Page 15

ALARIC

I pace in my chambers, trying and failing to keep Dahlia from my mind. I distracted myself with training a new group of soldiers fresh from the academy most of the day, punishing my body and theirs in an effort to keep my mind away from things that had almost happened last night. Things that can’t ever happen. It hadn’t worked of course, just as pacing a hole through my rug isn’t helping now. Her soft touch on my chest, the way her lips had parted in what looked like invitation…or demand. The way she’d leaned forward…

A growl rumbles through my chest remembering what came next: the way my body had reacted to her touch, the things it had craved, the way my mind was completely consumed with wants and needs. I’d never felt so animalistic in all my years, never more like the monsters vampires used to be called. The absolute fear I’d felt at the idea of hurting her—or worse—had been the only thing to clear my mind and help me regain control of the primal instincts screaming inside my body.

I run a hand roughly through my hair and toss back my drink, enjoying the sharp burn and closing my eyes. I’ll master this, I’ll figure it out. I’ll?—

My eyes snap open and I stare towards her wing, as if I can see through the walls straight to her chambers. My heart races inside my chest, my body tensing as my fangs slide long, sharpening. I thought I’d heard…yes, there again—a gasp…and a soft moan?

“Oh fucking hells,” I groan. She’s in the throes of something, there’s no doubt, but what exactly? Is she alone? The thought of her pleasuring herself has my cock as hard as the mountains surrounding us in a heartbeat. But then another thought rises: what if she isn’t alone? What if she’d brought another man—or woman—to her chambers? A swift and hot rage floods my chest like lava. I strain to hear a second heartbeat, to sense another, but find nothing. The relief that washes through me is absolutely staggering, nearly making my knees buckle.

“Get a fucking grip on yourself,” I command, taking deep, settling breaths.

Which is a terrible mistake. A glorious, spellbinding, terrible mistake. Every muscle in my body goes rigid as her scent hits me like a battering ram. Her arousal is even sweeter than her blood, like honey, and I can barely breathe from the force of it, the pull of it.

“Oh gods ,” I whisper as my fangs shoot even longer, nicking my bottom lip. I taste blood and my body shudders, the sudden need for her blood and her body nearly shattering my willpower completely. I barely keep control, but I don’t know if I can maintain it for long. Eventually, I’ll have to learn to deal with this, but tonight…it’s too much. I stab my feet into my boots and storm from the cabin, running out into the night as fast as my legs will carry me. I run and run and run until I’m high up in the mountains, crouched on a peak near the top of one of the Sisters.

I’m nearly hyperventilating, my breaths sawing in and out of my chest like razor blades. I close my eyes and force my body to obey my mind. Eventually, my breathing and frantic heart both slow.

“Fucking hells,” I say on a shaky exhale as I collapse onto the freezing rock beneath me, sprawling and staring up into the night’s sky. I’ve never felt this way before, this loss of control, this all-encompassing need and desire that nearly made me forget all sense and reason and storm right into her room and do… gods the things I wanted to do. I close my eyes and lay there for hours more, forcing myself to remember her scent, force myself to learn to think around it, to accept it and master my body. I make sure I’m entirely under control before I move a single inch back towards the camp.

Having a Consort is an annoyance.

Having a mate is torture.

My solution to the situation with Dahlia is to avoid her entirely. I don’t know if it’s the best solution, but it’s the only one I’ve got that is guaranteed to keep her safe. Though I worked for days on end to master myself, forcing her to consume my thoughts, forcing her scent into my memory so that I can be completely sure I’ll be able to control myself, I still stay away. The fear of what would happen to her if my control slips outweighs the pain of not seeing her. Vampires are meant to be near their mates, their mate’s presence soothing in the way no other can be. But if it keeps her safe, and more importantly, alive, I’ll gladly take the pain.

So, I stay away. I send a squire to collect her blood as I did when I was away from the camp, though I’m only on the other side of the cabin. I make sure that I won’t run into her when coming or going. Part of me feels guilty, knowing she probably thinks she did something wrong or feels as if this is a punishment, but I try to remind myself that if we were in a normal situation, this is how it would be. I wouldn’t see her. We wouldn’t be near each other. We’d be separated by an entire castle instead of this small cabin.

“The arrowhead is obsidian—veined with basilisk venom ,” Elias says dramatically. “It’s how it pierced through your armor.” He studies the arrow that had recently been embedded deep in my flesh. My shoulder twinges slightly at the sight, a phantom pain from that unexpected injury.

