Page 51

When Skar and I met with Garroway at the safehouse, he shocked both of us by lunging at me and wrapping me in a tight hug. His chin dipped to press against the nook of my shoulder.

I looked over his head, hands raised in surprise, and noticed Skartovius’ expression of surprise as well. He tried to hide it, but I could tell it hurt to see his bloodthrall embrace the new girl before the man he’d served for forty years.

When I put my arms around Garro, he felt warm to the touch. It was odd since bloodsuckers naturally ran cold. Perhaps it’s the human side of him that’s warm?

“I missed you, little honey badger.” His voice was a soft caress in my ear.

I also felt something . . . else . . . south. Hard and stiff between us, nudging against my side.

Flaring with color, I hopped back and cleared my throat. “I-I missed you too, Garro.”

Garroway made no attempt to hide his arousal or smile. His eyes glittered. The look on his face was that of a child’s when he’s been given a sweet treat.

Something has changed inside him in the two weeks we’ve been apart. Something drastic .

Skar glanced down at the protruding bulge beginning to wrap around Garro’s thigh. “For shame, cub,” he sighed, and then took Garroway by the chin. “Let me get a look at you. Are you hurt? Ill? Blood-sick?”

“No, Master,” Garro answered. He finally clasped his hands in front of his situation, putting on an awkward stance in Skar’s presence.

The nobleblood scrutinized every inch of his face. He resisted inspecting every inch down below, however, and then made a circle around the thrall. “You look hale. Why have you been gone so long, Garroway?”

“Collecting Sephania’s present, my lord.”

“What is it?” I blurted. Excitement filled me. I’d never received presents . The giddiness swarming my belly seemed to match Garro’s jolly, mischievous expression.

“It’s something that must be shown, lass.” His smile widened, stretching ear to ear, giving him a crazed mien.

Skartovius put his hands on his hips. He stared down at his thrall disapprovingly. “Well? Don’t keep us in suspense. Where is it?”

“I stored it at the manor, Master.”

Skar’s chin twitched. “You know I don’t want Sephania in the presence of my rabid court until she’s ready.”

I’m ready.

Garroway said, “I made sure to hide it well. No one will see us.”

Like a disappointed, doting father, Skartovius ran a hand through his long auburn mane. He glanced over at me, saw the enthusiasm on my mug, and muttered, “Then you’d best bring the carriage around, shouldn’t you?”

We entered Manor Marquin through the eastern side, past the many tents of the white-robed acolytes. This time, with Lord Ashfen in my presence, I was bowed to instead of attacked by the servants.

It was quite a reversal of fates, and another confirmation that aligning myself with these bloodsuckers wasn’t all bad.

Past the double doors, we gained entry into the mansion, walking along the red-carpeted hallway at a slight downslope.

Fragments of memories from my two times being here made me grimace.

I recalled the sticky blood dripping down the slatted floor overhead, from dead fighters, trickling down into my cage in the jail room.

The eternal scream on Kemini’s face as he fell and stared down at me with unseeing eyes, through the latticework.

Garro took a torch from the wall and handed it to me as he led us in. “Thought it might be nice to reminisce. Old times, aye?”

I quirked my brow. Old times? Romantically reminisce a time when people I knew were slaughtered upstairs?

Garroway had a strange way of showing affection.

Sure enough, he led us into the jail room—the source of so much trauma in my past life. I felt a pang of sadness since I no longer fought heartily for my freedom. It was just, well, given to me now.

Even if I was a prisoner to Skar, Vall, and Garro, it was nothing like the chains of my past. Not even close.

Inside the jail, we stepped from carpets to cold stone. The room was eerily quiet without any fighters rustling around in the cages.

Garroway led us past the first cells, stopping in front of one. It was the same cage I’d once stayed in preparing for my fight at Lord Ashfen’s shadowgala, against the very same half-vampire who now drew me here.

The torchlight flickered on the iron bars and inside the cell. Toward the back, I spotted a blob of a shadow.

“Come now, it won’t bite. It can’t.” Garroway smirked and opened the gate.

Skartovius noticed it first, growling, “Garroway, what have you done?”

I moved into the cage hesitantly then leaned forward with my torch and squinted—

Backpedaling with a gasp ripping from my throat.

Dimmon Plank sat in the corner, bound with his arms and legs trussed by rope. He squirmed and shook, writhing in place as he fought against the bindings. The rope bit into his bulky gut and legs and he mewled behind a gag in his mouth. Sweat poured down his face. His eyes were ripe with fear.

