Blood Bound

by Becca Blake

  “Is this the After?” she wheezed.

  “Just drink,” Zephyr whispered.

  When she was better, he’d scold her again for not taking care of herself, for not staying smart. Or staying alive, for that matter.

  For now, she latched onto the flask, drinking back the liquid in big, desperate gulps. Her throat burned with thirst that the water couldn’t sate, no matter how desperately she drank it. She needed the drink, needed the strength it would provide her, but it did nothing to soothe the pain that burned from within her. The sweet nectar Zephyr fed her sustained her. It was all she needed, everything there was.

  Zephyr brushed her hair out of her face as she drank. “This was something I swore I’d never do,” he said, his voice thoughtful and distant, unfamiliar in a way Miria couldn’t place. “But I had no choice. This is the only way to ensure that you live.”

  Of course she would live. She was safe in Zephyr’s arms as he cared for her. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

  “You will live out the rest of your immortal life knowing that a vampire can never kill her sire,” Zephyr said.

  The words didn’t make sense, but they didn’t need to. They were soothing all the same.

  “You will return to the surface, but you will never see the sun again. You will return to society, but you will never be one of them. You will know you’re an outcast, hungering for everyone around you, knowing that if they ever discover the truth about you, you’ll be killed.”

  That didn’t sound right, but she couldn’t argue. All she could do was keep drinking the sweet elixir that flowed down her throat.

  “And when you’ve spent enough time cast away from society, forced to live on the fringes of the world, hated by everyone around you, tortured by your own miserable existence, you will wish to return to my city. But you will never step through this gate again. You will never tell mortals where Terra Nocturne is—or that it exists at all. You will never betray me or our location to the mortals.”

  Zephyr leaned down and kissed her forehead with soft, cold lips as he pulled the drink away from her mouth.

  “Immortality is the gift and the curse I will bestow upon you instead of killing you.”

  32

  Azalea sat on Nero’s bed and stared down at her reflection in the dagger she still held. The dried blood that stained the blade framed her face. The smoky makeup under her eyes streaked down her cheeks in dark smudges, but the tears no longer came.

  Would he kill Miria? Or would he let her go, even after all that had happened? She might have believed the latter before betraying him. Now, though… Even if he did let her live, would Azalea ever see her again?

  She had never felt so alone.

  She flung the dagger across the room, and it clattered uselessly against the stone wall. She’d considered hiding it, tucking it away somewhere to attack Nero while he slept, but there was no point. If he could compel her to follow his orders and sense when she left the castle, she would never be able to catch him off guard like that.

  If she’d known about the compulsion that came with the blood ritual, she would have never willingly participated in it. She would have fought him until he had to kill her.

  The wooden door swung open, and Azalea snapped to attention.

  Nero stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him. Without looking at Azalea or regarding her, he set his silver crown on the dresser and began unlacing his black shirt. The white shirt he wore underneath was stained with blood that had soaked through the dark material of his outer shirt. He removed the second shirt as well and tossed it across the room.

  “In all the years of my immortal life,” he began, finally breaking the silence, “the only betrayal that hurt worse than yours was the one that damned me to this existence in the first place.”

  “I swear, I never intended to betray your trust. I—”

  “You wanted to help your friend. I understand. It is an admirable quality.”

  She looked up and met his eyes in the mirror.

  “I lost my temper tonight,” he continued. “I lost control of the monster within me. It won’t happen again.”

  Lost his temper was an understatement. “Did you kill her?”

  “No.”

  It was a relief to hear, but it wasn’t enough of an assurance. Miria had been bleeding out when Azalea left. Even if Nero didn’t kill her himself, there was still a good chance she didn’t make it out alive.

  “Did she…” She couldn’t bring herself to speak the words aloud.

  Nero considered that for a moment. “I took care of her and sent her on her way. The wound will heal, and she will be fine.”

  “And…that’s it? You let her leave?”

  “I didn’t stay to watch her go. But yes, she was free to leave once I left.”

  She held his gaze in the mirror, searching for any sign that he might be lying. Something hummed within her. It was the same feeling she’d experienced after the blood ritual, a weaker, less demanding version of what she’d felt during the compulsion. Through what she could only assume was the strength of their blood bond, she could feel the truth in his words.

  Azalea let out a breath, and with it all the pressure she’d been holding inside since he’d revealed himself at the exit released. Miria was safe. That was what mattered most.

  Nero crossed the room and sat next to her on the bed. He reached for her, hesitating for a brief moment before running his hand along her cheek.

  She shuddered at the chills his touch sent through her body. Before everything that had happened that night, that touch would have thrilled her. Now, her stomach lurched. The softness that had once felt so sweet now disgusted her.

  She could never forget the cold look in his eyes or the hardness of his voice as he’d compelled her to act against her own will. She would never forgive him for it. No matter how kindly he attempted to treat her in the future, she would not allow herself to forget the monster that dwelt below the surface.

  “The…compulsion,” she said slowly. “Will I now have to follow your every whim against my will?”

