Chapter 7 | Sephania
Sephania
The guest rooms we’re given that evening are set in a row on the second story of the castle. It was nice of Helget and Godial to provide the chambers, though I suppose it was a formality since they still call themselves allies of Skartovius Ashfen’s court.
I have to wonder what sort of scheming will get underway once word of Skar’s dethroning gets out among the Olhavians.
Who can we trust? Who will try to claim Manor Marquin for their own, with a lack of leadership there?
Will Aramastun Wyvox claim all the countryside manors as his own and rule the mountains with an iron fist?
I imagine the other two Ministers, Overliege Liolen Sesk and Overlady Valenthia Yurlyth, of the Commerce and Faith Wards, respectively, would have something to say about that.
At the very least, it’s easier to breathe this evening than it was last night in Tymon’s mansion.
I feel somewhat removed from the events over the past few days being in the northern reaches of the Olhavian Peaks.
Like we’re untouchable in this valley, though I know that’s a falsehood. Have to stay on my guard.
With my thoughts about external factors dwindling, I begin to focus on my internal relationships with my mates and everyone else. What will happen to my mother and the Chained Sisters? They staked their safety on Skar’s protection. Now that he’s illegitimate, will they be in more danger?
The thought worries me. And then, of course, there is Skar himself.
His intransigence with his half-brother Lukain.
I love them both, but only one of them is infuriating me right now.
There’s Vallan, who spent this entire evening resting and healing after his arrow wounds.
There’s Palacia, who may or may not have been alluding something to me last night in the cave.
Judging by her physical reaction, I’m leaning toward a heavy allusion.
Sighing, I sit back in my bed. I’m not tired yet, the night is quite young, and . . .
What’s that? I hear voices. Murmurs through the walls.
Ever the reckless and curious idiot, I get up from my bed and glide into the hall. I bring my swords, though I quickly learn I don’t need them.
In the chamber next to mine, the door is cracked. Two men are huddled over a small writing table that sits next to the single bed. I push the door open slowly and it creaks, bringing their eyes over to me.
Garroway smiles, sitting back in his chair. Lukain leans forward at the table, his head in his hand like he’s deep in thought.
I quirk a brow as I walk in and shut the door behind me. “Am I interrupting something?”
Garro runs a hand over his smooth head and motions me over with a nudge of his chin. “Of course not, lass. Figured I don’t know your newest mate well enough. Thought I’d speak to him dhampir to dhampir.”
“Grayskin to grayskin,” Lukain mumbles. He’s clearly in a dourer mood than my cheery bloodthrall.
I throw Garroway a quick smile before moving to a window.
It’s stuffy in this small room, which coaxes me to crack the window to let in the cool mountain breeze.
I plop down on the edge of the bed next to them, closest to Lukain.
“That’s kind of you, Garro. Don’t let me disturb you. If you want privacy, I can leave—”
“No,” Lukain grunts. Looking ashamed, he clears his throat. “Please. Anything your mate says, you can hear.”
“All right.” I place my hands in my lap. I feel awkward, like I’m in an academy session and the tutor hasn’t started his lecture yet. “What were you chatting about?”
Garroway leans forward across from me and Lukain. “I was trying to show Master Lukain his power. That he’s not as weak and defenseless as he believes.”
I raise my brow again. I like the sound of that. Confidence boosting. Just what Lukain needs. For it to come from Garro, that’s even better, since they can relate with both of them being half-bloods and all.
Lukain’s hands rest on the table, palms down.
Surprisingly to him, but not to me, Garro reaches out and puts an endearing palm on Lukain’s knuckles.
We stare at the touching hands. “Like I was saying, Master Lukain, you may be weaker physically than a pureblood vampire, but our kind is stronger in other ways.”
“I’m not seeing it.” Lukain’s voice is gruff, unsure where this is going.
I’m not sure either. I’d like to hear Garroway’s opinion on things.
With Skar and Vall on the higher rungs of the ladder, he’s always played the part of “cub” or “lower-tier” mate, which makes me feel guilty.
I love him just as much as the others, I’ve known him longer than Vall and Skar, and Truehearts know he’s the nicest of the trio.
Maybe he and Lukain can become . . . friends? Can dhampir have friends?
“We’re stronger emotionally. Even mentally.”
Lukain chuckles, pulling his hand away from Garro’s.
Garroway doesn’t smile. He folds his hands on the tabletop.
“Hear me out. The bloodbond between vampire and thrall is incredibly powerful. It’s all-consuming.
Just look at Vallan Stellos, how Barnabac Craxon commanded him to Castle Galfeld in the Military Ward for months on end.
