“I haven’t accepted any mate bond,” I insisted.
Zypher sighed and removed his hand from my neck. “Do any of you know the history of Vampire kind?”
“They don’t really teach anything from before the Dreadgrave line came into power,” Shadrie replied.
Zypher leaned back, keeping one hand on my neck, his thumb stroking my skin and causing involuntary shivers to roll up my spine. My body swayed toward him with each pass, unconsciously attempting to get closer to him. He didn’t miss the small movement, shooting me a wink before turning his attention back to Shadrie and Miles.
“Before the Dreadgraves took control over leadership of their clans, vampires were classed as demons. Vladimir Banecroft was the last of his line to hold power. He served on the demon council and was well-liked among the clans. Callidora Dreadgrave was his downfall. Her father, Gaspare, wanted more. Power, control—you name it, he wanted it.
It’s written in demon history books that he sent his youngest daughter, Callidora, to Vladimir. Her father ordered her to behead her mate so the Dreadgraves could take control of the clans, and she chose to go against their bond and fulfill her father’s wishes.
After that, Gaspare set his sights on the larger kingdom. Rather than take a place on the council, he betrayed several powerful demons, handing them over to the Fae king in exchange for a position in his court. That position was passed from him to his son, his son to his grandson, and one day it willfall to Gabriel as the Dreadgrave heir.”
“What does that have to do with B’s mark?” Shadrie asked.
Zypher inhaled deeply through his nose, letting it out again slowly. “Vampires had soulmates before Callidora’s betrayal. We know not if it was actually the betrayal, or what followed, that caused their kind to lose the ability to sense their mates. Without the pull to their Noctis Amare, they took up rituals to claim mates, but it is known throughout demon kind that a true mated pair only requires a bite.”
I stiffened at the phrase Noctis Amare. That was what Gabriel called me in my dream. Zypher’s head snapped toward me, his eyes locking onto my tensed body.
“Do not worry, Dilectus. That may be a mating mark, but the bond isn’t completed unless you have taken his blood.” Miles, who had just lifted a cup to his lips, choked at Zypher’s words. “You still have a choice,” Zypher continued, ignoring my friends as Shadrie moved to slap Miles on the back. “Tell me who bit you and, if you wish it, I will end them and sever the bond completely.”
“No,” I managed to grit out. “I don’t want you to kill anybody on my account. I will deal with this myself.”
Zypher tilted his head, studying me for a moment before giving me one sharp nod. “As you wish, Dilectus. It is your choice who you accept into your bonded Vinculum. I will always honor that choice.” Seemingly satisfied, his hand slipped from my neck before he clapped once. “Shall we return to our show?”
Miles and Shadrie voiced agreement, and we settled back into our seats. I let Zypher wrap his arm around my shoulders and tuck me in close to his side as he watched the show play out on the TV. I let my body relax into him, but I couldn’t focus on anything beyond my own thoughts. If Zypher was correct, Gabriel Dreadgrave was also my mate. The moment he bit me, he marked me as his. I was going to make the asshole pay for it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Caulder
My fingers thrummed on my desk as I let my thoughts wander to my mate. I should have been grading papers or dealing with the endless requests from the two houses I was assigned. Instead, my mind was focused on the problem of Bechora’s magic. She was a conundrum, with the way her magic seemed nonexistent at times while granting abilities she shouldn’t have. I’d gone so far as to seek out the mage who’d determined that Bechora was a fire mage, but she was adamant that only fire had revealed itself on orientation day.
A light rap against the frame of my open door drew me from my thoughts. Mrs. Fiodh, the Academy’s librarian, stood in the doorway with her cart. Though she looked no older than forty, the small fairy had been with the school for centuries—possibly even since it came into existence; nobody was actually sure.
“Professor Thrackborne, I have the files you requested,” she smiled, pulling three folders and an ancient-looking tome from her cart. “This was provided when I made the request.” She tapped the tome. “I’m not sure it’s quite what you’re after, but the Academy deemed it important to your search, so I’ve brought it along.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Fiodh. These should prove helpful,” I smiled, taking the stack from her tiny hands.
