Chapter 34 | Sephania
Sephania
“Soooo . . . How do you feel?” I ask Garro.
He’s lying on a bench in the Chained Sisters’ expanded room, which has become an infirmary, alchemical lab, and manufacturing hub, as well as sleeping quarters.
It’s been a few hours since Garroway drank the Silverblood proof.
He’s been lying still ever since. He doesn’t look bothered.
Rather peaceful, really, with his hands folded on his chest, staring up at the ceiling with unblinking eyes.
Like a patient who has just gone through a traumatic surgery and is playing over every little moment of their life that brought them to this point.
“I feel fine, little honey badger. You don’t have to keep checking in on me.” He gives me a dashing smile.
It’s that damned smile that makes me want to straddle him right here on the bench. Even though the curtained partition separating us from the rest of the Chained Sisters is thin and practically translucent. Which means they’d see and hear every moan and grunt and . . .
Maybe it’s not “even though” but rather “because” of the curtain that I want to ride this renegade dhampir, I muse. After Palacia, I’ve certainly seen things in a new light, and have changed into a more unabashed version of myself.
“If you keep worrying your lip like that,” he goes on, “it will bleed. And then I’ll have to suck the blood.
And then there’s no telling where that will lead.
” Garroway gazes to the curtain, set in a half-crescent, where shadows walking to and fro on the other side.
His eyes smolder that orange-gray burn when they land on me again.
It makes me tingly, hot, and bothered. I let out a deep breath.
“Don’t get any funny ideas, you incorrigible grayskin.
” I notice my own eyes heating up, and a small smirk playing on my lips when I stop biting them.
The smile falters quickly, however. “Okay, so you feel fine. No change though? No . . . I don’t know, heartbreak? ”
He thinks for a moment. Lines form in his smooth forehead. Pouting up at the ceiling, he says, “There was always a nagging buzzing in my head. Has been there so long I stopped noticing it. Now the buzzing is missing, and it being gone is deathly loud. I’m finding it hard to focus.”
I slant my head curiously. “What do you think—”
“It’s the loss of my bloodbond, Seph. I know it.
I haven’t known what it’s felt like in decades, but this is it.
” Something soft falls over his features.
Tender, and I wonder if he’s about to cry.
He looks over at me, clenching his jaw firmly.
“It’s not me you should be worrying about, lass.
You should find Skartovius. If anyone will be hurting after this, it’s the vampire who bonded me to him. ”
My heart lurches in my chest. Right. “You didn’t call him Master,” I eke out. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you call him by his full first name.”
His pout returns. “Is it? Huh. I didn’t notice.”
It worked. The Silverblood works . . .
Which means his connection to me will either weaken, or strengthen, depending on how it plays out.
Jinneth’s theory is that anyone who has tasted my blood from my veins will feel a flutter, or a strengthening of our bond.
That being said, it’s just as likely to break our bond, because of the silver extract involved, than it is to cement them to me.
For those who haven’t had my Loreblood and imbibe the Silverblood, tasting my blood artificially, it should, in theory, only sever their connection to whoever turned them—if they’re a vampire—or bloodbonded them—if they’re dhampir.
There’s a lot we still don’t know.
One thing I know for certain, based on how my heart is reacting, is that Garro is right: I need to find Skar.
There’s a connection I have with my mates, since they’ve all tasted me, that I can’t quite articulate. It’s not a buzzing, like Garro put it, but it’s something. A discernment; a reactionary pulse in my chest.
Because they are bound to me in a way that’s different than any other vampire-human connection, there’s no expert on this sensation. No one I can go to for answers. I just have to feel it, listen to it, and I’ll know where my mates are.
That’s how I find Skartovius Ashfen.
I don’t have Vallan’s bloodsight. I can’t viscerally tell when one of my mates is in danger. Yet I get a brooding sense inside me that overwhelms me and leads me through the cavernous tunnels.
I find I’m walking away from the Firehold, deeper into rarely used corridors and hazardous paths we’ve always been told to avoid. Deeper into the darkness of the underground city, until no sounds join me here.
Well, no sounds except for the rhythmic thrumming of my heartbeat pulsing in my ears, droning and leading me deeper into the depths.
About thirty minutes into my quest, I’m biting my bottom lip again. I hiss when I taste coppery blood, just like Garroway predicted. My boots keep moving, thudding softly against the grime and dirt underfoot.
