31. Aria
Aria
I hardly notice the rickety steps as I descend from our room, humming some nameless tune under my breath. It’s ridiculous, really, how light I feel. My limbs aren’t weighed down by hunger anymore, and my heart—well, that might be another story, entirely.
A faint, delighted flush lingers on my cheeks, not just from feeding on Roan… but from everything else that followed. The memory of her taste and the warmth of her body pressed to mine fills me with a dizzying sort of joy.
I press a hand lightly to my lips, remembering the feel of hers. Her taste still lingers on my tongue. And the way she looked afterward… half-lidded, pink-cheeked, her voice raw with wonder after I finished feeding.
She didn’t recoil. She didn’t look at me like some monster, the way so many others have in the past, even the more willing bloodslaves that my clan kept.
Roan looked content. Sated. Soft in a way she rarely lets herself be.
And I want to keep that softness safe. I want to see her eyes go soft like that again. Maybe only for me.
The tavern door creaks open at the bottom of the stairs, and I slip through, half-dreaming. The scent of stewed meat and fresh bread wraps around me like a warm shawl, tugging me back into the real world. Voices rise and fall around the room—tankards clink, chairs scrape, someone laughs too loud.
It’s grounding. And yet… part of me is still upstairs, tangled with her.
I weave through the narrow path between tables and stools, making my way toward the counter. The innkeeper turns just as I approach, wiping a mug with a cloth that’s seen better days. It’s the same woman who handed us our room key—the one who asked, not-so-innocently, “One bed or two?”
Heat flares across my face.
She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes do a slow, knowing sweep over me. Then she smirks—subtle, restrained—but it’s there. Gods, she knows.
“What can I get you?” she asks, all business, but her tone is amused beneath the din of the tavern.
I keep my chin up as I slide a few coins onto the counter. “Something hearty. Good meat, whatever’s hot. And a mug of ale.”
“For you or the lady up in your room?” she asks, already turning toward the kitchen window.
I blink. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
She chuckles under her breath. “Thought so.”
Mortified, I duck my head and busy myself with brushing nonexistent lint from my sleeve. “Thank you,” I mutter, trying not to combust on the spot.
She hums in response, hollering the order into the back. I take a seat at the edge of the counter, fingers tapping restlessly against the scarred wood.
My thoughts drift again—to Roan, of course. Always her.
Feeding from her had been… different. Not just because of the sex that shortly followed, but because it felt like something sacred. Like she offered herself not out of obligation or reckless curiosity, but trust. Real trust.
A half-buried memory surges: a terrified villager pinned by one of my clan’s brutes, crying out while I stood frozen nearby, forced to take my share. The taste of their blood was bitter with fear and revulsion, the act forced and violent.
My clan’s way—my mother’s way—was always about domination, never tenderness.
But tonight…tonight was different. There was no fear in Roan’s gasp, only a startled kind of pleasure mixed with a little pain. And I felt safe, enveloped in her strength instead of drowning in another’s terror.
I let out a soft, contented sigh, pressing a hand over my still-fluttering heart.
And the way she’d whispered my name—rough and breathless—while my fangs were buried in her throat…
I press my thighs together under the bar and let out a soft, shaky breath.
Maybe we’ll leave tomorrow. Maybe we’ll ride until the road forgets us. I don’t know where we’ll end up.
But I know this…I’ll carry the taste of her on my tongue for as long as I can.
I’m so lost in thought, it takes me a moment to register the tone of a conversation happening just behind me. At first, all I catch is the word “vampire” in a hushed, urgent voice. My entire body goes rigid, panic clawing at my throat.
They’ve found me.
Instinct screams run , but I force myself to hold still, straining to listen.
“—must be real trouble, bringing her here,” one man mutters. “Heard she’s searching for someone who left.”
A woman’s voice answers, quieter still. “Clan mother, that’s what they say. She’s commanding the others. Dangerous lot, especially if you cross them. Could tear a person to pieces. Best to let ‘em be.”
My pulse hammers. Clan mother. My mother. She’s here? The shock of it lands like a blow to my stomach. Already?
I thought we had a little more time, that maybe she’d be content sending her enforcers after me.
The idea that she’s come personally implies… She’s desperate to drag me back.
The clink of the tankard hitting the wooden table snaps me back to reality. The scent of roast meat and warm bread wafts up, but it does nothing to ease the tightening in my chest. My heart stumbles over itself, pulse quickening until it roars in my ears, drowning out the low murmur of tavern conversation around me.
My mother. Here.
The words repeat in my head like a drumbeat, each syllable hammering deeper, faster.
My mother.
Here.
My stomach churns, the panic rising so fast it leaves me lightheaded. I grip the edge of the table until the wood bites into my palms, grounding me in something solid. But the pressure doesn’t stop the spiral.
She’s close. So close that strangers here in the tavern are talking about it. The enforcers must’ve tracked my scent.
