A Betrothal So Bloody (The Vicious Vows Duology #1)

1. ONE

one

Above all, never show fear in the face of an enemy.

My only enemy at present is the clamminess of my hands, and I feel imprisoned by my own nerves.

As my boots thud lightly down the flagstone path, I steady my breathing.

Years of desperate nightly prayers have finally been answered, but dwelling on my impending audience with Mother Superior doesn’t calm my nerves.

Sleep deprivation leaves me raw and jumpy. All night, I thought of nothing except the summons I had received to her private chapel—a place reserved for dismissals from the Order or solo mission assignments.

At twenty-six, I have witnessed sisters even younger than I receive their first summons for such missions. Twelve years, I’ve been training, waiting, assisting in group hunts like the perfect soldier.

The time is not yet right, Ariya.

An assignment that suits your talents will come along soon, Ariya.

Patience, dear Ariya.

At long last, Mother Superior has recognized that I am prepared to shoulder the burden of this great honor.

She must have. My deeds during the raid in Siena were no small feat.

Even a month later, I awaken with a pounding heart and a hand itching for a stake, desperate to save my fellow slayers from being overwhelmed by the enemy.

Vampires are the ultimate parasite, ancient and unholy. Their legacy is an ocean of blood, but their gluttony stretches beyond the innocent lives lost to sate their endless hunger. Immortality grants a thirst for power that destabilizes entire societies.

Just months ago, Siena’s wealthiest merchant family had the city by the throat—bloodsuckers masquerading as nobility to pull the strings of governance. These leeches had waited for decades for the opportune moment. They weren’t the first, and they certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Though our fellow countrymen live by superstition and caution for such creatures, we are the ones who confront the darkness head-on. Without fear. Without hesitation.

The Corvus Order will purify the world of the blight of vampires, and I shall be a crucial weapon in this righteous undertaking. Destiny wills it.

As day breaks and early light begins to cast sharp shadows over the stone walls, I find that the courtyards and connecting corridors have never felt so vast. The abbey may be precarious in its perch, but it has withstood generations of vampire slayers, spanning back to the first warriors that emerged from the Roman Empire.

Each building is as much a part of the lush, rolling hills and cliffs as the Tuscan landscape itself.

As I cross another courtyard, a pair of my sisters seated by the fountain drop their conversation at once and greet me with knowing smiles.

Their earth-toned shifts mirror my own: made of light, practical chemise tailored for daily chores and studies at the abbey, with none of the unnecessary frills that are so fashionable in cities like Milan.

Pearls and ribbons do nothing but restrict your range of movement in a fight—and when battling abominations with ungodly strength, function over style is crucial; the reverse is suicide.

“Nervousness is unbecoming,” Enrica remarks. “Mother Superior hates that. She’ll chastise you for showing weakness before you even get to the heart of your summons.”

Antonella elbows her and offers me a more sympathetic smile. “Pay her no mind, Ari. Remember how she chattered the night away with her worries when she received her first summons?” She shares a grin with me as Enrica scoffs in protest. “We wish you well, sister. You will make the Order proud.”

Despite her assurance, the unspoken truth hangs between us: I have far more reason than most sisters to worry about never receiving a solo assignment. A single error in protocol during my first group mission had left me under scrutiny. Never again.

I can only manage a weak utterance of thanks as I hurry onward.

Punctuality is second only to accuracy—one of the many core tenets of the discipline that hone us into so much more than the naive villagers who first crossed the threshold.

I pass beneath the arched threshold of the cloister corridor, and my stammering heart flutters faster at the sight awaiting me.

The tapestries strung along the walls are among the most intricate in the convent.

Depictions of slayers of the Corvus Order are stitched lovingly into each plane of fabric, some posed regally and others in glorious battle, their blades forever trained on a vampire’s headless corpse beneath their boots

Someday, my portrait will join these. I will be forever remembered as one of the Order who brought the world one step closer to eliminating these bloodthirsty wretches for good.

I push open the heavy door, stepping out onto the sloping hill of the terraced gardens.

