Page 67 of Vows Forged in Blood

"Not completely nothing," I correct her. I turn to Elias and find him standing between the two halves of the Revenant. We grin at each other.

"Nicely done, brother," I tell him.

A heartbeat later, an arrow sails through the air, passing just beside Elias' shoulder, and slams into my chest, just to the right of my heart. Pain laces through me and I stumble backwards from the force of the blow.

"Alaric!" Elias calls. "Fuck, more of the armor-piercing arrows??"

"I'm alri—" I scream in agony as fire seems to explode from the wound, sizzling through my veins and spreading outward through my entire body. I fall to my knees and Elias cries my name, slamming to his knees beside me. I blink past the pain, trying to focus, but I’m burning. I’m fucking burning and I can’t…I can’t…

"Alaric! Alaric, what's happening?"

"S…silver," I gasp as the pain doubles, the poison spreading through my veins like wildfire.

"A silver arrowhead!?" Elias braces me for the briefest of moments before yanking the arrow free and flinging it away.

"N…no." My body bows under the agony, and I feel blood well in my palms where my claws have sliced to the bone. "…powder…o-on the tip…"

Elias' face goes white as the words sink in. Silver is bad enough, but silver powder spreads through the blood, taking the poison to every inch of the vampire and burning him from the inside out, destroying him slowly and in utter agony.

"No. Ah gods. No, no, no. Help!" he roars, turning towards the melee below the rise. "Help me, NOW!"

I bite through my lip in an effort to keep from screaming out, blood pouring down my chin. The pain is excruciating, unlike anything I've ever experienced and I’m no stranger to pain. More of our men leap atop the rise, taking up defensive positions around me, while others pull me to my feet. Elias throws my arm around his shoulder and half drags me down the hill. I glance back over my shoulder, my gaze zeroing in on a spot far off in the distance, up on a stony overlook, somehow knowing exactly where to look.

There, gray lips pulled back into a snake's smile, is Kilgren.

Chapter 33

DAHLIA

“You’re going to dig a rut clear to the first circle of hell, my Lady,” Viktor muses as I pace back and forth for what must be the hundredth time in the last half hour. I’ve barely slept in the two nights that Alaric has been gone. I’ll admit that I’ve wrapped myself in his sweater each evening, and that has helped ease a bit of the pain of him being gone, but sleep itself has been elusive. I’ve dozed a bit here and there in the very early hours of the morning when exhaustion became too much, but fretfully. The first day had been torture, but I’d done my best to act normal. Today has been even worse. Training, the forge, walking with Takara, more training—everything only manages to keep the worst of my stress away for what feels like mere moments.

Now I’ve taken to pacing in the field behind the cabin while my guard and Takara watch on.

“Do you want to spar?” Cyrus asks cheerfully.

“No, thank you.”

“Do you want to watch Cyrus and I spar?” Malcom suggests.

“Oh, I would like to watch that,” Takara says, raising her hand. “Perhaps shirtless?”

“I second the shirtless sentiment,” Viktor chimes in with a grin, blowing a kiss in Malcom’s direction.

I can’t help but laugh, pausing my pacing.

“I wouldn’t be completely opposed to watching shirtless sparring, I suppose…” I grin and wink at Takara. “Maybe even pantless—” I gasp and double over as pain spears through my body, burning like someone’s touched a hot poker directly to my heart.

“Dahlia!” Takara cries, running to my side as I fall to my knees.

“My Lady, what’s wrong?” Malcom demands, drawing his blade just as Cyrus and Viktor do the same, placing themselves in a protective loose circle around me. I claw at the ground, fingers curling into the cold earth as I try to breathe around not only the pain, but thepanic, because this pain—it isn’t mine.

“Alaric,” I gasp out before pushing myself to my feet and running faster than I’ve ever run before. I hear them calling after me, giving chase, but I don’t dare slow. Something is very wrong with Alaric and something inside of me that I don’t understand is screaming at me to go to him. It’s more than just worry, it’s something much more primal. I run to the stable, Xerxes stomping in his stall, feeling that something is wrong with Alaric the same as I am. I throw open his door and don’t even waste time on a saddle.

Malcom makes it to the stable first, Takara just on his heels.

“Don’t try to stop me,” I warn. “You can follow if you want, but I have to go.Now.”

Takara studies me, a flash of understanding that I don’t even quite comprehend sparking in her eyes, and then she puts a hand on Malcom’s arm.

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