Chapter 29 | Sephania
Sephania
Hours later, I’m pacing the main conference room at Manor Marquin so hard my boots are going to put divots in the floorboards.
Walking back and forth from one end of the long table to the other, I pick at my lip and stare at the ground.
Frustration swells inside me. It’s so bad I feel I’m going to take flight like a fireball and burst through the high rafters into the night sky.
Vallan is perched against the far wall like an imposing statue, head swiveling to slowly follow my mad walk.
Garroway sits at the table, head bowed forlornly, trying to avoid eye contact, as though he fears I’ll snap at him if he opens his trap.
Skartovius stands behind me, arms crossed, a scowl on his handsome face.
I can’t stop thinking about Palacia and what I could have done differently. Perhaps if I hadn’t spoken with my mother for so long, I would have left the Chained Sisters earlier and could have helped thwart the initial attack.
No, I think, shaking my head. I only would have gotten into deeper shit. Those vampires meant business. They were on a mission.
Immediately upon entering the manor, Skartovius sent four vampires from his court to guard the North Mines from further attack.
Vallan says, “It won’t matter. They won’t be back. They got what they came for.”
“And more besides,” Garro adds in a morose mumble, “with the other halfkeepers they took trying to find Seph’s friend.”
“If it weren’t for us, you’d have been captured too, little temptress. Or dead.”
Skar’s words stop me cold, midstride. There’s a grating tone to his voice, the frustration behind his words enough to match my own.
I ignore him for now, flaring my nostrils and glancing over at Vallan. “There has to be more we can do. We can go find her!”
Vallan frowns, blinking at me like I’m dense. “One does not simply waltz into the Intelligence Ward without careful planning. Alacine Mortis has the place trapped up for anyone who dares enter her widow’s web.”
Skartovius adds, “We won’t charge recklessly as you did at the North Mines.”
My body tenses. I’m still showing him my back, but the way they’re speaking to me aggravates me beyond measure. Like I’m a foolish child—which is probably exactly how they see me after what I did.
When they act like this, I get defensive.
And when I get defensive, the “brat princess,” as they like to call me comes out involuntarily.
It’s a coping mechanism I’ve developed to try and avoid further conflict with the men I care about, and to try and get them back on my side.
Because I know better than anything: These vampires enjoy the challenge of putting a brat in her place.
I can’t forget what Jinneth told me; how I felt when defending my mates in her presence. “I won’t ever take them for granted again.” That’s what I thought when she besmirched them without knowing them. And they proved themselves by coming to my rescue. Again.
I need to remember Skartovius Ashfen, Vallan Stellos, and Garroway Kuffich are not my enemies. Even if they frustrate me and treat me like a newborn doe at times. In their minds, it’s to protect me, and I make their lives infinitely harder by putting myself in scary situations.
For now, I ignore Skartovius’ jab, worried how I might react if I turn around and face him. He’s too brooding, too strong, and I feel too vulnerable and weak to battle him with words.
To try and calm myself, I think about the good things that have happened recently.
We survived Trithea Plaza and the debacle with Alacine’s and Barnabac’s covens.
My mother thinks there might be a way to utilize my Loreblood to help vastly more people without it affecting my memory or psyche—the way it has ever since Sister Cyprilis drank from me—if we can essentially disconnect my blood from my body.
The idea of learning how essential I am and having an actual plan of action is reason for celebration.
I also promised Jinneth I would get us an escort to see her former friend, Old Endolf, the curmudgeonly old alchemist from the Firehold I am also acquainted with. Getting my mates to help in this current situation might be a tall order.
“Why Alacine Mortis would want a particular interfolk, I wouldn’t know,” Skartovius says once he realizes I’m ignoring him.
I appreciate him co-opting the Nuhavian vernacular, using “interfolk” instead of “halfkeeper,” to speak about the transitioned people of the two cities. I can feel his words drilling into my back as he speaks them with barely veiled contempt. He knows I’m at fault, and he wants to hear me say it.
Finally, I spin on him, finding him closer than I realized, less than five feet away. I stand my ground, snarling, “Because she knows I care about her.”
“Now your friend has become a liability, weakening our hand against the Spymistress,” Skar shoots back.
I throw my arms up, my frustration boiling over. “What do you want from me, Lord Ashfen?! To say I’m sorry for jumping into another risky situation?”
Skar scoffs, likely at the “Lord Ashfen” title I shot at him—the impersonal status for an impersonal man. “That would be a start, brat.”
