Page 35

DAHLIA

I wake, groggy and a little weak, but overall fine. Alaric is alive. The thought fills my chest with an incredible warmth, chasing away the cold terror that had gripped me since the moment I felt his pain in the camp. It had been so close. I’d almost lost him…

I push myself up and Takara is there.

“Easy, now. You might be a bit dizzy. Drink this.” She hands me a tankard of something sweet-smelling and I don’t question her, just down the entire cup. It’s crisp and cool and bitingly sweet. I hand it back and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

“What was that?”

“Something similar to the tonic you’ve taken in the past that replenishes your blood, but think of this as a…stronger proof.” I huff out a small laugh, but whatever it is, it starts working immediately. The bit of lightheadedness I felt when I sat up disappears and a wave of strength and energy slowly crashes into me, starting in the center of my chest and working its way through every inch of my body.

I glance to the bed and panic grips me. I jump to my feet.

“Where is Alaric?? Is he ok? What happened?” I rub the heel of my hand against my chest, trying to stop the thunderous beating, trying to tell myself that I would know if something had happened, if he’d taken a turn after I’d passed out.

“He’s fine, Dahlia. Look at me,” she says, putting her hands on my shoulders and making me meet her eyes. “He’s fine. More than fine, I’d wager, with that much of your blood in him…” She eyes me for a moment, and then adds quietly, “legends say a mate’s blood is exceptionally powerful…” There’s a question in the words. My eyes fly wide and I swallow hard. I still can’t quite believe that it could be true.

I’d been frantic but also somehow numb when I’d arrived in the tent and found Alaric on the bed, wounded and bleeding and writhing in pain, screaming in agony. The sounds of the strongest man I’ve ever known screaming as he burned alive from the inside is something I will never forget.

“What do you mean nothing can be done?” I’d asked, somehow pushing the words past numb lips.

“It’s spread too far, my Lady. There’s no way we can stop it,” one of Alaric’s men had answered. Hastings? Hawkins? Something like that.

“Bullshit!” I’d screamed, something inside me breaking, pounding and clawing against the words like a caged animal fighting to escape. I’d been frantic, my mind desperately clutching at anything it could think of. “Bloodletting! Or…or…leeches! That’s what human healers do! Use fucking leeches to suck the poisoned blood away!”

“It’s too late,” someone had whispered. I think her name was Collins.

“No. No! Don’t touch me!” I screamed when Elias laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. “There has to be something. He’s the High General. He’s a fucking prince ! You have to do something!” Everyone had simply looked away from my pleas, my agony, already having accepted the inevitable.

The High General would die this day.

The thought had stopped my own heart, my world coming to an abrupt halt all around me.

“Elias, please ,” I’d begged of him, my voice breaking as tears streamed down my face. He held my gaze for a long moment and then something lit in his stormy blue eyes, as if an idea had struck.

“Everyone out!” He’d suddenly demanded. “ Now ! Lady Dahlia needs time to say goodbye in private.” My mouth had gaped in horror. He couldn’t possibly be serious! He wasn’t just going to give up hope!

“No. No, gods damn you! I’m not giving up, there has to be something! I won’t say goodbye, I won’t fucking do it, Elias, I—” He’d gripped my shoulders then and leaned in, lips close to my ear so even the other vampires’ hearing wouldn’t be able to pick up the words.

“Dahlia, he needs your blood. You can save him…a mate’s blood is the only thing strong enough to pull him back from this.” A mate’s blood. Elias had pulled away, looking at me again seriously, showing me the truth of the words. I didn’t understand how it was possible, but if there was even a chance it would work, I would give him every last drop from my veins.

