9. 7
7
Draven
T he tea’s rich, earthy flavor coats my tongue, the warmth seeping deep into my chilled bones, yet something about the restorative brew continues to nag at me. Ever since waking in Thorn’s cozy domain, this beverage has mysteriously sated my hunger, keeping the gnawing thirst for blood at bay.
I study Thorn over the rim of my mug, watching steam wreathe her delicate features. She avoids my gaze, posture tense, as we sip tea in brooding silence. The near-kiss haunts the scant space between us.
Setting down my empty cup, I clear my throat. “Forgive my curiosity, but this tea of yours intrigues me. Where did you find such a unique blend?”
Thorn’s shoulders hunch almost imperceptibly. She busies her hands preparing a fresh pot, not meeting my eyes. “It’s merely an herbal tisane I discovered through my studies.”
I lean forward intently. “We both know that is not the full truth. No simple tea could so thoroughly satiate a vampire’s thirst.” I keep my tone gentle, hoping to earn her trust. “Please, Thorn. I only wish to understand.”
With a weary sigh, Thorn’s composure wilts. She gazes into the flickering hearth as if seeking answers in its glowing embers.
“It’s called Asrbloom tea,” she says at last. “Made from the pollen of a rare crimson flower that only blooms under the full moon. Steeping a pinch invigorates a weakened vampire as potently as blood.”
I sit back, stunned. In all my centuries I’ve never heard of such a botanical marvel. “Asrbloom, you say? Remarkable. You discovered it yourself?”
Thorn shakes her head, raven braid swaying gently. “My mother was the gifted herbalist, not I. She unearthed the flower’s properties and passed the knowledge to me.”
“A family secret then. Intriguing.” My curiosity burns to know more about this mysterious flower. However, the subject clearly pains Thorn, so I hesitate to pry deeper.
We sip the fresh tea in silence until Thorn sets her cup down with decision. “Come. I will show you.”
Mystified, I follow her to a carved cabinet, watching as she retrieves a small linen pouch from its shadowed depths. Cradling it gently, she loosens the drawstring and tilts the contents into her palm. Crimson dust spills out, fine as ground jewels, catching the firelight in subtle shimmers.
“Asrbloom pollen,” Thorn murmurs. “Collected under last month’s full moon.”
I bend to examine it, awestruck. The translucent grains possess a pearlescent quality unlike any pollen I’ve seen, even in my long years.
Thorn lets me take a pinch between my fingers, watching closely as I study it. The particles feel cool and finely textured, seeming to hum with latent power. I half expect them to disintegrate from my touch.
“Incredible,” I breathe. “And such a tiny amount can satisfy a vampire’s thirst?”
“Yes, though I use sparingly. It’s quite precious. As far as I know, it only grows in this part of the world.” Thorn gently sweeps the glittering dust back into its pouch.
I nod thoughtfully as she returns the Asrbloom to its cabinet nook, my earlier doubts creeping back. “Something still puzzles me. You live alone here. Why keep such a supply on hand?”
Thorn goes very still, her back turned to me.
I press on gently. “Did you… hope to encounter my kind? To put this botanical discovery of your mother’s to use? Perhaps use it against a vampire?”
Thorn whirls to face me, cheeks flaming crimson. “Don’t be absurd. Do you think I wanted to harbor a starving vampire in my home?”
I lift my palms placatingly. “I only wondered—“
“I prepared it for myself!” Thorn interrupts. Eyes widening, she turns her back again.
Herself? What could she mean by that? Why would she need it?
“Thorn, please,” I implore gently. “Help me understand.”
After a long tense silence, she continues softly, “My mother created it long ago to help newly turned vampires control their rabid hunger when they had no other recourse. She hoped it could teach restraint and prevent senseless violence. When I was young, we lived in an area where noble vampires had a habit of hunting and allowing their thirst to overwhelm them so they turned vampires instead of using self-control and stopping before that point.”
I watch the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders, shame and defiance warring in her tense posture.
Stepping closer, I lay a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Thorn,” I ask quietly. “What are you not telling me? Were you turned?”
She shudders under my touch but does not pull away. At long last, she whispers, “The tea does not just revive vampires.”
I wait, breath suspended, as the fire crackles steadily behind us.
Thorn closes her eyes. “It helps… restrain cravings. For blood. It’s able to somehow supply everything that a vampire needs to survive without drinking blood directly. The results can be amplified with blood added to it, but it’s not needed.”
Stunned understanding sweeps over me. Thorn has had to protect herself from vampires alone. In a kingdom full of vampires. A safe haven for them while a death sentence for her. Asrbloom is as much her refuge as mine.
My voice catches thickly in my throat. “You hide this truth to protect yourself from being turned or worse.”
From people like my brother and father, a fact I do not say aloud. I wouldn’t put it past them to be among those Thorn mentioned turning humans into vampires and leaving it to be someone else’s problem. They truly believe they are at the top of the food chain. The worst part is that they would still look down on and persecute any being that isn’t a natural-born vampire no matter how restrained they are or if they themselves created the being. From what I’ve read and heard, this was what Vivian, the vampire I’m looking for, was so against and why she was hellbent on taking down my family.
Revulsion twists my gut at this ingrained prejudice. Treterra is unique because it’s a kingdom ruled by vampires and one of the few fairly safe places for our species.
“There is no shame in what you have,” I vow fiercely. “The shame lies with those who are unwilling to control themselves.”
