Chapter 13
Later that morning, while the stronghold rearranged itself around Leena’s death, another kind of breaking began inside the adjoining guest suite.
Veya shook on the bed, half upright, her fists knotted in the sheets as though she could tear herself free of her own skin.
Her chest rose and fell in a frantic rhythm. Her altered body no longer needed the air with the urgency her mind remembered, but panic continued forcing the habit through her lungs.
Rhen stood several feet from the bed like a verdict waiting to be delivered.
His hands had eventually been scrubbed clean, though dried blood remained embedded in the cuffs and seams of his shirt. The scent lingered beneath the smoke and stone of the room.
Leena’s blood.
Whatever humanity Leena alone had insisted remained inside him had withdrawn behind grief and violence.
His face offered no apology.
No reassurance.
Nothing Veya could use.
Her eyes moved wildly around the chamber, searching the reinforced door, the covered windows, and every stretch of stone between them.
“Let me go.”
Her voice cracked.
“Please. I know what you told me. I know the words. Vampire. Transition. Tether.”
Her fingers dug harder into the sheets.
“I still don’t understand how this can be my life.”
Rhen did not move.
“Understanding is irrelevant.”
“I don’t want this.”
“Want has nothing to do with it. Not anymore.”
Veya pushed herself from the bed.
Her legs failed almost immediately.
Rhen crossed the distance before she struck the floor. One hand closed around her upper arm, hard enough to hold but not bruise, and returned her to the mattress.
He released her at once.
“Your body has changed faster than your mind,” he said. “Fighting it will not reverse anything.”
“You expect me to accept it?”
“I expect you to control it.”
“I can’t even breathe properly.”
“You do not need to.”
Her breathing quickened despite him.
Rhen’s expression hardened.
“Stop forcing air through a body that no longer depends on it.”
A broken sound escaped her—half sob, half gasp.
She pressed one hand against her silent chest.
Nothing answered.
No heartbeat.
No reassuring rhythm beneath her ribs.
Only the cold pressure of the tether and the awareness of Rhen standing across from her.
“This can’t be real.”
“It is.”
“I don’t feel like myself.”
“You won’t. Not yet.”
She lifted her gaze to him, searching for a flicker of regret.
Rhen gave her none.
“You survived,” he said. “That is the only mercy in this.”
Veya stared at the dark blood dried against his cuffs.
“What happened?”
His gaze dropped briefly to the stain.
Something vicious tightened behind his eyes.
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“There’s blood on you.”
“I know.”
“Is it yours?”
“No.”
One syllable.
Final.
Veya swallowed.
“You said I was dying. That explains what happened.” She forced herself to hold his gaze. “It doesn’t explain why you decided I was worth changing.”
Rhen went still.
The tether pulsed once between them.
“I made a decision.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is the only one you are getting.”
“Did you feel sorry for me?”
His mouth curled without humor.
“Do not turn it into kindness.”
The answer struck harder than denial.
Veya looked down at her hands. Her skin was too pale and unmarked where cuts and bruises should have remained. Her fingers looked familiar, yet nothing about the body attached to them felt like hers.
“I didn’t ask you to save me.”
“No.”
“You chose anyway.”
“Yes.”
No apology.
No excuse.
Only the brutal certainty of what he had done.
Veya’s fear shifted.
Not into acceptance.
Into anger.
She shoved herself upright and moved toward him before she understood what she intended to do.
“Stay on the bed,” Rhen warned.
“No.”
He stepped into her path.
Veya shoved him.
The unexpected force shifted him half a step—not enough to hurt, only enough to surprise.
For one fraction of a second, Leena’s dried blood against his cuff drew his attention downward.
Veya used it.
She ran.
The guest-room door struck the wall as she tore into the corridor.
Cold marble hit her bare feet.
Candlelight fractured across her vision. Every scent arrived sharpened beyond reason—wax, smoke, old wood, medicinal herbs, and the metallic trace of blood embedded in the stronghold’s stones.
Every sound cut too deeply.
A door closing several halls away.
Fabric moving behind a wall.
Boots against stone.
The rasp of someone’s grief-strained breathing.
The compound swallowed her in branching corridors and old shadows. Oil portraits watched from paneled walls, their painted eyes following like silent judges.
Veya did not know where she was going.
She only knew she needed distance from Rhen.
“Stop.”
His voice cut down the corridor behind her.
Veya ran faster.
“You do not know what the fuck you’re doing.”
His footsteps followed, impossibly fast.
The sound drove her around another corner.
Then she saw the male at the far end of the hallway.
He stood beneath a single wall sconce, enormous and rigid, a newborn cradled against his chest.
Sule had finally left Leena’s chamber long enough to take his son from the nursery.
The child’s cries pierced the corridor—high, furious, and filled with need. The male rocked him with careful movements that looked unnatural in arms built for violence.
Veya stopped.
Grief had hollowed his face. It lived in the darkness beneath his eyes and the absolute stillness of his mouth.
His attention snapped toward her.
Whatever gentleness he had offered the child vanished behind lethal instinct. His arms tightened around the infant.
“Leave.”
The command vibrated through the stone.
Veya stepped backward, lifting her empty hands.
The baby cried harder.
