Page 26 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Sixteen

Isaac

A nton had been true to his word, arranging to smuggle Isaac across Dameral to Shan. It had been a smooth operation, exacted without a single mistake. And as much as it galled him, Isaac was forced to admit that he been underestimating Anton for years.

Anton was far cannier than Isaac had ever given him credit for, a brilliant man held back by a system that had dismissed him for the insurmountable fault of being born without Blood Working.

But Isaac had spent the last few days poring over the pamphlets that Anton had left him, cursing the way the Aeravin were content to let such a fine political mind go to waste.

And now he was reduced to this, another sulking villain in the night, sneaking Isaac into the LeClaire townhouse through the servants’ entrance under cover of night.

“Please show him the rest of the way to my sister,” Anton commanded the young woman who appeared at their side, before turning to Isaac. “Come find me when you’re done.”

“Find you?” Isaac echoed, arching an eyebrow.

“Shan will know,” Anton said with a grin, before slipping up the back staircase, the one reserved for serving girls carrying pots of tea, maids with the laundry, and everyone else who strove to ensure that the household was maintained.

Never seen or heard, working forever in the background, barely even seen as human.

It was nothing like what he had known, back when his parents had both still lived, before they had worked themselves to death in the service of the great nation they had strived so hard to join.

His father, a member of the Guard, killed in action trying to stop a brawl between Blood Workers that had gotten out of hand.

His mother, a Blood Healer, who had held his hand through his first treatments, who had given up so much for him to have a chance at a better life as a Blood Worker of Aeravin, wasting away over a broken heart.

Leaving him alone to fight for the future they had once dreamed of.

His life had been nothing like what the LeClaires had, nothing so grand and fine, and though once he had thought this was the kind of life he deserved, he had learned so acutely how poisonous the fruit truly was.

It seemed that Anton had as well, but Shan…

That was part of what he was here to determine, so Isaac moved quietly behind the girl who did not bother to even give her name, head ducked low as he made his way through the townhouse.

He had not been here that often, only a handful of times really.

Before, when the late Lord LeClaire had still reigned, Shan had kept him carefully away, a sort of protection, he understood now.

After, there had been so little time before it had all fallen apart.

The girl came to an abrupt stop, inclining her head towards a simple door before vanishing with a curtsy. Gone again, another shadow in this grand house.

The door opened easily under his touch, revealing one of the many little entertaining rooms of the house.

Shan waited for him inside, perched on the edge of a low couch, gesturing for him to join her.

He settled next to her, so close that her skirts brushed against him, a fall of dark silk that spilled like nightfall, even as her body burned so warm.

He could feel the steady beat of her heart, could almost scent the teasing traces of her blood.

He swallowed hard, choking down that dark hunger, focusing on the words he needed to say. “I need your help.”

“And you shall always have it, Isaac,” Shan said, reaching out to hold his hand.

It was so strange to hold her hands like this, without his claws, vulnerable and bare.

She could slice him open, bleed him out, and he would have so little to defend himself with.

“Anton did not tell me what you needed.”

“I… did not know how to explain it to him,” Isaac said, simply. “How I would explain it to any Unblooded.”

“Ah.” Her tone was gentle, her eyes kind. She treated him with so much care and sympathy, even with the rough way they had left things, the last time they had spoken. “So, what the Eternal King was saying wasn’t all lies, then.”

Isaac closed his eyes, not wanting to see the judgement that was sure to be there. “He did not lie. There are consequences for what I did, Shan. Things that I barely understood, even with the access to the histories.”

“Well, then perhaps you should look at this.” She vanished for a moment, leaving him the aching vulnerability that he had created for himself, before returning with a small leather-bound journal. She pressed it in his hands, whispering, “Take all the time you need.”

Isaac opened the journal, fingering the ribbon as he studied the vampires in all their glory.

He pressed his fingertips against the carefully sketched monstrosities, as if he could wipe away the ink through force of will alone.

But they remained unmoved and unsmudged, as he was forced to grapple with the magic he had unwittingly unleashed upon his own body.

A future he both feared and hungered for.