The Damned only knows what that vile cretin did to our largest ally, and that’s my point.
Vallan was compelled to appear before Barnabac, his master, when called.
So much so I worried he had betrayed us. ”
“You’re saying you haven’t felt the same call from, say, Skartovius Ashfen? Your master?” Lukain asks.
It’s a fair question. Those two were incredibly close before I arrived and screwed it all up for them by giving them a taste of my Loreblood and weakening their bond.
Garro shakes his head. “Not with the same severity. Because Master Skar did not turn me. No one did.” He spreads his wiry arms out wide. “I was born this way. Like you.” His pale red eyes focus on Lukain’s handsome face. “Vampires are slaves to their masters because of their bloodbond.”
“And we dhampirs are not, you’re saying.”
“You know we’re not.” Garroway clears his throat and looks out the window. He seems distant. With his profile posture, the cut of his sharp chin and angular face makes him incredibly attractive.
“I loved Skartovius Ashfen before I was thralled to him,” Garroway admits. He turns to us, eyes gleaming. “Master Skar rescued me from a harsh life, you see. A terrible life. He killed my abusive father, because that’s what he does. He kills fathers.”
I cough sharply. Even Lukain smirks. “Something else we have in common,” he mutters.
I chirp, “Spirits and deities, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he killed my father, too!”
They both chuckle. The stuffiness in the room lightens. I realize it had nothing to do with the lack of a breeze in the first place.
“I was made a bloodthrall to Skartovius by design. By choice. But I’ve always been a grayskin. Unlike Master Skar and Vallan, there is some good in us. Buried deep, there is humanity there, since we’re half-human, after all.”
“After all,” Lukain echoes.
My eyes burn for some reason. I blink it away. Garroway speaks so wholeheartedly, it’s easy to admire the man when he’s in his element, waxing poetic about the rigors and trials of life and undeath.
“As a trueborn dhampir, there’s never a bond strong enough as a vampire’s with the thrall he or she turns. It can be a lonely existence. Yet it’s what allowed you to kill Alacine Mortis, your own mother, in the midst of her vile deeds—”
“May the Damned take her soul,” Lukain growls.
“—and didn’t allow Vallan to kill Barnabac. That would have been impossible. So you see?” Garroway claps like his job is done. He shrugs and smiles haughtily.
Lukain says, “See what?” and I have to wonder if he’s being purposefully obtuse. He leans forward to meet Garroway, and there’s heat in the air.
It startles me. What startles me worse is how their faces, inches apart, sends a lighting bolt of heat to the base of my belly. Shit. Where did that come from?
“See how you are emotionally and mentally stronger than a fullblood vampire enslaved to their thralls,” Garroway amends. He reaches out and takes Lukain’s hand again, softly caressing his knuckles.
The stuffiness is back, abruptly, in full force.
Garro speaks lower, raspier. “Your Loreblood power has not been unveiled yet. That doesn’t make you less of a vampire . . . or a man.” His eyes dart past Lukain, to me. “In fact, I think it’s a good time to prove how much of a man you really are.”
I find myself dripping on his every word, pushing myself off the bed to wrap my arms around Lukain’s strong shoulders and neck, surprising him with a jolt. I place my head on his shoulder, smiling in his ear, and whisper, “Garroway makes a great point, Master.”
My words are as much of a caress as Garro’s flicking hand on Lukain’s knuckles. It’s only when I look down Lukain’s front that I see where Garro’s other hand has gone.
He is slowly rubbing the inside of Lukain’s thigh.
My heart slams in my chest and climbs a ladder to my throat. The sight of Garroway rubbing Lukain’s impressive bulge along his thigh makes my pulse pitter-patter and my pussy ache.
Lukain’s voice is gruff. “You two would like to see what kind of man I am?”
“Yes, please,” I mutter in his ear, nipping at the lobe. “We’re begging you.”
“Perhaps all you need for your lineage powers to show, Master Lukain,” Garro sighs, “is some more of Sephania inside you. More of her Loreblood.”
I nod incessantly. “Yes. That.” I bare my shoulder to him, pulling down the collar of my shirt. “Doesn’t my flesh look supple and soft, Master?”
Truehearts flog me, I’m throwing myself at him. It’s all because of Garroway and his unashamed actions. He’s squeezing the outline of Lukain’s cock now, massaging his erection.
Lukain twists his neck to the side, just so, and hums in my ear. “After waiting years for this again, little grimmer, I can’t stop drinking from you now that you’ve opened the faucet.”