Page 12

DAHLIA

I sit around a roaring fire with Wesley and a raucous group of soldiers. It had started as a small group from Third Quadrant but had quickly grown into a full-blown celebration, soldiers from all over the camp joining in. Some of the group had been out with Alaric and are regaling us with tales of battle and blood. It all sounds terrifying to me, but the excitement and energy running around the fire is palpable, and maybe even a little contagious. They clearly live for this and I have a strange longing in my chest to feel something like this, to feel so a part of something like they do.

“You’re ready to run screaming for the hills, aren’t you?” Nova, a female vampire and one of Wesley’s best friends, leans in to ask. Her silvery-white hair is twisted into intricate braids along the crown of her head, the rest of the locks flowing down her back like a river, and her eyes are a beautiful sky blue. She has golden rings lining the shell of her left ear and another in her nose, and tattoos covering both arms. She smiles widely at me, flashing her fangs. She looks entirely terrifying and unfairly beautiful all at once. She had gushed for almost an hour about one of my father’s daggers that she’d won off of one of the lieutenants in a knife-throwing contest, and I’d immediately liked her. The three of us have spent almost every day together since I first saw Wesley in the training ring.

“Oh, I wouldn’t underestimate our Dahlia,” Wesley says, bumping my shoulder with his, lips curled up in a sexy half-grin. I nearly sigh at the sight. Nothing physical has happened between us yet, just a rekindling of an old friendship and the beginning of a foundation of a new one, but there’s definite possibility there, I think. He’s certainly attractive enough, anyone can see that, and though I don’t feel that spark between us that we’d had when we were younger, I think maybe we just need to stop skirting around it and dive in. Maybe the spark will come back if we just give ourselves the chance. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about touching him a hundred different times, relearning the shape of his body and the feel of his lips, but each time it’s seemed that something was building and we were finally going to give in, another face flashed across my mind. One with dark hair and golden eyes that seemed to look right to the heart of me. Alaric and the cursed bond between us has effectively ruined the moment each and every time. I’ve told myself that next time, no matter what, I’m going to fall into the moment with Wesley. I think I owe myself the chance of happiness—or at the very least, some fun between the sheets of Wesley’s bed.

I glance at Wesley again now, at his easy smile and sparkling eyes, the way his arm muscles move and flex in his sleeveless tunic. He’s so much bigger than he used to be, muscles in spades where he’d hardly had any before. Perhaps tonight is the night. Perhaps tonight we see if the flame can be coaxed back to life between us…

But even without anything sexual happening, I’ve been so happy to have him here with me. To have a friend who truly knows me—not as the High General’s Consort, but as Dahlia Clayburn, just a blacksmith’s daughter with soot on her nose and a penchant for breaking rules. The last two weeks with Wesley and Nova and the other soldiers have made me feel like maybe I can be happy here after all. It’s not the life I envisioned or would have ever wanted, but it can be a good life nonetheless, I think.

I take another drink of my ale. It’s crisp and sweet, and I’m already feeling delightfully fuzzy because of it.

“There was a time, I think we were, what, twelve maybe?” Wesley begins.

“Oh no,” I groan, hiding my face in my hands, knowing what story he’s about to tell. My guard sits around us—except for Malcom, who had slipped off into the darkness with Takara hours ago—and they all lean in closer.

“Well now we have to hear it,” Viktor says, Isaiah nodding emphatically beside him.

Wesley laughs and continues on, clearly enjoying the spotlight

“We had to be about twelve and there was this utter little prick, Lowell Harkner. He was bigger than most of us—I hadn’t hit my growth spurt yet and turned into the fine slab of muscle you see before you,” he winks, making Nova and I both snort, “—and he liked to bully the rest of us. Until one day, little Dahlia Clayburn said no more. So, one afternoon when we were all by the pond, she put a live snake down his trousers. He screeched like babe and pissed himself!”

“You didn’t!” Nova exclaims, a glint of respect in her eyes. My guard roars with laughter and I can’t stop the smile that pulls my lips. I hike a shoulder and hide behind my tankard, taking another long sip.

“Then she told him that if he ever laid a hand on any of us again, she’d put snakes in his bed every single night for the rest of his life. Needless to say, there was no more bullying after that. I bet the bastard still crosses the street when he sees you coming, doesn’t he?”

I wrinkle my nose but admit, “Perhaps…”

Descartes lifts his tankard in my direction.

“To our Lady Dahlia, wielder of serpents and punisher of pricks!”

Cheers ring out around us. I laugh, rolling my eyes, but I raise my cup in return. Everyone converges, slamming cups together, ale and blood sloshing all over. I squeal just a bit, but laugh, feeling like I’m really part of things here for a moment. Just then, something flashes through my mind.

Not just my mind, my entire body.

