The buzz of my blood remains steady despite the way my heart is hammering. My quick breaths match my quick steps down the corridor. I reach the main room and instantly feel the all too familiar staticky sensation that indicates a magical barrier is nearby.
I go eerily still, my eyes darting around the room in search of the source of the magic. I don’t see her, but the buzz in my blood is even more insistent, and I know the Relacour Matron isn’t just close. She’s here.
I’m surprised that she decided this introduction should take place inside the dragons’ temporary quarters. It’s audacious as fuck, but that tracks when it comes to the Relacour sorcai. They always think their magic is unbeatable, but I’m counting on that.
I fill my lungs with a fortifying breath and try to talk my adrenaline down, but it’s not budging. Everything the Syphons have been working for hangs on this moment, and every cell in my body knows it.
Wasting no more time, I step through the barrier, quick to shake off the uncomfortable way the magic crawls across my skin. As soon as I’m inside, the dome of magic all around me hardens into a thick transparent blockade perfect for keeping me in and everything else out. Cautiously I scan the dark rec area, running my gaze over the dining tables and benches, the chairs set out for lounging, and focus on a dense swatch of darkness directly opposite me.
Just as soon as I clock the anomaly, a svelte form separates from the shadows, and a cloaked figure steps forward.
“Now what do we have here?” a husky yet melodious voice asks.
She pushes back the cowl of her hood, and I’m met with dark eyes, platinum hair, and a face that looks entirely too smooth and dewy to belong to the leader of an entire coven, or someone as old as I know the Matron is.
Her eyebrows dip with confusion.
“You’re not sorcai,” she observes, surprise registering across her features. “And yet your blood sings for me.”
Anticipation surges through my limbs at the sight of her, but I keep my cool and offer the sorcai a casual shrug. I pretend like I haven’t done this song and dance a ridiculous number of times with all the ones that came before her.
“I don’t know if I’d call it singing,” I tell the Matron as she continues to survey me. “It’s less melody and more of an incessant buzzing to me.”
Surprise flickers through her features. “You can sense me as well?” she asks, her head canting to the side as she tries to solve the puzzle that’s been placed before her.
Her eyes dart to my ears, but they’re covered by my mussed hair. I don’t know why the Relacours always look there when they’re trying to piece things together, but it never fails.
“I must admit, it’s been ages since I’ve been this stumped. I can feel my people’s magic, but you’re not one of us. I don’t sense dragon, although you keep company with them. Wyvern is off the list,” she declares, her face scrunching with distaste. “And you’re not one ofthem,” she murmurs as she fills her lungs with a deep inhale.
My brow furrows at that.
One ofthem? What does that mean?
She moves silently closer, pausing mere feet away. I force myself to stay calm and relaxed despite the overwhelming urge to move that floods me. The Matron stares intently into my eyes like she can enchant me with just a look. If I were anyone else, it might be possible; some sorcai possess the ability, some vampires too.
“Would you bleed for me, child?” she asks, her eyes roaming over me like I’ve already agreed and now she’s deciding the best place to draw from. Avarice alights in her dark eyes and she draws even closer. “I’d love to see what creation your blood confesses to,” she whispers covetously.
Blood Crafters are so fucking creepy.
Why do they all do this?
I fight the instinct to step back and put space between me and the predatory look in the Matron’s eyes, and stop myself from reaching for my knives. I need to time this perfectly.
“I’ll tell you what I am,” I offer politely, my smile wide and sweet. “Technically you had a hand in my creation, so it’s only fair.”
I extend my hand offering to grasp forearms in the customary greeting often exchanged between sorcai. I relish the moment her brow twitches with confusion.
“Hello, Matron,” I greet in encouragement.
After a moment, she steps forward and grasps my arm. Her eyes dart back and forth between mine as she continues to search for hints as to what I am, which is when I reach behind my back and unsheathe a dagger. Her eyes flare with concern when my grip suddenly tightens on her forearm and the friendliness in my face dies, but she doesn’t retreat.
“I’m Ever Tenebrae,” I offer, my voice low, my eyes boring into hers, suddenly heavy with decades of hate. “I’m one of the Syphons that’s been hunting down your bloodline. It’s so good tofinallymeet you.”
Alarm detonates across her face, and she rips her arm from my grasp, tripping over her feet in an effort to get away from me. Impressively, she doesn’t fall, but she does quickly cast a red barrier between us. Her hands lift sharply in the air as bolts of magic flare from her palms. The power disperses through the air like a cloud of glittering pollen until it forms a new protective dome around the Matron.
“Impossible,” she gasps as she watches me within the confines of her own power.
She doesn’t attempt to run, which is too bad, I always like it when they try. Then again, it’s probably best we keep things contained within the lovely soundproof barrier she previously erected around the room.
