“Alaric’s pain was reward enough for her,” Leo says, his lips tightening with distaste.
As he guides me up the stairs, he explains that the seer is over seven-hundred years old and models her surroundings to suit her mood. Sometimes, her visitors get visions, other times advice. It all depends on how she feels.
I clench my teeth. She must have been in a sadistic mood today.
We turn left at the top of the stairs and walk down a familiar-looking hallway. I’m so worried about Alaric that I don’t bother to ask about the portrait of the red-haired woman.
Alaric’s door opens, and Thoris steps out. My shoulders tighten as I brace myself for his wrath, but he only inclines his head in greeting and walks past. I don’t have time to work out what that means because Galla also steps out of the room.
All traces of annoyance leave her face, and her lips form a tight smile. “He wants to see you.”
“Thanks.” I stare at her back as she walks away. Fifteen minutes ago, she was curt, and I wonder what on earth has changed her mind about me.
Leo places a hand on my shoulder before heading after Galla. “I’ll leave you to see him alone.”
Trepidation tightens my chest. There’s no telling how Alaric will react to being saddled with the agony of having to anchor my humanity. I push the door and step inside, fully expecting to find Alaric laid up in bed and covered in bandages, but his four-poster is unoccupied.
He stands shirtless in front of a gold-framed mirror with four carved feet.
Relief floods my insides, and all the tension in my muscles disappear with an outward breath. “And they say vampires don’t have a reflection.”
“And you call yourself a slayer?” he says.
I roll my eyes. “It’s called having a sense of humor. You should try it.”
He turns around and flashes me a grin. “You’re so enjoyable to rile.”
My gaze drops to the red markings over his heart. The circle of runes is about the size of my palm and is the color of blood. I can’t move. A fist of anxiety clenches my heart and squeezes out traces of relief. “Does it still hurt?” I ask with a gasp. “Magical bonds usually sink into the skin and disappear.”
He crosses the room and takes my hand. “Blood bonds only hurt for a short time. Galla’s poultice relieved the last of the pain.”
“Blood what?” The glyphs swim before my eyes. I’m not sure if the seer is messing with my mind or if it’s because I’m about to faint. All I know is that everything has changed since that monster’s bite.
“Alice bound us by blood and magic.” Still holding me by the hand, he walks me to a chaise and pulls me down next to him. “With this, you won’t transform.”
I slump on the seat. “But she said I would—”
“She didn’t say I would die,” Alaric murmurs.
My chest tightens. A vampire getting staked sounds like death to me. “Why are you being so optimistic? That warlock seer is a maniac.”
“True, but she also likes to weave her influence through her victims. If I died too quickly, it would end her amusement.”
I shake my head. “You’ve done enough for me already. What if we go back—”
“No.” Alaric wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his warmth.
I rest my head against the side of his neck and inhale his woodsy scent. His skin is so smooth against my cheek, and I have to stop myself from rubbing against him. It’s hard to believe that a week ago, I wanted to stick a stake into that heart. Now it’s the only thing holding together my humanity… if I can believe the seer’s words.
“Could you take me to that basement room, please?” I murmur into his skin. “We can’t be sure these blood glyphs aren’t some terrible trick.”
Alaric nods and pulls away. I immediately feel the loss of his presence as he rises, but he turns around and takes my hand. This is the first time he’s touched me since the seer bound us, and power sparks between our skin. I want to think it’s static electricity, but I can’t deny that Alaric burrowed through my defenses. The vampire pulled me from the brink of death, took me into his home, gave me his blood, and now we’re bound. These new sensations have got to mean something.
We walk hand-in-hand through the hallway, in the opposite direction to the main staircase and down a musty set of darkened stairs that look like they don’t get much use. At the bottom is the hallway I recognize from the night before when I peeped out of that room.
Alaric pauses at the door and stares down at me with a frown. “Are you sure about this?”
I meet his dark gaze and nod.