  Nero sighed. “That could be the case, if that was what I wished.”

  “Did you know I wouldn’t agree to the blood ritual if I knew that was part of it?”

  “I suspected as much, but I never intended to use it. All I wanted was to protect you. I never thought I would need…” He cleared his throat.

  “Are there any other surprises from this ritual I should know about?” She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice, but it crept to the surface.

  “The bond goes both ways. The mortal cannot compel the vampire in the same way, but there is a certain connection between us now. You’ve felt it, I assume?”

  “Yes, I have,” she said. The humming in her veins grew stronger, and her own emotions from the evening pressed against a deep sense of grief and regret that wasn’t her own. Through their bond, she could feel what he felt, if she allowed herself to.

  “That aspect of the bond only goes one way,” he said, answering her next question before she asked it. “I am not able to access your emotions the way you can access mine. In that way, I suppose you have an advantage over me.”

  She didn’t return his smile. “You feel remorse. You mourn…something.” A tear that didn’t belong to her rolled down her cheek.

  “The gift I gave your friend tonight cost me greatly. Consider it my apology for my behavior. I hope you can forgive me for what I’ve done.”

  She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

  No matter how much remorse he felt.

  “Of course, my lord,” she said, though the words sickened her. “What will you tell the vampires who came from the surface, now that Miria is gone?”

  Nero’s face hardened. “A modified version of the truth. I will tell them that their leader attacked a member of my h
ousehold, though I will take credit for being the one who killed him.”

  A show of strength, she realized. He wouldn’t want them to think he didn’t have control over his own castle. “And what will happen?”

  “I’m uncertain. It’s possible Neryssa will take it as a declaration of war between our clans. In truth, I don’t know what to expect if that happens.”

  She tested the bond and found a hint of fear at the edges. Part of her wanted to forgive Nero, to allow everything that had happened that night to be wiped clean and forgotten, to go back to her life of easy luxury at his side. But she couldn’t allow that to happen. She couldn’t let herself forget the monster he was. If he’d let the monster within him out once, it was only a matter of time before it happened again.

  She would never be able to openly stand against him or kill him herself. So for now, she would have to play along and act the part of his loyal blood servant.

  Miria wouldn’t be around to save her anymore.

  So Azalea would just have to find a way to save herself from the beautiful prison Nero had trapped her in.

  Pain.

  Searing pain flooded through her body, scorching her from within. Her vision became white-hot as her blood burned within her veins. The excruciating pain coursed through her in unrelenting waves, consuming every corner of her consciousness. It was all she knew, all she could remember. Once, she had been someone. Now, the pain was all she was.

  Her scream cut through her consciousness, and she had no idea whether she was truly screaming or if it was all in her mind.

  Was she alive or dead? She didn’t know anymore.

  Make it stop.

  The words repeated in her mind, over and over again as she pleaded with whatever unknown force was causing her so much misery. Nothing heard her. No one answered.

  She was alone.

  After what felt like an eternity, darkness overtook her vision as Nyxa finally claimed her. With her final, barely lucid thoughts, she welcomed the goddess of death.

  33

  Dirt, sweat, and blood mingled in the musty air around Miria as she regained consciousness.

  A dull ache lingered in her limbs, making them too heavy and sluggish to move. A trace of the paralyzing pain traveled through her veins in a sudden flash, and she cried out at the memory of it. But it was gone now, and for a brief moment, she wondered if she’d imagined it entirely.

  Her head pounded, and her stomach clenched. She was hungry—no, thirsty. So, so thirsty. Her throat burned with need.

  Her eyes refused to open, but she was alive.

  How?

  She lay in place, waiting for her body to catch up with her consciousness. When she finally managed to open her eyes, blinking away a deep slumber, her vision swam in doubles of everything. The stairs beneath her and the rocky walls above and beside her blurred together.

  It took her a few delirious moments to realize that she was no longer near the opening of the tunnel, where she last remembered being. Instead, she was farther down, back near the entrance to the city. Through hazy, half-complete recollections, she tried to piece together what had happened to her, and how she had come to be lying on the grand staircase out of the city, all alone. The last thing she remembered was Azalea walking away from her.

  Azalea, whom she would never see again.

  She dug back further, and the memory of getting stabbed flashed in her mind. She dragged a sluggish arm up to feel her torso, where the vampire guard had stabbed her. The red stain on her dress had spread through the fabric, leaving nearly her entire torso coated in dried blood. She dug her fingers into the hole in the fabric and tore it away.

  Beneath the layers of fabric and dried blood, the skin at her side was smooth. There was no stab wound, not even a scar from a healed stab wound. All traces of it had vanished. With a gasp, she remembered the agony she’d felt when Nero stomped on her hand and broke several of her fingers. But when she looked at it and wiggled her fingers, there was no trace of that injury, either.

  As soon as her body allowed, Miria sat upright on the stairs. The memories came back as a slow drip as the events replayed in her mind, adding more clarity each time she ran through the evening.