“Out!” I’d screamed, putting as much authority as a Consort into my voice as I could, pulling myself up to my full (and relatively unimpressive) height, but the effect was enough. The others had all scurried quickly from the tent and Elias had secured the flap behind them. The word had echoed through my head as we’d coaxed Alaric to drink.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

I try to make sense of it all now. I don’t pretend to know just how profound the bonds of matehood between vampires are, but even as a human I know enough to understand that this is no small thing. Mates are exceedingly rare, only a handful documented over the last millennium…and mates are never human. Ever. I don’t understand how this could be possible. I’ve always mocked Enid’s steadfast belief in fate and signs and kismet but now…it seems as if the universe brought me to Alaric, brought him to me, as if everything was conspiring to put the two of us together because…because I’m his .

I inhale deeply before letting it out slowly.

“It’s true,” I say softly to Takara. “I didn’t know it until I arrived here, but Elias knew. He was the one who realized that I might be able to save Alaric because of it.”

Though a part of me is so damned happy at the news that I’m Alaric’s, that we belong together on some cosmic level that I can’t even properly understand, the other part of me is angry that he kept it from me all this time. Spitting mad, actually.

“I had my suspicions,” Takara says leading me to the raised pallet where Alaric had lain…gods, how long had it been? Hours? Days? New furs had replaced the blood and sweat-soaked ones. We sit down and she holds my hands in hers. “Are you alright? I can’t imagine what that news might mean to you, especially as a human…”

“I’m…I don’t know. Part of me is relieved, part of me is happy, part of me is angry, part of me is afraid…mostly I’m just confused and there are just too many other things clamoring in my mind for me to process it fully right now. I need to know where Alaric is. I need to talk to him.”

Takara digs one fang into her bottom lip.

“He’s…gone.” I blink. Surely I couldn’t have heard her correctly.

“Gone?”

“Gone. To battle.”

I leap from the bed. “What!? He just nearly died, what in the fucking seven hells is he doing riding off into battle again already!?”

“You know the answer to that,” she says pointedly and I scowl at her. She quirks a brow right back and I exhale, throwing my hands up. I do know the answer. It’s in his blood. It’s his duty. And I can only imagine the wrath boiling within him right now after what happened.

“Alright, fine. But still!”

“We’re getting reports that it’s turned, that his presence back on the field has shifted everything and they’ve rallied and beaten the Revenants back. It should be done soon, Dahlia.”

Well, that’s something, but I’m still…I don’t even know what I am. Mad. Worried. Terrified. Tired. Hungry. Happy. Grateful. It’s all too much. I storm out of the tent, Cyrus and Viktor glancing at me with looks of concern from their spots flanking the entrance. I don’t even know where I’m going or what I’m doing, I only know that I’m beyond frustrated and all of the emotions I’ve been feeling for the last…

“How long has it been?” I snap, tired of not even knowing if it’s been hours or weeks. “Since I left camp.”

“A day and a half only, my Lady,” Malcom answers as he strolls up, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

All of the emotions that I’ve been feeling for the last day and half are all mixed up and threatening to overwhelm me at any moment. I pace furiously, trying desperately to calm my thoughts, but everything is like a cyclone inside my mind.

And then I feel him.

I whirl just as a group of soldiers round the corner into the clearing in front of Alaric’s tent. Some are limping, all are bloody and dirty, but they’re beaming and cheering. A victory then. And then I see him at last.

Alaric pauses for a moment when he sees me, our gazes locking. Everything else falls completely away then. There is only me and him and nothing else in the world matters, nothing else in the world even exists. He’s covered head to toe in blood and gore, his hair hanging in damp tangles around his face, the hilt of Night’s Fury gleaming darkly over his shoulder. His golden eyes are blazing with a wild intensity and locked entirely on me. I gasp quietly: he’s never looked so fierce…or sexy.

A determined, hungry look settles over his face, making my heart race and my lips part. This isn’t a prince looking at his Consort. This isn’t a man looking at the woman he might love.

This is a vampire looking at his mate.

And the look is enough to set me on fire.

He crosses the clearing to me in a few long strides and wraps one arm around my waist. A sudden pressure closes in around us, darkness descending like a thick shroud.

