Chapter 13 | Lukain
Lukain
There’s something off about Skartovius Ashfen. Even more than usual. My half-brother has always been a surly, arrogant bastard.
Well, I suppose I’m the bastard, since he has our mother’s blood as well as the noblebood’s Kavorin Mortis flowing through his veins, whereas I am tainted with my patrilineage belonging to Heskul Angul. The Silverknight general, now dead for over two decades.
My bloodline is essentially anathema to the vampires of Olhav. And that’s before even considering I’m a half-blood.
Still, Skartovius is a fucking bastard. We’ve dueled numerous times now, and I’ve yet to get the better of him. Which is saying something considering I placed myself as the finest swordsman I knew until I met him.
Perhaps arrogance is shared from our mother’s line, rather than our fathers.
Zefyra leads me, Skartovius, and Palacia out of the “abandoned” tavern in the Commerce Ward. My brother keeps his eyes sharp, hardly talking.
What I do notice is him glancing at me every so often, when he thinks I’m not watching. I have eyes where no one can see them, and I notice the way he looks at me.
It isn’t with the hatred I’m used to, or disgust that his half-brother is now one of Sephania’s mates, whether he likes it or not.
No, it’s an expression I can’t place when Skar glances my way. Almost . . . regret. Guilt. His eerie gold eyes crinkle at the corners, then harden into a rigid mask. Like he wants to say something to me but hasn’t found the right moment.
There’s also tension between him and Sephania, which has been brewing ever since he lost Manor Marquin to the Night Judge. The way she snaps at him, acts short and clipped with her regal mate.
I doubt it’s the dispossession of the manor that has caused the rift and made it so obvious, though I don’t know what it could be.
I haven’t been in this company long enough to find my footing, much less gather any in-depth knowledge as to how my little grimmer operates with each of her three mates before me.
But it can’t be this. The snide attitudes, the rolling eyes, the bratty disposition for seemingly no cause, the off-handed remarks about trust and honor and dignity.
These are not the actions of a woman who loves her mate so badly she refused to ever part with him when I begged her to turn on the wicked vampire and join me and Alacine instead.
Just what is Sephania hinting at with all this? Why is Skartovius then turning his judgmental eye my direction?
All of it seems to stem from Sephania’s anger over something, which Skar has no answer to. That, in itself, must be infuriating for the nobleblood—just as it’s alarming to me—because he always has an answer for everything. It’s one of the things I hate about him.
As Zefyra leads us stealthily through the quiet district, I tally what I do know about my newfound comrades.
My eyes fall on Palacia’s slender shoulder, the bones of which jut out from her thin tunic.
Though I turned the girl to save her life, we have only the thinnest of connections through our bloodbond.
Sephania’s Loreblood has stolen that from me, which I’m fine with.
I’d rather hear “Mistress” from Palacia’s mouth than “Master,” referring to me.
I only saved her for Sephania’s sake, after all.
Though Palacia and I share another bond from eons ago—the Firehold and Grimsons—she is practically a stranger to me now. Lean, emotionless, disaffected, where she used to be jovial, smiley, and quaint.
When I dig deep enough into her mind to pry through our bloodbond, what I find are perverted, degrading thoughts that, quite frankly, startle me, and have me rushing out of her head just as quickly as I came in.
It seems Palacia’s brash male urges and tendencies have survived her transition into a woman—a fact I saw on more than one occasion in the Firehold when she played out those urges with willing participants, both male and female.
Now that foundational lust seems to have been heightened in her newfound evolution.
Somehow, even though Palacia is two heads shorter than me and Skartovius, I think she scares both of us.
Zefyra is a total stranger to me. She seems to have settled into her vampirism much easier than the interfolk girl in front of me.
Moreover, Sephania trusts Zefyra, and was elated to see her alive.
She seemed to play a heavy hand in Sephania’s rescue from Sutlis Spire, where I lorded over under the alias Overseer Verant.
The silver shackles Seph used to break out and kill my newer bloodthrall, Kleora, were evidently put there by Zefyra. It should anger me that her actions led directly to my thrall’s death, yet I can’t find an ounce of pity for Kleora or rage for Zefyra inside me.
She must be cunning and wily, this one, to effortlessly move through the ten-story tower smack dab in the middle of the Judgment Ward, without anyone being the wiser to her true intentions.
That, and the fact she is willing to help us without knowing our plans, gives me a sense of admiration for this scarred vampiress.
