Chapter 11 #2
And that was about all I could handle of the stark open emotional vulnerability.
I eased my hand away, then hopped out of bed, heading to a desk in the corner—actually it was two worn wooden tables pushed together.
And when we’d come in here last night, although I’d been in too much of a state to pay it detailed attention, I had noticed all the sketches over the desktop.
“Did you do these?” I asked him over my shoulder.
“Yeah, I doodle once in a while.”
I picked up one after the other, studying them. They were all landscapes—fog-draped forests, still lakes, graveyards at twilight. No people, just stillness. They were predominantly done in charcoal, everything grayscale with some brief hints of red.
“These are more than mere doodles.”
“You can consider it art therapy.”
I put them down and looked back at him sitting up in his bed. “Do you need that? Therapeutic hobbies like this, then? Is that why you live out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“I like the quiet. It helps me to recharge. To center myself. And, being out here makes it easier to engage in my vigilante activities without drawing undue attention to myself. Obviously, attending Wraeven complicates that.”
“You were forced to attend, right? Because you got caught doing the vigilante stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you do it?”
“Because I can.”
I went to ask more, but he gestured the length of me. “I suggest you head into the shower within the next couple of seconds, or my control is going to snap at the sight of you moving about my bedroom delectably naked, while still wearing my cum on your exquisite cock.”
Oh shit. I’d forgotten I was stark-naked.
I guess I’d been so relaxed that I hadn’t even thought about it.
Relaxed? Here with him? In his bedroom? Waking up in his bed? After fooling around with a man last night for the first time in my life and fucking relishing every moment of it?
Wow. Last night really had shifted things.
The thought of it all had me grinning out at him. “Worried about jumping me, almighty necromancer?”
His eyes flashed. “I’m worried for you. Because if you don’t head into that bathroom right fucking now, I’m going to be across the room, shoving your face into the wall and teasing that hot little ass with my cock.”
My breath hitched, a hot thrill running through me.
But it also clashed with something else… uncertainty.
“Are you ready for that?” he asked.
It wasn’t a challenge. It was concern.
I could see it all over him.
I looked way—breaking eye contact. Me? Shit.
“I’ll make breakfast,” he announced, easing out of bed. “Meet you out there.”
With that, he sauntered out, snapping his fingers and covering himself in a black and red striped bathrobe as he went.
I sank against the wall, taking a beat.
And then I headed into the bathroom to take that shower.
“What is this?”
“Cinnamon toast,” Sylas informed me, as he picked up a slice from his plate and took a bite.
A murmur of appreciation had my gaze darting to his lips, a spark of… something… rolling through me as his tongue dipped out and licked up some excess sugar from his bottom lip.
Jeez. I looked away quickly and stared down at the toast.
“Not oatmeal?”
“Not this morning. When I’m here, I like to go the toast route. They don’t have this on the Dining Hall menu at the Academy.”
I sniffed it, the cinnamon making my nose scrunch when I scented too deeply.
It earned a chuckle from him.
“Shut it,” I said, nudging him with my elbow.
I took a bite then and it was so good. The taste exploded on my tongue, somehow both sweet and tart, yet perfectly balanced.
“Good, hmm?”
“So good,” I admitted, through a mouthful.
He seemed to like that, laughing again.
We sank into an easy rhythm, eating away at our toast, and taking sips of the coffee he’d made in between. Apparently, he’d actually made it, not conjured any of it.
I looked down at myself in my black tank with my forest-green hoodie over it, my gray cargo pants, all of it clean and fresh again, because he’d conjured them clean—and pressed—for me. I’d found them hanging up on the bathroom door when I’d stepped out of the shower.
“So, is there a story behind the toast? I mean, it’s kind of specific. Not like margarine and toast. Jam, even.”
“My mom used to make it for my sister and I. Comfort food. I took to making it for breakfast most mornings.”
I flinched as the full weight of his response registered. “Used to?”
He kept his eyes on his toast as he answered, “She died. My little sister too.” He took a sip from his coffee. “Several years ago.”
“I’m sorry. Really sorry.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Like I said, several years ago.”
“How was that possible? You’re a necromancer, you control death, in essence.”
“They weren’t what I am. They were sorceresses. And they were...” He shifted his weight and forced his gaze to mine. “They were murdered.”
I started. “Shit. That’s… that’s fucking brutal.” Hold on. “Is that why you became a vigilante?”
“We’ll call it the catalyst. But it became about more than that.” He ground his jaw. “Those with greater power should never be permitted to inflict suffering or control upon those weaker.”
I liked that. A lot.
“What about your dad? He has to be the necromancer then, where you got it from?”
“He’s dead as well. And that’s a mercy—on the entire supernatural world.
” He took another sip from his coffee. “He was a megalomaniacal bastard. My mom kicked him out when I was a kid. He was raising an army of death dealers—vampires, Shadowmancers, Dark Fae. The Guardian Movement stopped him. He was killed during that battle.”