Alaric . I know without a doubt that he’s near, every inch of me singing with electricity and tension. I’d thought the bond had faded over these weeks, but now it feels as strong and solid as ever. I yank my gaze from the others as cheers erupt around the fire. My eyes land directly on Alaric, as if drawn there by an invisible force. The moon shines down directly on him like a beacon and I can’t drag my eyes away, no matter how hard I try. Seeing him again after all these weeks is like being struck by a bolt of lightning.

The men all raise their glasses and clap their fists over their chests. My heart thuds as I realize that perhaps he’ll be angry that I’m here, drinking and carrying on with his men. I shrink back, trying to hide behind the hulking bodies around me. Which is stupid, of course. I know he can sense me here.

But he doesn’t storm over and demand that I leave. In fact, he doesn’t even pay me any attention at all, merely weaving through the crowd, accepting handshakes and slaps on the shoulder and a cup of something with a nod of thanks. He doesn’t so much as look my direction. I’d been worried moments ago that he’d be angry that I was here, but now I realize he doesn’t give two shits about me or what I do. The thought sours my mood. Which is utterly ridiculous. It shouldn’t matter what Alaric thinks of me. Or doesn’t think, apparently. I’m his Consort, a glorified blood dispensary, nothing more. If we were in this situation under normal circumstances, I would never see him at all. I remind myself that he isn’t being cruel, it’s just the way things are. I try not to take it personally, but the ale is making that hard.

I try to shake the thoughts away…and ignore the way my blood heats at his nearness. Regardless of anything else, I can’t pretend I don’t notice the way my stomach flutters as I study him, heat pooling in my belly. He’s all in black, the leathers molding to his muscular body in a way that should be a crime. Embarrassingly, I actually bite my lip as my gaze skates down his body, from his broad shoulders to the smooth skin of his chest, visible where his shirt gapes open, and lower still, to his narrow hips, the way his weapons belt hangs there in a way that’s inexplicably sexy. His dark hair tumbles over his forehead and I have the sudden, intense urge to brush it away, to dig my fingers into it and pull his face to mine…

As if he can feel me staring or sense my thoughts, his eyes snap to mine.

My lips part as I inhale softly, and he holds my gaze as he responds to someone to his right. I’m frozen, locked in a strange trance with Alaric that I can’t explain and can’t break free from. His eyes are dark amber in the firelight, and I wish so badly that I could read the thoughts clearly racing behind them. Is he surprised to find me here? Does he care? Had it been hard for him to be away because of the bond? Is he…thirsty? I swallow hard at that, and Alaric’s eyes dip to my throat. His jaw clenches before he turns away to speak to someone else, though it looks as if pulling his gaze away had been an effort. Or maybe I’m just seeing things because of all the ale.

I let out a slow, shaky breath and then throw back what’s left in my cup. Though I tell myself not to, I glance back at Alaric, and Elias catches my eye instead. He winks, as if we’re in on some secret together that I don’t quite understand, and grins widely. I blush and give him a small, awkward wave because I’m honestly not sure what else to do and the ale says a wave is a good idea. I turn back to Wesley.

“Is this…normal?” I ask, gesturing towards Alaric as he continues to mingle with the soldiers. He actually seems to genuinely care about what they’re saying. He doesn’t look my way again but I know without a doubt that he’s well aware of me watching him. He’d told me that he’d be able to feel my moods and emotions, and my cheeks flame, remembering the way my body had reacted when I’d been watching him a moment ago. Would he have felt that? Would he have understood what the feelings meant? Gods. I rub the back of my neck.

“What?” Wesley asks, taking a sip of his own ale.

“Alaric…visiting with the soldiers like this?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says easily, and then laughs at my incredulous expression. “I know, you wouldn’t think it, but it’s true. He fights beside us, bleeds beside us, mourns beside us, celebrates beside us. He thinks of himself as one of us, despite being the High General, despite being a fucking prince .” Wesley sounds as if he worships the vampire, as if he were almost a god. Seven hells, almost every soldier around the fire is looking at Alaric like that. Do they truly see him that way? I assumed they were all just terrified of him, that he was a rough and strict leader who demanded obedience and loyalty, settling for nothing less, but now I think that I may have been very wrong about Alaric Montclare.

Braddock brings me another tankard of ale and though I probably should stop drinking at this point, I smile in thanks, raising the glass to the big blacksmith before taking another deep drink. I start to relax a bit more with every sip and soon I’m laughing with the men, cringing when some of them begin to sing horribly off-key, and leaning in as more stories begin—now all of them about Alaric. Battles won and lost (though those were few and far between), great heroics and daring rescues. He’s like a character in one of Enid’s novels for gods’ sake, the ones she pretends are all about adventure and chivalry, when really they’re about a devastatingly handsome almost-villain who does unspeakably arousing things to the heroine in their bed chamber that make your toes curl and your blood heat just reading the words on the page.

