6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Valda
T he worst part about my day is the moment the sun slips below the horizon.
It’s at that moment that my spirit rises from my body, an unfortunate side effect of being dead. My body and soul are no longer fully entwined, and night is when I have to pay my dues for invulnerability by day to all but silver and blessed blades. Nothing can harm my spirit in this state— but my body can be killed while I’m banished from its side if I’m separated from it for too long after sunrise, or if I do not feed tonight.
I glower down at my body, that has no one to protect it. Even with a deadly weapon beneath each of my nails, something all estries possess, I can’t exactly wield them. My body is as useless as the bleeding heart bloom I tucked beneath a floorboard for safekeeping.
My body is more vulnerable than those blooms with nothing to protect it— Not my vater’s castle walls or an innkeeper pleased with the coin I offer. No, I am surrounded by enemies. Enemies that do not want me dead, granted. But they are untrustworthy souls, to say the least.
And is that someone at my door now ?
Material things mean nothing to my spirit, and my sentience flows through the wooden wall like it is made of air.
Sure enough, the man Konrad referred to as Baldy is there, easing the bolt from its place. Something tells me he isn’t here to help me escape.
I hiss even though he cannot hear it as I retract my fangs. My spirit form seeks to feed from both the memories and blood of the living until I feel an echo of physicality and can return to my body strong again.
Since my father does not like to broadcast that he is in fact an immortal, bloodsucking degenerate fallen from the righteous ways of the rest of the Holy Empire, I have been trained to do this subtly. I always drink from the sleeping and only take just enough to sustain me without harming them, so they never know what happened. And no one outside the household knows that the portraits of my ancestors are actually all the same man— well, estrie.
And that estrie expects me to be able to defend myself after all the time he’s invested in my training ant tutelage. Vater ensured I had the finest tutors that money could hire, from the histories, languages, and mathematics to the art, music, and dance. Then there were the trainers for horsemanship, fencing, and the basics of other weaponry. Not that any will ever be as deadly as the skills I was trained in after my transformation. Always the best for my father’s precious jewel.
He will not be made bereft tonight.
I sigh as I draw my fangs close to Baldy’s neck. It will take a moment for what little traces of magic exist in his blood to make my fangs physical enough to bite him.
Drinking from an alert victim and alerting superstitious sailors that there is an estrie on board is the last thing that I want. Not to mention, it will sully my suit of Konrad of Schwerin more than his kidnapping me did. But I will not let Baldy have his way with my body, and this is the only way I can defend myself.
Baldy straightens after setting the bolt aside and reaches for the door. My fangs prick his neck in glancing.
Then the door of the cabin next to mine swings open, and Konrad stumbles out.
He looks dramatically different now, with his hair released from its leather band and framing his face that is twisted in silent wrath. Rather than the layers from before, he wears only shirtsleeves and breeches. There is something feral about him that calls to my fangs more than Baldy’s weak blood.
Baldy jumps before resuming his languid pose. “Just checking on the prisoner, Captain.”
Konrad comes to stand over him, looking twice his height instead of just head and shoulders taller. “I gave you no order to do so.”
“I wasn’t going to hurt her.” The leer Baldy can never seem to keep off his face returns. “She will still be her pretty self when we give her back to her father. No one will ever know—”
His voice is cut off when Konrad wraps his hand around the throat I was preparing to bite.
Konrad lifts Baldy from his feet so he can look him in the eyes. “No one touches Lady Valda while she’s under my protection. Do you understand ?”
Baldy gasps something close to an affirmation, and Konrad tosses him to the side like I did with the useless turkey leg. Unfortunately, there is no fowl to snatch him away.
The wretch hits the ground gasping but pushes himself to his feet as quickly as he can and hobbles away.
I turn to Konrad as he touches my door. Surely, he’s not going to walk in Baldy’s footsteps now after being the perfect gentleman last night and my defender just now .
Konrad creaks the door open, and I wait to see if I must sink my teeth into his neck.
But Konrad does not cross the threshold. He merely studies my sleeping form, looking placid and untouched.
His shoulders slump in relief as he exhales. There is something in his expression as he gazes at me. A spark of . . . affection?
I can work with that.
“Thank the Creator,” Konrad murmurs, closing the door again, silent as can be. Then he places the bolt back in place before returning to his room, leaving his door ajar.
A precaution should I receive any other late-night visitors?
Konrad reemerges holding a pillow under one arm and a blanket under the other. He closes the door behind him and then drops the pillow onto the deck.
To my complete and utter bewilderment, Konrad lays down onto the deck between the two cabin doors.
As much as my spirit can smile, that’s what it does. I’m not sure if this is a result of Konrad’s protective instincts, our kiss that he was far from passive during, or a combination, but I can definitely work with this.
I will not be on this ship come sunset tomorrow. And Konrad won’t be either.
T he more feral estries are consumed by their bloodlust. I have no taste for it. But the memories . . .
There is so much more to life than the existence I was confined to within my father’s castle. And until very recently, drinking memories was the only way to catch up on the life I missed while trapped in a tower to protect me until I could transform into what I am now.
But I don’t recall ever being as excited to drink memories as I am now.
I pace around the deck while I wait for Konrad to fall into a deep sleep, his breathing mellowing into a steady rhythm.
Kneeling beside him, I feel my teeth quickly synchronize to the high levels of magic that come from his lycanthropy. Then I puncture his neck.
Finally, I taste something besides the ashes estries are cursed to taste if we deviate from our diet. Something sweet with a twang . . .
The first taste of copper is the last connection I have of the physical world that has already rejected me. Then I am drawn into another reality, one from the past that belongs to someone else. But now it’s my present . . .
Thunder claps, and all I see are paws. Wolf paws — and only a pup’s at that. They are running quickly, splashing in mud, until they charge into what appears to be stables.
Horses I cannot see from this vantage neigh loudly. The wolf curls into itself and backs away. Then it hurries behind a hay bale. A moment later, wolf paws are replaced by human hands.
“Something is spooking the horses.”
The little boy Konrad lifts his head over the hay bale to see an elf man striding into the room. His pointed ears and shorter stature speak to his heritage, and his silver hair proclaims he must be at least a century old. But he is still strong and hale as they often are at that age.
Konrad ducks behind the hay bale, but his movement knocks into the hay bale behind him, sending it toppling.
The elf male is upon him in a moment, a pitchfork in his hand. But when he stares down at Konrad, the wrinkles between his brows smooth and he sets the pitchfork down. Then he reaches out his hand. “There is nothing to be afeared for, boy. You’re welcome here.”
I draw myself out before I drink too much of Konrad’s blood and he notices.
My spirit buzzes with power like it always does after I’ve fed. Life flows in the blood, both memories and magic. Kinfolk are better to feed upon than mere mortals, as they all have intrinsic magic. For a short time after feeding, I can experience a fraction of those powers. Mortals born with magic are always more powerful than kinfolk, so they are even more optimal victims.
But nothing I’ve ever tasted compares to this. Werw?lves truly are the most optimal prey for an estrie, their power the closest thing to rivaling ours except for Heritage Magic itself.
I cannot wait to return to my body and explore the new strengths I have borrowed. Unfortunately, I will need to feed on Konrad tomorrow to continue exploring them the day after.
Though there is another method to ensure I have the strengths of a werw?lfe forever . . .
No, there is too much else to think of right now, like the reality that a werw?lfe has abducted me onto a ship against my will. I need to focus on that and not think of Konrad as a scared little pup who didn’t have a father to lock him away in a castle until he was able to defend himself.