Page 26 of Blood Sings (Beyond the Gloom #1)

The journey back proved brief and uneventful, save for Quakelord’s attempts to mend ties with his guildmates. His voice carried on the breeze, his earlier transgression apparently forgotten.

We marched up the overgrown path, following the smell of seared meat and spices to the back of the house.

“I’m telling you, that knife was sharp! Did you see how I—”

“We were there.” Gale rolled her eyes. “We saw.”

Ember skipped ahead, her exotic voice floating back to us. “We’re ho-ome!”

I hung back as the others filed onto the back patio, smoothing my silk blouse while I drank in the scene. Candlelight danced across the weathered oak table and faded velvet seats. Hummingbird sat on a stool, his wings spread around him like a silver cape. One twitched, sending shadows skittering.

“What’s for dinner?” Quakelord smacked his lips and rushed after the balaur. He’d lost his hair tie at the lake, and his dark, glossy locks now flowed about his shoulders.

Terraknight emerged from the outdoor kitchen—one of the many additions this house suffered over the decades—balancing a laden tray. His eyes met mine, then Selena’s, one side of his lips quirking up. “Venison stew, forest mushroom medley, garden salad, homemade seed bread, and…” he paused for effect, “berry tart.”

“Don’t forget the fancy wine we scavenged!” Hummingbird chimed in.

“Hell yeah!” Quakelord’s fist connected with the table and nearly toppled off the candelabra at the center.

My stomach clenched, phantom pain ghosting through me upon seeing the steaming dishes. The memory of my first—and last—mortal meal flooded back, along with the week of searing agony that followed. I gulped, choking back a wave of nausea. I’d been just a curious child then, eager to try what the mixed-breeds enjoyed. Their ability to savor both blood and hard foods had always fascinated me. How could I have known our bodies would reject it so violently ?

Terraknight neared the table, his leather apron creaking against his flexing muscles. The air thickened with the scent of ripe blackberries and fresh soil—his magic’s signature. Flagstones quivered beneath our feet, then rippled like water, and nudged chairs aside.

He set the tray down on the cotton runner, flashing a grin at the overenthusiastic balaurs.

My gaze swept the table.

Quakelord’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. Pearl perched daintily across from Ember, who was already reaching for a glass. Terraknight settled into the corner seat with a satisfied sigh. But one chair remained conspicuously empty—

Gale’s feathers tickled my arm as she leaned in close. “He’s in his room,” she whispered, her breath warm against my ear.

A frisson raced down my back, which I blamed on the crisp night air.

I cleared my throat. “Sel, I need to go over the next shipment with Harbinger. Save me a spot?”

Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded, dragging her feet to the other end of the table.

I turned to leave when Hummingbird called out, “Projector! Join us!”

A sharp smack echoed, followed by Pearl’s voice, dripping with innuendo, “Leave her be, wonder-boy. She and Captain are bee-zee tonight!”

Everyone was a comedian. I sighed and walked inside, willing myself to ignore the chorus of laughter and exaggerated kissing noises that followed me into the war room. My neck burned, heat spreading to my ears.

I’m just being responsible. The synthetic blood supply is getting low. But even as I thought it, a defiant voice whispered that Terraknight was perfectly capable of handling the guild’s cargo demands. I didn’t need to see the captain for this.

You’re being ridiculous. This is strictly business.

The foyer greeted me with shadows, a solitary candle flickering on the coffee table. Peeling gold wallpaper curled at the edges because of water seeping through the walls. I snatched a bottle of blood from the crate, quickly recounting the last three dozen. The commander’s delivery was a week overdue. We shouldn’t have waited this long.

I gulped it down with a tight stomach, an anxious knot gnawing at me.

Halfway up the creaking stairs, my courage melted away. My heart pounded against my ribs, mocking my feeble excuses for seeing Harbinger.

Liar, it seemed to say. Liar, liar, liar.

I paused outside his door, drawing a deep breath.

Who was I fooling? Certainly not myself.

My hand hovered inches from the door when it swung open. Harbinger filled the frame, his broad shoulders blocking the dim light from within.

Liar, liar, liar.

“Projector,” he rumbled, his gravelly voice triggering a sudden rush of adrenaline.

I jumped two inches into the air and stumbled back, my heel catching on the loose carpet.

His topaz eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. “Jumpy tonight, aren’t we? Or is it just my presence that sets you on edge?”

If I smacked his chest, it would only drive the point home. Instead, I lifted my chin, keeping a firm grip on my voice. “Maybe it’s your charm that repulses me. It tends to have that effect.”

“Interesting,” he mused, leaning against the doorframe. “And yet you stand in the way of Magma Lances without flinching. Curious priorities you have, Projector.”

“Some things are worth the risk. My guild’s safety, for instance.”

“Hmm.” His lips quirked into a humorless smile. “I can’t figure out if you’re really this na?ve or you mean it.”

“Stick around, and you might figure it out.” It was always like this with him. The more he got under my skin, the more my mouth ran.