My immediate shock rooted me to the ground. Then, slowly, it melded into something . . . terrifying.

Glee. Exultation. Triumph.

“Is this not a man we do business with in Nuhav, cub?” Skartovius chided. “I recognize him.”

“It is, Master. This is the boss of the human thugs called the Diplomats. A riotous, meager bunch.”

My nostrils flared. My jaw clenched tightly as I stared down at the captive, gripping the torch hard in my hand.

“Why have you’ve brought him here?” Skar asked from behind me. “This will disrupt our dealings with the human gangs. You know they serve a purpose, Garro.”

Just as their conversation was about to drown away in my mind, with the red curtain of bloodthirst taking over, Garroway snarled at his master and stole our attention.

“Don’t be blind, my lord.” His lip peeled back. “I didn’t do this for me. I did it for her.”

Skar’s boots thudded. He stood alongside me, arms crossed. “Well, temptress? What is he talking about?”

Blinking, I turned away from the warts and bloated nose and bruised face of Dimmon Plank, locking eyes with Skartovius Ashfen with hatred burning in my orbs.

My expression startled even the unflappable nobleblood. “This man is a rapist, Lord Ashfen. The worst scum on the Floorboards.”

“Sephania . . .” Skartovius warned, leaning closer to my face. Rage settled behind his eyes. Rage and wrath.

“ My rapist, Skar.”

Before I could blink or react, Skartovius hissed and lunged to end Dimmon—

Iron arms clasped around his middle, Garroway expecting the dash. The bloodthrall pulled his master back. “ No , my lord! He is not for you , he is for her !”

Dimmon whimpered, backing against the wall and making himself as small as possible.

Skartovius straightened. He stared down at the arms holding his middle. When he turned, I was mortified to see the expression of sheer violence was no longer meant for Dimmon. It was meant for his thrall now.

I imagined Garroway had never reprimanded or physically opposed his master before. It simply wasn’t possible, in my mind.

This turn—the way he had hugged me before his master when first seeing us—only proved further that something intrinsic had changed within Garroway Kuffich. His psyche had . . . morphed.

Skartovius recognized it clear as day. Betrayal blanketed his features. With a growl from deep in his lungs, he shoved Garroway’s arms off him and shouldered past the thrall. At the cell gate, he snapped, “Find me when you are done. This is not finished.”

With Skar’s shocking exit, Garro and I stared at each other blankly. The iron door clattered and creaked as it swung on its hinges, back and forth against the frame.

In unison, our gazes fell on Dimmon.

He moaned behind his gag, muffling something unintelligible. His face was a sweaty, sticky mess—a sheen of despair coating him.

“Well, little honey badger?” Garro asked.

“What’s your poison?” He went to an opposite corner of the cell, reached down into the shadows, and unfurled a coiled cloth full of torture instruments—serrated blades, curved knives, needles, scissors.

“Borrowed these from Vallan without him noticing.” When he noticed my surprise, he winked and added, “A man of considerable talents, as we’ve discussed. ”

My face was hot from the flickering torchlight and my unbridled rage. I glanced over at the torch.

“I want him to burn.”

Turned out saying the words and doing the deed was much different. In theory, watching Dimmon Plank burn seemed easy and exciting. In practice, it made me sick.

The smell of cooking meat, charred flesh, wafted into the air and choked me. I coughed, stepping back.

The area where I had placed the torch to see what would happen—Dimmon’s left hand, the first hand to ever defile me—was a blackened, ashen, mangled mess.

Garroway had flipped Dimmon onto his stomach to show me his bound hands. The rope burned first but his fat wrists were also tethered together by a chain. The iron melted into his skin, grafting itself into his flesh.

Dimmon writhed in pain and then went limp the longer I held the torch there. The agony became unbearable and his vein-protruding screams knocked him unconscious.

The skin of his palm went red in the flame, then bubbled and oozed and popped with burn blisters and pus and blood. That was when the smoke began, and the scent of sizzling meat, which snapped me out of my dazed stupor and had me stepping back in fright over what I’d just done.

Garroway put out the fire before it could spread. He tore off burned clothes and patted down the flames. It left Dimmon with a single smoldering limb of black flesh, white bone sticking out where the skin and muscle had completely deteriorated and melted at his fingers.

My heart hammered in my chest as I surveyed my handiwork. Doubt chased across my features.

