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 otherside. 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 tomewill 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 whohaven’thad 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 abuzzing, like Garro put it, but it’ssomething.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 tofeelit, 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 Garrowaypredicted. 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. IswearI hear sniffling, though it might just be what Iwantto 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 thesightof 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.