We stood there, neither willing to break eye contact. I studied his face. Angular, devoid of softness: a firm chin, square jaw, smart amber-yellow eyes under blond eyebrows. My father had taught me to acknowledge my opponents by looking straight into their eyes; they told you the true nature of a person. When I met Harbinger’s gaze, I saw a predator—calm on the surface, yet promising violence beneath.

I sensed it the way one killer sensed another. Like calling to like.

He stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter, but I faltered, suddenly questioning the wisdom of putting myself in such close quarters with him. The hallway felt infinitely safer than the confines of his room.

“Well?” he prodded, his tone growing bored. “Are you coming in or not?”

“That depends. Are you planning to behave yourself?

A daring smile spread across his lips. “Do you want me to behave myself?”

Oh, sweet darkness. Embers ignited beneath my skin, stirring in my lower abdomen. Fourteen months. That’s how long it had been since I’d last shared my bed, my blood, my trust with someone. And now my eager body thrummed with need, responding to this aggravating man as if he were water in a desert. I could hear his blood whispering just beneath his skin. My fangs ached, desperate to break through.

I ground my teeth, forcing myself to remember why this was a terrible idea. For me, casual sex wasn’t just an oxymoron—it was a risk. A Blood Pact placed me in a position of vulnerability, and there was nothing casual about that. I’d always sought a level of trust, admiration, a connection deeper than mere physical with the men I slept with.

I knew enough about Harbinger to know I couldn’t trust him. Admire him? Perhaps a little. Surviving the Stalkers for this long was no small feat. But that wasn’t nearly enough. Especially when his white hair reminded me every second of his ancestry.

Yet here I was, one taste of his blood and one lingering look at his perfect lips, and I was ready to throw caution to the wind. I’d nearly forced us into a Blood Pact, for Derzelas’ sake. What was wrong with me?

Swallowing the ball of lust back into the pit of my stomach, I brushed past him into the room, catching the slight hitch in his breath, the momentary tensing of his muscles. I wasn’t sure if his reaction came as a response to his hatred, or if our proximity affected him, too.

His room was sparse and utilitarian, smelling of gun oil and him. A wall-to-ceiling bookshelf hugged the wall by the door, filled to the brim with books in different states of deterioration. Faded olive paint bore patches of original floral wallpaper, a shade darker than the tattered curtains framing the barricaded window.

To my right, a double metal bunk bed took almost all the space, strategically positioned under a Rorschach test of water stains. I wondered if Harbinger saw omens in those brown splotches each morning when he went to bed.

A well-worn notebook lay open on the nightstand, dotted with red marks over a basic map drawing. Next to it sat a metal box, glinting in the candlelight. I glimpsed jewelry inside before Harbinger shifted, blocking my view. The thought of him collecting trinkets was jarringly at odds with the ruthless fighter I knew.

“I want to discuss the supply shipment,” I said. “Are there any specific details the Commander should know about your needs?”

Harbinger scoffed, moving to his desk with unhurried finesse. He dropped into the chair like it was a throne, regarding me with thinly veiled disdain. “The Republic has nothing we need,” he drawled.

I became hyper-aware of every inch between us, of the way the room seemed to shrink around his presence. I could gag at how awkward I felt. “Are you certain? What about reinforcements? You’re operating at less than a third of a guild’s capacity.”

He leaned back in his chair, the old wood protesting beneath him.

My gaze wandered, the traitorous thing that it was, over his form. Harbinger had swapped his ‘ready-to-murder-Stalkers’ ensemble for something more relaxed: scuffed boots, leather pants that had seen better centuries, and a black shirt with its sleeves torn off. His arms were sculpted, neither overly bulky nor too lean. Just… perfect.

Desiring him probably qualified as a catastrophic lapse in sanity, but at least nobody could fault my taste.

He was all hard edges and rough surfaces. The tableau only lacked a hefty bat or an ax propped against those sturdy thighs as he glowered.

Thick. He was just thick all over.

It got me thinking about what else might be thick, and—oh, blood and ashes! Aurora Tepes, get your mind out of the gutter.

“You were saying something?” I quirked an eyebrow at him, aiming for cool detachment. After all, feigned indifference was the best disguise for drooling.

His voice rumbled low and a little rough, as if caught on the edge of a growl. “I said, ‘Thank you, Projector, but my answer stands. We are enough as we are.’”

I pinched my lips together, hands clenching at my sides. “Why are you like this?” He knew they needed more people. I knew it. They had a death tally dangling on the front of the house, for pits’ sake.

His jaw muscles ticked. “Like what?”

“Are you trying to prove something to me? Because refusing help doesn’t strengthen your position.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Projector.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, golden eyes boring into mine. “We don’t need reinforcements because we collectively agreed not to bring any more people to this shithole. Does that answer satisfy you?”

His words knocked the wind out of my lungs. Shame seeped through me. I couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t bear to see the aversion I was sure lurked there. How had I misread this so completely?

Without another word, I spun on my heel and fled, not even registering the sound of the door closing behind me as I escaped into the hallway.