“Is the original ‘blood lore’ different from the current?”
“Yes, and no. Blood lore is merely the act of drawing out magic from the blood through item and ritual. There are some rituals every vampir can perform and some that are imprinted on our own blood.” Callos flips through the journals. “Others are unique to individual vampir. Innate abilities that come forth over time that allow them to use blood in ways no others can. Blood lore, like any study, has evolved over time for all vampir and for every individual.”
“What kind of innate abilities?” The idea of every vampire having unique powers is disheartening. It means they’re all more dangerous than I thought—than can be tracked or traced.
“It’s different for every person.” He glances up at me. “Take Winny, for example. If her dagger has a drop of her blood on it, she can never miss her mark.”
“I see.” I had been hoping for more concrete information on what I was up against. I had always thought the vampire could use blood lore just to steal faces. But it sounds like they can do almost anything with it on top of these “innate abilities.”
Callos arches his brows at me. “Are you genuinely curious about the blood lore?”
“I’m more trying to make sure you’re not taking me there to break the oath and carve me up,” I retort quickly to hide my genuine curiosity. If I ask too many questions, they might become more suspicious and stop giving me useful information.
“The oath will not be broken until it is fulfilled,” Ruvan says tiredly. “Stop thinking a threat lies around every corner.”
“A threat has lain around every corner my whole life,” I snap. “If anything, it’s stranger to be able to look danger in the eye rather than it lunging at me from the shadows.”
On my words, I lock my gaze with his. He dips his chin slightly. Those luminescent eyes threaten to swallow me whole. I can almost feel the depths of thoughts swirling behind that gaze. It’s as if a bridge has been erected between us, one I can never—will never—cross… But with it I can see and feel things I shouldn’t in him. I sense the ebbs and flows of his emotion. Strength radiates off of him, caressing me like the whisper of a dangerously good dream.
“You are not the only one who lives with danger lurking in the shadows,” he finally says, words as cold as the air of the castle. “You are not the only one who has spent their entire existence in fragility.”
I have never thought of anything about the vampires as “frail.” But the way Ruvan says so gives me pause. There’s genuine pain there that manifests as a dull ache in the hollow of my throat.
Ruvan stands. Before I can say anything else, he continues, likely for the best. “Come. We should outfit you properly for going into the old castle.”
He leads me through the double doors at the front of the hall, which connects to an antechamber that has been turned into an armory. The moment I see an armor rack, piled haphazardly with bloodied, all-too-familiar leathers, I cease all movement. I simply stare at the leather armor, void of owners to fill it. It mirrors the growing emptiness within me—the void into which I’ve attempted to throw all feelings…all thoughts of home, Mother, and Drew…just for the sake of survival.
“Does it enrage you?” he asks.
There’s only so much one can feel before emotions begin to numb, and I have passed that threshold. But I’m not about to be that open, that vulnerable, with the lord of the vampires. So instead I retort, “I did not take you for someone to be concerned with my feelings.”
“You wound me.”
“I strike true.”
A thin smile works its way across his lips. “That is one of the reasons I chose you, after all. To be a hunter, to strike fast and true, to be ruthless.”
“I thought you wanted me for access to this door and information on the hunters?”
“I am purposeful. Everything and everyone around me have multiple functions.” Ruvan crosses to the armor rack I’ve been staring at. He motions with an open palm to the pile of armor. “Take whatever you need.”
“I’m already fitted with armor.”
“Is there nothing better here?”
“No, every hunter is given the same armor.” With the exception of the master hunter. Davos always had the finest armor of the entire fortress…little good it did him. Still, I approach the racks, encroaching on Ruvan’s space. Lightly, I run my fingertips over the leathers. I press them into the buckles and fastenings I remember making. It was a small job that even a child could do. Goodness, it was easier when my fingers were smaller and nimbler.
A fourth of the armor here, I helped make. And it’s all stained with blood that looks far too fresh for my liking. Phantom heat from the forge tingles my fingertips as I think of working on Drew’s armor, armor that was just as bloody as this when I last saw him.
“The man you were killing, when I first saw you, in those ruins…” The words escape me as a whisper. I should keep them in. But this ache is too deep, threatening to overwhelm me if I’m not careful. “He… We left him…” I swallow thickly. The vampire lord merely watches me. Silent. Waiting. Allowing me to struggle. I bet he’s enjoying this turmoil. I wonder if he can feel my senses across that invisible bridge between us as keenly as I can feel his. “Was he still alive?”
Ruvan is horribly silent. Made worse when he doesn’t give me a direct answer. “What does it matter to you?”
“He’s—” The word twin sticks in my throat, choking me. I can’t talk about my family. Doing so would be a danger to Drew if Ruvan ever decided to steal my face. I will not be a repeat of my father. “Someone I care about.”
“A lover?”
“No!” I gag. “We’ve been…for a long time we were…very close…”
