Chapter Sixteen
The light of the mansion shone like a beacon in the night sky.
Lavinia and her Sisters walked through the gate.
It was an unobserved and silent victory march, a quiet homecoming.
They strode into the foyer, greeted by their Sister’s blood congealing on the rug.
It would take Mrs. Frost ages to get that out, Lavinia thought, her thoughts fragmented by fatigue.
The immense energy that was expended during battle, the adrenaline careening through her arteries—all of that was gone now.
All that was left was mud, and her cuts and bruises clamouring for attention.
Luce patted her shoulder, a sisterly gesture of solidarity, before making her way to the study, probably to report back to the Magistrate.
Quintia, prickly Quintia, held her hand for a moment, then disappeared into the bowels of the house to tend to her weapons before washing the stink of battle from her body.
Vesta nodded to Lavinia, then followed Quintia.
A soft noise caused Lavinia to raise her head, to tear herself from the recollection of the last hour.
Two wide, soft brown eyes peered at her from the dining room archway.
Her wavy chestnut hair had been braided and lay coiled over one shoulder.
Lavinia drank in the sight of her, enjoying a moment of pure aesthetic pleasure after the ugly reality of bodies torn asunder.
Here was Michelle, like a drink of water to a woman parched of the good and the beautiful.
Then the edge of her fear reached Lavinia. The whites of her widened eyes gleamed.
“Lavinia,” she said, her voice low, a tremble at its edge.
Suddenly, Lavinia felt every spatter of mud and blood on her skin, her armour.
Felt the violence still clinging to her like dirt.
No wonder Michelle was afraid of her. This was the real her—the warrior, the soldier.
This was who she was, who she had to be to protect vampirekind.
Lavinia, her Sisters. They were the ones who got their hands dirty, who cleared out nests of rogues like the infection they were.
It was honourable work, a coveted position in vampire society, but this was its dark side, its reality.
Every night the Sisters risked their lives, their bodies, and their souls. Some Sisters couldn’t live with the violence, the battle song. They had each other, at least; there was always a Sister’s shoulder to lean on. Everyone else was kept at a distance, for good reason.
And now Michelle had seen the real her. Her understanding of the Sisterhood was written clearly in the shocked lines of her face.
“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Michelle said, and she rushed forward, her hands cupping Lavinia’s face. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”
Michelle’s gentle words, her soft touch, were like a balm to Lavinia’s soul.
Michelle saw her, but she wasn’t horrified.
She was still here—she looked at her with kindness and worry in her eyes, not revulsion.
Lavinia flinched when Michelle’s finger grazed the cut on her cheekbone. “Only a little. Nothing serious.”
“Thank God.”
For a moment, Lavinia allowed herself to melt into her touch. “How are you? How is Pina?”
“Fine, we’re both fine. The doctor got here about half an hour ago. He removed the stake from her chest. It was absolutely horrifying—a human would never survive anything like that. But he said she’ll recover. Together with Octavia, he moved her to her bedroom upstairs.”
“Good. That’s good.” Lavinia sighed. Pina was receiving the care she needed. She’d been avenged, swiftly and with minimal complications. They would all live to see another night.
And Michelle was still here, after all of that.
“You should see the doctor too, just in case.” Michelle’s eyes were serious. There was an edge in her voice which demanded to be obeyed.
Lavinia had no fight left within her. “Fine.”
The doctor, a middle-aged vampire called Benjamin, gave Lavinia a brief once-over, taking a bit more time on the cut at the back of her head and the bruise on her hip.
“Heavy contusion around the hip joint. That’ll be sore for a week or so.
No heavy lifting or running, definitely no fighting.
You might lose control of the joint if you push it too far.
The cut on your head looks like it will heal within two or three nights, but be careful not to reopen it.
You may wish to bathe in starlight for an hour a night to speed up the healing. ”
“Thank you, doctor,” Lavinia said, inclining her head.
“Sister,” he answered, bowed, and quietly left the room to check on his other patients.
Michelle pulled a face after he had closed the door behind him. “So formal.”
