Page 44 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)
Celeste was already moving forward, cataloguing the patients as she mentally triaged them, and Anton was off to the side with Monique, whispering furtively, nailing down the logistics of the risk they had taken.
The High Rollers lounge was to be closed for so-called renovations for the near future, if they could persuade Celeste or some other Blood Healers to help them as they moved the injured and ill through.
It was important work, what they did, but it left him miserably alone, both a boon and a curse. There was no one here to see him struggle, but there was also no one here to help him. Not as the hunger twisted within him, a feral beast aching to burst free of its cage.
His eyes flitted from person to person, landing on a woman not ten feet from him, the wound to her head still seeping red, matting her dark hair to her skull.
To the man sitting across from her, his arms scratched like he had been dragged across the cobblestones, flecks of gravel embedded in raw flesh that Isaac longed to lick clean.
He could feel his mouth start to ache, eyeteeth throbbing as they grew into something sharper. It would be so easy to move forward, to rend and tear into those that Anton had brought them here to help—
He shouldn’t have come; he realized that now.
Ducking behind the bar, Isaac sank down to the floor, holding his head in his hands as he struggled, desperately, to get a hold of himself.
Nails thickened, sharpened, not quite claws but strong enough to hurt as he dug them into his sides, leaving a mottled trail of bruises as a testament to his own fragile self-control.
A body settled next to him, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and brandy giving away his visitor without him even needing to open his eyes. “Can I help you, Anton?”
Anton huffed. “Just checking on you. This is a… peculiar resting spot.”
Anton spoke around his affliction, a kindness to him or the practical necessity of not revealing there was a monster among them. Regardless of the intention behind it, Isaac would take the out. “What happened here?”
Anton gave him a long, considering look, but he allowed the dodge to happen. “There was an altercation at one of the warehouses. The Guard had a tip that it was a distributor of our pamphlets, so they needed to do a search.”
Isaac swallowed hard. “And the workers… they resisted?”
Anton shook his head, a single, tired word falling from his lips. “No.”
There was no more elaboration needed, no explanations to give.
Isaac was smart enough to figure it out on his own.
Either the Guard wanted to provoke them into fighting back, an excuse to arrest them and harvest more pints of blood, or they just wanted the Unblooded to suffer for the pure cruelty of it.
Either way, it resulted in them being battered, left with no one to help them—or at least, no one to help them if he hadn’t thought to bring Celeste into the fold.
One good thing he could claim in this lifetime of poor decisions and heartache.
There was still so much blood on his hands, but perhaps he could wipe some of the stain away.
“Did the Guard find them?” Isaac asked, if only to distract himself. “The pamphlets, I mean.”
“No,” Anton said, leaning his head back against the bar with a thunk . “We got lucky—they shipped out yesterday. If they had been one day sooner…”
Isaac swallowed hard. If this was how the Guard acted when they found nothing, he could not imagine what would happen if they did find proof of treason. “What will you do now?”
“I don’t know,” Anton said, honestly. “We haven’t had the chance to meet about it yet, not with…” He gestured towards the room behind him, and Isaac nodded.
That was fair. Everything was quickly crumbling around them, the danger creeping ever closer. Tomorrow’s problem. Today was about healing and recuperation.
“I’m sorry I can’t help more.” Isaac was decent enough with Blood Healing, most Blood Workers knew the very basics. Someone like Celeste would be needed for the more complex injuries but scrapes and cuts and bruises—he should have been able to handle that.
But with the hunger flittering at the edge of his consciousness, Isaac knew that he would be more of a risk than a boon.
“It’s all right. Do you want to get out of here?”
It was the wise choice, as much as he loathed leaving this much work to Celeste. “I probably should.”
“Well.” Anton hopped to his feet, holding out his hand. Isaac took it, accepting the help. “Let’s go.”
They hadn’t even made it to the staircase before they were stopped. “Wait.”
Isaac paused, looking back at the Matron standing in the doorway, blocking the view to the make-shift clinic behind her, only just out of its infancy and already covered in gore. Monique hesitated, an inhale of struggle, before she grit out, “I wanted to apologize.”
Anton huffed a small laugh of surprise, but Isaac ignored him. “For what?”
“For my doubts… before.” Monique squared her shoulders. “Perhaps you were right, perhaps it’s not just Unblooded versus Blood Workers. Celeste seems—”
“ Is ,” Isaac interrupted. “Celeste is a good soul, and we are all lucky she agreed to help. But there are more Blood Workers like her, if you would be willing to accept their aid.” And Blood Workers like him, as well. On their side but a wolf, not an angel.
He just needed to find them.
Monique tipped her head, the point given to him. “You are right, of course. This is… bigger than what it used to be.”
“It is,” Anton agreed, “but if we are going to make a better Aeravin, it should be a better Aeravin for all.” He met Isaac’s eyes, directing his words directly at him. “I was wrong. We all were wrong.”
“Yes,” Monique echoed. “And I cannot deny the… effectiveness of our newest ally.”
Again, the truth obfuscated, the details kept to only those who needed it. Perhaps he wasn’t as free as he thought himself to be, but it was still more than he had before, when it had just been him and Alessi.
And, if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if Alessi had ever cared for anything deeper than her own hurt and anguish. If she cared about the people that would be hurt, or the work that they had so foolishly neglected, in their plans to undermine the King.
This was still enough for him—the monster in the shadow, known but never acknowledged. He could do little else, not with what he had made of himself, so he would hunt in the darkness until it was time to face the King himself.
He would do it, and he would learn to be content.
“I appreciate it, Monique.” Stepping forward, he caught her hand, bowed before her like she was as fine a Lady as any he had known in the King’s Court. “And for all that you are doing, I thank you as well.”
“Aww, isn’t this cute,” Anton drawled. “Friends at last.”
The seriousness of the moment faded with his quip, laughter breaking out between them.
“Fine, be off,” Monique said, shooing them away. “I’ll see Celeste home when her work is done, you have my word.”
“Good,” Isaac said, glancing past her one last time, where Celeste hovered by a young boy, no more than eighteen, soothing his worry as easy as she fixed his broken leg. Using the magic that had so often been used to harm the Unblooded for their benefit.
It was enough to give him hope for a future.