  This time, when she approached the black cliff of her memory where everything fell away, she remembered Nero biting into her neck. Suddenly feeling cold, she shivered at the memory. She’d never had a vampire at her vein before, and she loathed the helpless tranquility she’d felt when he bit her.

  She raised a hand to her neck, feeling for an open bite wound, or, at the very least, scabbing on her skin where the bite had happened.

  Had she been unconscious for so long that the wounds had fully healed on their own? She had trouble believing that to be true. Surely someone would have come across her at some point and either given her assistance or finished the job themselves.

  She ran through the scenario again, and this time, she saw Zephyr hovering over her. If she’d seen him, didn’t that mean she was dead? Was this the After?

  What a sick joke that she couldn’t escape Terra Nocturne, even from the After. Perhaps her mind was a prison, projecting her worst fear.

  But then, the things Zephyr had said… None of them made any sense.

  Unless it hadn’t been Zephyr talking.

  Immortality is the gift and the curse I will bestow upon you instead of killing you.

  Zephyr’s face morphed into Nero’s in her mind, and her blood turned to ice in her veins.

  She brought a shaking hand up to her mouth and slid her fingers along her top row of teeth. Her finger caught on the sharp tip of her fang, drawing out a tiny drop of blood.

  Her fang.

  “No,” Miria said. “No, no, no…”

  She repeated the word until it turned into an incoherent sob. She wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked herself back and forth on the soles of her feet until she finally managed to calm herself.

  Of course she hadn’t just miraculously healed. She’d stared death in the face, and Nero had brought her back from it by turning her into the thing she hated most in the world.

  The gift…and the curse.

  Gods, was she thirsty. It burned through her throat into an intense, shooting pain in her head. She needed water.

  No…that wasn’t what she craved. She couldn’t bring herself to even think it.

  Miria heaved, her chest convulsing into retching motions that produced nothing but more pain.

  She stumbled down the stairs, unsteady and uncertain on her feet. Now that she was standing, her body felt unfamiliar, almost weightless. The heaviness she’d felt was gone entirely, replaced by an airiness that made her feel like she was floating.

  She didn’t have time to dwell on that. She had to get back to Azalea and make sure she was safe. And somehow, she still had to free her.

  At the base of the stairs, the huge iron gate had been closed again. She felt at her waist for the keys, but they were gone. Nero must have taken them after…

  After he did what he did to her.

  She swallowed the heavy lump in her throat. Thinking about it would make it real, and she couldn’t do that.

  Four guards stood on the opposite side of the gate, and they turned at the sound of her boots thudding against the ground.

  “Halt,” one of them called to her.

  “Let me in,” Miria said, her voice hoarse. “I need to get in.”

  The guards glanced at each other nervously.

  The one who had spoken first shook his head. “No, miss. I’m sorry. We’re on strict orders not to let you in.”

  “Whose orders?” Miria hissed.

  “Lord Nero’s. He said you were out there, and you’d want back in, but he forbade it.”

  “I need to get back to the ball.” She gripped the iron bars of the gate. “Let me in so I can get back.
”

  “The ball?” One of the other vampires scoffed. “That was yesterday.”

  Her heart sank. Had she been lying out on the stairs an entire day? What had happened to Azalea in the time since then? What had Nero done to her after stealing her away?

  A feral snarl came from her throat, and her lips curled up above her fangs. “Let me through!”

  “She’s a newborn,” one of the guards said, pointing. “Just look at her.”

  “Who’s your sire?” the first guard asked, brow furrowed.

  “Must’ve been Nero,” one of the others whispered.

  “Pretty damned harsh to leave a newborn out in the cold like this, no guidance, no blood, no nothin’.”

  Miria snarled again and leaped for the bars. She slammed into them and shoved her arms through the gaps, waving them wildly at the other vampires.

  “It’s okay,” one of them said, approaching her cautiously, hands held out like he was trying to show a dangerous animal that he meant no harm. He kept his voice low, almost a sing-song. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “She’s in a blood frenzy,” one of his companions said. “She needs a drink.”

  “I can see that,” he said, continuing in his lilting, dreamy voice. He reached down to his belt and retrieved a small flask, which he held out for her. “Here, have a drink. You’ll feel better.”

  Miria started to reach for the flask, then pulled her hand back with a startled jerk. “What’s in there?”

  “Blood,” he said. “It’s what you need.”

  She backed away from the bars until she tripped on the stairs behind her. She landed on the cold steps with a thud. “I can’t drink that.”

  “You’ll have to drink something. I can’t let you back into the city, but I can at least give you this before sending you on your way.”

  No matter what she did, it was clear they wouldn’t open the gate for her. And the longer she stared at them, with the flask full of blood outstretched toward her, the more her throat burned. If she stayed, she might just be tempted enough to take it from him. She couldn’t let herself do that. As soon as she accepted it, she’d truly be one of them. Not just by the change in her body that Nero had forced upon her, but by her own choice. She couldn’t accept it.