Chapter 23 Arctos
Arctos
“Faster, vampire.”
Instead of talking back to him, Emilia only nodded and pushed harder up the trail to the peak.
Weeks into this regimen, Berserkers across the ravine had started gathering to watch, their bemusement undisguised. Arctos wasn’t the only one who’d noticed how relentlessly she trained.
She’d made real progress. That first alder had fallen; more had followed. Her hands had blistered, healed, hardened. The vomiting had stopped. She ate regularly. Ate well.
And sitting across from her at meals had made it harder to view her as a vampire at all. Aside from her small, dormant fangs—no bigger than a Berserker’s canines—she appeared normal.
Her normalcy unsettled him most. If she survived long enough to complete her transition, would her thirst stay buried…or blaze? Could she drink animal blood, or would the scent of his people undo her?
Across the ravine, children played their new game of vampire chase, shrill laughter as they pretended to flee from invisible fangs. A cold thought lingered: one day she might make their games real.
She paused on a cliff near the summit, not winded, just looking out. Her cheeks were pinkened, eyes far-seeing.
When he joined her, he took in her scent, now that his sense of it had finally returned after his mission in Bloodreach. Sunlight, warmth, woman. No hint of incense.
“I feel like you can see the entire Skein from here,” she said softly. “As if we stand atop a map.”
The note of wonder—unexpected, almost reverent—made something shift in him.
Against his better judgment, he pointed to the horizon.
“South, past that forest, you’ll find the Badlands, with its plains of sand and sun.
To the north, that range marks our border with Craigdúr.
During the full moon, you’ll hear Lykae howls. Will that unsettle you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never heard one before,” she said. “They’re no friends to a vampire like me.”
“As I told you, running from Ravinelun would land you in worse trouble.”
“What if I climbed Mount Nothrior?” She nodded eastward. “Wouldn’t that open up the entire Skein?”
“Climb it from this direction? Only the strongest immortals can scale those icy, inverted sides. You’d be better off facing the wolves.”
She raised her brows, considering. “Have you explored much of the Skein?”
“Enough to know it and its peoples.” He’d traveled almost everywhere except to the Helter and deep into the Badlands. He’d seen the Skein’s coasts, its mountains, the dangerous beauty of its snowy heart.
“I’m jealous,” she admitted. “I wish I could experience it all. Well, almost all of it.” She drew her focus closer to home. “The ravines truly are a maze.”
“When you’re in them, you can’t rely on smell or hearing. Winds shift, and echoes lie. That labyrinth wants to trick you—that’s its value—so we learn every bend by sight.”
She looked at him expectantly, awaiting another lesson, but he hesitated. Was he truly to teach a vampire how to navigate their defenses?
“How do outsiders ever find their way here?” she asked.
Her interest stirred his suspicions. Planning to lead an army to our ruin?
Though he hadn’t seen vampire soldiers in Bloodreach, perhaps he hadn’t been meant to. Maybe this was all by design. The vampires could be lulling Berserkers into a false sense of security while their royal agent learned Ravinelun’s vulnerabilities.
Nothing could hurt the clan worse than a trusted infiltrator.
He answered, “Outsiders don’t find their way.
We guide them and make them vow to the Lore never to reveal our secrets.
” A vow to the Lore was an ancient oath, unbreakable for most. Yet not for all.
He didn’t know if that vow could bind a day-walking vampire, so he hadn’t bothered depending on one.
“We might not have a fortified castle, but the maze guards us better than stone walls ever could.”
A crisp breeze caught her hair, and she tucked it behind her ear. “It’s beautiful up here,” she murmured. “In Bloodreach, we didn’t have such viewpoints. This place”—she gestured at the blue horizon—“it feeds something in me.”
Arctos stared at her delicate profile, the play of light on her skin. Infiltrator, he reminded himself coldly. Only a fool would fall for her wiles. “I’ve never met a vampire who valued beauty for its own sake,” he said curtly.
“Then you’ve sadly met the wrong kind,” she replied, unruffled. She pointed toward a silver ribbon cutting the land below. “How long is that river?”
“Very. It runs across three territories before ending in Umber. Can you swim?”
“Not a stroke.”
He grunted. “Even child’s play is beyond you? Ravinelun floods every spring. You’ll learn or risk drowning.”
“Quick learner,” she said with a small, teasing tap to her temple. “I’m excellent under pressure, so I should be great underwater too.”
Raised brows. “Then why didn’t you learn in Bloodreach?”
“The Scarlet Shallows reek of rot and iron, and sea monsters slither about. Besides, I wasn’t allowed beyond the castle walls. Hard to practice swimming when you’re not permitted to approach anything larger than a bathtub.”
“So the castle was all you knew?”
She nodded. “I’d always dreamed of leaving and visiting the places I’d read about. Striking out on my own. But I do miss Nadje, my companion. Could you reach out to Inkletter, ask if she’s safe?”
He hesitated, then inclined his head once. “Where did you read about?”
Getting a dreamy look in her eyes, she said, “Everywhere from Rhun with its demon blood sports to the frozen lands of North Valhalland. I read about your mysterious ravines. Will you teach me to navigate them today?”
“You said loyalty is earned. So is trust.”
“But until I’m free, I can’t prove myself.”
“Correct.”
She sighed. “I’m not used to being distrusted. Everyone knows vampires can’t lie.”
“They can’t walk in daylight either. You could be lying about your ability to lie, about your nonexistent ability to trace, about your father’s plans and the number of warriors your kingdom possesses.
You could still be a spy, sent to learn our weaknesses, poison our stores, destroy us from within. ”
“That is a rational assumption. Had my father been sane, he might have hatched exactly that plan.”
