Page 33 of Touch of Oblivion (Woven in Time #1)

Wren

T he morning is soft and gray, the kind that blurs my sense of time and makes the city feel like it never really slept.

We walk side by side down a narrow brick alley that spills into a broader street, the stones still slick from last night’s rain.

The Quarter feels haunted in the most beautiful way, and I can't tell if it’s the buildings or the air that carries the energy, but I’m glad that I didn’t let him speed us through the nest this morning.

I take in a deep breath and soak it up. This is what I need–to walk through their world one step at a time to understand it.

“I still can’t believe I slept so well,” I murmur, breaking the easy quiet we fell into. “I didn’t wake up once to toss or turn. ”

He hums low in his throat, too delighted with himself. “I told you I knew what you needed.”

The warmth that rushes to my cheeks is immediate, but I don’t look at him. There’s always a subtle innuendo in everything he says that makes my toes curl and stomach tighten.

“Breakfast was perfect,” I say instead, switching the subject before he teases me into going back and staying at the mansion all day. “Please thank your chef.”

“I made the omelet. He merely coached me through it.”

There’s a smirk at the corner of his mouth that says he knows exactly how that makes me feel. I’m sure my traitorous heart rate alerted him.

“You’re insufferable,” I grumble, wishing the earth could somehow connect me to Riven’s feelings. “I find it very unfair, this advantage you have in knowing when I internally react to things.”

He smiles but lets the topic drop as we continue to walk.

The streets open into a courtyard framed by wrought iron balconies and aged stone. Ivy creeps up along one building, thick and lush, and I swear I see a smear of dried blood on one of the railings. Despite the darkness and fog last night, it hits me that this is where Sylvin portaled us to.

“I want to show you something,” Riven says quietly, and there’s a new tone in his voice I haven’t heard before–serious, maybe even hopeful. “I know you’ve mentioned searching all of our lands for some connection to your power. The fact that you’re here now tells me you haven’t found it yet.”

I may have found a bit of it in the Summer Court, with the confirmation that my powers are tied to serving the earth, but there are still so many unknowns.

I nod slowly and tilt my head as I glance at him. “It does.”

“Then I think it’s time we train your body while the connection between your mind and power catches up.”

I come to a stop and blink at him. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“I forget that you don’t remember this world sometimes,” he admits before huffing out a laugh.

“It means we train, Wren. You can learn to fight without magic. Learn to move with intent against opponents of any size. People can train their bodies with cardio and strength training, as well as a variety of other ways.”

My lips thin at the suggestive tone and smirk at the end of his explanation. “You think you’re so charming,” I observe dryly, hiding the smirk trying to force my lips up.

His brows wiggle as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I told you I’ve never had to try before.”

My eyes roll on instinct and I mull over his offer to train my body as we continue walking.

I’ve spent so much time trying to feel my magic and trying to force a power to emerge. I even told the kings I don’t feel comfortable on the front lines of a battle because of it, but I never once considered being able to fight without it.

The thought is appealing, the more I mull it over. I don’t know how long it will take to understand the depths of my powers and the connection to the earth, and I don’t even know that it will help me in a battle once I do.

I nod again. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

His lips curve before splitting into a full grin. The rare sight causes me to blink rapidly and inhale deeply before looking forward again.

“You never cease to impress me, darling,” he admits as his hand lifts to the back of my neck, massaging the muscles there gently. “I don’t think anyone else I know would be as courageous and open to so many views, the way you are with no memories.”

Heat builds in my cheeks and I lift my hand to brush a tendril of my hair behind my ear, suddenly unsure of what to do with myself under his praise.

“I…uhm,” I murmur, peeking at him out of my peripheral vision. “Thank you, Riven. ”

His hand brushes lightly along my lower back, the gesture seeming natural as we reach the edge of a wide stone building. “I was going to tell you to say my name again, as I find I love the way it sounds on your tongue, but we’ve run out of time for extracurricular activities.”

“Insufferable,” I whisper under my breath.

He chuckles and guides me forward as I try to recenter my thoughts. The air shifts as he opens the door, and heat hits me instantly. An overwhelming scent of sweat and blood that makes my nose scrunch.

The moment we step inside, a thrumming tension encases us.

The interior walls stretch wide, lined with tall mirrors that display every movement.

Vampires are scattered through different segments of the building, each seeming split up on various activities like Riven explained for training.

Some lift weights, others run in continuous, almost untraceable, loops on equipment.

What draws my focus, along with a group of at least fifty vampires, is a raised platform with lines around it on the right side.

“Boxing rings,” Riven murmurs low in my ear as we walk closer.

The vampires are packed shoulder-to-shoulder surrounding it, the sound of breath and snarling ripples through the air from the two inside the ring. The energy in the room is manic, almost euphoric, and it hits me so hard I find myself faltering and planting my feet firmly.

I’m not sure I want to get closer to it. I’ve never felt anything like this before in any of the factions.

This is darker and more primal.

The two vampires inside the ring are battered–one bleeds heavily from his nose, dark streaks of his own blood painted down his chest. The other grins, wild and sweat-soaked, his stance cocky with confidence.

