Page 36

D ayn steps closer, his movements deliberate but unexpectedly soft, as if approaching a skittish animal.

The intensity in his gaze is tempered by something almost like hesitation—an unfamiliar vulnerability that makes my pulse quicken.

He reaches for my hand, his fingers brushing against the runes on my wrist with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the heat of his touch.

“Not much,” he says, his voice low and measured. “Just enough to begin the ritual. A few drops willingly offered will suffice.”

His thumb traces the edge of the rune and I feel it flare in response, a warm, tingling sensation spreading up my arm.

His other hand comes up to cradle my wrist, turning it slightly so that the pale skin of my inner arm is exposed.

His touch is careful, almost reverent, but there’s an undercurrent of something darker—a hunger that he’s barely keeping in check.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep still even as every instinct screams to pull away. “And how exactly do you plan to collect it? Should I just hold out my hand and say ‘take what you need?’”

Dayn’s gaze drops to the curve of my neck, lingering there with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

His fingers tighten slightly around my wrist, not painfully, but enough to anchor me in place.

“The blood must be taken directly,” he says, his voice low and deliberate, “from a point where life flows closest to the surface. The neck is... efficient.”

For a moment, I can’t breathe. My pulse hammers beneath his fingertips, betraying the calm I’m desperately trying to project. “Efficient,” I echo, my voice tight. “Of course. Why waste time when you can just... bite me?”

His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker in his eyes—something that might be amusement or irritation. “You misunderstand. This isn’t some primal act of savagery. It’s a ritual necessity. The exchange must be precise, controlled.”

“Controlled,” I repeat, my tone dripping with skepticism. “Because that makes it so much better.”

His thumb brushes over the runes again, and I feel them warm beneath his touch. “Your sarcasm isn’t helpful,” he says evenly.

“Neither is your lack of warning.” I pull my hand free from his grasp, stepping back to put some distance between us.

My heart is racing now, my mind spinning with too many thoughts at once.

Drink his blood. That’s what my grandmother said.

But now it’s my blood he needs—and not just any blood.

Blood taken from my neck, like some kind of twisted intimacy.

Dayn watches me carefully, his body still as stone but his gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “This isn’t negotiable,” he says finally. “The ritual requires your cooperation. ”

“And if I refuse?” I ask again, though I already know the answer.

He exhales slowly, as if weighing his words. “Then we both lose something vital.” His tone softens imperceptibly, though the edge remains. “I don’t want to force you, Esme. But time is not on our side.”

I press my lips together, forcing myself to think rationally despite the storm raging inside me. My mind races, analyzing possibilities, strategies, angles.

A slow breath escapes me as I settle on my move.

I meet his gaze, my jaw clenched. “Fine. I’ll give you what you need. But on one condition.”

Dayn’s expression doesn’t shift, but his eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of wariness breaking through his calm facade. “And that would be?”

“You let me drink some of your blood in return.”

The silence that follows is deafening. For the first time since I’ve known him, Dayn looks genuinely unsettled. He takes a step back, his amber eyes flaring with something I can’t quite place—anger, disbelief, maybe even fear.

“Absolutely not,” he says, his voice low and cold as winter stone.

“Why not?” I press, stepping forward to close the distance he just created. “If it’s just a ritual necessity, what’s the harm? Symmetry, right? You take mine, I take yours. Seems fair.”

His jaw tightens visibly, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he regards me with an intensity that would make most people shrink back. But I hold my ground, my chin lifted in defiance.

“Esme,” he says slowly, each word deliberate and laced with warning, “you have no idea what you’re asking for. ”

“Enlighten me then.” My voice is steady despite the tremor in my chest. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you’re fine with taking what you need from me but draw the line at returning the favor.”

The air between us crackles with tension, the convergence of ley lines beneath us amplifying the energy until it feels like the room itself is holding its breath.

Dayn’s gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, I think he might refuse outright—might shut me down with a cutting remark or simply walk away.

But then something shifts in his expression—subtle but unmistakable. The faintest flicker of uncertainty crosses his face before it’s quickly masked by practiced composure.

“Drinking my blood isn’t some trivial act,” he says finally, his tone measured but edged with caution. “It’s not like sipping a drink at dinner or sharing a meal. My blood carries power—ancient power. It could… overwhelm you, in ways you can’t predict or control.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Funny how you’re suddenly concerned about my well-being when it comes to your blood but were perfectly fine with taking mine.”