It’s an admiration I share for Vallan Stellos, the hulking protector of the group. It was his explosives that brought down the base-level walls of the prison and led to their breakout of the “Relic,” Jinneth, Sephania’s mother.
I can never trust Skartovius fully because our history stretches back too far. There’s so much baggage between us, and has been for decades. I don’t share the same baggage with Vallan who, by all appearances, will do anything to protect and serve Sephania.
I can trust a man who will put his entire existence on the line for the woman we both love. There’s shared camaraderie there, even if we’ve only spoken a handful of sentences to each other.
Vallan doesn’t strike me as the type to open his mouth unless he has to.
Which leads me to the final player in this theater . . . Garroway Kuffich. The man who opened his mouth to me in more ways than one. First with wisdom I hadn’t expected from the dashing grayskin, and then to take my cock.
Garroway is something of an enigma. He is my brother’s bloodthrall, yet his bond is more intrinsic with Sephania—for the same reasons her bond is more powerful with Palacia than mine is. Garroway will also go to any lengths to save and preserve my little grimmer.
He’s clearly more jovial than the rest of us. Getting Sephania to smile and laugh definitely counts for something, and my heart swells and hammers every time I see her beautiful face crack into a grin from one of Garroway’s quips.
Even though I fucked him at Sephania’s command, I get the feeling Garroway isn’t afraid to turn the tables on anyone and everyone. He is Sephania’s pet. Her cub. And he enjoys his position at her feet, preferably kneeling.
The dhampir poses me no threat. After the other night, when things became so scalding and sensual, I have every reason to believe our relationship can grow if Sephania allows it to.
So there it is. A grayskin worth fucking, a soldier worth standing shoulder to shoulder with, and a nobleblood I can’t fucking stand, who can’t fucking stand me.
Sephania certainly has her work cut out for her if she wants to share me and Skartovius in her wanton coven.
Or perhaps . . . it’s work we have to do in order to share her. Sephania owes us nothing. She could easily find two or three new vampires to take her hand, and more, because she’s that unique. Damned below, lascivious Palacia would likely jump at the opportunity.
My thoughts make me realize, with much regret and a wave of nausea passing through me, that I’m going to have to hash things out with Skartovius Ashfen. Even if we don’t want to be on each other’s side, we need to do it for Sephania Lock.
She wants unity and a family unit. We are decidedly un-united right now. Which means I need to reach out to him if his arrogant, proud ass is unwilling to make the first move.
I’m just about to open my mouth to voice my concerns when Zefyra beats me to it and brings all my wayward thoughts crashing down.
“We’re here.”
I blink, taking in my surroundings for the first time in many, many steps.
Zefyra has led our small troop to a cloud-reaching tower just as tall as the Tanmount behind us.
It’s adorned with a ring of multi-colored magicked lights jutting from numerous balconies and patios over our heads.
Walkways crisscross with other smaller structures nearby, creating a web of buildings with the tower as its center.
I’ve never stepped foot into Fort Flittus, though everyone has heard of it. It’s said to be named after a long-lost lover of Liolen’s from ages past. The many structures and towers connected to the tower via walkways and cables makes the area its own veritable city.
With the main tower jutting through the center of the ring of buildings, high into the sky, it’s probably no accident that Fort Flittus has a decidedly phallic tilt.
Zefyra says, “Wait here,” and vanishes down a side-road that leads to one of the smaller buildings. She leaves me, Skar, and Palacia standing there in the open, and I abruptly feel quite unsafe, like I’m being watched.
“This is where the ambush happens, no doubt,” Skartovius mutters with a sigh. He doesn’t sound half as bothered as I feel.
“It would have been just as easy to do it outside of the Tanmount, Lord Ashfen,” Palacia says. “Better to keep it out of prying eyes, in the back-alleys.”
“Unless Liolen Sesk wants to make an example out of us.”
Palacia’s small face twists with a frown. “Always so skeptical, sir.”
“My skepticism has kept me alive for over a century.”
“Alive?” I quip, resisting a smile. “You’re a vampire, not a flower.”
His face falls flat when it lands on me. “You know what I mean, ass.”
As I start to smile, Zefyra appears with two men behind her, and my smile fades. The men are tall, sturdy enough, but they don’t look like any soldiers I’ve ever seen. At least not uniformed ones, with their ragtag leathers and mismatching tunics.