I glance back at Skar, frowning as he examines Cyprilis’ head-fort she’s made for herself.
“Come, little temptress,” he says. “I’ve talked Keffa off the ledge. Let’s be off before she changes her mind and goes after your mother.”
Nodding, I turn from Cyprilis, but not before saying, “I’m glad to see you doing, uh, well, Sister. I’ll be back before too long.”
As I reach the door, she calls out, “Sister Sephania? Might I . . . have some of your blood? Just a taste?”
A sickly sensation ripples through my veins when I peer over my shoulder at her. Skar puts a firm hand on my wrist, but I don’t need him to hold me back. “No, I’m afraid not this time, Cy.” I offer her sad frown a kind smile. “There is another friend of mine who requires my Loreblood more than you do right now. I’m sure you understand.”
She nods glumly and I hurry out the room.
“The fuck are we going to do about her?” I hiss on the way downstairs.
Skartovius chuckles. “Exactly the opposite of anything she asks, love.”
He’s right. Truehearts know I couldn’t stand to store more of her twisted thoughts in my head.
I’m not feeling great about myself now that I’m on Iron Sister Keffa’s shit-list. I hope I don’t remain on that short list for long.She hates very few people in this world, and somehow I’ve managed to make myself one of them. Maybe I should have never dragged my mother down to the Firehold.
“She’ll get over it when Jinneth tells her you were only doing as she demanded, little honey badger,” Garroway says.
I’m back at Manor Marquin and have been for four days since meeting with Keffa to face my lambasting. The days have gone relatively peacefully, with Palacia’s screams turning into mutters, then whimpers, and eventually . . . moans.
The Awakening seems to be an eventful situation. I made the mistake of walking into her room yesterday and stumbled upon the girl ravenously fucking both her hands with that huge hard thing between her legs, bucking her narrow hips wildly into the air with a bowed back, rattling the chains holding her to the bed.
I would have nightmares of those rattling chains for days. It turns out Pala wasn’t feeling verydeadany longer. At least part of her was still very much alive.
I hurried out of the room before I could see too much, earning a harsh laugh from Skartovius, who explained, “One of the newfound expressions of her Awakening. No longer dying. This is thecuriousphase I mentioned. Irresistible, confusing urges.”
“You could have been more specific what ‘curious phase’ entailed!”
His smile irked me with how devious and attractive it was—how, after just witnessing Palacia’sself-care, his look heated my insides beyond belief. “Thought it would be humorous for you to find out on your own.”
I haven’t been back inside her room yet, and I don’t plan on it. Garro is outside the hall with me, trying to make me feel better about the Keffa situation. He pets a hand down my arm,sitting outside Pala’s room, drawing out a pleasant shiver from me. His tactics are working.
“Iron Sister Keffa is more bark than bite,” Garro says.
From down the hall, Vallan grunts in disagreement. I’ve become accustomed to understanding the different timbres of grunts from the giant vampire. This one is from deep in his chest, while others are closer to his tongue, or clipped short, or lower pitched. He has a different grunt for every circumstance.
Watching Vall march across the corridor in all his splendor, with Garroway touching me, I can’t help but focus between Vallan’s muscled thighs, noticing the prominent mound there. I briefly—shockingly—remark on theonesimilarity he shares with that skinny, quaint vampirex in the room behind us.
The sharp scent of Vallan and remnants on his gloved hands tells me he’s just finished another explosion-making session in a separate room in the manor. Here, he has all the tools at his disposal and doesn’t have to shift between safehouses to get what he needs to make his weapons.
Vall says, “You have never seen the Iron Sister fight, cub. Do not underestimate her soft disposition and twig-like body. There is a reason she leads the Chained Sisters.”
Garroway blinks. “That would be a sight to see.”
“. . . Not if her prowess is used against me,” I mutter.
Vallan puts a hand on my head. He doesn’t rub like Garroway, or pet me like Skar, or give me praise which I so desperately seek in the moment. No, he simply rests his hand there and stands over me, as if that is enough to calm my soul.
Somehow, against all odds, it is. I look up at him with imploring eyes.
Through his beard, he says, “Here’s some fair news that might cheer you up, silverblood: Your halfkeeper ally appears to have finished her Awakening. By nightfall, she should be cognizant, and we can take her chains off.”
My head shoots up, excited. “Really? It’s finished?”
His nod is deep and encouraging. “She lives again.”
