Chapter 7 | Vallan
Vallan
Sephania’s violence gives me life. She knows exactly how to get to me when words won’t do the trick.
I don’t enjoy talking. Not like Skartovius or Garroway. I don’t care to hear myself speak, and when I say something it’s meant to be meaningful. Not that it always is, but that’s the objective.
My silverblood menace brings out a different side of me. She speaks with action, and our dialogue is one of energy and movement. Our bodies do all the talking, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Truth be told, she might be the only person who has ever understood that about me, vampire or human.
Damnation, how I’ve missed her.
It’s a weak thing to feel so frail from the absence of another. I thought love was a fleeting sensation that would never visit me again after losing everyone I’ve ever known and being turned into a bloodsucking monster.
I figured the meek, human part of my life was dead and buried, long gone after being a bloodthirsty beast for so many years.
As time passed and the years built, the darkness took complete hold and I lost track of all emotions. Violence doesn’t make me angry; it arouses me, and Sephania knows that. It’s one of the reasons my “urges” and bloodrage become so debilitating—because I don’t control them.
And I am nothing if not a man of control.
We lounge in the dirt for another hour. I bask in her warmth while she basks in my coldness, her legs wrapped around my body as she rests against me.
I keep my eyes trained on the stars in the purple sky, wondering if one of them sent this beautiful specimen to me.
When she puts a hand to my chest, I look down my beard. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing if I can hear a pulse.”
“And?”
She sighs and presses a soft kiss to my chest. “Alas, no.”
“You would if you’d checked when I was inside you.”
An adorable snort leaves her lips. “As if you’d ever give me the chance.”
She’s right. When I have my cock buried inside Sephania, it would take an act of a god to separate us. Even then, I’d fight the fucking deity with everything I have. Realizing that makes me squeeze her curvy body, holding her tighter.
She joins me in staring up at the sky, sighing contentedly while she runs lazy fingers over my chest, digging into my beard. “I’ve missed this.”
“So have I, silverblood.”
“Why can’t it be like this forever?”
“Because you will die one day, and I won’t.”
“Unless . . .”
My brows rise, the first shock of surprise running through me since I saw Sephania charging at me with swords drawn. “Unless you are turned.”
I meant to think the words, yet they came spilling out.
She goes quiet, and I think I’ve done something bad mentioning it. Now the words hang in the air, I can’t just let them die. “Is that something you’ve thought about? Something you’ve debated?”
“Turning into a vampire? Not with any seriousness.”
For some reason, that angers me. I would spend every moment of eternity with you, and yet you’ve not thought about the notion with “any seriousness”? “It may not be your choice, eventually,” I grunt.
I will never turn or harm Sephania without her consent. The same cannot be said for other vampires—other noblebloods who seek her Loreblood and wish to bring harm to their enemies.
She lets out a soft chuckle. “You never pull your punches, do you?”
It’s time for a subject change, to get the brooding thoughts out of my head. “I did when you had me on my back heel with the shovel. Came at me swift, you did.”
“Not swift enough.”
“Well—” I cut myself off, clearing my throat.
Here I am chatting like a gossipmonger. It makes me feel ridiculous.
But every sweet word spoken from Sephania’s lips deserves an answer—no, demands an answer—so I can’t feel wrong about it.
“I’ve got to finish burying these bodies,” I say, sitting up and nudging my chin at the mummies.
She lets out a heavy sigh, sitting up with me. “I’ll help.”
I’m surprised by that. “It’s hard work.”
Her eyes glance down below my waist, where she can see I’m already stirring to life again in my pants. With a small smile, she says, “I’m not opposed to a little hard work to earn my big rewards, Vallan.”
An hour later, the bodies are buried. An hour after that, I’ve wrenched three more climaxes out of Sephania with a combination of my tongue, cock, and fingers. I paint her with more of my essence across her warm flesh, which she gladly accepts this time before hoisting her pants back on.
It can never just be one time with us. It’s an impossibility, our bodies made for fucking each other. The first time we mated, I kept her hostage for two nights until we had rung out every drop from one another.
After we’re finished, we head to the camp and main tent. There’s a surprise guest waiting inside, when I had expected Cordea to scowl at me for taking so long to bury the bodies.
The little cub, Garroway, sits on a chair, one leg crossed over his knee with his foot bouncing. His bald head rises as the flap pulls back, and the light on his face dies abruptly when we enter together.