“It’s not just for you, lass,” Garroway whispered in a gentle tone. His hand fell on my shoulder and I jolted with a start, looking over at him. “You were not the only one assaulted by this despicable creature, I’m sure.”

“I . . . I know that.” My throat was dry, eyes dewy.

Torturing a man, even one I hated, was much harder than I had expected. This fucker had been at the top of my list after he attacked and broke me as a whelp. I would never— could never—forget that.

And yet . . . “I don’t think I can d-do it, Garro.”

Garroway’s face twisted with concern. “Why?”

“Because I’m not a . . .” Monster.

“Monster,” he echoed, his features sinking. “Like I am.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You don’t have to, lass. You thought it.”

A knot formed between my brows. “What?” Did he just read my mind?

Garroway slumped against the wall. He stayed standing but looked suddenly beleaguered and exhausted. “I didn’t spend two weeks finding and capturing Dimmon Plank, lass. That part only took three days.”

My head tilted. I settled myself against the wall opposite him, with Dimmon’s prone, unconscious form between us. “What are you saying? What else did you do in Nuhav?”

“The dreams returned. The nightmares. Seeing out from the eyes of night creatures. Except then it started to extend to . . . reality. Channeling that sight through actual living, breathing animals. The animals always found you. ”

“The rat,” I breathed.

He nodded glumly. “And more besides, lass.” His hand scrubbed over his bald head. “I became attuned to something new inside me. Skartovius might not have told you but my mental connection with him weakened further. Eventually, I couldn’t hear him at all. And I suspect the same goes for him.”

The concern on Skar’s face that kept getting worse over the days. As I suspected, it was about Garroway’s absence. But not just his physical absence. He was no longer able to connect with him at all !

“. . . It’s like my bond with my master has been severed, lass. And it scares me.”

“You think my blood is the cause of all this? The ‘beast-charming,’ as Iron Sister Keffa called it? The severing of your connection with Skar?”

His nodding continued, even as he pushed off the wall and stepped toward me. “It’s not just that, Sephania. It gets worse.”

“How?” I found myself backing up against the wall. My eyes were locked on Garroway’s face, both of us ignoring the pile of burnt man at our feet.

“Because I didn’t just lose my connection with my thrall. I gained a bond . . . with you.”

My jaw dropped. “That’s impossible. I’m not a thrall or a fullblood vampire.”

He lifted his hand and touched my chin. I didn’t shy away—if anything, the fire inside me burgeoned and shifted from bloodthirst and rage to blood lust and need.

His crimson gaze searched my face. “I think I get it now, lass.” His warm, whispered breath was gentle over my cheeks.

“Why everyone wants the Loreblood, overlords and overladies alike. Even what your master Lukain felt.” His fingers softly caressed my chin, moving to slide against my neck before wrapping behind my nape.

His forehead pressed against mine. “Among other things, the Loreblood seems to sever a vampire’s connection with his thrall .

. . and builds a connection with the wielder of the blood. ”

“Truehearts fucking save me,” I gasped, breathless.

My heart thundered, except not with the need to kill this time.

Garroway was impossibly close to me, his chest pressing against mine.

My nipples had shamelessly pebbled and now dragged against him through our tunics as he leaned forward.

The hardness throbbing between us was back in full force, and now I understood his initial excitement at seeing me and not Skartovius.

In losing his love for Skartovius, Garroway has fallen for me.

He pressed a gentle kiss against my lips, slanting his head. The sensation thrummed through me, heat pooling between my legs. I couldn’t fight it this time.

When his lips parted, his tongue darted out and flicked against mine. I closed my eyes and lost myself in his soft embrace, even as his hand curled against the back of my neck and tangled in my hair.

“Garroway . . .” I eked out.

“I want you, Sephania. I need you.”

His words seared my flesh worse than Dimmon’s. The pile of rubbish at our feet was forgotten, replaced by intense heat and desire—a sensual and crude display had us forgetting our torture duties and excited me like nothing I’d ever experienced.

Then I recalled Garro’s words in the Temple of the True, when this first began. I pulled back slightly, putting my hands around his tapered middle and gently pushing him back. “I want you all on your own, in complete control of your mind.”

I used his exact words against him.

Unlike my response from that time, when I claimed his honor was greater than mine for denying my lust after my bloodletting, Garroway simply gave me a wicked smirk on his beautiful lips.

“Oh, I’m in complete control of my mind, little honey badger. I daresay my mind has never felt so controlled. My body though? I’m about to lose control of that if I have to stand here one more second without having every inch of you to myself.”