Page 22 of Until the Heart Stops (The Oylen City #1)

T o a mortal, the forest might have been silent.

But to Mateo and me, slipping between the heavy boughs and thick trunks these woods were alive. Branches rustled as tiny animals skittered across the bark, undergrowth hummed with insects, hearts beat in a melody.

We did not speak, instead we communicated within our minds. This place was far from Oylen near the northernmost border of the country. Unlike in the city, the snow fell thick here, dampening our footsteps and obscuring any hope we might have had of spotting our quarry.

Hence our silence.

It had been a week since I’d left Lilith in her bedroom, but I swore I caught whiffs of her scent on my skin.

The letter had gone unanswered, but I hadn’t asked for a reply, only offered the hope of when we might have a chance to steal another few moments for ourselves.

Through the bond I’d caught flashes of text, the earthy smell of leather and parchment, and a frantic rhythm of her heart which made me think she was researching.

But it was the magic beating through her veins that had me the most puzzled.

Her magic was strengthening, perhaps in response to the bond—or perhaps that was my vanity talking. I wasn’t sure if she even realized it yet. But Lilith was intelligent and intuitive. If anyone would realize her pool of power was growing, it would be her.

She was at the market now. Bursts of images sparked across my mind: the strung lights, the scent of the fires, her threadbare cloak. I groaned. The shawl I’d gifted her had been ruined in the fight with the venefica and I had yet to replace it. Perhaps Henry or Gabrielle?—

Mateo hissed, raised a hand and tapped his ear. I listened, reaching through the ambient noises of the forest, down deep into the earth past the worms and roots of the trees. Deeper and deeper until I was sure there would be nothing.

Merciful fucking goddess.

We surged forward together, snow flying up around us as if in a blizzard as we dug.

The frozen earth cracked beneath our hands, coming loose in chunks until we delved deeper into the ground.

Mateo panted, muscles straining as mine were, and I struggled to maintain a link to the steady rhythm in the ground.

We dug deeper until the forested sky overhead was merely an irregular circle above us.

Our hands were caked in mud, faces smeared with it, but the sound was growing louder until the vibration thrummed through my hands with each pull from the earth.

Now we were quiet for other reasons, fully focused on our task with clear intentions in our hearts.

It was the only way we could hope to survive what came next.

My hands hit metal with a thunk .

Mateo’s breathing picked up, as did mine, and we swiped again and again through the earth, throwing up the dirt out of the grave we’d dug.

The simple iron box was rusted, dented in a few places near the top, but it looked exactly as Eamon had said it would.

We’d asked him why he wouldn’t come, assuming his presence would be a help with his maker.

But he’d only smiled sadly and shaken his head.

I have much too much to atone for, Eamon had said.

When the box was fully uncovered, we stepped onto the small lip of earth around it, shaking out our hands. Mateo’s face was set and a muscle jumped in his jaw.

I can do it, I told him silently.

He shook his head. No…it should be me.

But he didn’t move and his heart beat so fast it was as if it was banging against the prison of his ribs.

I placed a dirt-covered hand on his shoulder, squeezing once, and he covered it with his own.

We stayed like that for a moment, breathing in the winter air that had turned humid in the grave. Finally, Mateo nodded.

The lock was rusted enough I only had to twist my fingers for it to shatter into pieces.

I paused for a beat, feeling for the seam in the iron where the lid connected to the base, and pulled.

It was heavy enough for Mateo to have to come forward to assist. Eventually we propped it against the wall of earth before taking a deep breath and staring down into the box.

Into the ancient coffin.

Inside was a husk, nothing more than the shell in the shape of a man. His skeletal arms lay at his sides, head tipped back and mouth open in a silent scream. It sent a chill down my spine to see the ravaging effects of thirst denied for millennia.

As one, Mateo and I lifted our wrists and slashed our veins with our teeth. We’d drunk more than enough for tonight, practically clearing out Mael’s stores. Our blood ran thick and hot down into the coffin, over the shriveled flesh and into the immortal’s mouth.