I may or may not have sneaked several from her collection and read them myself on occasion…

“And so the bastard has the tip of his sword resting just over the High General’s heart,” a vampire with russet-colored hair says, talking animatedly, “armor gone, wounded and covered in blood, the rest of us with our backs against the wall—literally. We were backed up against the edge of a cliff with snarling hounds keeping us at bay.” Alaric isn’t smiling, exactly, but his lips quirk up on one side in an amused half-smirk. “And the Revenant says, ‘kneel, High General. Kneel before me and surrender and I might spare your men.’” He pauses dramatically before adding, “And then the High General smiles at him. Fucking grins.”

A chorus of cheers rings out. The vampire tamps his hands in the air, telling them to quiet down, but he’s grinning, obviously getting the exact reaction that he wanted.

“So, the High General is there, grinning with a sword aimed at his heart, and he says,” the vampire looked around for a minute, adding to the drama, and pitches his voice low, “‘I kneel before no one ,’ and lunges forward, impaling himself on the fucking sword and putting his fist straight through the Revenant’s chest. Ripped out the bastard’s spine. He fucking ran himself through just to get close enough to end the prick!” Cheers erupt, even louder than before. Elias slaps Alaric on the shoulder, shaking him lightly, and he looks at the ground—hiding his smile?

He’s sitting across from me now and when he looks up again, our gazes meet through the flames. My pulse races and his eyes are glowing in the firelight, burning, his body tensing. Fire seems to flick through my veins, my pulse racing and thoughts rising in my mind again. Crazy thoughts. Impossible thoughts. Thoughts I need to force away as soon as possible. His eyes dip briefly to my lips and I feel like I’m going to combust. I unconsciously wet them and I would swear that Alaric leans forward, as if he’s going to leap across the fire to me. No, I’m imagining things. It’s the ale and the binding and I need to stop staring at him. But I don’t. I can’t. He scrubs his hand over his jaw, dragging a finger slowly over his lips and my stomach flips.

“What about the time he used a Revenant’s entrails as a rope to climb up the side of a cliff?” someone calls out, and cheers and laughter break out around us, shattering the strange moment. Alaric shifts his gaze to the man who’d spoken, all evidence of the intense tension from a moment ago erased as if it had never existed at all. Gods, maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe I just really need a good fuck.

“Are you alright?” Wesley asks. I blink and shake myself.

“Of course, why?”

“You look flustered. And mouthwatering, if I’m being honest,” he adds with a smirk. “Your blood is pounding in your veins right now.”

“Oh, uh, must just be the ale,” I say, forcing myself to relax and forget the moment with Alaric. I give Wesley an easy smile and swat him in the shoulder. “And I can’t believe you just said I looked mouthwatering .” I roll my eyes and he snaps his fangs playfully in my direction, making me giggle and squeal.

The night continues with more stories, more songs, more laughter, entirely too much more ale, and thankfully, no more odd moments with Alaric, though I can’t shake the feeling that he’s watching me like a hawk, despite the fact that he never seems to actually look at me. It’s unnerving.

I’m surprised by the comradery, the obvious love among the warriors. I must have said something out loud without realizing it, because Wesley nods.

“There is something between brothers in arms—or sisters—that can’t be explained, a bond that is unlike any other. It’s love and honor and a willingness to kill and die for the person next to you.” I mull that over, realizing I still have much to learn about the vampires and the army.

Eventually, things begin to wind down, soldiers breaking off into small groups or retiring with partners on their arms, making it very clear what they have on their minds. Others have leave for several days and talk of making their way to the village and visiting the blood house there. I rise from my seat, tottering a bit. I laugh loudly, steadying myself on Wesley’s arm while Nova grins at me.

“Easy, there,” Wesley says, amused. Our gazes lock and his lips curl into a crooked smile, making my stomach flutter. He runs a hand through his shaggy hair. “Did you, uh, want to come back to my?—"

“I’ll escort you back to our cabin,” a cool voice interrupts from behind us. I whirl to find Alaric standing a few feet away. I gasp quietly. Or I think it’s quietly. I can’t be completely sure at this point. If I didn’t know any better, I would say there’s a note of possessiveness in his tone, a little extra emphasis on the word our . But that’s obviously ridiculous, so I push the thought away.

Wesley and Nova both incline their heads and put their fists to their chests. Wesley cuts his eyes to me, a clear question, and I nod.

“Of course, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dahlia.”

“See you,” I say, keeping my eyes on Alaric. I’d been completely ready to go back to Wesley’s cabin only a heartbeat ago, to see if we could find a way to rekindle things, but one sentence from Alaric and Wesley is all but forgotten. One look at him, and the spark that had been missing between me and Wesley flares so hot I think I might burn to ash. Why is this happening? I shouldn’t want him like this. I can’t want him like this.