“Garro,” Sephania says, smiling wide. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Garroway’s eyes turn beady. He sniffs the air, and even though we’re fifteen feet from him at the entrance of the tent, I know what he scents. “Damn the Damned, you’ve fucked without me again,” he whines.
Sephania’s face blushes. “Erm. Shit.”
“Not everyone gets an invitation, cub.”
He blinks at me, standing. “Is that a . . . joke? From Vallan Stellos? By all that’s unholy, you must have put him in a jolly mood, little honey badger.”
I grunt in disapproval.
Sephania chuckles. “Can’t spot the lie in that one. What brings you to the mines? I thought you were in Nuhav conducting business with the silversmith.”
“I was.” Garroway turns and hauls an oblong-shaped bag off the ground. He sets it on the chair and I hear the clink of metal inside. “Came to deliver this personally, Vall. As requested.”
Seph tilts her head, questioning. I walk forward and open the bag, peering at the silver sword inside. Even wearing my gloves, as usual, I don’t take a chance touching the shimmering blade.
When Sephania comes up beside me, she gasps. “Oh, how pretty. A silver sword, just like Skar’s.”
“Not exactly like it,” I say. “But yes. Good work, cub.”
“Care to tell me who it’s for?” Garroway asks, bobbing his thin eyebrows.
I lean over, kiss Sephania on the forehead, and grab the sword bundle, tossing it over my shoulder. “I must be off now.”
Sephania looks confused. “Wait, what? Just like that?”
I nod.
Her face sinks. She knows better than to ask me my plans. I keep them close to my chest, and she wouldn’t understand anyway.
“Well, you’re not leaving like that,” she says.
I furrow my brow—
As she rises on her tiptoes and plants a hard kiss on my lips. Our tongues swirl for a moment, making Garroway let out a needful sound, and then she steps back. “There,” she says. “A little forehead peck doesn’t do the trick. Now you are dismissed, I suppose.”
I clear my throat, adjust my pants from the hardness that’s threatening to rip free, and give her a stern nod. “I’ll see you two at Manor Marquin soon.”
My mission brings me up the mountain, into Olhav, and past the Chained Sisters’ dwelling. I march a westerly trek, heading deeper into the Military Ward.
Torch-lit lampposts with yellowed-glass enclosures guide my path along the main route through the district.
As I make my way past the outskirts where the tenements and dilapidated buildings of Olhavian’s poorer vampires rest, including the Chained Sisters, the streets become busier.
No longer are the roads filled with refuse and blood-sick commoners.
Now I see straight-backed military men with bold topaz-and-black cloaks, dark armor encasing their bodies.
I pass a group of four soldiers armed with halberds and don’t stop my walk to acknowledge them, keeping my head lowered as I shoulder past.
“What disrespect,” one of the vampires growls in a low voice as I pass.
Another says, “Who the fuck does he think he is, taking up the middle of the road?”
I stop, slowly turning and lifting my head to pull back my hood. “What was that?”
The soldiers’ hands tighten on their halberds as they wheel, ready to strike me. I can only imagine the grins behind their dark, closed helmets, sensing a fight.
I imagine those grins disappear a second later when they stare upon my face.
“Shit, Master Stellos, apologies,” says one of the vampires with a formal bow. “Didn’t know it was you.”
I grunt. “Carry on and keep quiet.”
I’m on my way again, heading past the nearby barracks, mess hall, and the clanging smithy of the swordforger.
I pass more armored soldiers as I delve deeper into the Military Ward, through straight, uniform streets.
With my hood pulled back, I get more salutes and nods from the guards, which I don’t care for.
I enjoy fanfare about as much as I enjoy talking.
By the time I reach my destination, it’s past midnight. Whiling away my time with Sephania has pushed this meeting further back than I’d like and, more importantly, further back than he’ll like.
I stop at the fortress, staring at it with discerning eyes. The monolithic gray structure is a stronghold of thick stone walls, four corner watchtowers, and a gate and portcullis. Notches in the ramparts above show me the dark helms of archers standing at the ready.
I make my way toward the gate, the four soldiers there parting when they recognize me. “Master Stellos,” one of them says with a small bow.
I pass under the archway into the bailey. A few soldiers are training horses, running them in circles, and another bunch are fixing gear and sparring with blunted swords.
I hate being here, but it can’t be helped. There’s a pull I’ve explained to Sephania, which I feel when outside her presence. It’s something I fought at first before succumbing to the desire and accepting her.