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Ryder drew his thumb along Grayson’s cheekbone.

Hope warred with fear warred with the unknown.

If Grayson rejected being Ashyr, wasn’t he also rejecting them?

But he was rejecting Weryn and all the evil he’d done supposedly out of love.

Ryder knew he should make this about himself.

Yet this man was the person he had gone to war for, had gone mad for, had died for.

Killed for. But he never asked me to. I wonder what he’ll think when he realizes what I’ve done out of love for him.

“I need to think,” Grayson said.

Ryder’s throat closed up. “Do you--you want me to go?”

Grayson’s eyes widened. “What? No! You’re the only thing that makes sense in all of this. You’re my anchor in this storm. You’ve always been…” Grayson stopped and a faint smile crossed his lips. “You’ve always been. You’ve always been. Oh, Weryn, you’ve always been.”

Ashyr! Weryn cried and Ryder did the same out loud.

Grayson surged against Ryder who was coming up from the couch to embrace him.

He was a warm, light weight against Ryder’s chest. In fact, too warm.

Not from the fire, but from a fever. Even as Ryder kissed the side of his head and stroked his back, even as he felt and heard Grayson laughing--a little hysterically, but also happily--he could feel that Grayson wasn’t well.

His heart constricted and he pulled back so that they were eye to eye.

“What is it?” Grayson asked, his eyes shining with fever.

It was a fever. He hadn’t seen it in a long time, but he recognized it.

“You’re really not well.” Ryder ran his hands through Grayson’s hair.

Grayson laughed. “You’re worried about a little fever? When we just discovered we’re soul mates?”

Ryder’s lips curled into a smile. “Yes, because I want you to be well, and I cannot be at peace if you’re not.”

Suddenly, he turned his head towards the door, all senses on high alert.

“Okay, that’s not a good look. What’s wrong now?” Grayson asked.

“OH MY GOD!” Mairead’s voice came out in the highest of quavers. “IT’S YOU!”

Ryder turned back to face Grayson. “That is King Daemon bringing your dinner.”

“And Mairead having an aneurysm!” Grayson laughed, but then sagged a little against Ryder. “I’m not really hungry now. I… I do feel sick.”

There was a brief knock on the door. Ryder didn’t even have to ask Daemon to enter as he knew he was welcome.

He arrived with a large silver-domed dish.

Mairead was behind him, hands tented as if in prayer, eyes huge as saucers.

Daemon had an amused smile on his handsome face.

The door shut behind him with Mairead speaking through it.

“King Daemon, my name is Mairead and I’m really interested in talking to you,” she said.

“Ah, the plan was that I was going to keep a low profile as a normal student. The Vampire King bringing me food is going to cause talk,” Grayson grinned, though he still rested his body against Ryder’s chest as if too exhausted to sit up on his own.

Ryder’s concern grew. “Mairead is like a bullhorn. Everyone will know about this before the next morning.”

“Mairead will not remember,” Daemon assured him. “Though we should discuss that plan.”

His red eyes narrowed as he took in Grayson’s pale face with hectic, feverish red splashes only on his cheeks. Ryder’s gaze bored into Daemon, willing him to see that Grayson was ill. And to fix it.

“He’s sick. He’s been unwell since he interrogated the Sect Vampire,” Ryder got out. “And he knows--”

“Yes, which is why I’m here now. Among other reasons. But do not worry. It is not a problem that cannot be fixed,” Daemon said as he set the domed platter on the coffee table before he hunkered in front of Grayson so that they were eye to eye just like Ryder had been.

“It’s sort of like how I felt in front of the palace,” Grayson admitted. “But worse.”

“Yes, that is not surprising,” Daemon answered.

He lifted his right hand to Grayson’s forehead as if in a benediction.

And maybe it was. The moment his palm rested against Grayson’s sweaty forehead, Grayson drew in a deep breath and the color in his face equalized.

He took in another deep breath and he was sitting up on his own steam.

A smile curled Grayson’s lips and only then did Daemon remove his hand from his forehead.

“Feeling better?” Ryder asked as Daemon stood.

Grayson’s eyelids fluttered open. His smile was broad now. “I feel great! What did you do?”

Daemon lifted the silver dome to reveal a steakhouse feast that had Grayson forgetting his question.

