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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

WILLIAM

I stalk through SilverGate’s corridors, taking everything in. The weight of my footsteps, the brush of fabric against my skin, the scent of ancient magic permeating the stones. These are all sensations I once took for granted that now flood me with exquisite awareness.

But pleasure quickly gives way to irritation as I detect a familiar presence behind me.

“Aquila,” I say without turning. “Lurking doesn’t become you.”

CJ emerges from an alcove, those strange markings of his pulsing visibly beneath his skin despite his efforts to conceal them. “I don’t lurk.”

“What do you want?”

He steps closer, blocking my path. “We need to talk.”

I arch an eyebrow, amused by his presumption. “Do we? I wasn’t aware we had anything to discuss.”

“Your training methods,” he says, his voice low and tight with barely contained hostility. “You’re pushing her too hard, too fast. The blood manipulation, the consciousness extension, is dangerous for someone with her limited experience.”

“Limited experience?” I laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “She’s a Sanguimonarch. What she lacks in years, she makes up for in raw potential. Potential you’d rather see squandered because of some misguided concern for her comfort.”

“It’s not about comfort. It’s about her safety.”

“There’s no time for caution,” I snap, my patience wearing thin. “The Collectors will be here within days, possibly hours. Would you prefer I coddle her, tell her pretty lies about her readiness, only to watch her fall when they arrive?”

“I’d prefer you remember she’s not just a weapon you’re forging,” CJ retorts, moving closer. “She’s a person. One who matters to people other than you.”

“How touching,” I mutter. “We all have our motives where Isolde is concerned. At least I’m honest about mine.”

“You’re honest about nothing,” he growls. “You manipulate and manoeuvre, always with some hidden agenda. The Butcher of SilverGate hasn’t suddenly become a selfless mentor.”

I smile, letting the moniker wash over me. “My agenda is simple: prepare Isolde for what’s coming and ensure she survives it. If that requires methods you find distasteful, so be it.”

The strike comes faster than I expected. CJ’s fist connects with my jaw with enough force to snap my head back. Pain blooms, sharp and wonderful, and I revel in the sensation I’d almost forgotten in death. I taste copper as my blood fills my mouth.

I laugh. “You don’t need to defend her from me. She is my everything.”

“Then act like it.” He’s about to strike again when a voice interrupts us.

“What the hell is going on?”

Isolde stands at the end of the corridor, her expression full of anger and confusion.

“Just a philosophical disagreement,” I say smoothly, wiping blood from my split lip. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

“Philosophical disagreements don’t usually involve bloodshed,” she observes dryly, approaching us.

“We need to talk, Issy. Privately.”

“Later,” she says. “I have History of Arcane Studies in five minutes, and I can’t miss another class.”

“Fine,” CJ relents, shooting me a warning glare. “But after. We need to discuss what you experienced during training.”

“The blood whispers,” I interject, watching him flinch at my appropriation of her confidence. “Fascinating development, wouldn’t you agree? So much faster than I anticipated.”

“Too fast,” CJ mutters.

Isolde looks between us, clearly sensing the tension. “I’ll meet you after class,” she says to CJ.

He nods, casting me one last venomous look before stalking away.

Once he’s gone, she turns to me, her eyes narrowing. “What was that really about?”

“Exactly what it appeared to be,” I reply, dabbing at my lip. “Your protector is concerned I’m pushing you too hard. I disagree.”

“I have to get to class,” she says, but makes no move to leave.

“Of course,” I murmur, letting my fingers trail down her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch.

She shivers slightly. “William...”

“Go,” I say, stepping back. “We’ll continue your training later.”

She hesitates, something unspoken hovering between us, before nodding and hurrying down the corridor toward her classroom. I watch her go, admiring the fluid grace that becomes more pronounced with each day of training, each expansion of her power.

CJ is right about one thing. She’s developing faster than expected. The blood whispers are just the beginning. Soon, she’ll access memories, power, knowledge embedded in her bloodline. Power that makes her both invaluable and dangerous to The Collectors.

Power I intend to help her claim fully, despite CJ’s concerns.

I make my way to the library, determined to use the time while Isolde is in class productively. The Blood Crown ritual that Cassiel discovered changes everything. If The Collectors seek to perform it on Isolde, we need every advantage, every scrap of knowledge we can gather.

Including knowledge of SilverGate’s most closely guarded secret: the Sanctuary.