“Alaric?” I gasp, clutching at his waist. What in the hells is happening??

As quickly as it came on, the pressure ceases and the darkness falls away to reveal one of the grandest entrances I’ve ever seen. A soaring ceiling, so high that the corners are nearly in shadow, dual staircases curving around to a second-story landing overlooking the entry. Everything is dark wood and brushed metal and deep colored gemstones, not the typical glittering golds you’d typically find in a place like this, but still obviously regal. It’s gorgeous—I never cared for gold, honestly—but completely foreign to me.

“Where…”

A female vampire rushes into the space, three humans trailing in her wake. I blink, completely confused and my head swimming.

“Your highness,” the vampire says, clearly startled but recovering quickly as she bows deeply, the humans following suit behind her. “We didn’t expect you.”

“Everything is in order, I presume.” His voice is stern and flat, but I can hear the tension beneath, how much it’s costing him to speak right now.

“Yes, sir, of course.” Four sets of eyes look from Alaric, to me, to the firm, possessive grip of his hand on my waist. Two of them are better at hiding their surprise than the others, but none of them dare say a word.

Alaric nods and turns to stride up the stairs, every line of his body thrumming with tension, and I try my best to keep up.

“Expected? Where the hells are we, Alaric?” I hiss quietly as I practically run to keep up with his long strides. Did we just… teleport ? I can’t wrap my mind around that, so I focus on following Alaric.

We sprint up the main stairs up one...two… five floors, then turn down a long, wide corridor lined with dark blue carpet and black marble wainscoting. At the end is another grand staircase, snarling wolves carved into the banister posts. I’m breathing hard, but silently thank Wesley and Takara for all of the morning exercises to build up my endurance. How big is this fucking place?

“Alaric, what the hells is going on?” Again, no answer. He just continues to pull me up the stairs beside him. I begin to wonder if he can even hear me. He seems…off. I peek out one of the windows when we finally reach the landing and realize that we must be at the very top of a high tower—and that we’ve traveled a great distance from the camp: the sea churns below, a dark bluish-gray with white caps erupting as the waves crest and fall. I want to linger and enjoy the view, but Alaric continues on, so I follow.

There are multiple rooms along this corridor, some doors standing open and I try to peer inside as we pass—a study, a lounge of some sort, a library, a training room similar to the one at the cabin but larger. At the end of the hallway are a set of towering double doors, black as night. Alaric’s sigil is carved into the center of each, ruby eyes staring at us as we approach. Ornate M s to represent the Montclare name are etched into each iron handle.

“Alaric,” I say, clutching at his hand. “What is this place?” I ask again. Finally, he finds his voice.

“Our home,” he says simply, almost absently, as he throws the doors open and strides inside. Our home? The room is absolutely massive, adorned in all black and dark wood, hints of red here and there. There’s a large sofa in front of a great stone hearth on one side, a black fur rug covering the stone floor beneath. A huge bed sits on a raised platform on the other side, the headboard carved with wolves and swords, and a large marble pillar stands at each corner. Bookshelves line the walls, another sitting area with a chess set sits in a corner, and of course a wall of weapons. It’s all very… Alaric .

He stops in the middle of the room and I step before him.

“Alaric?” I whisper, growing a little concerned. His chest is heaving and his eyes are wild, like an animal trapped in a snare. He seems to be seeing me but also…not, like he’s somewhere else entirely. Still on the battlefield? I’ve never seen him like this before, but, well, if what I’ve been told of a mate’s blood is true, then he’s never been like this before. I can feel the tension roiling through him, the bloodlust and the fear and the elation, all melting together in an intense maelstrom that I can’t quite wrap my head around. It’s making my own heart beat erratically, and my pulse jump uncomfortably. Despite the blood and gore, I reach out and place my hands on either side of his face. He shudders and leans into the touch, like he’s desperate to find something to ground him, to bring him back from whatever this strange trance is.

