"It changes everything," Sebastian countered quietly. "Even if you're not ready to see it yet." The brass at his collar had cooled, settling into harmony with his body's natural rhythms. "Next time, perhaps choose a weapon that hasn't already failed against my kind seven times before."
The slight widening of Thornmaker's eyes confirmed Sebastian's casual demonstration of knowledge he shouldn't possess… the warrior's personal kill count against vampires, marked in the specialized notches on his ceremonial spear.
"How did you—" Thornmaker began, then stopped himself.
"I pay attention," Sebastian replied, allowing a hint of predatory assessment to return to his gaze. "To everything. Including the weaknesses in your guard that persist despite decades of supposed mastery."
Thornmaker hesitated, then offered a slight nod before turning away… not friendship, not allegiance, but perhaps thebeginning of something beyond mere hatred. Possibility where only certainty had existed before.
As they started walking back to the cave, Boarstaff stayed next to Sebastian's side. "That was unnecessarily provocative," he said, though his voice carried grudging respect. "You deliberately baited him."
"I did," Sebastian admitted, the aristocratic mask falling away entirely. He could show Boarstaff what he never revealed to others, the calculation behind his actions, the complexity beneath his noble façade. "He needed to feel the full extent of what he was challenging, not just physically, but psychologically." The metal at his collar had cooled, settling into harmony with his body's natural rhythms. "Some lessons require complete attention."
"And if he had managed to harm you?"
"Then I would have learned something valuable," Sebastian replied with a slight smile. "That I had underestimated him. It’s a mistake I won't make twice."
Boarstaff's hand found Sebastian's arm, the touch lingering longer than strictly necessary. "You continue to surprise me."
"Good," Sebastian said, his eyes meeting Boarstaff's. "It keeps things interesting."
It was a beginning. Everything else would follow in its time.
Sebastian felt the weight of the moment settle into him. His father had raised him to believe that victory meant domination, the complete subjugation of an opponent. But this felt like a different kind of victory, one his father would never understand. He had won not by destroying Thornmaker but by refusing to become what the spearmaster feared. By choosing a different path than the one that had been carved into his very flesh.
Chapter Eight
Boarstaff suddenly stopped, his hand catching Sebastian's arm. "Wait."
Sebastian turned, brow raised in question. "Having second thoughts about my restraint, Warchief?" He glanced at Thornmaker, who was still within earshot. "I could still finish what he started, if you'd prefer."
Boarstaff's lips twitched slightly before his expression turned serious again. "Not second thoughts. But it's not enough."
"Not enough?" A flash of irritation surged through him. Hadn't he just proven himself? Shown restraint when every instinct, every century of training had urged otherwise? "I just demonstrated I could’ve killed your spearmaster seven different ways without breaking stride. What more do you want?"
"That's exactly the problem." Boarstaff's voice dropped lower, ensuring their conversation remained private. "You held back. Evaded. Toyed with him."
"Would you have preferred I did permanent damage?" Genuine confusion replaced Sebastain’s usual careful composure.
"Most of them have never faced a true vampire noble." Boarstaff gestured toward the warriors who lingered at the clearing's edge. "They've encountered scouts, hunting parties, lesser vampires. But not your kind. Not your brothers." His gaze met Sebastian's directly. "Not Zarek."
Sebastian went perfectly still at the mention of his brother's name. Zarek. The name alone conjured memories of calculated cruelty, of training sessions that had left even Sebastian shaken. His brother had embraced their father's vision with a fervor that bordered on madness, replacing more of himself with brass than any other noble. He had become the perfect predator, and took pride in that transformation.
"Those who face Zarek rarely live to describe the experience."
"Precisely." Boarstaff's hand tightened slightly on Sebastian's arm. "They need to understand what they're truly facing. What your restraint actually means. Right now, they only see a vampire who chose not to attack."
"What exactly are you suggesting?" Sebastian asked.
"Fight me," Boarstaff said simply. "No holding back. No evasion. Show them what a vampire noble can truly do when not playing games."
Sebastian stepped back, breaking Boarstaff's grip with a sharp movement. "That's madness. I won't—"
"You won't harm me," Boarstaff clarified. "But we… you need to show them that you could. That your brother would." His voice hardened with the authority of leadership. "They need to see the difference between your choice and Zarek's certainty."
Sebastian's expression darkened. "You don't know what you're asking. What I was trained to do. What my brothers still do without hesitation."
"I have a better idea than most," Boarstaff replied, his hand rising to trace the scar that curved from his left shoulder to his heart. "I've felt your brother's blade. Survived by luck more than skill."