Arctos blinked at her candor, uncertain whether it disarmed him or deepened suspicion.
“In any case, if I were that competent,” she said mildly, “we’d be having a very different conversation.”
He braced himself against her humor. “What other option does your kingdom have? Your father must have predicted that we would attack you eventually.”
“Why haven’t you?”
Good question. Yrsa had finally responded to Arctos’s intel about Bloodreach’s captives with a curt reply: Find out more from your wife and update me regularly.
Update? He hadn’t told Torben about these enraging developments but couldn’t keep them from his cousin forever.
“We favor steady heads,” Arctos said, a reminder to himself as well, “until it’s time to not be steady.”
“And then you rage. Thank you for refraining from that with me, though you had reason.” She studied him with surprising gentleness.
“I want to apologize again for entangling you. I truly thought I could just find a cave here, work, be left alone.” She gave a laugh at her naivete.
“It made perfect sense in my mind. Which, in retrospect, should have worried me. Maybe I’m just as crazy as the rest of my family. ”
He saw no evidence of that. Yet. Though vampires still disgusted him—the bloodthieves had populated his nightmares for decades—Emilia’s determination and hints of humor kept him on edge.
She was different from other vampires. Did that mean she was the perfect weapon against Berserkers?
She asked, “Do you come up here with anyone else? Family?”
“Torben and his mate are my only family.”
She parted her lips, no doubt to ask what happened to his parents, but she too refrained.
Emilia didn’t deserve his history. And if he detected sincere sympathy from a vampire like her, he might show her the rage she’d mentioned.
After a beat, she said, “I know you didn’t have a wife before, well, me. But do you have someone you care about?”
“I have a standing arrangement,” he said, tone flat. “A water nymph named Undara. She comes here with her covey when they migrate.” Shapely Undara would deliver delight to him, and then a week later, the covey would continue on. “She is less than a paramour but more than a mere bedmate.”
“Oh.” Emilia blinked up at him. “So she’ll be visiting soon?”
“After the full moon. I’ll meet her in a place outside my home. Our home.” He scrubbed his hand over his mouth.
Everything about this situation filled him with doubts. Though he would have been scrupulously faithful to a mate or even to a wife of his own choosing, Emilia wasn’t his.
She quickly glanced away. Squinting at the morning light, she trained her gaze on a fast-moving cloud. “I see,” she murmured, voice strained. Her fingers absently toyed with the hem of her tunic.
As he took in her reaction, his heart kicked up, pulse too loud. “Do you not want me to see her?”
***
Lia
She tried to sort through her feelings about Arctos—and about this water nymph of his.
Those creatures were said to be beyond beautiful, all supple limbs and voices like river song. She pictured Undara as radiant and free, everything that Arctos needed.
Radiant and free. Two things I’m not.
Why did the thought of them together leave a bitter taste? The same kind of taste that lingered after her humiliating behavior—vomiting in the training yard, face-planting in food. She was developing an unfortunate pattern.
He’d made it clear that he had no sexual interest in her—my staff wouldn’t rise for you—yet had she begun to connect with him?
Even when cruel to her, he’d been frank and up-front. After her years of drowning in the artifice of Bloodreach, his blunt directness seemed almost magical, like a cryptid you’d glimpse once and never see again.
She’d come to like the rhythm of her new life with him, the shared meals, the aching muscles, the satisfaction of meeting challenges. The quiet fulfillment of surviving each day without embarrassing herself too spectacularly.
But desire him? No. The thought of bedding someone so intense terrified her more than it tempted her. She wanted something else from him, something she couldn’t quite name.
A bond, maybe. A friendship.
Finally, she answered him. “Of course you should continue your, uh, meetings with your…Undara.” Her voice was too bright and brittle. “I can train on my own while you’re away. And I’m used to eating alone.”
Arctos tilted his head, like a beast saying, What I hear doesn’t match what I see.
Lia forced a smile, refusing to become the pitiful female crying back at the cave. She wouldn’t be here for long anyway, still planned to find other outcast vampires. What if her fangache developed as she grew older, putting everyone here at risk?
No wonder Arctos remained wary. He’d feel such relief when she left.
First, she needed to survive the journey from here. For that, she needed skill. For that, she needed him.
“Good,” Arctos said evenly. “Now that that’s settled—why aren’t you running?”
“If I had a berkoin for every time you asked that…” she said, forcing a lightness she didn’t feel, “I could afford my own cave.”
His frown deepened.
She turned away before he could see her expression, lifted her sword, and sprinted up the trail.
He followed close behind, his stride steady and relentless. Deeply irritating in its efficiency.
What would those days be like when he was with another? When Lia sat alone in his borrowed home, listening to her own thoughts.
She’d tried to make friends here. Once a Berserker boy had waved to her during her drills. His mother had slapped his hand away. The memory still ached worse than bruises.
Lia had no friends. No lover. No future. Nothing until escape. She’d likely never see Arctos again.
She blinked hard, but her vision blurred anyway, a pink film from the sunlight or tears, she couldn’t tell. Her boot slipped on loose shale. She gasped, pitching forward. A calloused hand caught her elbow.
His grip was firm, stabilizing her with effortless strength. For an instant, the world narrowed to that single touch: the rough heat of his palm against her skin, the solid presence of him at her back.
“Watch your footing,” he said, voice low and even—more command than comfort.
“I was,” she muttered. “The mountain came out of nowhere.”
The warmth of his hand lingered as he released her, leaving the air colder in its absence.
She glanced up at him—at the cut of his jaw, the sun striking gold in his hair and brows, the focus already gone from her to the trail ahead.
A man made of discipline and duty. A man who would never look at her and see a female with her own desires.
Not for his body, not even for his affection, but for what he took for granted: belonging.