Page 44

I wrapped up my gloomy story mere minutes before Skartovius arrived. While I told my tale of the Diplomats—Jeffrith’s murder, Baylen’s cowardice, Dimmon’s assault—Garroway leaned over the back of his chair, chin on his forearms, listening intently.

There was an intense clench to his face as I spoke. He never interrupted or asked questions. He just let me talk, every once in a while tightening when a particularly gruesome bit popped up.

By the end of it, my cheeks were wet with tears. I couldn’t remember crying, and my voice stayed even and deadpan the entire story. But the tears found me nonetheless, unlocked after being trapped deep inside me for so many years.

I realized I had not properly grieved my time with the House of the Broken, the Diplomats, or the Grimsons.

All I had ever known was fighting and a nagging sense of indignation, which forever bothered me.

It was a need for vengeance I craved. The fight flared to life then, coming from the depths of my lungs.

Garroway murmured in a clipped voice, “You were a mere child.”

“Thirteen is hardly a child in this cruel world, Garroway.”

He snorted in disgust, finally sitting back.

His sharp chin had formed an indentation on his arm after digging into his skin for over an hour.

“You don’t need to justify the despicable things that were done to you, lass.

You were a victim of horrible people. Horrible men.

Every man you’ve known and been close to, human and vampire alike, has done wrong by you. ”

He was right. I couldn’t deny it.

And yet I did.

“Father Cullard, Jeffrith, Baylen, Dimmon—yes. But Lukain? Before Skartovius killed him, I can’t believe Lukain betrayed me. He hated vampires.”

“Then you are na?ve.”

“I prefer hopeful .”

Garroway closed his eyes and nodded slowly. He did not bite back, and the tense standoff settled.

“It doesn’t matter now,” I said in barely more than a whisper, bowing my head in sadness. “Lukain is gone.”

Speaking to Garroway in such intimate terms, with tears and all, was the first cathartic moment I’d had. Perhaps ever. Laying bare my soul was freeing in a way I hadn’t expected.

I still wanted those men dead. That horrible rage would never go away, I was certain.

And yet, I finally felt like there was something worth living for.

“The men broke me, Garroway. It’s true. Any innocence I may have had was stolen from me.

” My voice was harsh and spiteful. My tears over the situations had dried up years ago—or so I’d thought.

Garroway stood. He sauntered over to the bed and surprised me by crouching so we were eye-level. “If there’s any good to come of it, lass, it’s this: Without that vile bastard Dimmon Plank, you wouldn’t have become the fighter and survivor you were born to be.”

His hand fell on my kneecap and he gave me a soft smile. I watched his hand as it squeezed my knee.

Then my face contorted. “Are you trying to say it’s a good thing what was done to me, Garro? That it . . . built character?”

He reeled, nostrils flaring. “Of course not. That foul miscreant deserves a grisly death by your hand. I’m only saying it made you resilient.” His smile returned. “Resilient enough to live with vampires, and not fear us.”

If only you knew how much I truly feared your kind, Garro.

I sighed, fighting back the defiance and defensiveness that was always close to the surface. I knew Garroway meant nothing by it and was trying to pay me a compliment. It must have been hard for a dhampir. “Thank you,” I said.

The door opened and Garroway jolted to his feet, startled.

Skartovius Ashfen marched into the room in all his elegant splendor, red-and-gold cloak fluttering behind him.

The gaunt, unrighteously handsome vampire had a stoic expression on his beautiful porcelain face.

His long auburn hair was a thick mane flowing down his shoulders.

His voice was rich and deep, speaking to his noble upbringing. “Getting close, are you two?”

Garroway said nothing for a moment. My eyes swiveled between the bloodthrall and his lord.

“You’ve returned,” Garroway said at last. There was no lilt or relief in his voice, which I found odd. I imagined he was still lingering on the story I’d told him. The shadow had never fully fled from behind his eyes.

“And you’re elated to see me,” Skar said wryly.

Garroway made to move past his master, abruptly heading for the door in a stiff-backed march.

My brow furrowed at his unexpected reaction to seeing Skartovius, his lord and liege. Is his bad dream—his bond with Skartovius drifting away and severing—really affecting him that much?

I supposed I would never know, as a human. I had no plans to turn into one of them.

When Garroway reached the door, Skartovius spun on him. “Where are you going? Come here, graybird. Let me have a look at you.”

Garroway froze, back to us. He went rigid and slowly turned, shuffling to his lord like a child being reprimanded.

Skartovius towered over his thrall. He stepped incredibly close to Garroway, dipped his head, and took Garro’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting the dhampir’s gaze.

Jealousy stirred inside me, sudden and unbidden. It was a stab of want that nearly had me gasping, the soothing, sensual way Skartovius handled his bloodthrall.

“I nearly lost you last night, cub,” Lord Ashfen murmured. His full lips were inches from Garroway’s.

My skin heated and my eyes widened. This seemed like an intimate meeting best kept behind closed doors, without me as a spectator. I couldn’t help but bunch my hands together in my lap, trying to fight back the annoying sense of jealousy that roared inside me.