At first the change would have been imperceptible to a mortal.

The dried skin softened, the hair fanned across the rusted metal shifted the barest amount.

And as our blood flowed the shriveled husk smoothed, the skin melted from a deep rust to a shimmering gold and finally an alabaster with a subtle sheen to it.

The black hair shined and the muscles returned to his frame until a powerful male lay prone.

The shadow around his jaw and mouth filled into a neat beard I’d seen on males in ancient mosaics.

He was beautiful as the stories had said—almost heartbreakingly so.

Full lips, a strong brow. Even lying down it was clear he would surpass Mateo and I in size.

Swallowing back my fear, I moved closer.

The wound in my wrist had healed, but I had more blood to spare, so I knelt at the edge and tore my skin again before holding it directly to the male’s mouth.

A groan slipped from his chest and preternaturally slowly, his hands rose to grip my arm.

Panic skittered down my spine but I pushed it back, even as I knew there would be no stopping him if he decided to drain me dry.

A furrow formed between his sleek black brows and one of his thumbs brushed tenderly at my palm.

Each pull was a link between us I could not fathom.

It was like a bond but without thought or feeling, merely a…

connection. Like the hand of a loved one on your shoulder.

He drank slowly, his strength growing until his power radiated in the same way I remembered the sun and her warmth.

When I began to weaken and feared he would take too much, he stopped, drawing away from my wrist. His eyes opened and I was startled by the shining gold within them—an otherworldly gold swirling with power.

He tilted his head to the side, drawing me down into the coffin with a soft, accented whisper.

“Come, young one, replenish what you have lost.”

His strength was a hundred times what mine was, more even.

But I did not fight as he pulled me in, cradling the back of my head in his hand and turned so I could lie beside him.

The vein in his neck pulsed as if calling out to me and though I was distantly aware of Mateo nearby, it felt as though it was only me and this immortal in this world.

Me, this immortal, and Lilith.

I pressed an openmouthed kiss to the vein in reverence before my teeth pierced the hard flesh.

It did not feel like skin, the way human flesh gave beneath fangs.

This was another thing altogether and it rolled a shiver down my spine.

But the moment his blood hit my lips I was gone, moaning at the taste.

It was thick, decadent, nothing like what I’d ever had before.

Yet distantly I knew it was nothing in comparison to Lilith’s blood—that once I drank from her throat it would eclipse this experience.

However, I never forgot whose arms I was in, the beating of his powerful heart pumping his blood into my mouth.

I drank until I was satiated, until the fatigue of giving was all but a memory.

But when I pulled back to ensure he did not weaken, the hand on the back of my head encouraged me to stay.

The immortal whispered to me in soft words, the language unfamiliar in my ears, and yet I thought I understood.

That’s it, my child.

Drink, my son, and find your strength for the horrors ahead.

Yes, young one, let me in.

Eventually the wound closed as if he’d made the decision himself and I withdrew slowly, lapping at the gash until it was healed.

But the hand on my head slid to cup my cheek, and he looked at me the way I always thought a true sire might look at his heir.

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth and he touched his brow to mine the way Mateo and I often did.

“Do not fear, Callum Auguste,” he murmured in the common tongue, his voice throaty and resonant.

When I pulled away, it was to find Mateo staring slack-jawed at the exchange, the russet skin of his cheeks paler than I’d ever seen it.

Fear and trepidation for what would come next was splashed across his features—the question of if he would be welcomed or destroyed so clear it was as if he’d spoken it aloud.

Slowly I pushed to my feet, extending a hand to the immortal, who grasped my wrist with a strong clap and fluidly rose. He was stark naked, all his clothes rotted and fallen to the bottom of the coffin. Mateo’s eyes traveled the length of him before sliding back up to his face.

“Mateo,” I said, noting my voice sounded different, perhaps a little deeper—as if I had gained a bit of the same resonance of the immortal beside me.

I reached a hand out to my brother on instinct, encouraging him forward.

“Come and meet Seth.”