And yet…

He gestures towards the path that leads through the camp to the cabin. Our cabin.

It’s full night now, but the paths throughout the camp are lit with tall torches. The vampires can all see perfectly well in the dark, of course, but the rest of us need a little help. The wide path is mostly empty, a stray soldier or servant here and there. It’s much quieter here, especially after the raucous around the fire.

“Did you enjoy your evening?” he asks, startling me. I blink in surprise, not having expected him to talk to me, but I recover quickly.

“Yes, I did. The ale was delicious ,” I say with a grin, my thoughts delightfully fuzzy around the edges. I shouldn’t speak so freely, I definitely shouldn’t grin at him for gods’ sake. He seems to relax a bit now that it’s just the two of us.

“I’m glad of it. Before I left you seemed…unhappy.”

“I was, but I’m doing better now.” I toy with a curl, winding and unwinding it around my finger, and he watches intently, as if my hair fascinates him. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting to see you there. I didn’t know that you mingled with the commoners.” I wave a hand airily and he almost laughs. Maybe. I turn and walk backwards, eyeing him critically. Or as critically as I can with everything slightly pear-shaped. “Was that story true? The,” I pitch my voice low in an attempt to mimic his timber, “I do not kneel. I thrust myself upon yer sword so I can rip yer heart out with ma bare hands because I am a big, sexy vampire warlord.”

“Sexy vampire warlord, am I?” he muses, and his lips definitely curl upward this time. I’m…eighty percent sure of it.

I roll my eyes and wave his comment away, the ale making me entirely too forward and informal, but I can’t seem to care. It’s not as if he’s unaware of how attractive he is, after all. I’ve heard plenty of rumors about the women who practically throw themselves at his feet everywhere he goes, just begging to be in his bed. A flare of jealousy leaps in my chest, a desire to claw those nameless, faceless women’s eyes out of their heads. What in the seven hells is wrong with me?

I tamp the jealousy away and push on, feeling chatty and wanting to take advantage of him actually conversing with me like two normal people. I frown. Being chatty isn’t necessarily a good thing. I have a habit of getting very chatty and very…handsy when I drink too much. I quickly tuck my arms behind my back as I walk, gripping my elbows just to be sure my hands don’t get minds of their own and somehow wind up on Alaric’s chest or shoulders or…other places.

“So, is it true then?”

He exhales and runs a hand through his hair, making the strands even more unruly. I’m momentarily distracted by the movement, the way the strands fall across his forehead, the way I want to tangle my fingers through it. I try desperately to focus my thoughts, but he isn’t making it easy.

“No…it was his spine I ripped out, not his heart.” A very small smirk tilts his lips, no doubt this time, and I stop walking and stare at him in shock.

“Did you…did you just make a joke?”

He hikes a shoulder and I grin stupidly, huffing out a laugh. Alaric studies me and I quickly look away from his intense stare before I do the very stupid things the ale thrumming through my veins is telling me to do.

“Your accent,” he says, surprising me as I turn forward again and we fall into step beside each other, though I know he’s slowing his pace so that I can keep up. I wrinkle my nose, knowing what he’s about to say.

“Aye, my da comes out a bit more when I’ve had too much to drink, I’ll admit. Or when I’m spitting mad.”

“Good to know,” he says, amused. I smile and hike a shoulder. We settle into silence as we walk. I glance sidelong at him though, studying his profile in the moonlight. His golden eyes seem to glow in the darkness, like a wolf’s. When he catches me, I yank my gaze away, but can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up. The entire situation is just so damned comical, isn’t it? A blacksmith’s daughter now a Consort to the High General of the vampire army, a Montclare prince for fuck’s sake, and here I am, stealing glances at him like a lovesick teenager. I laugh again, harder.

“Have I missed some jest?” he asks.

“It’s nothing,” I assure him trying to stop my laughter. He gives me a dubious look but lets the matter rest.

“I’m glad you’re back,” I say as we enter the cabin, standing in the large entrance room. He turns to look at me, arching one dark brow, and I want to kick myself. “I mean, when you were gone, it was…difficult. Because of the binding. I felt your absence, in here.” I place my hand over my chest. I don’t think I’m explaining it right at all, but he nods.

“I was also…affected.” His voice is gruff, as if he’s admitting some kind of weakness and is loath to be doing so. Of course he would have felt the distance far more than I did. Though it hasn’t faded nearly as much as I thought it would at this point, he’s taken far more of my blood since the binding. Speaking of my blood makes me wonder…

“If I’m drunk, and you drink my blood, will you get drunk too?” His brow furrows.

“I…don’t know,” he answers slowly, sounding surprised and maybe a little intrigued. I smile and meet his gaze, feeling bold and flirtatious and reckless.

“Care to find out?”