Her eyes glisten with surprise at my words. After a shocked moment, her lips curve into a tremulous but warm smile. “You are unlike any vampire I have met, Draven. My past isn’t what you expect, and it’s not something I’m willing to share with others. Don’t pity me. I’ve chosen this life, and I quite enjoy the little world I’ve built. I quite like the tea anyways. Why not sit and have a sip with me?”
Her words ring with quiet conviction, a subtle warning not to tread where I am unwelcome, yet curiosity leaves me unsatisfied.
As she takes another sip, I shift closer in the wooden chair, an elbow on the table, and lean toward her until I am near enough to feel the heat of her body. Thorn tenses but does not pull away or halt her clicking needles.
“You know so much of me,” I murmur low near her ear, “yet you remain an enigma.”
I reach out slowly, brushing back a raven lock that has escaped her braid. My fingertips graze her neck, feeling her quickened pulse. Still, she sips, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Does the tea truly satisfy?” I ask, trailing my fingers along her jaw. “Does a vampire never crave more? ”
Thorn inhales sharply at my intimate touch, fingers faltering, and a small amount of tea splashes over the lip of her mug. The flickering firelight deepens the roses blooming on her cheeks.
“As with any creature, restraint is a choice.” Her voice remains steady, and her words ghost warm against my wrist.
I lean in closer, emboldened. “What of carnal yearnings? Does it help those too?”
My thumb caresses her chin. With my heightened senses, I can hear her heart thundering and smell the heady spice of arousal kindling beneath her skin. Still, Thorn does not pull away.
“Some hungers run too deep to be suppressed,” she whispers, slowly placing her drink on the table with a small thunk.
“And if such dangerous cravings arose?” I brush my lips against her temple, gritting back my own pounding need. “Would you surrender or resist?”
Thorn turns at last to face me. Her pupils are blown wide, lips parted, breaths coming fast, yet resolve glimmers in her fierce emerald gaze.
“I surrender only by choice.” Her fingers twist in my hair, pulling me closer. “Never by force. ”
With that, she closes the distance between us. Her mouth claims mine in a searing kiss that steals my breath and scorches my very bones. I am lost, consumed by smoldering desire as she bares the truth of her passion. Here is the wild side she keeps locked away, unleashed at last by my reckless taunting.
Her touch ignites my body, and I find myself yielding completely. Consumed by Thorn’s fire, what remains but to burn?
Thorn’s kiss sears through me, volcanic and urgent. Her fingers twist almost painfully in my hair, pulling me against her petite but surprisingly strong form.
For a moment, I am lost, drowned by relentless waves of passion crashing through my senses, but slowly, an alarm bell cuts through the haze of desire. Something is off. Thorn trembles now, her gasping breaths tinged with fear, not craving.
With monumental effort, I pull back, breaking our frantic embrace.
Thorn stares at me wide-eyed, lips swollen from our kisses, before she turns away in shame. “Forgive me,” she rasps, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t know what came over me. I never surrender control like that. ”
Confused, I reach for her shoulder but stop myself short, unsure if my touch is wanted. “There is nothing to forgive, Thorn. I’m the one who pushed too far.”
Thorn shakes her head sharply. “It was weakness. I swore I would never… We can’t…” She trails off, refusing to meet my gaze.
The softly spoken words pierce my soul. My chest aches, seeing her torment. I want to pull her into my arms and soothe away whatever ghosts haunt her, but forcing intimacy now might only drive her further behind her walls.
So instead, I simply sit in quiet support, letting the crackling fire fill the tense silence. Thorn’s tremors slowly subside, tension draining from her slender frame, but she keeps her body angled away, the maintained distance heartbreaking.
Neither of us speaks further. An invisible wall between us has fallen. We move about the cottage with a newfound ease, chatting lightly as Thorn empties the cold tea kettle and prepares dinner. I notice she stands a bit closer now, angles her body more openly toward me as we talk. Each subtle shift thrills me.
Later, as we eat thick stew ladled over slices of fresh bread, I can’t resist voicing part of my earlier curiosity. “ This Asrbloom tea,” I remark between bites, “you say you carry it with you when traveling alone?”
Thorn pauses, spoon halfway to her mouth. Her eyes take on that mesmerizing ferocity, like an emerald blaze. “In case of crossing your kind, yes,” she says pointedly. “I walk unseen usually, but you never know what will happen.”
I nod, hoping my prodding will not break this delicate accord between us. “A reasonable precaution, though I promise you don’t need to fear me.” I infuse the vow with utmost sincerity.
Thorn studies me for a long moment before inclining her head in acknowledgement. There are still ghosts of distrust between us, but I pray continued understanding will help lay them to rest.
We pass the rest of the meal in thoughtful quiet. I sense Thorn observing me when she believes I’m not looking, as if trying to solve a complex riddle. I pretend not to notice, hiding my smile.
After we finish eating, I help Thorn clear the table then stoke the glowing embers in the hearth. Neither of us is eager to sleep just yet, so we settle together before the fire as the wind continues its lonesome howling outside .
Thorn takes up her knitting, needles clacking rhythmically, while I page idly through a leather-bound book of local myths and legends. We don’t speak, but the silence wraps around us with tender comfort. Each time I glance up, I find Thorn already watching me over her clicking needles, an affectionate half-smile teasing her lips.
I know I should bank the fire soon and try to sleep, putting emotional thoughts to rest, but solitude is not what my restless spirit craves tonight. Not when this extraordinary woman sits close enough to touch, each shared moment knitting our hearts closer than her yarn.