Harder, actually, because I’d cracked stone before with these same blows. This was like hitting granite. My arms rang with the impact.
It flew at me, fangs bared—elongated canines dripping with blood and saliva.
And I laughed.
Delighted. Thrilled.
I felt the tickle of its fangs against my neck as it tried to bite, tried to tear into me like it had done to so many others. But my skin wouldn’t break. Couldn’t break.
It roared in frustration—a sound that was half-human, half-animal—and I placed my hand on its chest, pouring runes into it to blast it back from me.
The white-blue light erupted from my palm like an explosion.
It knocked the creature halfway across the battlefield, scattering troops from both armies as it landed in a crumpled heap. Bodies went flying. Horses screamed and bolted.
Then it stood up, shaking its head blearily like a dog shaking off water.
It took one last look at me—those eyes intelligent and calculating despite the blood-madness—and fled in the opposite direction. Disappeared into the chaos of battle.
I was about to give chase, my whole body thrumming with the need to hunt it down, when Romulus stole my body back. His focus snapped entirely to the battle at hand instead of the fascinating prize that was slipping through our fingers.
The bastard.
It was little comfort that Father later agreed with me, beating Romulus with hell-metal chains for not realizing that long-termgains were more important than short-term tactical goals. For losing sight of the bigger picture.
Especially since we lost the battle anyway. Forty thousand farmers and peasants defeated one hundred and twenty thousand trained soldiers because of one creature that wouldn’t die.
And when I next woke, I had to pay for Romulus’s failure with a body sore from the harsh beating Father had given him. Purple bruises blooming across our ribs. Welts on our back.
Always. Always paying for his bad decisions.
I close my eyes as the helicopter blades whir steadily overhead, trying to access our shared memory to see what happened when Lauren awoke. To see what Romulus said to her, how he touched her, what promises he made.
But still, there’s nothing. Just blank space where our connection should be.
I swallow a growl that wants to rip out of my throat.
I didn’t intend for my gambit with the potions to work in both directions. I’d only wanted to hide my actions from him, not his from me. The separation was supposed to be one-sided—my advantage, my secret.
My eyes pop back open, and I look at Lauren.
Her eyes have dropped closed as if she’s napping, or perhaps just trying to regain some equilibrium after the insanity of our escape. Her face is pale, exhausted. There are still tear tracks on her cheeks.
I did not mind the chaos of battle—I even enjoyed it, if I’m being brutally honest. The explosions, the dragons, the near-death. It was exhilarating.
But these humans have more fragile constitutions. Fragile bodies. Fragile minds.
She almost died. Multiple times. And I wasn’t there to protect her when it mattered most.
Did the potion Layden gave me allow me to permanently sever that connection to our shared memory, or like the long bout of wakefulness, will it too wear off eventually?
I need to know. Need to understand what I’ve done and whether I can undo it if necessary.
We haven’t had any more run-ins with the vampires since that battlefield more than five hundred years ago. Romulus always thought the encounter with my angel runes had sent it scurrying underground like a cockroach fleeing light.
We only heard tales of pale bloodsuckers over the years from the same region of eastern Europe. Whispers and legends. Stories told to frighten children.
Yes, I have to say my interest is piqued to meet them again. To test myself against creatures that don’t break easily.