The thought makes my breath hitch. We need to leave. Now.
The fire crackles in the hearth across the room, but the heat doesn't reach me. My eyes dart toward the door. Roan’s weakened, but I can drag her out of the bed if I have to. We'll disappear into the night before the enforcers close in.
But how far can you really run?
The question slams into me like a punch to the ribs. Just when we thought we’ve gained distance, my clan closes in. My mother is relentless; she doesn’t know how to let go. I know that better than anyone.
And Roan…
Roan is upstairs. Vulnerable. Still weakened from the blood she let me take not even an hour ago. I think of her sprawled on the bed, paler than usual but pretending she wasn’t affected. The guilt slices through me like a knife.
I took from her, and now she’s too weak to fight if it comes to that.
What have I done?
The room spins around me. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses warp into something distorted and distant. My throat tightens, my breath quick and shallow.
I can’t think.
She’ll kill her. My mother will slit Roan’s throat without hesitation if it means dragging me back.
We should’ve kept running. We should never have stopped here.
I need to get up. I need to move. The instinct to flee rises in me like a wave, but my legs won’t cooperate. I sit frozen, the weight of inevitable doom pressing against my chest. My breath stutters.
I can’t breathe.
We have to run. We have to get away.
But even if we leave now, what then? Another town, another stretch of endless road. More nights of Roan sitting with her back to a tree, sword across her lap. More cold, sleepless mornings. I can’t keep dragging her through this.
But if we stay, she’ll die.
Unless there’s another way…
The thought slithers through my mind, cold and sharp, and it stops me mid-breath. My fingers tighten around the edge of the table until the wood creaks beneath the pressure.
Another way.
I could give myself up.
The idea shifts deeper, wrapping around my ribs like a vice.
My mother doesn't want Roan. She never wanted anyone else—only me. It was always me. The rogue daughter. The traitor. The disappointment. The asset she let slip away. If I walked into her grasp willingly, she’d have no reason to hunt Roan.
Roan would live.
I’d make sure of it.
The panic that had been choking me shifts into something else. Something heavier. The weight of inevitability settles over my shoulders. My vision blurs, though whether from the tavern’s smoke or the sharp sting of tears, I can’t tell. My heartbeat slows, each thud matching the dull roar of dread in my ears.
Will I survive the clan again? I don’t know. But if it means Roan gets to live—gets to be free—I can endure it.
I swallow hard and glance toward the stairs. Roan won’t let me go without a fight. I know her too well now. Even half-weakened, she'd follow me. She'd tear through the night with that stubborn, unrelenting protectiveness that both infuriates me and makes me want to lean into her warmth.
Unless I slip away while she’s sleeping.
The thought lands like a stone in my stomach.
The ground tilts beneath me. I sit there, the tavern spinning around me, knowing that I’ve just crossed some invisible threshold.
Because now it’s not just a passing notion.
It’s a plan.
You said you wanted to protect her , I remind myself. Well, this is how.
The voices behind me grow louder, so I steel myself and swivel on the stool, mustering a friendly smile. “Excuse me,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “I couldn’t help but overhear. You’re talking about…vampires in town?”
The older man looks me up and down, and for a moment, my heart flutters in fear that he’ll notice something off about me. But he just nods, eyes glinting with the thrill of gossip.
“Aye, a group of ’em arrived a bit ago. Heard they’re staying at the old Miller house. Lot of commotion, or so folks say.”
“Right,” I murmur, gripping the tankard handle to steady my shaking hand. I force my voice to stay even. “Where exactly is the Miller house?”
The table quiets. Three sets of eyes land on me, suddenly more curious than before. The woman closest to me frowns. “Why’re you asking?”
“I just want to avoid it,” I say quickly, fumbling for the lie. “If there’s trouble, I’d rather stay clear.”
They exchange glances, and finally the older man huffs. “Western edge of town, just past the wind-bent pines. Looks abandoned, but don’t be fooled—folks keep their distance for a reason. Even without vampires in town, that place draws trouble. Wrong-doers, squatters, folks with nowhere else to go. Some say it's cursed. Others say it’s just unlucky.”
My mind races, breath growing shallow. They’re so close.
“They’re not to be trifled with,” the woman adds, shooting me a wary look. “Best keep to yourself. Last thing you want is vampire blood on your hands…or yours on theirs.”
I swallow, forcing a tight smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”
They nod, and I turn away, hugging the plate of food and mug of ale to my chest. My pulse thuds loud in my ears, dread pumping through my veins with each heartbeat. She’s here, I think, and if she finds me…
I clamp down on the panic.
“Just get upstairs,” I whisper under my breath, pushing through the crowd.
Get to Roan, feed her, let her rest, and get out.
Jaw set, I take one last steadying breath and hurry back up the stairs. The floor creaks under my stolen boots, an echo of my racing pulse. The dread gnaws at me—my mother is here, and time is running out.