His arms tightened around her reflexively. He knew exactly what waited in his father’s improvement chambers. The precision tools. The gleaming brass components. The surgical tables sized for children’s bodies.
“They can’t reach you here,” he told her, though he knew the promise was fragile at best. His father had resources beyond counting, determination beyond reason.
She pulled back slightly, dark eyes finding his in the firelight. Too knowing. Too old in her small face. “You stopped them before,” she said. “In the citadel.”
The memory surfaced with painful clarity,- standing between her and his brother Zarek in the presentation chamber. It had been calculation rather than compassion that motivated him then. A tactical delay while he worked out his own escape.
Yet she’d seen it differently. As protection. As safety.
The commotion had drawn a crowd. Warriors formed a wide circle around the fire pit, weapons ready. Behind them, settlement members gathered in nightclothes, their expressions ranging from fear to outrage. Not one stepped forward. Not one dared approach to reclaim the child from his arms.
The girl noticed their hesitation and pressed closer to him. Sebastian felt the contradiction of it like a physical pain; her warm weight against him, her absolute trust, and the hunger that clawed at his insides. He fought it with every ounce of his will, the predator in him snarling for release. In his father’s citadel, children her age were considered perfect for first feedings. Young enough that the body accepted transformation readily, old enough to understand what was happening to them. Old enough to fear it properly.
“They’re scared of you,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Sebastian admitted. “And they should be. I’m dangerous.” More dangerous than she could possibly understand. More dangerous to you specifically than to any of them.
She looked up at him with absolute certainty. “Not to me.”
The crowd parted as Boarstaff approached. The warchief wore only sleep pants, obviously just roused, but his presence immediately changed the atmosphere. He alone walked toward them, crossing the invisible barrier that kept everyone else at a distance.
Even as the child tense slightly, Sebastian relaxed his own posture, a silent signal that Boarstaff wasn’t a threat.
“You crossed boundaries.” Boarstaff’s voice was neither accusatory nor angry. Just a simple statement of fact.
“She called for me.” Sebastian didn’t apologize. Didn’t try to justify himself.
Something shifted in Boarstaff’s face; not surprise, but confirmation. “She’s done it before. This is just the first time you were close enough to hear.”
Sebastian looked down at the child in his arms. “She calls for me? During nightmares?”
“Almost every night,” Boarstaff said quietly. “We thought it was fear at first. That she was reliving her capture. Then we realized she was calling for you to help her.”
The brass beneath Sebastian’s skin warmed with something he didn’t have a name for. This child, who had seen him in his father’s citadel, who knew what he was, called for him when she was scared.
“What’s her name?” Sebastian asked abruptly.
Boarstaff’s brow furrowed slightly. “You don’t know?”
“She was never supposed to live long enough for her name to matter.” The harsh truth hung between them, a reminder of the citadel’s casual cruelty.
“Sarah,” Boarstaff said after a moment. “Her name is Sarah.”
“Sarah.” Sebastian tested the shape of it, unfamiliar on his tongue. Not a designation. Not a classification. A name. He looked down at the child, at Sarah, and found her watching him with those too-knowing eyes.
“You never asked before,” she said quietly.
“No,” Sebastian admitted. “I didn’t.”
She nodded as if this made perfect sense, then yawned suddenly, her small body sagging against him as adrenaline drained away. The fire had died to barely glowing embers, the night growing colder around them.
Boarstaff gestured to one of the women hovering at the edge of the circle. “She needs to sleep.”
A woman approached with visible reluctance, each step careful as if approaching a wild animal. The fear-scent rolling off her made Sebastian’s hunger stir again, a pointed reminder that he hadn’t fed in too long. The predator in him assessed her… older, not prime feeding material, but sustenance nonetheless.
He forced the thoughts down, disgusted with himself.
Sarah tensed as the woman reached for her. Her fingers dug into Sebastian’s arm, her body pressing closer against his chest. “No,” she whispered. “The nightmare will come back.”
