Page 38 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

And for one brief moment Samuel looked on with satisfaction, but then sense caught up to him, crashing over him like a wave.

He had not intimidated her with this presence, had not scared her into silence—he had controlled it with this gift in his blood that he had been so certain was gone.

That he had convinced himself was gone, because if it was not, then what was all that suffering for?

But as Lady Holland took one, trembling step backwards, Samuel had to admit the uncomfortable truth.

The Aberforth Gift had returned, and now she knew about it.

Someone who had already proven herself to be untrustworthy, had turned his half-finished bill over to the rest of the Council, had threatened to bring the King into this—

No, the King could not learn his power had returned.

Holland bolted towards the door, but she did not make it more than two steps before he spoke again, this time deliberately lacing his words with his power. “Stop.”

She came to a halt as suddenly as if she had hit an invisible wall, her body locking up so abruptly that it was almost grotesque.

Samuel did not give himself a chance to think about it—could not give himself a chance to think about it—so he circled around to stand in front of her, meeting her eyes and refusing to flinch.

“You will not speak about what happened in this room,” he commanded, throwing as much force behind it as possible.

He saw the moment the Gift hit her, wrapping around her like chains—dark and heavy enough to pull her into the endless depths.

“You will tell no one of what I have done, not with your voice, not with your words, not in writing. Am I understood?”

She nodded, trembling as she tried to fold into herself. He had never seen her try to make herself so small, and there was something in him that liked it.

Another dangerous thought. Another fear he couldn’t confront right now. He just stepped to the side, gesturing towards the door, and watched as she ran.

Only then did he let the nausea overtake him, his stomach turning as bile burned the back of his throat. What he had done was obscene, but he couldn’t pretend it had not happened. He did not know how long his command would hold, and there was only one person he trusted to help him with this.

Samuel struggled to find his words, but Isaac wasn’t pressing him.

He waited patiently, arm slung around Samuel’s shoulders as he pulled him close, snuggled up on the couch as they watched the snow fall through the window.

It was so… peaceful, a reprieve from the endless games and mounting stress that had become his life.

Samuel wanted to stash it all away like some terrible dragon, each moment another precious jewel to add to his hoard.

But as the skies outside darkened, night creeping in as inexorably as the rise of the moon, Samuel knew he could not put it off any longer. “I fucked up.”

Isaac pressed a kiss to the top of his head, quick and fleeting, but it still grounded him. “It’s all right, Samuel. We can fix whatever this is.”

“I am not so sure about that,” Samuel said, his voice low and rough. “I should have come sooner, I should have…” He blinked quickly, his eyes burning, but Isaac was kind enough to not mention the tears. “Before, with Dabney… I thought it was a fluke. A coincidence…”

“It’s okay,” Isaac began again, but Samuel quieted him a harsh look.

He hadn’t even meant to do it. It wasn’t him. It was the mask of Lord Aberforth, the sneering condescension that he had practiced for so long in the mirror breaking out, exactly when he didn’t want him.

He was changing—or had this always been in him, just waiting for its chance?

“It’s not okay,” Samuel breathed, and the sudden shock of anger broke, leaving behind only the acrid taste of despair. “My gift is back.”

“Oh.”

Isaac, to his relief, did not let go of Samuel’s hand, but he had the faraway look in his eyes of someone who had the floor ripped out from under him, and Samuel had to reach him before he tipped head first into free fall.

“Isaac,” he said, pressing closer, but the man just shook his head, giving his fingers a rough squeeze.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

Samuel glanced down at their joined hands. “Of course,” he exhaled. “But thank you for asking.”

Offering a strained smile, Isaac raised Samuel’s hand, pulling the glove free and discarding it to the side.

Trembling fingers worked his sleeve up, baring him to the night air, and without its soft, silken cover, his scars stood in harsh relief to his pale skin, the deep black lines mapping the pathways of his veins.

Isaac dropped his mouth to the tender skin at the inside of Samuel’s wrist—an acknowledgment, a reminder, an apology. “I am sorry.”

“Oh, Isaac.” Samuel moved his other hand, brushing against the line of Isaac’s jaw.

“I am not mad at you.” He swallowed hard, taking the suffering and wearing it like a mantle, thick enough to keep everyone else out, heavy enough to drown in.

“I’m telling you because I need to, because I need your help. And… so you can protect yourself.”

Samuel could track the minute emotions that flickered across Isaac’s face, the moment when he decided to bypass the first thing to focus on the second. “I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again: you do not need to protect me from yourself.”

“But—” Samuel tried to pull back, but Isaac held on. Not cruelly, not demanding, but firm and unyielding, and it only took Samuel a moment to melt into it. That subtle edge of control that he sought so unfailingly, the freedom of being able to put himself wholly into someone else’s hands.

Here he was, a breath away from breaking down, and Isaac was once again providing him that dizzying relief he so desperately needed.

“You’re not the only monster here,” Isaac said, his grip easing, and it felt like Samuel could take his first deep breath in days. “And don’t you dare deflect. This is something I’ve chosen for myself, but you never chose this.”

“I didn’t, but—”

“But nothing.” Isaac bared his teeth, the quick glint of a fang enough to punch the air out of Samuel’s lungs. “Do you fear me?”

“No!” Samuel said, immediately, sensing the trap but still running headlong into it.

“If you can love me, with all that I am—” Isaac smiled, tightening the noose “—then I should be able to love you in return. If you do not fear me, then I should not have to fear you.”

And hells, he was right. Samuel knew that, deep inside, in that pit of darkness that was both him and not him that he dared not face, he was not so different from Isaac.

That the same rage and hunger burned in him, a fire so bright and blinding that he feared he would not make it through this unscathed.

That it would burn away everything gentle left in his soul and make him into something that truly deserved to be feared.

But as he faced the world he had been thrust into, Samuel knew that it would change him regardless, so he might as well control what he became.

“We are not so different, you and I.” Isaac stiffened, ready to deny it, but Samuel didn’t give him a chance.

“Holland knows. About the Aberforth Gift. And she cannot live to tell anyone else.”

He felt Isaac’s harsh inhale more than heard it, watched as Isaac studied him in a new light.

“Are you sure?”

Samuel nodded. He had thought about it endlessly since he had left the Parliament House. He had commanded her silence, yes, but they had never tested how long a command would hold. It had always been instant things, him telling them to do something and then they would immediately act it out.

And this was not the time to test any hypotheses.

“I am.” Samuel didn’t close his eyes, as much as he wanted it. It would have been easier if he could, if he could not look at his beloved as he asked this most heinous task of him. “I cannot be the one to do it, but you… you need more blood anyway.”

“Say no more,” Isaac breathed, and Samuel accepted the kindness with a relieved exhale. “I will do it.”

It embarrassed him, how unashamed he was in this. He should have felt a stronger sense of guilt, but there was only boundless relief. “Thank you.”