“Where are we going?” Winny is up.
“Great, now it’s a party.” Callos takes off his glasses and frustratedly wipes them on his shirt. I can’t help but notice how he makes it a point not to look at Winny. Perhaps removing his glasses was the excuse not to.
“I like parties.” Winny stops at the bottom of the stairs.
“Get your daggers, Winny. We’re headed into the city.”
“Ooh! I’ll get Lavenzia, she’ll—”
“The last time Lavenzia escorted me to the museum she broke a sculpture when she thought it was a Succumbed,” Callos says deadpan.
“You’re right…let’s leave the brutes behind.” Winny laughs and rushes off.
They are preparing for battle against the Succumbed and wish to protect these, no doubt magic, sculptures in the process. “Should I get a sickle?”
“It can’t hurt,” Ruvan says. “Put on your armor, too.”
We ready ourselves for battle with a brief stop in the armory. Then, Ruvan leads us up the stairs and back through the door that connects with the chapel. As we cross through the cavernous room, I get another glimpse of the statue of the king hovering above the altar. Holding his book and looking skyward.
“Is that King Solos?” I ask as we begin rounding up the stairs. His visage is familiar to me.
“It is,” Ruvan answers. “That is the chapel where blood lore was first used.”
“The book he’s holding is said to be the first record of blood lore—a spellbook, humans might call it,” Callos says. “It’s what I hoped you might find down in the workshop, if not the curse anchor. But alas on both counts.”
“The first record of blood lore is missing?”
“The firstthreeare,” Callos says sadly. “No one knows what happened to them, but their loss certainly stunted our ability to fight against the effects of the curse. If we’d had them…” He trails off as we reach the opening in the castle. Callos leans slightly, looking over the city. “Perhaps things might have been different.”
“No point in dwelling on the past.” Winny hops onto the buttress I walked across on my first day here, strolling like it’s nothing. Callos follows her into the blustery cold with a sigh.
I stare at the gap, gathering my courage.
Ruvan extends a hand. “Would you like me to take you across?”
I look up at him, unaware of just when he came so close.
“Quinn told me of your first trip… It might be safest.” He gives a weary smile. “I don’t want to have to jump after you a second time.”
The memory of him leaping after me in the old castle returns. The safety of his arms. The deafening sound of his plate clanging against the hard floor, the wind knocked from him as he shielded me from the brunt of the impact.
“I don’t want the others to think I’m weak.”
“Knowing when to accept help is a sign of strength, not weakness.”
They already know I’m not a hunter. What would it hurt? “It won’t exhaust you too much?”
“Careful, Floriane.” His voice is low and thick. “You’ll make me think you actually care for a vampire, speaking like that.”
“I thought it was vampir?” I arch my eyebrows, not willing to be caught off guard.
He chuckles. “You, my bloodsworn, may call me whatever you please. May I?”
I can only manage a nod. Ruvan leans forward and scoops me into his arms. My arms wrap around his neck on instinct and I hold him tightly for support. Our eyes meet. My breath hitches. I’m drawn to his lips constantly now. But the sun shines light on my better sense.
I can’t kiss him in front of them. I can barely handle my own judgment. The judgment of others would be too much.
His eyes trail down my face, landing on my mouth, then dropping to my neck. Ruvan’s muscles tense slightly. His strength ripples around me. My thoughts wander and I imagine him carrying me back to our chambers. In my fantasy, we make it as far as the chapel. For the vampir gods to see, he lays me on the stone, velvet coat beneath me. He kisses down my neck, slowly, sensually, ripping through my shirt with forceful and controlled movements. Then he—