Internally, however, his words give me concern. In what ways could it overwhelm me? Then again, my grandmother wouldn’t have asked me to do something fundamentally detrimental to me, would she? Her advice was given to help me survive. Help us all survive. I have to trust her.

His lips thin into a sharp line, and I can see the gears turning behind his eyes as he tries to find a way to counter my argument without revealing too much.

“There are risks,” he says grudgingly after a long pause.

“And yet you want me to take risks,” I counter swiftly, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him. “You said at the start that this whole ritual is risky.”

He exhales sharply through his nose before turning away from me altogether—though only briefly before spinning back around to face me.

“Esme.” His tone is clipped now—all pretense dropped leaving nothing but raw irritation behind instead. “Don’t be difficult.”

I laugh, a high-pitched thing that pierces through the chamber.

“Difficult? You want to talk about being difficult?” I begin to pace before him, leopard-like.

“Alright. Let’s review, shall we? You’ve marked me with magical runes without my consent, dragged me across this academy on a scavenger hunt for mystical ingredients, nearly gotten me killed multiple times, and now you want to drink my blood from my neck like some supernatural parasite.

But I’m the difficult one for asking for equal treatment? ”

I take a step toward him, my finger jabbing in his direction.

“You know what’s difficult? Trying to decipher your cryptic dragon riddles.

Difficult is being expected to trust someone who’s been a threat to my life more times than I’ve had hot meals this week.

Difficult is standing in this creepy underground chamber with a man who apparently finds the concept of reciprocity completely foreign. ”

Dayn’s expression remains impassive, but I catch the slight twitch at the corner of his eye.

“If I were being difficult,” I continue, warming to my theme, “I would have left you to deal with everything on your own. I would have refused to help collect your little ritual ingredients. I would have smashed your precious convergence water, scattered your darkblood ash to the winds, and danced on the shattered remains of your Relic of Severance.” I gesture wildly toward the collection of ritual components.

“But instead, I’ve been remarkably accommodating, considering the circumstances.

I’ve followed your instructions, played your games, and now I’m simply asking for basic fairness. But oh no, that makes me difficult.”

I pace a small circle, my boots echoing against the stone floor. “And let’s not forget that I’m still here despite your constant condescension. Do you know how many times you’ve looked at me like I’m something you found stuck to the bottom of your pretentious dragon shoe? I’ve counted. It’s a lot.”

Dayn watches me with an expression caught between annoyance and something that might almost be amusement.

“You want difficult?” I continue, my voice rising slightly.

“I could show you difficult. I could start asking detailed questions about your mysterious past, your convenient position at Heathborne, your apparent ability to mind-control guards. I could demand explanations for every cryptic comment and shadowy glance. I could insist on a detailed breakdown of exactly what these runes—” I thrust my wrist toward him, “—are doing to me every minute of every day.”

I stop directly in front of him, close enough to feel the unnatural heat radiating from his body. “But I haven’t. I’ve been a model of cooperation and restraint. So don’t you dare call me difficult when all I’m asking for is a simple blood exchange that you were planning to initiate anyway.”

Dayn remains silent for a long moment, his amber eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that would make most people shrivel. I hold his gaze, refusing to back down .

Finally, he speaks, his voice unnervingly calm. “Are you quite finished?”

“Not even close,” I snap. “But I’ll pause for your rebuttal. This should be entertaining.”

He sighs, a sound so human it almost throws me. “Your grandmother told you to drink my blood, didn’t she?”

The question catches me off guard, and I feel my face betray me before I can school my expression.

“That’s what I thought,” he continues, satisfaction coloring his tone.

“What you don’t understand—what she couldn’t possibly have explained in her weak state—is what my blood would do to you.

But if you want to do it anyway… You know what?

Fine . I’ll let you drink my blood. And you can live with whatever the consequences are. ”

His agreement catches me mid-breath. I expected him to continue arguing, pushing back. Is this another game play by him? I don’t know. But what I do know is that I trust my grandmother more than him. And, for now, it seems I’ve gotten what I wanted.

“Fine,” I say, defiant.

“Fine,” he replies.