There were times the school seemed sentient—the way it decided, without input, which students to invite, and now with the strange tome. They seemed like such minor things that it was easy to forget they ever happened, that the magic fueling the Academy was older than anyone living could recall. Part of me wondered if there wasn’t more the school could do that it simply chose not to.
“If you need anything else, Professor, you know where to find me,”Mrs. Fiodh smiled, fluttering her small wings as she strolled back to her cart.
I called out my thanks again as she pushed her cart out of sight before turning my attention to the three files in my hand. In my search for answers about Bechora’s magic, I’d decided to look into past cases of students who came from the human realm and seemed to be magicless. I had a sneaking suspicion that being from the human realm was the key to solving her inability to call upon her magic on demand, but I needed something solid to be sure.
Setting the tome aside, I dropped the files on my desk and opened the one on top. There wasn’t much information beyond the students’ grades and trial scores—just a single mention of having come from a non-magical family in the human realm and presenting as a mage. Based on the grades alone, something had changed from the beginning of their first term that allowed them to improve significantly, though that could have been something as simple as taking the time to study and practice outside classes. There wasn’t anything documented to say otherwise.
The second and third files were almost as empty. Had I not been paying such close attention to detail, I’d have missed the notes scribbled in the margins of their personal information. Neither student had grown up around magic. Whoever had scribbled the note had taken the time to explore the depth and fullness of the students’ magical wells, finding them completely devoid of magic. “It’s as if the lack of magical exposure in their home realm has left them with a deficit in their well,” was scrawled in barely legible writing. Further down, a smeared note in the third student’s chart read, “intense magic exposure successful,” with no clarification on what that meant.
With the new information in mind, I thought back to the handful of times Bechora had been able to summon her abilities. Our meetings were after her final class of the day, which happened to be combat. Rumlock was known for throwing students off the deep end, starting them on training that utilized their magical abilities right away. The pieces started to click together in my mind as the realization dawned on me that Bechora most likely needed to be exposed to more than just the ambient magic in the realm to fill her well properly, at least for now. It was also something easy enough totest.
Smiling to myself, I reached across my desk, intending to make space to bottle a bit of my magic. My hand brushed against the tome Mrs. Fiodh had given me when she brought the files, and I hesitated. While I was certain I’d already found the answers I needed to help my mate access her abilities, regularly, and keep herself safe, I couldn’t snuff out my growing curiosity. My plan temporarily forgotten, I grabbed the tome and studied it closely.
The binding was clearly ancient, but the tome seemed well intact. Carefully opening the cover, I was surprised to see a language I recognized. Ornate Elvish scrawled across the front page, denoting the tome as a historical account from someone named Thaliondil. A faded portrait sat center of the page, displaying a male with long, pointed ears dressed in ancient Elven garments. Shock rolled through me at what I held in my hands. I’d been taught as a hatchling that Elves had long abandoned the realm, taking with them their histories and magic and leaving the Fae to fill the power vacuum left in their place. My people became the history keepers after that. Each dragon was taught to read Elvish, should we ever be lucky enough to stumble across anything the ancient race had forgotten during their exodus. In my two centuries of life, I’d never heard even a whisper of anything left behind, and now, if my eyes were to be believed, I was holding one of their forgotten ancient texts.
Gently turning the page, I worked to recall everything I’d been taught about the ancient language. It was slow work translating the text with how little practice I’d had since childhood. My office was nearly submerged in darkness, my eyes straining against the lack of light, when I’d finally worked out enough of the translation to read a few pages. Pausing long enough to turn on the lights in my office, I returned to the first page. It was titled “I eri o i tinu nall,” which translated to “The rise of the Starcaller.” I frowned, trying to work out where I’d heard that name before.
The few pages I’d managed to translate so far spoke of an imbalance in the realm and the rise of a champion meant to right the scales. Thetinu nall,or Starcaller, was said to call the power of others into themselves, granting them whatever abilities they needed to combat the darkness threatening to unbalance the realms. They hadno true power of their own, relying primarily on the power of their bonded.