He pushes the door open and guides me inside.
The lights flicker on, revealing the same white room as before with the iron bed, except the blanket lies folded over the footboard, and a metal bucket occupies one corner of the room.
I toe off my sneakers, walk across the wooden parquet floor, and sit on the bed.
Alaric stands over me. “When Alice Kyteler says she will do something, she never lies.”
Dipping my head, I hold out my wrist. “Even if there was a tiny chance of transforming, I’d still feel better with the restraints.”
“As you wish.” He places a hand on my shoulder and lays me flat on the mattress.
The tips of his fingers skim the soft flesh of my arm, sending sparks of electricity down my back. Suppressing a shudder of anticipation, I exhale a ragged breath. The iron chains rattle as Alaric picks up the manacle, and he meets my eyes with his brows raised.
“Do it.” I offer him my arm again.
Alaric’s eyes darken as he takes my wrist and slowly brings it to his mouth. My stomach flips, and a breath catches in the back of my throat. Is he going to bite me with his fangs?
He presses a soft kiss on the back of my wrist and then another onto the pulse point. My mouth dries, and I swallow hard, wondering what he will do next.
The chains clank as he presses the cool manacle onto my fevered flesh and closes it around my wrist. Breaking eye contact, he dips down to the floor and picks up a piece of quickstone.
My stomach flutters. I can’t tell if it’s anticipation or trepidation. All I know is that letting a vampire chain me to a bed goes against every slayer rule since Saint Theodora founded the Order. I bite down on my lip and stifle a whimper.
He moves down to my feet and eases up the legs of my jeans. The pad of his thumb circles my ankle with a swirl of pleasure that trickles up my inside leg. Every nerve ending tingles in sync with his touch, and my breaths turn quick and shallow.
When ankle cuffs clink into place, I finally exhale a long breath.
“You’re drawing this out,” I say.
“What do you expect from a vampire who has a beautiful slayer at his mercy?” Alaric’s low voice caresses my tingling skin and wraps around my senses like burning incense.
I don’t know if I should laugh, cry, or moan. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut.
“What’s wrong, little slayer?” He picks up my left wrist and runs his fingertips down the soft skin on the inside of my forearm.
“If I transform before—”
“You won’t.” He kisses each fingertip, and tiny sparks of sensation zip toward my heart.
As he secures the final manacle with quickstone, my eyes snap open. Alaric stares down at me with hooded eyes, his fangs fully retracted. My dry throat convulses, and a thrill of terror skitters up my spine. I can’t tell if he’s excited or he’s changed his mind about a diet of ox blood.
He steps back, and I immediately feel his loss.
“Don’t leave me,” I whisper.
Alaric draws close. Emotions war on his features before he lowers himself next to me onto the bed, making the mattress dip. I roll into his arms, and my palm lands on his hard chest.
My gaze lingers over the glyphs, which now resemble a tattoo the color of blood. “Why didn’t she mark me?”
“Not all scars are visible.” He threads his hands through my hair. “Perhaps the
re was no need since my blood runs through your veins.”
“Oh.” I drop my hand from his chest. There’s no telling how long it would take for the quantity of blood I drank to leave my system. It could be weeks or even months, but if I die anytime soon, I will rise as a vampire.
I raise my eyes to meet his gaze. Maybe things will be different because Alaric doesn’t feed on humans. “How long have you been drinking animal blood?”
His gaze drops to my lips. “Every day since the time of Roger Bacon.”
I draw back and frown. “The thirteenth-century alchemist?”
He nods. “And a historian. He was the one who found us.”
“What?”
“It’s a long story.” He turns onto his back and stares at the ceiling.
“It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” My lips curl into a smile. “I was hoping you would tell me about the painting you have outside your room.”
“That’s Diona Augustine, a slayer who lived in the sixth century.”
“You met her when you were alive,” I say, prompting him for more.
His eyes twinkle. “You wish to uncover the tale of my turning?”