“That’s impossible,” I say, eyeing him and the arrow warily. He shrugs.

“That’s what the masters say.” I run a hand down my face.

“Where in the fucking hells did they find basilisk venom?? They’re supposed to be extinct!”

“There have long been rumors that some remain in caves deep within the ice giants on Zantos Island.”

I frown. I know the stories, of course, but to think that Kilgren actually believed in them enough to send his men that far north, through the treacherous Slyndrian Sea to that frozen island, and then into the caves of those icy mountains…all for something that could pierce my armor? That seems extreme, even for him. Though of course basilisk venom has other uses, I can’t help but think that this was for me, specifically. But why? Even an arrow straight to my heart wouldn’t be enough to end me. I don’t understand and I don’t like the feeling.

A knock at the door pulls my attention away.

“Enter.”

Highspear steps through the door and Elias flashes me a quick, sympathetic smile.

“Sir, I’d like to speak with you, if you have a moment?” the young vampire says. I can tell he’s trying not to sound nervous, but his voice shakes ever so slightly. I sigh, knowing what he wants and knowing how this conversation will end. Elias drops his boots from my desk and stands.

“I’ll just be going then.” He mouths good luck before leaving the war room, clapping Highspear on the shoulder as he passes.

“Have a seat,” I say, straightening in my high-backed chair. He sits in the one Elias had just vacated, though doesn’t dare prop his boots up. He bows his head before speaking.

“Sir, I want to petition for promotion…again.” A flash of anger flares in his brown eyes but it disappears quickly. He clears his throat gently before continuing. “I feel I’m ready, that I deserve it.”

I study the boy. He’s young, by immortal and mortal standards alike, only thirty or so when he was turned, and that only happened ten years ago. He looks young, as well, his features soft and child-like, eyes a bit too big for his face, the brown as dark as chocolate.

“Why do you want to be a sergeant, Highspear?” He blinks at that.

“I…well, doesn’t everyone want to be promoted?”

“No, actually. Many are happy to follow rather than lead. So, why do you want to lead?” I watch him intently as his brow furrows, clearly having given this question no thought before this moment. That tells me enough. But I wait, giving him a chance to explore it. Perhaps he’ll surprise me. It isn’t likely, but there are times when it happens…my mind drifts to a certain firebrand who surprises me at nearly every turn, but I close the thoughts away.

“I…I want people to listen to me,” he finally says. “To take me seriously. To do what I say and know that I’m right.” I sigh. I am not surprised. This is exactly why I’ve denied his promotion petition twice already. Though I’ve never asked him before, I’ve learned to read people very well in all my years, especially soldiers, and I’ve always known that he wants power for all the wrong reasons. He’s a decent enough soldier, seems like a decent enough man, I suppose, though I don’t know too much about him other than that he came from very poor, remote village in the far west.

“I have to deny your request, Highspear. I’m sorry.” He looks bewildered, his big eyes wide and full of surprise.

“But sir, I?—”

“You are not ready to lead, for you want to lead for the wrong reasons.”

“But—”

“It’s my final word on the matter.” I cut him off firmly, though not cruelly. Then, the bewilderment fades and something close to rage simmers in his eyes. His lips press into a thin line and his fingers curl into fists on his thighs. “You are a good soldier and I value you in this army, but you will not be a sergeant.”

He stares for a moment longer, disbelief and fury warring in his expression, but then he takes a deep breath and the emotions disappear completely. I narrow my eyes a fraction, the complete wipe of his expression a little unsettling. He gives me one sharp nod.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, High General.” He rises from the chair and quickly leaves the room, his shoulders and back rigid with tension. I put my forehead in my hands, rubbing my temples, when I hear the door open again. I snap my head up, annoyed at the lack of a knock, but then blink in surprise.

“Bastian?” My brother smiles widely and holds his arms out as he strides across the room.

“Hello, baby brother.” I round the desk and he wraps his arms around me, slapping me hard on the back.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I just wanted to check in on you, see how you were settling in with the whole Consort business.” He eyes me. “It seems to suit you. You look…different. Better. The fresh blood does that, I suppose.” Or finding your fucking mate.

I cross to my sideboard and pour us two glasses of whisky. Handing one to him, I lean back against my war table.

“It’s taken some getting used to, but I’m figuring things out.”

“I knew you would,” Bastian says, beaming. One thing I have never had to wonder about is Bastian’s love or his pride in me. “And she’s adjusting to life here in the camp? Her Keeper has sent no complaints to the Magister.”

