Page 56 of The Sorcerer of Shadowholde

To her?

Renatus sat at the desk in his office, trying to focus on work, but Vita kept infiltrating his thoughts. It was the same story as the past two days, since he saw her during her moon cycle. He had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes to the back of his head; the mere memory of her taste tempting him to madness.

It had been a foolish idea, but he’d scented her for days as she lay in bed, stalking past her room over and over again until he couldn’t stand it any longer. Her taste had been as heavenly as he’d imagined, the trickle of blood from her hand nothing compared to the sweet nectar between her thighs.

So sweet that he’d foolishly offered the blood bond, something he had done with no others in many years. Not even Aurora had drunk from him in a very long time.

The way Vita had held his gaze as he tasted her—her mouth agape with whimpering mewls—had made him forget himself.

Another mistake, so many mistakes…

He’d barely been able to contain the all-encompassing anguish in time, had seen the way her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened as the bond slid into place.

Even then, even after what he had revealed to her, she’d settled into his arms, sighing with relief as her eyes fluttered shut. Gods, it made him want to scream, to cry, to tear out someone’s heart. These were not feelings he was supposed to be having, long dead emotions trying to push their way up through the soft dirt of his grave.

No matter how much Vita thought she wanted him, all of him, it was a mistake.

Renatus was a monster. And monsters could not be loved.

He’d learned that long ago.

Aurora was an exception to the rule, as was Petran, his only other friend. Well, more than a friend, Petran was a lover, just like Aurora. The three of them had bonded centuries ago, before Renatus had been turned, before everything had changed.

Yes, they both cared for him, but not in the way they adored each other. Though Aurora was always strong, always trying to mask her true emotions with sarcasm and wit, Renatus knew the way she pined for Petran when he was away on business.

And then there were his thralls. Their love was manufactured, borne by blood and debt. Not real.

You are a monster.

The last thingshehad ever said to him, the last words he’d heard from her lips.

He could not go through that again. It had almost broken him, tore whatever undead life was left straight from his body. He’d begged Petran and Aurora to kill him, to end it, but they had refused. They assured him there was a way they couldfixthis.

But there was nothing to be fixed.

The real Renatus was gone, replaced by a monster in the blink of an eye, and his true love had gone too, left him in his greatest moment of need.

He had been too weak at the time, too weak to do it himself. So many days he lay awake with the point of a wooden stake pressed to his chest, but still, he couldn’t do it. His maker wouldn’t allow it and the compulsion to obey was too strong. Losing a thrall? Now that just wouldn’t do.

The pain was more easily managed now, locked in a box and buried deep within him. With time—and freedom from his maker—the despair had subsided, waned until there was nothing left. Or at least, he had thought there was nothing left.

So why did Vita set his body aflame every time he was with her?

She made him weak, made him desperate, made him do foolish things.

It had to stop.

Renatus would keep her safe, always, but the rest? The rest was no more. He could survive the blood bond until it wore off, until the invisible string that linked them ceased to exist, could keep his distance to avoid revealing anymore of himself. He’d been doing a fine job of it until her moon cycle. She loathed his vile words; it had been easy enough to scare her off when she questioned him in the courtyard. With time, her lust would wane, and she would fall back on her handsome friend, or another.

With time, she would move on.

Renatus tried to focus on the papers in his hand, requests from the Praetor for more guards. Amulius was always begging for more, and it disgusted him. A vile little man who put his hands on unwilling servants, he would be more useful buried six feet under. But Renatus had to play nice, had to throw the dogs a bone once in a while.

With a scribble, he signed off on the paper, tossing it back onto the never ending pile of monotony. Despite the tedium of the job, the perks were worth it, more gold than he knew what to do with and the use of the palace. It had been easy enough to get the position in thefirst place, a few compulsions here and there and Renatus was in line to be the next High Consul. Aurora and Petran had advised him not to, but what was the harm in using some of his powers for his own benefit? He’d paid more than enough for them.

He’d paid with his life.

A price he had not been willing to give, but was stolen from him by his maker.

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