A bond like the one they share . . . I’ve never had anything like it with anyone in my life. Not really.

The next logical thought took hold.

I want it.

Skartovius searched his face. He swept a finger over Garro’s smooth cheek, which caused Garro to shy away and bow his head in shame, pressing his forehead against Skar’s chest.

“I’m sorry, Master,” he said in a mournful, regretful voice. “I was foolish. Nearly got us both killed.”

“Vallan was the fool for sending you two out into the wilderness alone.”

“Garro saved us,” I blurted. “Don’t be hard on him.”

Skar’s face whipped over. “Oh, it’s ‘Garro’ now, is it?” A cruel smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve no doubt he saved you. My thrall is a king, and kings protect their people.”

His compliment to Garroway surprised me. Their closeness only made me more jealous. It’s pitiful to be feeling this way over bloodsuckers, I told myself.

Garroway gave Skartovius a half-smile. “You are the king, my lord. I merely aim to serve and please.” He broke into a deep bow, sliding back and away from Skar’s touch.

“Besides, I am not the hero in this story. She is.” His eyes flipped to me, bearing down.

“Only reason I’m still as pretty as when you left me is because of Sephania Lock.

There is something extraordinary about her blood after all. ”

Skartovius hummed to himself, joining Garroway to look at me. “I daresay it’s more than her blood that’s extraordinary.”

Their scrutiny and his words made my cheeks flame.

“Yes, I am achingly curious to learn more about her,” the nobleblood continued.

I sat up straighter, no longer slouching since they were both burning my blood with how they studied me. I needed to bring the temperature down, both in this room and inside me. “Who do we go to to ask these questions about my blood?”

“We have friends,” Skar answered unhelpfully.

I was about to quip about vampires having friends and the ridiculousness of that sentiment, but I felt it wouldn’t fly with Skartovius as it might with Garroway.

The tall nobleblood was simply too refined and frightening to act sarcastic with.

I wouldn’t be able to get the words out without fumbling them.

“You can handle it, Master?” Garroway asked. When Skar looked at him expectantly, he added, “I have an errand to run.”

The vampire lord pursed his lips, staring down his sharp nose at his bloodthrall. His eyes narrowed slightly, crow’s feet forming at the corners, and I got the sense he was probing Garroway’s mind and speaking to him telepathically.

His chin gave an odd flinch, like he was confused about something. “Best not keep you from it, then, cub.”

With that, Garroway bowed to us and exited without another word. His gait was purposeful as he left, as if this errand could not wait.

“Now then,” Skartovius said, turning, aiming a wicked smirk my way. “We are alone.”

Goosebumps. Lots of them.

He held his lean hand out, gesturing for me. “Shall we disembark, little temptress?”

I had seen the casual violence Vallan displayed with the interfolk servant Ethera. The cutthroat way he operated in the silver mines. His ability to construct firebombs—knowing they’d likely kill innocent people—without any remorse or guilt or shame.

I had come to appreciate Garroway’s intensity and charm, his talkativeness and easiness, and his fighting prowess. I had even been close to fucking the grayskin in a moment of shared bloodlust—bloodlust he rescued me from, showing his honor and saving my dignity.

But this nobleblood vampire? There was a magnetism to Lord Skartovius Ashfen that scared me. He was unlike the others. Too confident by half, too attractive by far. It scared me because his dark aura drew me to him like a moth to flame. Worst part was, there was no way for me to defend against it.

I found myself on my feet, off the edge of the bed.

“Where to?” I chirped.

He meandered to the chest nearby, opening it and rustling around. A few moments later he had something in his hand, holding it out for me to see.

It was a collar of linked chains with a tail of rope running down to the floor.

A leash.

My eyes bulged. “You can’t expect me to wear that.”

His smile was dark, intense. “If we’re going out in Olhav together, we must keep up appearances, love.”

My head shook violently. “I refuse. I won’t put on a collar and leash, Skartovius.”

“I could make you.” He spoke the words matter-of-factly, not with any vitriol behind them.

I gritted my teeth. “You said you would never attempt to steal my agency, my independence. My tenacity is what you enjoyed about me.”

“Among other things, it is.” With a sigh, he lowered his arm. “It was worth a try.”

I blinked.

“Come, little temptress, let us be away.” He motioned for me, tossing the leash and collar to the corner of the room with a clank.

My eyes lingered on the apparatus for a moment before I scurried behind him. I suppressed a shiver, remembering how many times in my life I’d been chained and caged.

Garroway knew about my shackled past now. Skartovius only knew inklings, or what he could deduce from reading Garro’s mind. He would need to learn the impact something of this nature—leashing me around Olhav like a slave hound—had on me.

At the door, Skar put an arm over my shoulder and neck. He held me close in a way that made me feel wanted but possessed. More goosebumps broke out along my arms and nape. “I will not steal your freedom as others have . . .” he began, trailing off.

“Thank you.”

His smile turned somehow darker. “. . . No, you will abdicate and submit to me all on your own, little temptress, when the time is right.”