“Wow, that’s… a lot. I’m so sorry.” I laid my hand on his arm. “You’re a world away from that. The complete opposite of him.”
“I try to be. Although, we do share some traits.”
Before I could ask more, he shifted the subject. “And your family? I know your mom is an Alpha and she commanded the second largest wolf pack in the supernatural world, just beneath Jaxon Silver in his Alpha hey-day with Silverwood Wolf Pack.”
“That’s exactly right.”
“Well, I do my research.”
“Research or stalking of those who you get in your sights?” I teased.
“A bit of both,” he admitted. “You’re close with her, yes? Your mom?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“And your father? He’s an Ancient, of course.”
“I grew up with a stepfather. A piece of shit who my mom married to assist with stabilizing alliances during a tumultuous time for the pack. When my vampire abilities kicked in, that kind of shot everything to hell.” I grimaced at the memories.
“According to her, my true father is dead. I don’t know a thing about him, not even his name.
And when she decides something is to be kept secret—especially when it’s out of protective instincts toward me—there’s no pushing through it with her. ”
“You’ve never done a Blood Trace?”
“I have. That’s when I confirmed that he was dead. There was just… nothing there. Just… the sensation of death when the sorceress I had perform the spell carried it out.”
His brow furrowed. “Death? That was the actual result? It felt cold and unsettling, leaving the taste of ash in your mouth?”
“Yeah. Exactly that.”
“How old was this sorceress? Her experience level?”
“I was a teen at the time, I didn’t have the greatest access to that sort of thing, so we’re talking my age, a couple of years full-on practicing, still in the early days of her schooling at a Coven—Lotus Coven.”
“She misread the results, Lazriel.”
“What?”
“What you’re describing sounds like a Death Seal.”
I frowned. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“No. Of course not. It’s not something that will be taught at Wraeven either.
It’s high-level magical know-how. And it’s also necromantic at its root.
It would need an experienced necromancer, or a Shadowmancer, a magic-wielder dealing in black magic—any one of those—to create a Death Seal.
It enables the blocking of a Blood Trace and tracking spells, which most performing such spells would register as the subject being dead.
What’s really happening with a Death Seal is the falsification of death through binding the death of another to skew the results and have it register as such. ”
“Like a sacrifice? Somebody being murdered to prevent my father from being tracked?”
“Yes.”
I jolted, a rush of adrenaline flowing through my veins. “You’re saying he could still be alive?”
“I’m saying that at the time you had the Blood Trace performed, he was.”
I sucked in a harsh breath.
He laid his hand on mine, drawing me back to him, and grounding me at the same time. As my gaze flicked to his, he told me, “If you want, I can perform another Blood Trace. If the Death Seal is still in place, I have the means to remove it.”
“I… thank you. I don’t know, though. If he went to this much trouble to stay hidden… my mom purposely not telling me who he was—or is—heading down that path could be a shit storm. Maybe nothing good would come of it, and quite the opposite instead. I… need to think about it.”
“Of course.”
He went to say more, but then a sudden thud at the door had us both startling.
I dropped my toast and shot to my feet, a growl escaping me.
It hadn’t been an actual knock at the door, it sounded like something had slammed into it.
Was somebody daring to assault the place? Daring to come for him?
Sylas caught my eye, surprise and… something else shining forth.
Shit. I realized what had just happened—I’d just gone wolf-territorial for him.
“Mmm… good to know. Very good to know.”
Oh, jeez. He rounded the coffee table to head for the door, but I threw my arm out, holding him back with my strength.
“What if it’s somebody from the Guardian Movement coming here to check if you’ve snuck off campus when you’re supposed to be immersed in your punishment and staying on Wraeven Academy property? ”
“Then I guess I’ll be spending a couple of years in The Void.”
“What? That was how bad it was? That was the only other option?”
“I’d been brought in—arrested—five times, I believe. So, yes.”
Anger sparked in me at the way he’d stated it, like it just… was.
“And you’re just fine with that? Being carted away? Ripped from everything you know and love? Everyone?”
“Obviously not, but it is what—”
“Shut it. Just shut the fuck up.” I grabbed his arm and shoved him into the bedroom with a burst of vampire speed.
“Stay in here or I’ll rip your fucking dick off and you’ll be on your knees busy trying to repair it with your magic, which will keep you in here anyway.
I’d really advise you take the less extreme option. ”
“Rip my fucking dick off? That’s a hollow threat if I’ve ever heard one. You got very well acquainted with my lovely cock last night, there’s no way you would harm him.”
“Him?”
He grinned. “Proving my point.”
“Fuck. Just stay in there. I’ll get rid of whoever it is.”
In the next second, I shoved him inside, my strength sending him careening onto the bed on his back. Then I closed the door, and strode for the front door.
I took a beat to calm myself, then unlocked it and threw it open.
“Shit,” I was choking in the next second, as I took in the unexpected visitor.
Extremely unexpected.
“Not the worst greeting I’ve ever gotten, but definitely not the best,” they responded.
“Velra,” I breathed.