Page 13 of Blood Tribute

He would not bed her. He would thrust inside her right here.

He leaned his weight into her, pressing her closer to the wall. He wanted to sample a different side of her neck as he discovered just how wet his first drink had left her. Sweeping her hair to her other shoulder, he yanked the layers of her clothes down to her elbows, trapping her arms at her sides.

His gaze arrested on her arms. Scars criss-crossed her skin, some old, some new, a long history of pain written on her skin in long slashes. The most recent chapter was a set of new bruises, angry red imprints in the shape of a man’s fingers.

Dav wanted to break his oaths as a healer. He wanted to snap this man’s hand one finger at a time and listen to them crack.

With the utmost care, Dav brushed his fingertips over the angry marks on Nora’s skin. She flinched, and he felt her past fear in the Blood Union.

Then memories flashed across the surface of her thoughts, as clear to Dav as if she had described them. A brutal hand. A threatening voice. Her inner wounds cried out to him.

For the first time in half a year, his magic stirred within him. His sleeping power soared to life and revealed the depths of Nora’s mind.

Her inner world was a landscape of scars. They were small, a thousand little cuts. But over the short years of her mortal existence, they had disfigured her inside.

At her center lay an ugly injury that had never healed. He recognized the bends and breaks in her thoughts. No natural experience, however traumatic, could have caused this. A spell had invaded the Sanctuary of her inmost self to twist and shatter her memories.

She hadn’t been lying. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t know the truth about Rahim’s death. She didn’t even remember that night.

Dav took a step back, his body throbbing with cooling lust and unspeakable rage. Nora’s tormentor had committed the unforgivable act—violating a person’s Will.

He bared his fangs. “Who did this to you?”

She pulled her gown up over her arms. “No one who concerns you.”

“Tell me who he is.”

“Why does it matter? Am I not human chattel to you?”

He rested his hands on her shoulders and eased her around to face him. She clutched her hair, pulling it across her chest to cover herself.

“Did I make you feel like chattel tonight?” he asked.

Her gaze dropped to her feet. Memories of his mouth and hands flitted through her mind, and the scars there twisted her pleasure into shame.

He wanted to worship her against this wall until she regretted nothing.

But she snapped, “You’ve had your second tribute. Take me home.”

Dav cupped her cheek, lifting her face toward him. She looked more startled at the gentle touch than at her first glimpse of his fangs.

“Who. Is. He.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I suppose you want to make sure no one snatches your human plaything from you before you’re done with me. Very well. I don’t fancy the Order killing you before we complete our bargain, either. I should warn you that Sir Virtus has moved himself into my castle. Be careful. He’s a Knight Commander in the Order of Andragathos.”

The pieces fell into place. Sir Virtus was the man who had wounded Nora—and the knight who had dealt Rahim his death wound.

For the first time in his existence, Dav wanted to feel another’s suffering in the Blood Union. That empathy was what prevented Hesperines from abusing their great power. Awareness of others’ pain stayed them from causing it. But Dav would enjoy Sir Virtus’s pain.

His reborn magic felt raw, achingly aware of Nora’s thoughts. He tried to apply his power as he had done with his patients, to follow the pathways of pain through her thoughts to answers that could heal her. But his magic ebbed, then surged, slipping from his control. It was alive and well, but he felt like an apprentice relearning how to be a mage.

Dav wracked his own memory for his scant knowledge of Tenebra, now regretting the years he’d spent in his ivory tower. How could a Knight of Andragathos have caused these wounds in her mind? “Do I recall correctly that the holy knights do not possess magic of their own?”

“Right. Anyone with magic is required to enter a temple and become a mage instead of a warrior.”

“But your Order fights with enchanted weapons.”

“They pledge themselves to our god, so they’re the only warriors permitted to wield magical artifacts. Sir Virtus has access to relics that can harm a Hesperine and the training to use them.”

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