She smiles at me.
Something in my chest shifts. I've buried that feeling beneath duty and war for far too long.
Her eyes close again, but her hand stays over mine.
We sit like that.
The bond hums between us, warm and golden. I can't stop looking at her, enthralled and hypnotized by her mere breathing.
I don't have a name for what this is.
What kind of cruel game are the fates playing?
I should resent it. Instead, as I sit there with my hands in her hair, I realize I no longer want her dead.
I want her for myself.
31
Chapter 30 Svenn
The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal echoes through the prison forge. I've been at this for hours. My arms burn with exertion, muscles screaming for rest.
I don't stop.
The steel on the anvil is beginning to take shape. A breastplate, carefully measured to fit Rhianelle's smaller frame.
It can't be too heavy. She needs to be able to move, to fight if necessary. But strong enough to turn a blade, to stop an arrow, and keep her safe.
The metal glows orange-red under my hammer. Each strike shapes it, bends it to my will. If only everything else in my life could be so simple.
But I can't control fate and hammer destiny into submission.
The flood waters receded days ago, leaving everything coated in a film of dried mud. Cracks spider-web across the stone floor where the water pressure was strongest. The anvil still stands solid, but the smaller tools had to be dredged up from the muck and scrubbed clean. In the cell nearest the forge, Hrolf sleeps on his stone bench. His snores echo off the walls in a steady rhythm.
My mind drags me back to three days ago.
The night after I brought Landon to the healing house. After I watched their mating bond snap into place and steal everything that mattered.
I'd been standing in Rhianelle's room, watching her sleep. And then she appeared.
Blight.
She was wearing young Rhianelle's face, the child she'd been when they threw her into Astefar. Six years old, silver hair in tangles, wearing a torn and dirty dress.
But the eyes were not hers.
"Hello, vampire," she said in a child's voice that carried ancient malice. "We need to talk."
I moved to put myself between her and Rhianelle. "Stay away from her."
"Scary, I like that. But pointless." A cruel half-smile graced her lips. "You've already lost her."
"She's my wife."
"Is she though?" The Un tilted her head. "Does she remember being your wife?"
Rhianelle didn't remember me. She looked at me like a stranger.
