Chapter Seventeen
Asher
As the mood in the room shifts from strategic to social, I excuse myself.
They're relaxed now, talking, joking, slipping into the rhythm that comes after shared tension. But Sage had slipped out somewhere between Astrid's fifth drink and Kayden's last jab. I noticed.
All I have to do is follow the scent of weed curling into the night air. It leads me around the side of the house, past the edge of the porch, until I see the tip of her joint—an ember glowing red in the dark.
She's perched against the siding, back to the cool wall, gaze tilted toward the sky.
"Helping the forest grow," I say, "or hiding?"
She exhales smoke and gives me a half-smile. "You know… I always feel like I'm caught doing something wrong when you corner me. No idea why."
I take a slow step closer, my voice quiet. "Maybe you want someone to discipline you for your missteps."
She freezes.
We hold the silence for a breath too long, the air charged between us. The porch. The way she said 'yes, sir' a day before that. The feel of power shifting between us, like a weight neither of us knew we'd been carrying.
None of it was planned. And yet, I'd be lying if I said I haven't replayed it a dozen times since. The way her voice softened around that word. The way she watched me, not with fear, but with curiosity. With want. Submission curling just under the surface.
My training says to step back. She's a runner. Wounded and not stable. Keeping my own disciplined distance is necessary.
But discipline's getting harder by the hour.
She gathers herself. Blinks the moment away. "As for your question… yeah. I'm hiding a little." She takes another drag, then adds, "It's just… all these people. They don't know me. Most don't even like me. But they agreed to help."
Her honesty always hits harder than expected.
"What makes you think they don't like you?" I ask, folding my arms, watching her.
"Well… Jace, for one. Pretty sure he'd toss me in a compost pile if no one was looking. He hasn't said a single word since he walked in."
"He rarely speaks in meetings," I say. "But yes, he's still stung. You hit where it hurts most—pride. Tricksters hate being tricked. Especially by outsiders. My guess is Winston's been chewing his ear off about how New York made him soft."
She winces. "I get it. I really do. Not wanting to fall in line with family expectations. Trying to carve out your own path."
I look at her. "Personal experience?" I ask.
Her gaze slides sideways.
She's told us almost nothing about her life before turning nymph. Just fragments.
She nods. "Yeah. A story for another time."
And just like that, the wall goes back up. But not all the way.
"Donna's nice," Sage says, exhaling a long stream of smoke. "But she feels like the kind of person who tries to be nice to everyone. I mean, she even tries with Kayden."
I smile, watching her. Her observations are sharp, quietly cutting, but not cruel.
"Astrid's definitely not a fan, though."
"Astrid's blunt with everyone," I say. "She agreed to help you. That speaks louder than anything she might've said. These people? They've all needed help before. And someone helped them—no questions, no price. They're doing the same now. That's what we do here."
She nods, slowly, then offers me the joint. I take it.
"You've built something special," she says, voice quieter now. "If someone told me before about a vampire leading a reformist supernatural circle out in a nowhere Maine town, I'd have laughed. But… here you are."
"Here I am." I take a slow drag, hold the smoke for a beat, then exhale into the night. Hand it back.
She studies me. "I wonder how much of that is thanks to your Colonel credentials.
" Before I can respond, she adds, "Darius's files had a line about that.
Said you might be the Colonel Darrow, but it wasn't confirmed.
Apparently, a vampire in the military is unconventional.
They told me bloodlust wouldn't allow it. "
That catches my attention. I turn slightly toward her. "What else did the file say?"
She flicks ash from the joint. "The year you were turned—Culloden, 1746.
Age thirty-three. Full name, a few rumored sightings throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.
They had more on Kayden. Guess he wasn't as careful.
But I assume you are the Colonel Ewan Asher Darrow. Vietnam War hero. MIA."
I sigh.
So they had files. On me. On Kayden. Our pasts dissected on paper by people we never met.
"That's me," I say quietly. "Same person."
She looks at me sideways, amused. "You know, when I first read that, I thought you'd have a Scottish accent."
"We used to, of course, both Kayden and I." I smile faintly. "But we, immortals, must always adapt. Once we moved to the States, we adjusted the way we spoke. Language evolves. Slang too."