“Alaric, be at ease…” He squeezes his eyes shut and I can feel him spiraling, losing his grip on everything. I trace my thumbs along his cheeks, his stubble thick and…sticky against my skin. I release his face and grip his hands tightly in mine, leading him to what I hope is the bathing chamber and he follows obediently. The servants downstairs said that everything was in order, so I assume that means that the house— Manor? Castle??— is ready for him at all times. I’m hoping that includes soap in the?—

“Seven hells,” I breathe as we step inside the room. It’s almost the size of my entire bed chamber at the cabin, everything carved from black marble with veins of crimson, and it’s absolutely beautiful. Masculine but beautiful at the same time, just like Alaric. There’s a water basin, a tub that could easily fit ten people, and a…private privy? Why the hells would that be here? I put the thought in the back of my mind to focus on later and focus instead on what we need: the shower that’s as large as Xanthus’ stall in the stable. I turn the lever and hot water pours from the pipes high overhead. I step away as steam begins to fill the space and turn back to Alaric. He’s standing in the center of the room, watching me with that wild, almost lost look.

Without a word, I start to unbuckle the straps on his armor, trying to ignore how much thick, black blood coats it. I gently pull it off of his chest and thank all the gods for all of the exercises Nova and Wesley put me through: with Night’s Fury still in the sheath attached to the back, the armor weighs a ton and nearly knocks me over when it comes loose. A stab of panic flashes through me worrying for my friends, not knowing what their fate might be after the battle, but I push it aside. There’s nothing I can do about that now. In this moment, I can only take care of Alaric, only help to bring him back to me.

I pull his tunic off next, taking a selfish moment to admire his bare chest and run my hands over his sweat-soaked skin. I take a steadying breath when my fingers trace over the spot where the gruesome wound had been when I’d come to him almost two days ago. Now, only smooth, wet skin remains. I lean forward and plant a soft kiss over the spot, unable to stop myself. A low growl rumbles through his chest and I quickly pull away and kneel down to unlace his boots. He kicks them off and I rise. I know he needs to get out of his leathers but…well, honestly, I don’t know that I’ll focus on what needs to be done if I remove those at this point. So, instead I grip his hand and lead him to the shower stall, stepping inside with him though I’m still fully clothed. The heat is that beautiful pleasure-pain sensation after being out in the freezing Northlands. I hadn’t even realized how cold I’d been until it’s being chased away by the warmth of the water now.

“What are you doing?” he rasps, sounding like it’s still a struggle to speak.

“I’m getting you cleaned up. You’re covered in blood and…bits of Revenants,” I say, trying not to gag. The worst of it had been on his armor, but his neck and face and hair are all still coated. I silently thank the staff for keeping things at the ready as I reach for a new bar of a soap and a cloth on the shelf set into the marble wall. I work the soap into a thick lather, inhaling deeply the luxurious scent of pine and snow and something spicy that I can’t even name.

He lets me wash his chest and arms, scrubbing all of the grime of battle away. With every sweep of my hands, he seems to relax a fraction. Bit by bit, stroke by stroke, he’s coming back to me. I clean his neck and face, and maneuver him beneath the stream of water to wash his hair. By the time we rinse the soap from his curls, he seems to be back to himself.

“ Keeva ,” he breathes and all of the tension that has been squeezing my chest since I awoke falls away. I sigh in relief.

“There you are,” I say quietly. Without warning, his lips are on mine, his hands tangling in my hair. I gasp and groan as he forces my lips apart, his tongue thrusting frantically against mine. The fire engulfs me immediately, and all of the worry and panic from these last hours reach a fever pitch. I need him in a terrifyingly desperate way. I tug at his pants, and he literally rips them off of his body. He quickly gives my clothes the same treatment and heaps of fabric and leather litter the floor of the shower. His big body shudders as he wraps his arms tightly around me, pulling me hard against him. He backs us up until we’re against the stone wall and lifts me easily, hands beneath my ass and urging my legs around his waist. I obey, digging my fingers into his shoulders and back. He kisses me as if he’ll die any moment if he doesn’t. It’s desperate. It’s hungry. It’s devastating. I can feel everything clamoring inside of him, the connection and the love and the fear, the sharp, intense desire that isn’t just desire at all, it’s need . It’s a physical, aching need of a vampire for his mate. I moan into his mouth, running a hand through his wet hair, as that same need echoes within me.

