Page 8 of Vows Forged in Blood

“Night’s Fury,” he finishes, eying the hilt over Alaric’s right shoulder. “Aye, I remember every sword I’ve ever forged, your highness.” He extends his hand and Alaric unsheathes the blade from his back in a quick, practiced motion that’s smooth and graceful…and oddly attractive. I realize I’m biting my lip beforequickly shaking myself.What in the seven hells is wrong with me?I rub the back of my neck and am entirely grateful that no one is paying me much attention at the moment. I know it must be because of the blood we shared, but it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.

Alaric inclines his head as he presents the sword to da, hilt first.

My eyes widen as I take in the sword. I’ve heard stories of the blade, of course, everyone has, but I’ve never actually laid eyes on it. Da had forged it years before I was born. It’s gorgeous, with the grip and cross-guard black as pitch, the wolf sigil of Alaric’s Coven on the pommel, eyes set with gleaming rubies and teeth bared in a fearsome snarl. The blade itself is such a dark gray that it’s nearly black as midnight, with silver stars inlaid along the blade.Realsilver.

Silver is poisonous to vampires and Revenants alike, could even be deadly, but most of it had been used during the bloodiest parts of the war. The remaining stores, small as they are, are closely guarded. The fact that Alaric commissioned a sword with actual silver in the blade is…well, the barkeep at the tavern would have said that Alaric’s bollocks were as big as boulders for it. I have to agree. It could harm his enemies, of course, but it could just as easily harm him,killhim even, if someone managed to turn his own blade against him.

I watch, fascinated, as da takes the sword and looks down the long blade. The lights spark off of the dark and light metals, the wolf’s eyes glinting brightly. I idly wonder how the two men can possibly even hold the massive thing, let alone how someone might actually wield it in battle. It’s nearly as tall as I am and I can only imagine how much it must weigh.

Da twists it this way and that before running his hand along the metal, fingers gently skating over the stars.

“This may well be the most perfectly balanced blade I’ve ever made, and I daresay the most beautiful.” He hands the sword back to Alaric, and he quickly slides it home with a quietschniksound. “I hope it has served ye well.”

“It has. Its name is enough to strike fear into the heart of our enemies.” Da’s lips curls at that. He’s always been proud of his work, and having it complimented by the High General, the famed Alaric Montclare, is something indeed, regardless of the strange situation we’ve found ourselves in.

“And the bearer of the blade would have little tae do with that, I’m sure,” da muses, seemingly untroubled by speaking with a prince, by having him so near. Alaric doesn’t smile, but his features soften slightly, perhaps theghostof a smile curling his lips ever so slightly. I wonder if heeversmiles. Perhaps when he’s cutting down Revenants on the battlefield.

“Only a little, I assure you.” Da grins at that, chuckling lightly, but Alaric’s features harden once again and he seems to steel himself. “I…Your daughter will be safe with me. I vow it.” My mouth drops open and I realize that I’m openly gawking, but I can’t stop myself. A prince is not only conversing with my father as if they were equals, but isassuring him of my safety? Alaric doesn’t owe us such a thing. He doesn’t owe usanything. Why is he doing it?

I huff out a tiny laugh, one so soft that my father doesn’t notice, but Alaric cuts his eyes to me for a moment and I’m sure he does. I realize that he truly doesn’t know how to act like a prince. He might be one in title and blood, but he isn’t one in his heart, doesn’t hold with the notion that he’s above anyone and everyone because of the family he’d been born into. I can’t deny that I like that about him, that it makes this whole ordeal slightly easier to bear for some reason. We’re strangely alike in that respect and I feel that connection between us seem to tighten,almost as if someone’s tugged the cord, trying to pull me closer to him.

Da takes a deep, shuddering breath. He looks to me, a sad smile on his lips and so much love and tenderness in his green eyes, so like my own, that my heart splinters. He turns back to Alaric, studying the vampire for what feels like an eternity, and Alaric lets him, though of course he doesn’t have to.