"Yeah… I guess saying groovy would date you." She says it with a small smirk, but then her tone shifts to more serious. "How do you do it?" she asks. "In battle, I mean. With the bloodlust. How do you control it?"
I pause, weighing where to begin. There's no short answer to that question.
Sometimes the beginning is the only place to start.
"We were both turned before Culloden," I say quietly, watching her reaction. "Do you know why?"
She shakes her head. "No. The file didn't say."
"We were sired by a woman named Fiona MacCraith. A true Scottish patriot. By then, she'd been a vampire for over two centuries. And she'd found something most don't—balance. She didn't let the thirst rule her. She believed it could be tempered. Used for purpose."
I pause, remembering Fiona's voice—low, intense, sharp as a carefully forged blade.
"Her vision was to form an army. A battalion of vampires, trained and disciplined, fighting against the British at Culloden.
She turned us one by one, trying to pass on her knowledge and restraint.
It worked for a time. But I don't think she ever anticipated how the battlefield—the chaos, the blood—would affect the newly turned. "
I look away for a second.
"It went feral fast. The bloodlust hit like a fever. They lost control. Turned not just on the enemy, but on anyone nearby. No distinction, only savage thirst."
Sage is quiet for a moment. Then, softly, "Did that happen to you?"
I shake my head. "I held my ground. Barely, but I did. Kayden, however…" My voice tightens. "He struggled. It overtook him. I don't think he ever forgave himself for what he did. Or me for dragging him out of it. I pulled him off the field when I realized the battle, and Fiona's dream, were lost."
She nods, her expression warm. "That's a difficult burden. For both of you."
"Yes," I say and pause for a moment before continuing.
"The military made sense to me. Always did.
Structure, discipline, rules—all of it helped to deal with what I've become.
The bloodshed didn't bother me, I could manage the thirst. So I served.
Different uniforms. Different centuries. But always the same order."
She watches me with more intensity now. "What changed in Vietnam?"
I let the silence sit a moment.
"The war itself," I say. "I suppose it started to change after the Great War. But Vietnam… it broke something."
I draw in a breath, not needing air, just the habit.
"I tried to help civilians. I tried not to betray the men under my command. But it was impossible to do both. And then there was Tomas. He served under me. He saw what I was, figured it out on his own. His family knew about creatures like us. Still, he risked everything to save my life."
Her eyes soften. She knows what that costs.
"When I turned him, I gave him what little I knew. Tried to teach him control. But the truth is, I didn't really understand why I'd always been able to hold the bloodlust back. I had theories, but not answers. Tomas… he made it work. He survived, found his way back."
"Did you go back with him?" she asks.
I shake my head. "No. I stayed for a while longer. But eventually, I couldn't pretend anymore. Couldn't keep the uniform on and keep lying to the men around me. So I waited."
A pause.
"The Tet offensive was the right kind of chaos. The VC poured into the cities and attacked the bases. I walked out of the base and through the peaceful countryside. I walked all the way to Laos. Found a monastery by accident. Just one monk living there. He knew what I was the moment he saw me."
"He didn't try to kill you?"
"No," I say. "He just handed me a broom."
She tilts her head, smiling.
"Sweeping floors. Fixing rooftops. No lessons. No sermons. Just quiet work. I don't even know why I stayed at first. But something kept me there."
"A spiritual awakening?" she asks, one brow arched.
"Yeah." I let out a low breath. "I know it sounds like something from a fortune cookie, but that's what it was."
She watches me closely as I speak, and I find I don't mind it.
"I read the scriptures. Prayed. Cleaned the temple from top to bottom every day. I only left to hunt wild animals for blood. No humans. Eventually, the monk—still don't know his name, I never asked—he started testing me."
"Testing how?"
"He'd bait me," I say, the memory returning with an odd fondness. "Offered his own blood. Not overtly, but close enough. Every time I moved toward it, he'd smack me in the head with a stick. Say something in Lao I never quite understood. Then he'd do it again. And again."
Her eyes are wide now, and she's trying not to laugh.
"But slowly… it changed something in me. His strange, infuriating guidance helped me find a path inward. I stopped fighting the instinct by force. I released it. Let go of the constant tension. Not just the thirst, but the identity that came with it."
