Page 57 of Kings of Blood and Ruin

“We didn’t know that at the time,” Drystan explains. “But I did know that they couldn’t be allowed to live. They have no souls. No conscience like a vampire does. None of that remains intact. They are driven by the need to feed and kill. Weylen was struck down on the battlefield protecting the tribe chief. He was barely alive after the strigoihad all been destroyed.”

Weylen emits a low, guttural growl at Drystan, his eyes narrowing into angry slits as he locks on to his sire. There is no doubt an onslaught of hellish memories stirring up a potent mix of emotions and tightening every muscle in his body. It’s like there’s a dark storm brewing within him, threatening to break loose at any moment.

“Should have left me to die on the battlefield like a warrior,” he snipes, letting out an angry breath. “I’d be in Valhalla now, with my brothers and sisters.”

“Or just rotting six feet under,” Drystan growls.

Chapter 31

Weylen

After all this time, Drystan still fails to grasp the depth of my struggle. Though I have come to terms with my immortality, there’s a lingering ache within me, knowing that I will never be among my brothers and sisters in the land of our forefathers.A part of me still harbors resentment toward the man who brought me into this immortal life. Of course, it was not his fault. He had been bound by duty and honor to fulfill a debt owed to the chief of the Powhatan tribe, one that could never truly be repaid. My transformation into a vampire was a punishment for us both. I would never reach Valhalla, and he would be burdened with siring an unwilling foundling. A cruel twist of fate for two souls caught in a web of duty and sacrifice.

Sweet Thalia’s gaze bounces between us, confusion flittering across her brow. It won’t take her long to put the pieces together. She’s good at taking a puzzle and fitting the edges together just right. I wonder if it’s a part of her abilities, or if she just has a knack for seeing through things. There’s a childlike awe in her eyes when she’s learning something new about history. Whether it’s simple details like what I told her about Shakespeare or the tangled, dark history of my sword. She’s like a sponge, absorbing everything she can. The depth of knowledge she has astounds even me, and I’ve lived through most of history.

“Making a long story short,” Asher interrupts, shaking his head. The past is better left buried, but my mind drags up the old grudge like an anchor stuck in the mud. I try to push it away, but it lingers, simmering just beneath the surface. For years, I carried this weight of anger and resentment toward Drystan. I forgave him long ago, yet the memory still lingers like a scar on my heart. I was a king without a kingdom, shunned by my people, my name ripped from history. My purpose was lost until I became part of Drystan’s triad. But even with this newfound purpose, there is still a void within me that cannot be filled. Or so I thought. But then I met her. The little witch who sits tiredly by my side, her head leaning against my shoulder. In her presence, my soul finds peace and stillness that hasn’t existed in centuries. Sometimes I wonder if she’s meant to be our fourth member, completing our quad. But no, it couldn’t be possible. The last member must be a vampire, and she’s a witch. Fate could not possibly intertwine us in such a way.

Witches and vampires have long been banned from existing with one another. Thalia’s mother learned that lesson the hard way.

“The symbols are a…” Drystan pauses for a moment. He’s trying his best to convey how it works without confusing her. “A spell, I guess you could say. Like runes. It allows them to walk under the sun’s rays without turning to ash.”

Thalia nods her head slowly, her eyes beginning to droop closed. “It’s not permanent,” she guesses accurately. Drystan nods.

“Skin can be removed and the spell would be void, yes,” he tells her honestly. “It’s not a perfect spell, but it works.” Another tired nod.

“I’m sorry,” Thalia whispers, her gaze coming up to meet mine. If I had a heart, it would still at the guilt and sadness that’s welled up inside her glacier eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

This poor, sorrowful sparrow thinks she hurt me. I bring my hand up to gently cup her tear-stained cheek. “You didn’t hurt me, Thalia,” I assure her firmly. “It was a shock, but I’m fine. It will take a lot more than witch fire to take me down.” I give her a lopsided grin, and her answering smile takes my breath away. Figuratively.

“Come,” Asher says as he stands. “Let’s get you changed out of these clothes and into bed. You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, but her eyes are closed and her voice is slurred with exhaustion. Asher simply ignores her and goes to grab one of his shirts from his closet. While he’s busy doing that, Drystan and I start to undress the sleepy witch who’s dead on her feet.

“I’m sorry,” Drystan whispers remorsefully. “I shouldn’t have made that comment. I know how much Valhalla means to you. I shouldn’t have demeaned it like that.”

Drystan may seem cold and unfeeling to others, but those who truly know him, like Asher and me, understand that it’s just a facade. Family means everything to him, and he would do anything for us. We may not be related by blood, but Drystan chose us as his partners, and we stand alongside him as equal rulers of our clan. Unlike other triads, we have found a balance in power by recognizing and utilizing each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Drystan’s strategic mind and longevity make him the ideal leader, a role we willingly bestowed upon him.

“I know,” I sigh, letting my hands run down Thalia’s outer thigh as I remove her leggings. She’s so soft and fragile. We have to remember that. I can still see the bruises Asher’s hands created on her hips last night. Biting my lips, my mind conjures up what we could do to her now as she sleeps.

“Keep it in your pants, big guy,” Asher chastises as he steps out of the closet. “She fucking asleep.”

I give him a nonchalant shrug of my shoulders. “She might be into it.”

Both of my brothers roll their eyes. They know my penchant for somnophilia. It used to be one of my favorite games to play with my prey. I’d drug unsuspecting victims, taking from them what I want while they slept. When they woke, they’d be sore, with my feeding marks upon their bodies. There was a time in my history when I rebelled against Drystan’s teachings. Unlike Jedidiah, Drystan never believed in feeding from any species without consent.

It has been centuries since I last took prey without their consent. I’ve grown from the mindless beast that took my feeding victims against their will. Now, it’s all about the thrill of the hunt and the anticipation that nips at its heels. My prey willingly agrees to play our game, knowing full well what will eventually happen. They just don’t know when.

Vampires are natural hunters, feeding off fear and heightened emotions like a delicacy. It makes the blood taste sweeter, like honey oozing from a comb. And a witch’s blood? It’s like the finest wine or the smoothest bourbon—rich, robust, and utterly addictive. But vampire-witch relations have been banned for years. Ever since it was discovered that vampires could absorb a witch’s powers by drinking their blood. In the past, witches were hunted and drained by vampires who were seeking to gain their abilities. But they soon learned to fight back, infusing their blood with essence of willow, a deadly poison for any vampire foolish enough to feed on them.

Eventually, a truce was formed between our species, enforced by the council. Those who dared to break it faced swift punishment. Yet some vampires still tried, driven by their insatiable thirst and lust for power. And many paid the ultimate price for their defiance.

“I didn’t expect her power to be so destructive,” Drystan murmurs as he picks her up in his arms, placing her under the covers that I’ve pulled back. He pulls the covers up to her chin, tucking her in gently. There’s a softness in his eyes as he gazes down at her. It’s rare to see it since we were betrayed by Melissa. “I haven’t smelled power like hers in a long time. Centuries. Not even Melissa held this kind of potential.” He says her name bitterly, like it coats his tongue in acid.

Melissa.

If my heart could quicken at her name, it would. There’s still so much damage leftover from her betrayal. So many unresolved feelings shrouded by confusion and anger. She was our one hope to end Jedidiah’s tyranny, and we let ourselves be fooled because she presented herself as a witch-vampire hybrid. A Hail Mary for us. It meant that she could survive the amulet’s curse.

Unus pr commutationem pro alio.

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