Lavinia shrugged, the movement pulling at the leather armour sticking to her back. She really needed a shower. “Vampire customs don’t change as quickly as human ones. Most of us can remember when the curtsy was common like it was yesterday.”
Michelle shook her head, as if in disbelief. “I still forget how old you all are.”
With the pressure of battle fading, Lavinia’s hunger returned with a vengeance. It wasn’t the hunger for food, for sustenance, but for blood. She closed her eyes, suppressing the thirst. It could wait.
“Are you all right? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine.”
“Do you need to bathe in the moonlight, or whatever the doctor said? Does that help?”
“It helps with regeneration, but I’m alright for now. Just hungry.”
“Want me to get you some food?”
Lavinia smiled, softening at the earnest care Michelle was offering.
She could easily see her now as she would be at her job.
Kind, compassionate, but with a backbone of steel that wouldn’t abide any nonsense.
She must be an excellent nurse. Had already proven to be a great nurse for Pina, actually.
“Hungry for blood,” she explained, almost apologetically.
“Ah,” Michelle said, realisation dawning. She was quiet for a moment, then said tentatively, “Should I see if Zachary is around?”
“No, thank you,” Lavinia said. “He will need some time after providing for Pina. We don’t take a large amount of blood, but it can take its toll.”
“Right,” Michelle nodded, her brows furrowed. She looked adorable when she frowned, the skin above her nose wrinkling. Goddess, Lavinia must have gotten star-struck, she was turning sentimental.
“What if,” she said slowly, “you take my blood?”
Now it was Lavinia’s turn to frown. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” It was a childish answer, Lavinia realised, but the tangled ball of feelings within her wouldn’t unravel sufficiently for her to express why it horrified her to accept Michelle’s offering, so freely given.
Michelle wasn’t taking it. “That’s not a reason.”
Lavinia sighed in frustration, picking at her gut feeling. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“Do I need to do something special? Or do you only drink a particular kind of blood?”
“It’s not that.” Lavinia looked at her. She was wearing the maroon jumper again. It must be her favourite. Lavinia thought it might be hers too; it brought out the warm tones of her skin. “I’m supposed to be protecting you.”
“And you are,” Michelle said emphatically. “Trust me, I’m incredibly grateful. There are a lot more things out there than I ever realised, scary things, and I know you’re doing everything you can. But you have to let me take care of you, too.”
A pang shot through Lavinia’s heart. “That’s not how this is supposed to go.
” She had always had these clear boundaries, this impenetrable wall.
Being part of the Sisterhood was more than a job; it was a calling.
And whenever they came across civilians, they did what they could, accepted their thanks, and faded back into the night. Never before had she gotten attached.
But then again, Michelle had been special from the very start.
Lavinia had never brought a human to Thornblood.
Looking back at it now, why had she done that?
Why had she had this feeling in the pit of her stomach that she had to keep Michelle close?
Why had it only grown stronger over the last couple of weeks?
“The only thing that matters is what you need. And if you need blood, and I have blood to spare, well…” Michelle shrugged. “I don’t see why you can’t take it. Assuming that I won’t get a nasty infection from your saliva.”
“No, no. I’m sure the good doctor could tell you why exactly, but that’s not an issue.
” Lavinia closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath.
She could hear Michelle’s heartbeat thrumming steadily, her blood rushing through her arteries and veins.
She let herself imagine the taste of her on her tongue, how it would feel gliding down her throat.
Drinking blood was a sensory pleasure like no other, except perhaps sex.
There was an intimacy in feeding on someone’s blood, someone’s life force.
Most vampires had trusted familiars to provide for them.
For rogues, drinking blood was a dynamic of predator and prey, of rapacious taking.
It was a perversion of the symbiotic relationship between vampire and willing donor, which strengthened intimacies and often created familial-adjacent ties, like with Zachary and his family.
Drinking from Michelle would be yet another step closer to a dangerous precipice. Lavinia couldn’t afford to lose herself in this human, as enticing as she was.
