoenix and Ember about four decades.” He paused, shooting a sidelong glance at Harbinger. Something flickered in his eyes—Respect? Wariness?—before he took a hard swallow. “But Cap and the rest? Man, they’ve been out here longer than any of us can remember. Hell, sometimes I think they came with the forest.”

I felt my eyebrows climb toward my hairline. Just how old was Harbinger anyway?

The long years of service explained Terraknight’s position as vice-captain and their masterful control over elemental powers. Clearly, the Commander’s intel had some gaping holes.

I caught myself staring at Harbinger and snapped out of it when he spoke. “With all the battles and patrols and everything else,” he sighed, “it’s exhausting to keep track.” He grunted, making me painfully aware of my titles and privileges. His tone still grated on my nerves. “All I can say is that it’s been a long time we’ve fought your war.”

I bit my cheek, the sharp sting giving way to blood. Guilt settled on my chest. He was right, and I had no retort. I’d been out here for mere hours and was already stressed to my limits.

The sweet metallic scent permeated the air, catching Harbinger’s attention. His eyes widened, those mesmerizing feathers looping in his gaze. The edges of his irises darkened, flickering red. His nostrils flared, and for a moment, I saw raw hunger shining in his eyes. It comforted me that I wasn’t the only one.

He responded with a disdainful curl of his lip, but I could hear his pulse racing, matching mine beat for beat. A quick blink, and his eyes returned to normal, but the sneer on his face lingered.

“In that case,” I blurted out, “you’ve all completed your service. You’re free. You can return to the Republic—”

The words shriveled and died on my tongue. My stomach dropped with dread. I couldn’t bear the thought of them going back, not with the Wurdulaks hunting outliers to sate their bloodlust. But I couldn’t voice that fear. If I stripped away their last shred of hope for safety, what reason would they have to keep fighting?

“Who said we want to go back to living with those bloodsucking pigs?” Quakelord spat. “To be treated like scum again?” The ground shuddered, mirroring the drum of his raging heartbeat.

Underworld’s fiery balls, I wished I could stuff those words back down my throat. You know that feeling when you vomit up sentences and instantly want to die? It was like savoring a rare vintage of synthetic AB negative, only to choke and spray it all over your favorite leather jacket. Disturbing, messy, and utterly mortifying.

Quakelord’s fists clenched and unclenched, knuckles white as bone.

I backed away, every muscle wound tight. My vow not to use Blood Manipulation on them battled with raw survival instinct. I felt my power surge, ready to respond to his. My scent spiked, saturating the air—sweet with the sharp tang of copper.

“Quakelord!” Harbinger snapped.

The earth stilled, but Quakelord’s face stayed flushed, his teeth grinding together. Quiet, seething fury smoldered in his gaze.

I kept my guard up, my magic humming just beneath my skin. “I didn’t mean to offend.” I spoke with forced calm.

Wings flapped overhead, nearly drowned out by the rush of blood in my ears.

“Our Creator will awake soon. You’re free to choose your path,” I added.

Quakelord grew silent, and I let my magic recede. Gale’s arrival broke the tension as the supply crate hit the ground, dust erupting from between the planks. With a graceful twist of her fingers, she sent the particles swirling skyward before landing atop the crate, cat-like and silent.

I met Harbinger’s blazing gaze. “If you don’t want to go back, there must be places you want to see, to explore.”

His eyebrow arched, the corner of his eyes crinkling with amusement. It was a look that said he thought the world was full of fools, and he found their antics entertaining.

And I, apparently, was the court jester.

A flush of heat spread up my neck. Goddammit. What’s wrong with me that I can’t control my mouth tonight? As if sightseeing is a priority when their survival hangs by a thread.

Harbinger’s eyes remained locked on mine, even as Selena approached, weighted down by half a dozen leather bags. Her presence loosened the vice around my lungs, but Harbinger’s bitter smile set me on edge.

“Perhaps,” he said, voice as dry as ash. “One day, maybe we’ll get to it.”