Then I hear something in the distance. I’ve brought a small torch, so I can see a few feet ahead of me, but not much more than that. Surely not into the endless black where the sound came from.
I freeze, shuddering, and continue on once I’ve gotten my wits about me.
My concentration breaks at the sound of boots on gravel. I slow my pace when I notice a nook in the hallway to my left. It opens into a small cave—
Where Skartovius stands with his back to me. His head is bowed. I swear I hear sniffling, though it might just be what I want to hear. He doesn’t show me his face at first. His broad shoulders stick in my vision, and my heart swells at the sight of him then plummets at the sight of him.
Even turned around, he looks defeated. Broken. I’ve never seen the nobleblood so . . . vulnerable. And that’s before we’ve even said a single word to each other.
“Skar?” I gently say into the darkness. Tentatively, my hand reaches out. I pause midair, fingers hovering over his strong shoulder blade.
When I can’t resist any longer, I touch him. He’s firm, sturdy as always. I lightly squeeze and come up beside him, rubbing his back like I might a child. “Love, are you . . . all right?”
I nearly gasp when he turns to me.
Through the forest of his hair, twin lines of blood trickle from his eyes, down his pale, gaunt cheeks. His voice is raspy, heavy from disuse. “Was this your final punishment for me, Sephania?”
My heart rips in half. My stomach crashes to the ground and I’m instantly hollowed out inside. It’s a gut-punch to see him like this, made even worse by his sorrowful words of accusation.
“Oh love,” I mewl, pulling my body close to his. My words come out in a tumble. “By the True, I swear it, Skar. I-I didn’t mean—I’m so, so sorry, love. I regret it already.”
His scent of leather and pine and smoke fills me with a heady sensation. I set the torch down on the raised bench he’s holding onto for dear life, so I can use both my hands to grab hold of him and never let go.
“Don’t.”
I pause, inhaling sharply. For a moment I wonder if he means “don’t touch me,” and if I’ve lost him forever with my reckless, foolish actions—using Garroway to test something that could have been tested on any fucking vampire. Someone not important to me.
“Don’t be sorry, little temptress,” he amends, and my heart pounds with relief. “It needed to happen. Our bond has been teetering on the brink for days, months, years. I just didn’t think I’d feel so . . . empty . . . when it did.”
My eyes burn. I let the tears fall freely to join his. I cup his face with both hands, slamming a kiss on his lips. He doesn’t react, letting me kiss him but not engaging. I truly have lost him, I fear.
Sniveling and sniffling, I reach up and smear his bloody tears with my palms, trying to see that perfect alabaster sheen again. “It’s all my fault. This damnable cause of ours has blinded me—”
“Do not blame yourself for something my graybird agreed to, Sephania. This is not your burden to shoulder.”
He’s right, but not in the way he thinks.
I can’t make this about me. But my heart just hurts so badly for them both.
I don’t know what to do. Overwhelm sets in when I stare into his red eyes, which dance with gold flecks.
There’s an entire cosmos in there I’d love to get lost in, if he’d only allow me to.
I avert my gaze because I feel like I’m intruding on something that doesn’t belong to me.
“He is yours now, little temptress,” Skartovius says. He reaches out and cups the side of my face. I melt into his palm. His usually cold demeanor is warmed by whatever is going on inside him. I feel that effervescent heat coming off him, torturing me. “Treat him well. Better than I have.”
I nod diligently. Better than I’ve treated you, too, I think.
I feel cowed right now, my head dipped in shame, and it isn’t until his fingers press against the end of my chin, lift me, and force my gaze to meet his, that I finally take a ragged breath.
As a tall woman, it feels nice to have to tilt my chin to stare up into a man’s gaze.
Especially a sharp, fiery gaze like that which belongs to Skartovius Ashfen.
“What . . . what can I do?” I squeak, sniffling again.
He rubs my tears away with the pad of his thumb. Smiles at me, sure and confident. “I crave you, Sephania. I have for months, ever since I broke your trust.”
“You didn’t break my trust in you, Skar. You just wounded it.”
His words come out syrupy, questioning. “And is that wound . . . healed?”
Rather than say yes or no, I simply peel back my tunic from my shoulder, baring my pale skin to him. “There’s a way to find out that’s better than my words could ever do.”
His fangs slip out sensually over his plump bottom lip when his steely eyes meet my flesh just above my collar. Dipping his chin so we’re embraced, connected like we’re meant to be, Skartovius gently punctures my skin and drinks my blood.