Gesturing toward the wall where Vallan stands, I add, “Cordea would have died, you know, had I not shown up. I’m sure of it. Does that not bother you?”
Vallan simply grunts.
I let out a frustrated noise, turn to resume pacing—
As strong, spindly fingers land on my arm and spin me. Suddenly I’m staring up at Skartovius and his dangerously attractive face, all twisted and pinched with anger and . . . something else.
Concern. That’s what it is, though he’d never admit it.
“You will not show your back to me again, temptress.” He keeps a firm hold on my arm. Finally, as our eyes lock, his frustration froths like mine. I see the break in his gold-flecked eyes. “What do we have to do to keep you from hurting yourself?”
“You can’t stop me from doing what I think is right!” I yell in his face.
“We don’t want to stop you from doing what you think is right. We want to stop you from doing what we know is stupid.”
I bare my teeth like an animal.
“Yes, show me those fangs, brat princess,” he says with a humorless smile.
I pound a fist on his chest, shouting unintelligibly because I know he’s right and I have no defense against his words. But sometimes words mean nothing and only action can voice my frustrations.
After he doesn’t react from my first punch, I try slamming my fist against him again, as if willing him to act.
This time, he catches my fist with a blurring motion, stopping me cold.
I inhale sharply, fear pumping my heart wildly. “You want to punish me,” I eke out. “Discipline me. I can see it, because you’re a monster.”
Garroway mutters from the table, “Now, now, everyone, maybe we should try bringing the temperature dow—”
“And you wish to be disciplined, or you wouldn’t press me so,” Skar cuts in, his smoldering eyes staying on my face. His gaze flicks toward the tendons of my neck, all tight and protruding, and his eyes turn a darker shade of red and gold.
“So why haven’t you?” I grit out behind barred teeth.
Skar’s soulless eyes flare with life, and I know I’m finished. They saved me, I think. We survived Trithea. The exasperation at losing Palacia is at a fever pitch. There are things I need to do, yet I feel helpless to do anything until I get this aggression out.
Yes, sometimes action is certainly the answer when words fail.
My body grows heated the longer he holds my fist against his chest. His fingers caress my knuckles, and his nostrils flare as he sniffs me and surely scents my abrupt arousal. There’s no hiding it against these bloodsuckers, as much as I feel my body is betraying me in the moment.
“Why haven’t I disciplined you yet?” Skar echoes, tapping his chin in thought. “That’s a good question.”
He yanks me against him with a swift tug on my wrist that has me gasping breathlessly.
, my stomach launching to my throat. My breasts shove against his chest, hard nipples grinding for friction.
He stares down his nose at me like I’m a meal.
Licks his plump lower lip, showing a glint of fangs just behind them.
“Do it, you rotten animal,” I say in a throaty tone.
Skartovius takes me at my bratty word. He sees the challenge in my eyes, and it dawns on me: We both want the same thing, for different reasons.
I want these men wrapped around me to celebrate our victories and to relieve my frustrations.
Skar wants me as delicious punishment for running away from them again, the possessive, protective bastard.
He bares his fangs, dips his head with a tilt of his chin, and bites just above my collar in one fluid motion, before I can react.
“Master!” Garro gasps, bolting to his feet from the table.
I hear Vallan push away from the wall behind me as my blood spills into Skar’s mouth, filling the room with an aroma that is so enticing to these men. The most enticing.
As the soft sounds of his sucking filters into my ears, the thrum of desire pulses through my body, starting at the base of my belly.
A pool of heat and wetness builds between my legs at an alarming rate—always the way it is when a vampire is feasting on me.
And with Skartovius Ashfen, the effect is double because of my obvious attraction and perverse need to prove myself to him.
Before long, I’m holding back a moan, panting shallowly. My groan at the initial pain turns into intense pleasure at the apex of my thighs. It takes everything not to slide my hands down to rub my wet pussy into oblivion.
Seconds pass with silent feeding. The vacuum of his suctioned lips are too much to take, and I try to sneak my hand down—
But he catches my wrist, finally pulling back from my neck with a glint in his eyes and my blood trickling down his chin. “No, temptress. That’s our job.”
Locking gazes with him breaks the trance, and I backpedal instinctively—
Directly into Vallan’s oak tree chest.
I’m suddenly surrounded by tall, hungry vampires, closed in at the front and back. I’m stuffy, claustrophobic, unreasonably lustful.
“Good,” I say, trying to act defiant in the face of pure malice and wickedness staring down at me. “Then we both have our reasons. As long as it gets done.”