Strangely, that makes me feel better.
It makes sense though. The itch beneath my skin whenever I was near the emperor. The almost uncontrollable urge to kill him, despite the consequences.
We reach the imperius’s quarters, and I drop my helmet. “I need a minute.”
Rorrik steps back, watching as I limp to the nearest sofa. I let my head fall into my hands.
“Would you like me to kill Bran for you, darling?” I lift my head, and he chuckles, prowling closer. “You would, wouldn’t you? For all your moral superiority, you would love for him to die right now. But then you’d have your freedom. And we can’t have that. Not when you’ve made everything so interesting around here.”
I make it to my feet. “You can leave now.”
“Ask me to break your bond with Bran.”
I stare at him. My neck begins to burn, as if rebelling against the suggestion, and I slap my hand against it. Something predatory enters Rorrik’s eyes.
I swallow. “Vampire bonds can’t be broken.”
Power swamps the room. It’s so thick I can taste it, my tongue tingling, my ears ringing. Distantly, I realize I’ve slumped from the sofa and onto my knees.
A sigil appears on Rorrik’s brow. An intricate, glowing, gold sigil. A sigil that stretches entirely over his forehead.
“Impossible.” I choke on the word. “Sigilmarked and vampires can’t …”
But … Rorrik used fire in the library.
Rorrik saunters closer. His lips curve in a smug grin, but his eyes are feral. “My father created the law banning sigilmarked and vampires from procreating because ofme. Because he briefly loved my mother and I was the result.”
I’m too dizzy to reply.
Slowly, as if it’s painful, Rorrik begins to pull his power back, hiding it away once more. I lift my head, gulping air into my lungs.
“Does he know you have this much power?”
Rorrik playfully bites his lip with one fang. My stomach clenches and I manage to make it to my feet. His gaze drops to my thigh, and something I don’t recognize flickers through his eyes.
The emperor must be holding something over his son to keep him in line. It’s the only explanation. But Rorrik does nothing without a reason. Tiernon is right—he’s always three steps ahead.
Hecouldkill Bran. I knew that much before this little display of power. Instead, he’s offering to break the bond.
“Why not kill him?”
“I need him alive. For now.”
Why? Because Bran is working with the rebels? Those rebels would kill Rorrik if they could. My head hurts. Attempting to understand Rorrik’s motivations is like learning aether-based alchemy.
“If you need Bran, then why would you break the bond? Is this about Tiernon?”
Rorrik lifts one eyebrow. “Not everything is about my brother.”
“And yet you have some kind of issue with him.”
Rorrik sits on the sofa, lounging across it like a cat. He waves his hand, silently ordering me to join him. I hesitate, and he waits until I sit at the other end of the sofa.
Rorrik’s gaze narrows, and I get the strangest feeling he’s considering closing the distance between us.
“So?” he asks.
Gods, I would love to no longer be bonded to Bran. Even knowing Rorrik does nothing without an ulterior motive, the temptation is almost impossible to resist. And still …
