“I’m fine,” I tell Cyprilis. “Just remembering.”
We fall quiet. The silence is companionable, and I listen to my slow heartbeat. I can hear no heartbeat coming from Cyprilis, of course.
“Say, Sephania, might I ask you something?”
I blink over at my friend. “Of course, Cy.”
She leans closer, glancing behind us at Garro twenty paces back, kicking a rock from boredom. Her face takes on a sudden fright. “I overheard some of the girls speaking about your, erm,power.I spoke to the Iron Sister. I was wondering if I might . . .tasteit.”
I inhale sharply. “Drink my Loreblood? But—”
“Can you not guess, my friend?” Her eyes glitter, either looking dewy from the moonlight or from unshed tears. I think I know which.
“Your children,” I whisper.
She nods firmly, clasping her hands together like she’s in prayer. “If there’sanychance it might sever my bond to the bastard who turned me, and rejuvenate my humanity so I could see them again and not feel bloodlust . . .”
I put a hand on her thin shoulder as she trails off and averts her gaze, sniffling. “I understand, Cyprilis. I will do this for you.”
Her gaze shoots up, hope like a sunrise at dawn splayed across her face. “Truly?”
My nod is severe, deep. “But I’d like something in return.”
The knot returns between her brows. “Anything, just name it.”
“I want a detailed and complete list of the people who did this to you, Sister.”
Chapter 20
Sephania
“Don’t take too much from my daughter,” my mother says from the corner of the room.
I’m sitting on the edge of a cot in one of the private sleeping rooms upstairs. Cyprilis is beside me, staring with a wide, deferential gaze at the blood beading on the small cut I made to my arm.
We’re joined by “Mother” Jinneth, Iron Sister Keffa beside her, and Garroway near me. The poor dhampir looks more nervous than I do.
“Yes, Mothe—” Cyprilis cuts herself off at a glower from me.Only one person can call Jinneth “Mother” when in my presence.“Yes, ma’am,” she amends.
“Master is going to hate this,” Garro croaks, biting his lower lip. He can’t tear his gaze away.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Skartovius is your master, not mine, Garro. Besides, he doesn’t need to know.”
The dhampir looks shocked I would even suggest keeping such a secret from Lord Ashfen, which makes me smile.I can be duplicitous as well, cub.
When Cy bends her head forward and takes my arm, her fangs glinting in her open mouth, I look away. She makes connection and I wince at the pulse of her slow, rhythmic drinking once her teeth have dug below the surface of my skin.
I look away to fight off the thrum of excitement that runs through me as she feeds, threatening to turn me into a mess.It’s always the same when one drinks blood—an arousal that is difficult to fight off. I’ve often preferred not to fight it. But in this moment, I definitely don’t want it.
Instead of focusing on the young-looking vampiress drinking from my arm, I stare at the parchment in my hand. We spent two hours compiling the list I required from Sister Cyprilis in exchange for my Loreblood.
There aresixnames on the list, the sheer number making my heart sink. Two of them are humans living in Nuhav. Slavers. The despicable scum she was sold to by the House of the Broken once Father Cullard tired of the poor girl. Either one or both of them is responsible for the three children Cyprilis birthed. She doesn’t know who the father of her children is, specifically, because they often took turns with her or took her together.
The thought of it disgusts me.
Even more disgusting, however, are the other four names: the vampires she was eventually sold to in Olhav, ripped away from her two children and soon-to-be third. The third child led to massive blood loss and was going to be the death of Cyprilis, so one of the vampires turned her to keep her “alive” and make sure their investment was worth the cost. Together, the quartet kept her locked away to satisfy their base needs for years, as her human children grew up destitute and motherless in Nuhav.
One has to wonder if they’re even still alive, or if all this is for naught.I briefly glance over at Cy, watching her suckle me like a babe to a tit, head bowed and lank hair framing her face as she sips. My arm is nearly numb, not from the bloodletting but from being held upright and from the girl’s damned white-knuckled grip on me.