“Maybe later,” she hedged, cursing herself inwardly for her cowardice for not rejecting the offer outright.
Still, part of her was not quite willing to let go of the dream of piercing Michelle’s soft skin with her teeth, of her gasp as the short burst of pain would turn into pleasure.
“I’m going to have a shower first.” She had to wash off all the gore.
Michelle narrowed her eyes. “Alright,” she said, her tone somewhat sceptical. For a second, Lavinia felt as if her motivations were crystal-clear to Michelle, that she could see through her with ease. Like Michelle could read her mind.
Of course that was impossible, but it was a disconcerting feeling to be so scrutinised by a human.
Lavinia was used to carrying a whole world of knowledge within her that most humans would never uncover, unless introduced to it through legacy.
Yet here Michelle was, having stumbled into her world through a twist of fate.
She shifted her stance, her hip complaining.
The doctor had been right—there was some instability there.
She wouldn’t be in any shape to fight for at least a couple of days.
In normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be much more than a nuisance.
Her Sisters would take over any tasks that needed to be done until she recovered.
She would have a dull week of desk work, no one’s favourite, causing nothing worse than some boredom.
But right now, they were looking at some kind of unprecedented warlock/rogue duo whose killings were becoming increasingly frequent.
On top of that, an unusually large group of rogues had settled close to the mansion and had somehow evaded detection until now.
There was no obvious connection between the two events, but they both contributed to a sense of unease building within her. She wanted to be ready for when the other shoe would drop. And though she didn’t know in what way, she was sure that it would, and soon.
Lavinia walked up the central staircase, Michelle following closely behind.
“I won’t fall,” Lavinia said, noticing Michelle’s focused expression.
“Not on my watch, you won’t,” Michelle agreed.
Under Michelle’s vigilant gaze, they made it upstairs safely.
“Do you need any help?” Michelle asked when they reached Lavinia’s room.
Pride rose momentarily, and Lavinia opened her mouth to say she was fine, she could handle it all.
She had done so for centuries and would do so forevermore.
She had gone into battle more times than she could count, was covered in scars she could no longer recall how she had gained, and had always managed herself.
She had always borne her wounds stoically, without any complaint.
But then, there was no judgment in Michelle’s expression.
It was a kindness, an offering, and one that didn’t need to be rejected out of pride.
Accepting help wasn’t weakness, Lavinia knew that; she accepted the help of her Sisters with grace and thankfulness, never giving it a second thought.
That was what it meant to be part of the Sisterhood, after all.
Maybe she could take this help, too.
“Would you mind helping me take off some of this armour?” she said, swallowing the urge to return to the safety of her self-sufficiency. “The straps can get difficult.” Particularly after she’d scratched and bruised her knuckles as she had done tonight.
“Of course,” Michelle said without any hesitation.
Lavinia turned the doorknob and let her into her rooms. They were spacious, the windows looking out over the rocky cliffs that surrounded the house.
The clean white of the walls glowed brightly under the overhead lights, starkly illuminating the sparse furniture.
Lavinia took off her sword and its sheath, and removed the daggers.
She laid them out on the desk. She’d clean them later, removing the flecks of dried blood from their surface.
Lavinia took the plain wooden desk chair and turned it so she could stretch her legs before her.
She showed Michelle the straps of the various parts of her armour, from the narrow bands holding her bracers tightly around her wrists, to the larger straps that kept her breastplate in place.
It was an ingenious system, the various parts overlapping so the straps were rarely, if ever, exposed.
Together, they unravelled the armour, removing it piece by piece, peeling the stained reinforced leather from skin and clothing.
Michelle laid out the pieces on the desk with reverence.
Lavinia rose, unburdened by the weight of her armour. “Thank you.” There was a depth to the words that she hoped were conveyed.
“No problem at all,” Michelle said. Lavinia—for a second—considered closing the distance and kissing her, resolving that tension between them. But her clothing stuck to her with dirt and blood and tugged at her with every movement. With a sigh, she turned to the bathroom instead.