“Yes, as far as I know, she’s fine. She’s found…friends, among some of my soldiers. I think that has helped her transition to this new life.”

“Good, good. Most Consorts have entire courts at their disposal. It’s important for humans to have that, I think. To not feel alone.” I mull that over and take a long sip.

“So, you really came all the way here just to check in on me?” I ask, brow arched suspiciously. Sebastian smiles and toys with one of the figurines on the map.

“I did. The first Consort can be overwhelming for any of us, but your situation is quite unique.” After a few moments he adds, “And I’m avoiding going through the tithe and tax reports with Gerard.”

“Ahh, there it is. You came to escape your responsibilities,” I say grinning.

“Ok, ok, fine,” he says, throwing up his hands. “The main reason was skirting my responsibilities—some of them are so damned boring,” he says, sounding downright whiny. “But also to check on you,” he adds, pointing a finger accusingly. “Mostly to check on my favorite brother whom I love so dearly and want to see succeed in every way.”

“Oh fuck off,” I say rolling my eyes, but grinning. We decide to take a stroll through the camp. The men always enjoy getting a visit from the leader of the Clan and Sebastian is a gracious one, speaking and smiling and shaking hands.

“Have you ever heard of a mate…being human?” I ask, trying my best to sound casual.

He frowns. “Why would you ask?”

“One of the soldiers,” I lie easily. “He was absolutely convinced one of the humans at the blood house was his. Just blood drunk, I’m sure.” Bastian laughs.

“Probably right. The young ones can get quite infatuated with the donors, it’s true.” He looks thoughtful and adds, “I suppose it could be possible. I read in the old histories of mates that were shifters from the wildlands of Melkane, before the Great Flood, of course. So, I suppose a human isn’t completely impossible, but I can’t imagine something much worse than that.”

My chest tightens. “Why’s that?”

“Well, you either don’t turn them, which means you only have a very finite amount of time with them. You’ll watch them grow old and die—and that’s only assuming they aren’t killed by something else before age takes them. And then you’d be lost. Or you attempt to change them and pray to all the gods it works and that when they die, it isn’t for good. I can’t imagine being able to bear it.”

The exact same thoughts I’ve had since the moment I realized Dahlia was mine. There is no easy answer. There is no right answer. There is no answer at all, I remind myself, seeing as how I can never actually claim her as mine. I can only stay away and watch her from afar, make sure she is as safe as happy as possible without truly being in her life, and do everything in my power to make that life a long one. It’s agony to even think of it, but it’s the reality of my life for the foreseeable future.

I think about telling Bastian about the arrow, but I don’t want to alarm him yet, not until I understand what it really means. So, I try to push all other thoughts away and just enjoy the time I have with my brother.

“Again,” I say in between ragged breaths.

Elias groans from across the ring, his chest slicked with sweat and heaving.

“You can’t be serious,” he protests, wiping sweat and blood and dirt from his brow. I give him a look that says that I’m, in fact, very serious. “We’ve been at it for hours, Alaric.”

It’s true. My plan to stay away from Dahlia is not going well. I’ve stayed away, that part has worked out fine, but it’s torture. Each day that passes, I’m finding it harder and harder to keep myself from going to her. My instincts rebel at the idea of choosing to remain away from my mate. When she’s in the same camp, in the same fucking house, and I still make the conscious decision to keep us apart—it feels like my chest might collapse under the strain. And not to mention the cravings that wrack my body day and night, the need to touch her, to taste her, to please her until her voice is raw from screams of ecstasy. My body is in an eternal state of torture, never being able to find satisfaction without Dahlia no matter how many times I may find release on my own.

It’s fucking agony.

So, I’ve done the only thing I know to do and that’s to throw myself into training with all my might, doing drills until my hands and feet bleed, until my muscles scream in protest. And still, it only helps to occupy my mind for a time. Still, I long to go to her, to do all manner of unspeakable things to and with her, but also just to be with her. To sit beside her, to have her mere presence act as a balm on this scorching ache encompassing my entire soul.

Elias gives me a knowing look.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with you avoiding a certain Consort, would it?” I growl low in my chest.

“I’m not avoiding her,” I snap.

“Uh huh. Sure. Whatever you say, your highness.”

“Pick up your sword or you’re losing a limb, Elias. Either way, we’re going again.”

“Seven fucking hells,” he grumbles, grabbing his sword and shaking his head at me as we meet again in the middle of the ring.