“Where did you get these?” Isaac asked, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears.

He traced his fingers against the claws on the page, skin darkened around nails grown thick and cruel.

He hadn’t worn his claws, the commonplace symbol and tool of Blood Workers, for months now, his hands feeling so empty and vulnerable.

Part of him wondered what it would be like, having talons built into his very flesh so that none would ever be able to take them away, ever again.

“His Eternal Majesty,” Shan said, drawing out the title with a little sneer, “does have more information that he hid from us. These are my own renditions, poor copies from memory, but… they get the point across.” Her gaze fell back on the page, on the grotesque wings and the dagger-like fangs. “It frightens me, Isaac.”

Isaac tilted his head to the side, startled by the unexpected burst of honesty. “It frightens you? Or I frighten you?”

Shan stilled, but the jackrabbit beat of her heart gave her away.

She had never looked so much like prey, the creamy expanse of her neck so bare and tempting.

It would take nothing to wrap his hand around it, to force her back onto the couch, holding her down as his teeth tore through the thin layer of skin to the veins beneath.

Would she taste sweet on his tongue, a bouquet of fruits and florals, soft as summer wine? Or heady and rich, with a smoky bite like bourbon at midnight? He ached to know, to hold the bright burst of blood on his tongue, but this was Shan.

Beautiful, furious, dangerous Shan—and she had already been hurt enough.

Isaac forced himself to his feet, crossing the room before he acted on the impulse, his back to the wall, fingers pressed against the wallpaper. He wished for the claws to anchor himself, something to hold him fast.

Shan let out a low, shuddering breath as the fear left her, and he hung his head, chasing the tempting images from his mind. “What do we do, Shan?”

She didn’t respond, didn’t even look at him as she picked up the journal. “Do you hunger, Isaac?”

He did not want to admit it out loud—he had done so well, burying it deep, choking on it in silence. Admitting it felt like a defeat, like giving in. But she had asked him directly, she was risking so much for him.

So, he answered honestly, pulling each word from the bleeding thorns around his throat.

“Always. I can… hear them around me. The hearts, beating.” His fingers drummed out the sound on the wall, the steady buh-dum , buh-dum , buh-dum that constantly echoed around him, a cacophony building upon itself, louder and louder.

“I eat, but it’s not the same. No matter how much I consume, I still feel hollow. ”

He wrapped his arms around himself, pressing into his stomach as he doubled over, the pangs racking through him.

“The thirst is the worst, though,” he continued, barely even a whisper.

Shan tilted towards him, like a penitent at his feet, hanging on his every rasping word.

“I thought I knew thirst, but I drink and I drink and I drink, and I’m never satisfied. ”

Flitting his gaze back to her and that damned bare throat, he couldn’t help the growl that escaped him. “There is only one thing I crave, but I don’t know what would happen if I had it.”

Shan approached him carefully, but he still flinched as she got close. He didn’t trust himself around her, and with the careful way she moved, slow and deliberate, he realized that she knew that as well.

She was approaching him like he was a skittish cat, still halfway feral, and he was consumed by the urge to bite.

He did not, turning his head as she closed the last inches between them, her gentle hand resting over his heart, the sharp points of her claws pressing into the tender skin beneath.

“I honestly do not know, either,” she admitted, and it felt like she was presenting him with a precious jewel, open uncertainty so rare and delicate.

“But the King and I, we’re planning to find out. ”

“Find out?” Isaac echoed. “How?”

She tilted her gaze up, looking out from under her eyelashes, so soft and coy. “That is not something you need to worry about, darling. I can handle the King.”

She sounded so calm, so sure, her heart not even skipping the smallest of beats. For someone so skilled at lying, it was alarming to know that she took such things as truths. She was a fool, just like he had been.

He cupped her face in his hands, ran his thumbs along her cheeks, felt the hitch in her breath. “Don’t underestimate him, Shan. It will only hurt you more in the end.”

The softness melted away, replaced by a frown and the glint of her eyes, darkly furious. “Don’t underestimate me ,” she hissed. “I am so tired of it.”