Every lap of his tongue stokes the fire burning inside, threatening to leave me in ashes.

“Need you,” he croaks against my lips, and the fire flares. He moves away from the wall, fumbling with the levers on the wall to turn off the water as he passes by. He strides back into the bed chamber and we’re greeted by blissfully warm air and the smell of burning wood. The servants here are quick and silent as death , I think. I can only imagine what they must be thinking after seeing the way Alaric had me clutched in his arms when we arrived, what one of them must have known was happening in the shower. I shake away the thoughts. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. The rules, the expectations, the honor or the dishonor of it all. All that matters is this moment with Alaric. All that matters is that he’s alive and whole and here with me.

The memory of how close he’d come to death, to leaving me to navigate this world alone, slams into me and I kiss him harder, desperate to feel him and chase away that nightmare. As if he can feel what I’m thinking— and hells, at this point maybe he can? —he kisses along my jaw, murmuring as he goes.

“I’m here, Keeva. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here…” I gasp and moan as his tongue and fangs gently glide over my skin. He makes his way down my throat, never biting, but driving me mad with the anticipation, before coming back to kiss my lips once more as he walks us through the room, up the two steps to the platform where the bed sits. He stops, pinning my back against one of the large pillars, and leans his forehead against mine. Both of us are breathing hard, chests slick and heaving. He slowly lowers me to the floor, steadying me with his big hands on my waist. He kisses me again, slower, though no less desperate. He kisses down the column of my throat before dipping his head to my breasts.

I gasp and buck my hips forward as he swirls his tongue over one hardened nipple, quickly taking it into his mouth and sucking deeply. I dig my fingers into his hair and writhe my hips. He releases me and I nearly whimper as he takes a step back. I watch raptly as he slowly sinks to his knees before me. My eyes go wide. Words said around a campfire all those months ago suddenly echo in my mind:

I kneel for no one .

“But…you don’t kneel,” I stammer.

“I kneel for no one— but you , Dahlia. I kneel for you . I am yours, body and soul, forever.” Forever. The word sends a hollow sort of shiver through my spine but I ignore it and it drifts away into the distance like smoke on the wind. I stare at this man before me, the High General of the vampiric army, the most fearsome warlord in the history of our world, a Montclare prince…kneeling before me and calling himself mine. I swallow hard, the gravity of what this display truly means almost too heavy to bear. I’m his mate, but he’s telling me that he belongs to me , not the other way around. It’s…heady.

He leans forward and places a soft kiss on my stomach, just below my navel.

“Yours,” he whispers. He kisses again, an inch lower. “ Yours, yours, yours …” Each word is accompanied with an achingly tender kiss, trailing across my stomach, over my hip bones, just above the apex of my thighs. I’m trembling by the time he plants a final kiss so close to my quim that I make a strangled groaning sound that’s honestly a bit embarrassing. He chuckles lightly against my skin, a dark, sensual laugh that sends shivers through my entire body.

“You might want to hold on to that pillar…soon you won’t be able to stand, Dahlia. I promise you that.”

“Wh-what?” I stutter, my heart hammering like Xerxes’ hoofbeats.

“I said…” He leans in and flicks his tongue over my clit, making me cry out and buck my hips, “that I’m going to lick this pretty little pussy until your legs give out, love.”

He holds my gaze and his lips curl up into the most devastating, sensual smirk I’ve ever seen.

“So, I’m advising you to hold on tight, Keeva.”