“If she has tae go, I’m glad it is with you and no’ one of the others,” da finally says quietly. Alaric’s brow raises ever so slightly in surprise, but he otherwise shows nothing. He inclines his head and the two of them begin to talk battles and weapons, da pulling out parchment and pen to write down some requisition requests for Alaric and his men. There are other smiths that supply the bulk of the weapons to the army, of course, at least one at every camp, but the High General and his lieutenants get special items. I slip out of the shop without another word, deciding to come back after they’re done to say my final goodbyes, but I swear I can feel Alaric’s eyes on me as I go.

And damn it all, my heart races because of it.

Chapter 5

ALARIC

The journey back to the Northlands takes us five fucking days. I’m not used to traveling with anyone but my men and most certainly not accustomed to having to slow my pace to accommodate oversized carriages full of who knows what. The Magister had tried to send an entire cadre of maids and butlers and even a hair attendant. What in the actualfuckis a hair attendant? Literally a being whose entire purpose in life is to attend to my Consort’s hair? It’s utter insanity. I made the concession to take a Consort, but I will not have such other nonsense in my camp, duty and honor be damned. Dahlia will have her Keeper and her personal chef to attend to her meals, but that is all. And honestly, I’m fairly sure Dahlia wouldn’t want much else if she had the choice. She doesn’t strike me as the type towantto be waited on hand and foot. She’ll have all that she requires and will be treated with all her due respect, but I must draw the line somewhere—and I draw it at a fucking hair attendant.

The Magister looked aghast when I’d made my decree, clearly uncomprehending how a Consort could possibly survive without such things, but after Sebastian’s blessing, he let it slide.

I haven’t spoken a word to Dahlia since we left Astoria’s Keep, have barely even seen her really over the course of the trip. To say that I’m conflicted and confused is an understatement on the most epic of scales. Part of me longs to be near her, the pull nearly undeniable, but the other part refuses to accept this fate and is cursing the gods to the depths of all seven hells. Why would this happen? How can it even be possible? It has to be a mistake. Perhaps something went wrong during the binding and whatever these confused instincts are will fade in time…though I don’t see how that’s likely if I’m going to continue taking her blood. I suppose I could simply continue with the replicated blood I’ve been surviving on for the last nearly four hundred years, but even as the thought forms, my mind rejects it. I sigh, admitting that part of me wants to take her blood. Not just wants, butachesfor it.

I’m beyond irritable by the time we stop for the final night before arriving at camp tomorrow. Partly because I do need blood, and partly because the reality of the situation is settling upon me like a thick, suffocating blanket. She’s going to be a part of my life, in some capacity, for the foreseeable future. Regardless of the fact that my instincts are demanding that I do it anyway, I vowed to her father that she would be safe with me, that I would take care of her. And I keep my vows. Always.

But humans are so fuckingfragile. I’d mused on that fact as we’d ridden, my mind wandering. Sickness, injury, drowning, an ill-timed cross beneath a snow-covered peak. Hells, even a fuckingbee sting.Any little thing could kill her kind so easily. And if sheissomehow truly my mate, my life is now tied to hers. I won’t be able to survive without her…

No. Fuck that. I’m Alaric Montclare. I’m the greatest warlord in history. If anyone could survive the death of their mate—a mate I don’t plan to even acknowledge, mind you—it would beme. Even still, I’ll do my best to protect her, to uphold my vow and keep her safe.

“I want a list of your recommendations for a personal guard for my Consort,” I tell Elias, the phrase still feeling strange on my tongue. “Four—no six.”

Elias, my most trusted and valued lieutenant and friend, nods. He’d ridden to meet us at the inn, knowing that I would be anxious for updates from the camp. And, knowing him, he was dying to get a look at my new Consort before anyone else.

“Six seems…excessive…” I arch a brow, telling him that I’m not in the mood, and he holds his hands up in surrender. “Of course. I’ll have a list ready tomorrow upon your arrival.”

“Good. And the additions to my cabin have been made?”

“Yes, all as you requested—with a few changes.”

“Elias,” I say, half warning, half exasperation.

“She’ll love them, I promise. Who has more experience with human women and what they want and need?” Elias arches a golden brow, smirking, and I grind my teeth. The bastard is right—I know next to nothing about human women, while Elias spends plenty of time surrounded by them in blood houses, doing all manner of things that, up until five days ago, I had no interest in.

“Go away,” I growl, which only makes Elias’ smirk turn into a full-fledged grin.

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