“The only permanent fix is breaking the curse, I know,” I say softly. “But we have to try; we have to do something to stave off the curse for now. We can’t leave him like this.” I won’t allow him to become one of those monsters.
He sighs. “I can’t guarantee how long the strength you give him will last. It might become a futile effort after a time.”
I know how fleeting it was from last night. But now I’ll give him as much as he needs.
“We could supplement with the blood we collected on the night of the Blood Moon,” Quinn suggests.
Callos shakes his head. “The blood of the bloodsworn will be better. It’s fresher, not merely preserved through ritual and vial. Plus, we need to save the blood from the night of the hunt for the next group that awakens.”
The way he says it makes me think this “next group” will be coming soon. Though I don’t dare ask why. I suspect I don’t want the answer.
“I’m happy to give it.” A chill rips through me at the sentiment. Was I just speaking? Or was it the bloodsworn magic taking over my mind?Help him survive, a voice in me screams,see this through. But where is that voice coming from and can I trust it?
“Very well, we’ll do it now. I’ll perform a ritual to strengthen and fortify the blood. Hopefully give it some extra impact.” Callos stands. “Wait here.”
He departs, leaving Quinn and me in silence at Ruvan’s bedside. We’re both left staring at the frail form of the lord of the vampir. To think,I once feared this man… Now he looks like nothing more than a sickly, monstrous grandfather.
I bite back laughter that burns like tears. I’m torn apart in ways I never wanted. Never asked for. I need a forge that burns as hot as he does and a hammer as swift and sure as everything I knew in Hunter’s Hamlet to put me back together. I need both…and can only ever have one. And I know what I must choose when all this is over.
I’m not meant for the world of the vampir.
But perhaps I can help him while I’m here and we’ll see this through to its end. Not just for the bloodsworn magic that’s pushing me. But for all our sakes.
“Are you sure?” Quinn whispers, as if he can read my thoughts.
I catch him glancing at me from the corners of his eyes. “I am.”
“You’re keeping the vampir lord alive.”
“I know, and I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say resolutely.
Callos returns with a golden chalice. The sequences of the moon have been etched around its lip along with swirls and symbols that mean nothing to me. No one bothers explaining what’s happening. So I’m left to watching and assuming.
One by one, they approach the chalice and utter the words, “Blood of the covenant.” They take an obsidian dagger, no longer than Callos’s palm, and pierce their flesh, each in a different location. Winny rolls up her sleeve and slices down by her elbow; Lavenzia pulls back her hair, slicing just behind her ear; Ventos cuts beneath his kneecap; Callos’s slice is by his knee; Quinn half unbuttons his shirt to dig the dagger point into his left breast.
Every cut is shallow. No more than a few drops of blood are added to the chalice, carried on a divot in the fuller of the obsidian dagger. Every slice is made over the symbol of a diamond with a long slender teardrop underneath, two stylized wings arcing around either side.
Ruvan’s mark.
So when the dagger is finally passed to me, I know what to do. All five of them hold out the chalice before me. Each of them supporting the base with two fingers.
I unbutton the top button of my shirt and run my fingers over the hollow of my throat where I know Ruvan’s blood mark is on me. Gently, carefully, I pierce my skin. Blood flows freely in rivulets over the dagger, down my fingers, and spills off my knuckles into the cup. I give more than the rest of them. I pour my power out until the wound closes over. The last of the strength Ruvan imparted to me with his kiss leaves my body with the crimson liquid.
“Blood of the bloodsworn,” I intone.
The liquid in the chalice deepens in color, giving off its own natural light briefly. The glow is similar to the shade of the dagger in the smithy. I wonder now if, or how, it could be used in these rituals. I have so much to learn about the blood lore. There’s so much more I can do for them if I’m bold enough to learn and brave enough to try.
The light fades, leaving nothing but a thick and inky paste in the goblet.
“Give it to him,” Callos says reverently.
I take the stem of the chalice and the rest of their grasps fall away. Alone, I move closer to Ruvan. The group hovers a few steps away at the bedside. Gently, I slip my hand underneath Ruvan’s neck, right at the nape, lifting slightly so the weight of his head tips back and his mouth parts slightly.
“Drink, please,” I whisper. His eyes flutter, as if he hears me. The skin of mine that touches his warms slightly. He knows I’m here. I’m sure of it.
Placing the chalice at his lips, I tip slowly. The thick liquid oozes into his mouth. His throat works to swallow.
“That’s it,” I murmur, continuing to pour. I want to dump the whole thing at once so he’s better instantly. Watching him imbibe, sip by sip, is agony.