He strikes so fast I barely register the motion. The sound that follows is sickening–bone crunching under the impact.

My stomach churns, but no one else even flinches. This is…normal here.

The blood-slicked vampire stumbles back, slamming into the ropes before falling to his knees. Blood splashes the mat in long, wet drips. I wince, my stomach tightening further, but everyone else cheers.

I glance up at Riven, who watches the ring with cool detachment.

“What purpose does this serve?” I ask, voice low.

“Hierarchy,” he answers without looking at me. “In the Crimson Nest, you earn your place through force. You want status? You fight for it. If someone challenges you, you accept. Always.”

Another brutal hit lands–this one an elbow across the cheek.

The smaller male crumples completely. Blood pools beneath him and he tries to rise, fingers digging into the mat, slipping once and then again.

My lips thin as I try to imagine the pain he’s in.

He lifts a trembling hand then taps the floor twice.

I frown at the way his opponent suddenly halts with his fist drawn back. “That means…?”

“Surrender,” Riven says. “He loses his shot at advancement, but he keeps his life.”

My head jerks back as I eye him, suddenly realizing I might have just entered the most vicious faction lands yet. Is that a consolation prize here? Aren’t they all on the same side here? Why would they ever sacrifice their lives for this?

The victorious male straightens in the center of the ring as I glance back. He’s shirtless, his lean frame slick with sweat and a splatter of blood that I don’t think is his own. His jaw is set, but his eyes gleam with a darkness that turns my stomach and fascinates me all at once.

He turns and locks eyes with me before a slow grin pulls across his face, fangs gleaming under the overhead lights.

My body tightens instantly and my heart rate shoots up.

He jumps from the ring with a grace I’ll never have, landing soundlessly before he starts walking straight toward us. Riven doesn’t move, but I feel the tension that floods his body, sharp and absolute as his arm settled against my own tightens .

The other vampire closes the space between us slowly, the crowd parting and tracking his movements, like they know this will be a moment worth witnessing.

“Well,” the vampire drawls, his voice lazy as his gaze trails over me. “You must be the new scent that has everyone in a tizzy.”

Everything in me is screaming to not respond, to not show any sign that he bothers me. I keep my face carefully schooled. Riven steps forward slowly, yet he doesn’t move to block me from view, which surprises me.

“Cease your approach, Waylen,” he says evenly. “Unless you’re ready to challenge me for the crown, that is.”

The grin on Waylen’s face spreads wider, but it seems performative now as he carefully glances around, ensuring everyone is locked in on him.

“Oh, I’ve thought about it,” he replies smoothly, finally setting his gaze back on Riven. “It’s been a while since this nest saw a fight worth watching. Maybe now is the perfect time for a new king. One that doesn’t limit us to petulant laws even through a war with the humans on our doorstep.”

His eyes flick back to me, and this time, they linger over every inch of my body.

Still, Riven doesn’t react.

“Though honestly, I’m not sure what will be better when I win,” Waylen’s nostrils flare subtly as he inhales, savoring whatever scent he finds in the air. “Getting to taste what’s in her veins or taking the throne once I’ve killed you.”

Every inch of me stiffens.

There’s a sudden swarm of motion I can’t track until suddenly they’re in new positions. I count ten vampires appear around Riven, attempting to block him in with a wall of bodies.

Riven surges forward anyway, and the entire group retreats a step with him.

A woman breaks through the crowd in front of us, her black, velvet gown trailing on the floor as she shouts, “Don’t be stupid, Waylen!”

I see a dozen sets of eyes shift.

She steps forward, eyes trained on him with exasperation and fury. “You think you’re the one who can beat our king? You think you're the exception?”

Waylen doesn’t answer, but his cocky smile falters slightly.

Her lips press into a thin line as she continues, “Three hundred and fourteen years. That’s how long he’s ruled. There have been two hundred ninety challengers in the span of those years, and do you know what happened to all of them? They died.”

The hair on my arms stands on end and a chill rolls through my body, my eyes shifting to Riven who is still surging against the wall around him .

Part of me knew these kings were brutal the moment I woke and heard the terror in those humans’ voices.

Yet, somehow after seeing a different side of them in the time since, I find it hard to correlate the two versions of them.

Sylvin’s display of destruction and his choice to end all those humans’ lives in the ocean was the first harsh dose of reality I’ve faced in reconciling the versions I know with the ones everyone else seems to know.

As I watch Riven, I realize this is another one of those moments.

The crowd murmurs, low and uneasy as she steps chest-to-chest with Waylen, tilting her head back slightly to look into his eyes directly.

“Do you remember any of their names, Waylen? Because I do. I was here when the last one screamed for mercy and Riven didn’t blink.

There will be no mercy in the challenge for the throne. ”

She turns, facing the rest of the crowd now. “You all forget how he got this crown.”

Her voice lowers, almost reverent. “He didn’t inherit it. He earned it–one body at a time–as he worked his way to the top and then stayed there.”

My heart kicks against my ribs, each beat a pulse of fear and disbelief.

This faction is a kingdom built on corpses.