He leaned forward over the steaming hot, two-inch thick steak, fluffy baked potato, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, and a rich chocolate mousse.

Grayson drew in a deep breath of the steam and his mouth opened.

“I almost expect to see drool dripping down your chin,” Ryder teased.

But the truth was that he was thrilled to see Grayson better again. Though the “how” remained unclear. Healing powers--other than normal Vampire quick healing--had never been a gift that he had heard of a Vampire having. Not even Daemon.

“I know! I’m starving!” Grayson grinned, doing a 180 from before.

Daemon opened a portal like the Wyvern did, but it just showed the kitchen of the dorm. He reached out a hand and a bottle of red wine, a corkscrew and three glasses glided over to them. The glasses settled on the coffee table while he uncorked the bottle of wine. The portal disappeared.

He’s so much stronger than any of us, Ryder realized.

You’ve no idea, Weryn chuckled. Things only went to hell because he was gone. Not one of us would have dared act if he had been there. But he went to sleep. And left us.

Daemon’s red eyes lifted to Ryder’s for a moment as if he heard his and Weryne’s conversation. Ryder dropped his gaze.

“What is happening to you, Ashyr, is that as an Immortal, you draw your power from everything around you, especially here,” Daemon explained. “The very earth, air, water and light feed you. But when you use your powers as a mortal, you draw only upon yourself.”

“You called me Ashyr. That makes it official,” Grayson stared at him then took the wine glass Daemon offered. “Really, really official.”

“Yes, it does.” Daemon gave Ryder a glass of wine, too.

“I’m sorry. You were saying.” Grayson shook his head as if to clear it.

“No need for apologies. You are taking this so well. Not that I expect less from you, Ashyr, but you must take time, too. Do not think you must be all right with this,” Daemon said as he took a sip of his own wine.

He then proceeded to cut the steak for Grayson, which Grayson thought was adorable from the snicker he let out.

“So, when you use so much of your gift, you are draining yourself, right now,” Daemon continued with his explanation. “But, also, the Ever Dark knows who you are and wishes to connect with you--to share energy--and that means it drains you too, but you are not able to accept the exchange of power.”

“So in places like the palace where it's most attuned to you and the Immortals, that’s why I get weaker?” Grayson asked.

“Exactly.”

“Could you put butter on the potato so it melts?” Grayson asked with that impish smile.

“Of course, and salt, pepper and sour cream. Just as you ordered,” Daemon said, obligingly.

Suddenly, Grayson looked a little askance. Ryder was shocked, too, at Daemon serving Grayson. Not that it was unwarranted as it was Grayson, but Daemon was king .

He has always adored Ashyr, Weryn murmured. While Eyros made him laugh, Grayson made him think. He was the one that Daemon went to for strategy. They were thick as thieves always.

“I didn’t mean for you to serve me, King Daemon. I can do it myself. Now,” Grayson assured the Vampire King.

“I know. But here, little bird. Take a bite.” Daemon offered a speared piece of steak to Grayson.

With a delighted laugh, Grayson ate the piece of steak off the fork that Daemon offered. He chewed and let out a moan of pleasure.

“It’s even better than it looks and smells, which I didn’t think was possible,” Grayson said.

When he opened his eyes, Daemon offered him the fork. Grayson took it eagerly and dove into the potato and asparagus. He made happy, hungry sounds as he devoured the food. Ryder smiled so hard that his face began to hurt.

Ashyr is with me. Ashyr is safe. Ashyr is here, Weryn murmured.

Ryder rubbed Grayson’s back as the young man ate without hardly taking breath. Daemon pulled over a seat and stretched his booted feet out in front of the fire with a contented sigh. He watched Grayson eat with pleasure too. Then Daemon’s red eyes lifted to Ryder’s.

He must be turned, Weryn, and turned soon, Daemon sent to him privately. I can only restore him partially, but, in time, there will be nothing I can do. He must be restored to his full Immortal form.

Ryder’s breath caught. Luckily, Grayson was too busy licking hollandaise sauce off his utensils to notice.

Who--who will turn him? Ryder asked, even as he felt Weryn rushing to the surface as if to take over in that moment. He shoved his other self down, but just barely.

Daemon sipped his wine and answered, Now that is the question, isn’t it?