“I’ve never spoken to a vampire for long enough to hear their origin stories.” I raise a shoulder.
“Very well. Galla and I were born in 578 to Goiswintha, the second wife of King Liuvigild of the Visigoths.”
My eyes bulge, and I nearly choke. He implied his age before, but his words hadn’t fully registered until now. This would make Alaric nearly as old as the first vampire, Justinian.
I stare at his profile, at the way those thick lashes frame his dark eyes that give way to high cheekbones, and at the perfectly straight slope of his nose. With the oxblood and ether coursing through his veins, he just looks like a pale human. I knew he was a master vampire, but one of the ancients?
The Order classifies master vampires as approximately a century old, and they possess the powers Fortescue demonstrated, such as the ability to turn into wolves, bats, and smoke. Vampires over a thousand years old are rare because they seldom venture out into the native world. The few that the Order has slain have done so at great cost as they have the power and speed of twelve experienced slayers with their conciliars.
Sister Bradford, our Vampire Warfare instructor, once theorized that after several centuries, vampires tire of existing and go into hibernation. The Order has never captured one so old, and if their age is the reason why Alaric and his family can tolerate the sun, this information will be vital to understanding the power of older vampires.
My gaze drops to those full, pink lips that curl with amusement. “Are you calculating my age?”
“Maybe.” I smooth the shock out of my features. “It explains why the seer kept calling you a prince. Are Leo and Thoris also royal?”
“Nobles,” he says. “When my father went to war, Mundus, one of Justinian’s generals invaded the kingdom and slaughtered hundreds of guards to demonstrate his power. My older brother from my father’s previous marriage offered Galla and me as a tribute along with the nobles’ second-born sons.”
I gulp. “Did they know the general was a vampire?”
He shakes his head. “Knowledge of supernatural beings was limited to the few mages who worked with humans.”
“Then General Mundus turned you?”
“He kept us in his palace for over ten years, waiting for us to reach maturity.” Bitterness laces his voice.
My mouth drops open. “How old were you and Galla when your brother—”
“Nine.” Alaric turns onto his side, and our eyes meet. The pain in them pierces my heart like a stake. My arms yearn to wrap around his broad shoulders, to offer him the comfort of a hug, but the chains and the quickstone hold me in place.
I’ve heard the accounts of some vampires farming children and keeping them on special diets to improve their blood. Some of them are so traumatized by their ordeal that even the most skilled of mages can’t heal their minds. I raise trembling fingers to Alaric’s jaw, a paltry attempt at comfort, as I have no words that could make things right.
Alaric’s eyes soften, and he wraps his hand around mine. “He turned us when we were eighteen.”
“But…” My words trail off.
“I look older?” When I nod, his lips curve into a sad smile. “Being turned into a vampire can mean accelerated growth for some. I suppose that when Justinian created this curse, he wanted to restore himself to his prime. Although vampirism aged my appearance, I never experienced being a man.”
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur.
He shakes his head and squeezes my hand. “It was a very long time ago.”
We fall silent for several moments, and a number of questions swirl in my mind. I’m desperate to know what he thinks of me, of slayers, and if he considers me a child. The words die in my throat.
I ask, “You met Diona when you were alive?”
He nods. “It was after he took us from our home. Diona and a few other women stormed the general’s palace and broke into the chambers where he kept us. They were a peculiar sight—clad in togas and wielding weapons.” His eyes glaze as though he’s back in the sixth century. “They staked the guards, who exploded into flames. We thought they were warriors sent by Odin.”
I shift on the mattress. Since Alaric became a vampire, I expect the story doesn’t have a happy ending. “What happened?”
“Diona carried Galla on her hip and led me by the hand through the palace. The women fought well and kept to the light, but Mundus and his men waited at the exits and slaughtered them all.” He releases my hand and rolls onto his back. “Afterward, he moved us to a villa close to Pompeii, and we never heard from the slayers again.”