Dawn’s mist curls along the cobblestone path that weaves downward along the hillside.

The cool morning air should be refreshing, but a fresh wave of nerves rushes over me instead, threatening to slow my brisk stride.

A sharp, minty smell hits my nose as a breeze combs through the yard.

Vervain, roses, and wolfsbane all grow in uniform lines, stretching over most of the hill.

Under our meticulous care, these herbs of purity flourish, many over waist-high and bending softly in the breeze.

I give a passing wave to the six of my sisters tending to the garden.

It’s strange not to be doing my morning chores alongside them.

Chiara spots me, eyes widening when she sees that I’m keeping along the leftmost fork in the path.

There is only one destination at the end of this particular trail.

She gasps and drops some of the vervain she’s harvesting to whisper excitedly to the others, then shifts from foot to foot like she wants to run to me—but she knows as well as I do that I must move with purpose. We will speak soon.

The faint sounds of movement awakening across the grounds is a familiar, invigorating balm.

In the distance to my right, I hear the scrape of a whetstone as the swordsmith maintains the armory and its countless assets, smell the faint tang of the stables.

The crack of a whip splits the air, and my nails dig into my palms on instinct, though my steps don’t falter.

I count four harsh cracks and wince, knowing that least two sisters fell asleep on night watch.

My own palms still bear the crisscrossed scars of the last time I’d made such a mistake.

My throat tightens as the cobblestones before me transition into a dirt path lined by ancient, iron-wrought gates on either side.

Mother Superior’s chapel is nestled between ancient oak trees where the land plateaus—a small, ornate building that overlooks the Tuscany countryside below.

Moss has long since taken up residence throughout the intricately carved stonework.

My reflection stares back at me from the stained-glass set in the door.

My face is fractured by the lead lines that separate the colorful panes.

My chestnut eyes—always too expressive—are captured by a glint of sapphire, while panes of green and ruby cut across my rounded jaw and unpainted lips, currently pressed into a thoughtful line.

I smooth down windblown strands of my soot-black hair back into its braid and meet my own gaze, inhaling before reaching for the handle.

The door whines as I step inside, the coolness of the stone wrapping around me.

Such a sacred place shouldn’t remind me of a tomb, but the comparison is hard to shake when all the sounds of liveliness outside are swallowed up as I cross the threshold.

I allow myself a curious sweep of the space.

The last time I had visited the chapel eleven years ago, I’d been barely a year into my time at the Order.

To my mild surprise, not a thing has changed.

The Order’s vows of simplicity extend to even the highest among us.

At once, I spot Mother Superior in the front pew, her intricately braided silver hair unmistakable even in the low candlelight.

Her head is bowed in prayer, silhouetted in candlelight against the rough hewn stone wall.

Someone else is seated beside her, and I squint, recognizing Catarina easily.

Forty-five, with a staggering count of a dozen vampires slain in her time.

Formidable with a blade, but quiet as a mouse—scarcely socializing the way many sisters did during meals. Quiet but kind.

I’m not sure what her presence here means for me, and I hurriedly swallow another jolt of nerves.

The sweet-peppery scent of cedar and vervain hits me as I pass the crackling incense bowl on the altar. Most people would find the scent too strong, but I have grown to find comfort in it. For vampires, it would weaken their strength the moment the faintest wisp of smoke crossed their path.

The corners of Mother Superior's thin lips tip up in a knowing smile as I kneel to kiss her hand. “Ariya, I am so very pleased to see you. Please, sit with me.”

With over sixty sisters currently serving the Order, I feel humbled that she knows me. I smooth out my skirts and reverently sit in the pew across from the two women.

“I was just reflecting on the night we welcomed you home,” Mother Superior says, smile widening slightly.

She carries her age with equal measures of elegance and intimidation, the lines on her face well-earned.

“You were such a frail thing, even at fourteen. I remember Ioene remarking you might be better suited to serving the Order as a historian—and oh, the scowl you made. I daresay it struck a fire in your training from the very start, didn’t it?

You made it abundantly clear to us all that Ariya Valori would not be robbed of the opportunity to face the enemy head-on. ”