The library is nearly empty, with most students in class. Perfect for my purposes. I bypass the main reading room, heading straight for the historical archives in the east wing. If the entrance to the Sanctuary exists anywhere in SilverGate, it will be here.

The Sanctuary was mentioned only in passing, always with deliberate vagueness, by the upperclassmen when I was alive.

It was rumoured to be a place beneath the academy, a place of power, where the nexus sits.

I never found it during my previous time, but now I have nothing but time to find it and learn what secrets it holds.

Blackridge knows more than he is letting on, and I want to know precisely what that is so we can fight it when the time comes.

Something tells me that my tenuous tether to this reality might be a blessing when it comes to finding what I’m looking for.

I stop and close my eyes, feeling for the information I want.

A slight tug pulls me towards the back of the library.

Opening my eyes, I follow the thread and end up in front of a statue of a beautiful woman with long flowing hair that looks quite familiar, but I’m not sure why.

This wasn’t here a hundred years ago. I’d remember it.

Frowning, I read the inscription. “Beneath the seventh bell, where stone meets shadow, blood opens the way,” I translate from Latin. “The Bell Tower. Well, that makes sense.”

I’m so absorbed in my discovery that I don’t notice her approach until she speaks.

“Find anything interesting?”

Isolde stands at the end of the aisle.

“Thought you didn’t want to skip class?”

“I didn’t. The professor didn’t show up.”

“Interesting,” I mutter. “Any idea why?”

She shakes her head. “The blood whispers are getting stronger. More coherent.”

“What are they saying?”

“Warnings, mostly. About The Collectors, about the Blood Crown. But also...” She hesitates. “Also, about you three.”

“Us?” I narrow my eyes. “What is it saying?”

“That I can’t trust you.”

“You know you can. We have proven you can.”

“You sound defensive,” she murmurs. “I never said I believed it.”

“Not defensive, annoyed, perhaps. I dislike it when things get in the way of what I want.”

“And what do you want?” she asks, licking her lips and moving closer.

“Right now? To find the Sanctuary.”

She blinks, not having expected that. “What’s that?”

“A place of immense mystical significance beneath SilverGate. A nexus point where realities touch, where power concentrates. The perfect location for rituals like the Blood Crown.”

“You’re looking for it in here?”

“I was, but I think it’s under the Bell Tower.”

“Makes sense,” she murmurs, and I smile.

“That’s what I thought. I think your blood might be the key to opening it. Blood opens the way, according to this.” I tap the inscription. “And whose blood would be more powerful, more suitable, than a Sanguimonarch’s?”

She moves closer, examining the inscription with genuine curiosity. As she leans in, her scent envelops me. Copper and winter air, power and potential. Desire coils through me, sudden and fierce.

“We should check it out,” she says, looking up at me. The proximity is intoxicating, her face inches from mine, those extraordinary eyes flecked with silver light.

“Then let’s go, before your next class.”

We leave the library together, crossing the courtyard to the Bell Tower. I take her hand and link our fingers together. A small but important gesture.

As we approach, I feel a pang of loss and regret, along with a big dose of anger.

The interior of the tower is cooler than the outside air, the stone walls casting a chill that has nothing to do with temperature.

We stand under the bell, looking up momentarily before we stare at each other.

“We need your blood,” I say. “Just a few drops, to test the theory.”

Without hesitation, she bites into her wrist, her fangs puncturing the skin, which makes my cock hard. Blood wells, silver-infused and potent.

She extends her arm, allowing several drops of blood to fall onto the ground at our feet. The blood sinks into the stone floor, disappearing completely.

The tower trembles slightly, dust drifting down from above. The ground beneath the bell deepens and expands, becoming a pool of absolute darkness.

“It worked,” Isolde breathes.

“Let’s find out for sure,” I mutter.

“How do we enter?”

“Carefully,” I warn, reaching for her hand. “And together. The legends suggest the Sanctuary responds differently to different visitors. It shows them what they most need to see, or most fear to confront.”

Her fingers twine with mine again, warm and slick with blood that sends a jolt of hunger through me. “What if it separates us?”

“It won’t,” I assure her, though I have no basis for such confidence. “Your blood opened the way. The Sanctuary will recognise you as its master.”

She takes a deep breath, squeezing my hand. “On three, then. One... two... three.”

We step into the darkness together.