The sound struck every sharpened nerve in her body at once. Her vision narrowed. Panic forced another useless breath through her lungs.
Then Rhen was there.
He moved into Sule’s line of sight, blocking Veya because one uncontrolled reaction in that corridor could end with her death.
“She got out,” Rhen said.
Sule’s eyes burned past him.
“Keep her away from my son.”
“I am.”
Veya looked between them.
The grief in the corridor was almost tangible. It clung to the walls, raw enough to have a scent.
Blood.
Smoke.
Loss.
Rhen closed one hand around Veya’s forearm.
“Enough.”
She tried to pull back.
Darkness folded around them.
The corridor vanished.
A heartbeat later, the guest suite reformed around her.
Veya staggered as Rhen released her. She caught herself against the foot of the bed and turned on him.
“What the hell was that?”
Rhen remained near the door.
“You ran.”
“You moved us through—”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Not relevant.”
She stared at him.
“You can’t keep me locked in here.”
“I can.”
“I’m not a prisoner.”
“You ran through a grieving stronghold with no control over your senses or instincts.”
“I didn’t hurt anyone.”
“You reached the king and his newborn son.”
“I didn’t know who he was.”
“That is exactly the problem.”
Veya’s gaze moved toward the closed door.
“The man in the corridor. Who is he?”
“Sule.”
The name settled heavily between them.
“He is our king.”
“And the baby?”
“His son.”
Veya remembered the infant screaming against his chest.
The grief carved into Sule’s face.
“Where is the child’s mother?”
Rhen did not answer immediately.
His gaze shifted toward the fire.
When he spoke, the words were stripped to bare fact.
“She died last night.”
Veya’s stomach tightened.
The house suddenly made terrible sense.
The blood on Rhen’s cuffs.
The muted footsteps.
The silence pressing behind every closed door.
The king holding his son as though the world might steal him too.
“How?”
Rhen’s eyes cut back to hers.
“You do not need that information.”
“Was she the woman you left to help?”
His jaw flexed.
“Yes.”
Veya looked at the blood again.
“She died while you were with her.”
The room changed.
Not visibly.
Rhen simply became more still.
More dangerous.
“You are close to saying something you will regret.”
“I wasn’t accusing you.”
“You were speaking about something that does not belong to you.”
Veya lowered her gaze.
For several seconds, the only sound was the fire shifting in the hearth.
Then she asked, “Why am I here?”
Rhen’s expression remained empty.
“You were dying.”
“That still isn’t why.”
“I made a decision. Do not build a gentler meaning around it.”
She wanted to keep asking.
The warning in his face stopped her.
Veya sat on the edge of the bed, leaving as much distance between them as the room allowed.
“Then tell me the rules.”
Rhen studied her.
“You already know the most important one.”
“Stay in the room.”
“And you broke it.”
“I panicked.”
“I do not care why.”
Her mouth tightened.
“What else?”
Rhen remained beside the door, effectively sealing it without touching the lock.
“While this house is mourning, you stay away from Sule and the heir unless you are summoned.”
Veya nodded reluctantly.
“Second: you feed only from what is brought to you. You do not bite anyone.”
A chill moved through her.
“I drank from the bag.”
“You nearly tore it apart.”
“I didn’t attack anyone.”
“Keep it that way.”
Veya rubbed her palms against the fabric at her knees.
“Does the tether mean you can stop me?”
“It means I will know when your control slips.”
“And then?”
“Stopping you is my job.”
Her gaze rose.
“If I become dangerous, will you kill me?”
Rhen held her stare.
“You already know I will.”
She believed him.
That was the worst part.
Veya looked toward the door again.
“And the third rule?”
“You do not leave without permission.”
“That is the first rule.”
“Apparently, you needed to hear it twice.”
Despite everything, irritation flashed through her fear.
Rhen noticed.
His mouth did not smile, but something in his expression sharpened as though he preferred the anger to her earlier collapse.
Veya drew one slow, unnecessary breath.
“What happens when the mourning is over?”
“You train.”
“To do what?”
“To exist without becoming everyone else’s problem.”
“And you teach me?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Her brows drew together.
“Then who?”
“That has not been decided.”
“But you said I was your responsibility.”
“I am responsible for containing you. Do not confuse that with companionship.”
The correction landed coldly.
Veya wrapped her arms around herself.
The room seemed smaller now. The dark wood, heavy curtains, and ancient stone no longer felt merely unfamiliar.
They felt permanent.
Rhen watched the realization settle over her.
“Get some rest.”
“I’ve done nothing but sleep.”
“Then sit quietly and do not run.”
She looked at him.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes.”
Her attention shifted to the blood on his clothing.
“Going back to her?”
His face emptied completely.
“That is none of your concern.”
Rhen opened the door.
Before stepping through, he looked back.
“This place is bleeding. Keep your head down and your mouth shut until you understand who is mourning and who is looking for something to punish.”
Veya’s throat tightened.
“And if I want out?”
“There is no out.”
His voice remained flat.
“There is before, and there is after. You are already in the after.”
The door closed behind him.
Veya remained alone in the firelit chamber, listening to the muted grief of the stronghold through senses too sharp to escape it.
Her hand rose once more to her silent chest.
Nothing beat beneath it.
Only the tether remained.