I scoot closer until his musk and wood scent fills my nostrils. “You must have been devastated.”
He chuckles, but there’s no amusement in the sound. “As soon as he made us vampires, he trained us to fight. Eventually, we managed to kill half his men before what was left of his personal guard drove us into the catacombs. Mundus wanted to punish our rebellion and kept us weak on a diet of chickens and hares.”
“I hope you killed him.”
Alaric clenches his jaw, and his nostrils flare with irritation. “We think he died during one of the many eruptions over the next centuries.”
My mouth drops open. “What happened to you?”
“We fell dormant.”
“I thought vampires would go mad with hunger.”
His shoulders rise, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. I can tell that what he’s about to tell me isn’t comfortable. Normally, I would interrupt with pacifying words about not needing to know, but today has been full of revelations. I can’t believe that the male I once thought was a warlock is really one of the oldest ancients in existence. Both Alaric and his story are enthralling.
“If vampires are accustomed to a regular diet of human blood, I expect the thirst will be maddening,” he replies. “It wasn’t like that for us because Mundus kept us weak and half-starved. When our supply of blood stopped, the natural progression was for us to sleep.”
I shake my head, marveling at Alaric’s words. He’s suffered so much—both as a human and a vampire, yet still maintains this strength. “How did you escape the tomb?”
“Roger Bacon excavated four of us. He found ancient scripts about the sleeping Visigoth army and needed us for his research on immortality. He moved us to Paris where he revived and studied us in exchange for our blood.”
“Nobody killed him?”
Alaric shrugs. “I can’t say how we might have reacted if the general hadn’t kept us starved. Roger became our friend and taught us about the new world.”
Now their use of granulated ether makes sense. They had probably worked with the alchemist to produce an alternative to human blood. “Why did you warn me against taking Theodora’s Blessing?”
The sympathy in his eyes when he turns to me chills my blood. My stomach tightens in anticipation of his
words. Mom, Grandma, and countless slayers in our family tree have received the Blessing. I can’t imagine why it would be so bad. He cups my cheek, and the warmth of his fingers seeps through my skin and reaches my heart. After the huge sacrifice he made for me today, I’m ready to listen.
“What did your Presbytera tell you about Empress Theodora?” he asks.
My brows draw together. Most of it is common knowledge and in history books. “Theodora was Justinian’s wife, who ran away to set up the Order when she discovered her husband’s cure for the bubonic plague caused him to drink blood.”
Alaric nods. “Did you ever question how a group of women enslaved into prostitution could slay vampires?”
The answer rolls off my tongue. “Theodora’s mage imbued the women with strength and speed.”
He shakes his head.
“What?” I ask.
“The empress drank her husband’s blood,” he says.
Shock hits like a punch to the gut. I rear back and scramble as far away as the chain holding my right arm will allow. “No.”
“Yes.”
The lining of my stomach flutters with dread. “She wouldn’t.”
“She did.” His voice is insistent, his dark eyes penetrating.
I cringe away from him, needing to escape, but I can’t. Not with the chains restraining me to the bed. Not when I may or may not transform into that monster. I clench my teeth and inhale several deep breaths before meeting his gaze once more. “How could you possibly know this?”
“She visited his villa while we were entombed. I remember a conversation she had with Mundus, asking him for the female blood-drinker he had taken from the Visigoths.”
“Galla,” I whisper. “Why did she want your sister?”
“To join her ranks in fighting the emperor.”
“What are you saying?”
“The Order started as a rebellion of a vampire against her husband. We told our story to Roger, our benefactor, who charted events against history. Empress Theodora died thirty years before Galla and I were born, yet we heard her negotiate for Galla forty years later.”
I lower my gaze and make a mental note to check these dates when I return to the convent. If Alaric is right, then Theodora lived longer than they told us in the Order.
Vampire Bonds (Darkbloods Book 1) Page 15