I look at her fully.
"And more than that, I learned how to explain it. How to teach it."
She's quiet, her expression serious.
"One day, he just kicked me out. Literally shoved me out of the temple and closed the door behind me."
"You're kidding."
"No." I almost laugh. "And when I finally looked around, I realized it had been over ten years."
"Jesus," she murmurs, eyes wide. "A decade? No wonder they didn't have much intel on you. You disappeared." She exhales smoke, thoughtful. "So that's the teaching Donna mentioned."
I nod. "She was turned violently. Lost control.
Killed. Tomas was already here in Briar Hollow by then, since he couldn't go back to his family.
He helped her father, the mayor, capture her.
" My tone drops slightly. "Told him about me.
Said I might be able to help. And I did.
Helped Donna reclaim her empathy. Pull back from the brink. "
"And the mayor let you stay?"
"Yes. In exchange, we watched over Donna. Stayed quiet. Helped where we could. Over time, more supernaturals drifted through. Some left. Some stayed. Eira. Astrid. Others. Winston was already here. He never pushed back, just accepted us."
Sage studies me in silence for a few moments. Then, softly: "I wish more people knew that it's possible for vampires to be more than predators."
"Some do," I say. "But not all would be happy about it. Others would come with agendas. This place survives because it's quiet, balanced, and mostly off the radar, even from the humans who live here."
She hesitates, then looks up at me. There's steel in her voice, but her expression wavers.
"Aren't you afraid my presence will upset that balance? Destroy what you built?"
There it is. The question she's been circling.
I meet her eyes, steady and certain. "I gave you my word, Sage. I don't say things lightly. You needed help, and you still do. Balance matters, but we don't run from trouble because it's inconvenient."
I take the joint back from her, flick the ash into the wind. "This place isn't about closing the door to survive. It's about keeping it open and knowing who you're letting in."
She leans back against the wall, arms folded, her gaze angled toward the trees.
"I hope I'm worth it then," she murmurs.
Quiet. Almost too quiet for a human ear, but I hear it.
I snuff out the joint and step toward her.
She looks up, and there's uncertainty in her eyes, guarded and wary. But she doesn't step away. Doesn't flinch when I reach for her. So I take my time, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers brush the edge of her jaw.
"You are," I say, voice low. "And not because of… that."
This isn't transactional. Not a debt. Not charity. She needs to know that.
Her lips curve into a tired smile—soft, worn at the edges, but real. "Thank you," she says.
The silence that follows hums with tension. I don't move back. Neither does she.
Then her expression shifts, just enough to spark a different charge between us.
"As I'm staying here…" she says, voice teasing, "does that mean I'll have to follow the Colonel's orders?"
Oh. We're playing now.
I let the corner of my mouth curve slightly as I step closer. My posture tightens, sharpens. I let command bleed into my voice.
"Oh, absolutely," I murmur. "Every single one."
My fingers trace along her jaw, slow and sure. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment. Her lips part on instinct.
The urge to claim her burns under my skin. It's blinding.
She breathes out, "What kind of orders?"
Her eyes open again. Green and alive, flickering with heat.
I lean in, lips brushing her ear as I speak. "All kinds," I say. "I'll order you to kneel… to crawl to me… to open your mouth and take it like a good girl."
She shivers, body leaning into mine before she even realizes it.
My hand slides up her spine, slow and possessive, until I cradle the back of her neck. My other arm curls around her waist, pulling her in flush against me.
And then I kiss her.
It's deep, slow, and laced with fire. A clash of control and chaos, her lips soft and sweet against mine. She tastes like honey and cinnamon, warmth and want. Her scent is alive, a spring meadow, fresh blooms awakening. I can feel her magic stirring, curling around us in unseen threads.
When she moans into my mouth, I nearly lose it.
But I don't. I pull back, my breathing steady, even if the rest of me is anything but. If it weren't for the guests in my house, I'd have taken her right here, right now, against this wall. Without hesitation or restraint.
The thought surprises me. Not because it's dark, but because it feels right.
There are things worth surrendering control for, and Sage is one of them.