Page 12 of Vows Forged in Blood

“I’m sorry that your first is…well,me.” If I’m stuck in a war camp, then so is she. I’m sure she would rather be in a castle somewhere.

“I’m not,” Takara says, surprising me. “Like you, I was not born to that world—and I don’t particularly care for it, if you don’t mind my candor. The rich accommodations and fine silks are nice, of course, but the rest of it—” She waves her hand airily to encompass what I assume is the politics and social standing and court drama nonsense. “—I can do without any of it.” My lips quirk. Maybe Takara and I have much more in common than I ever thought possible.

She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. There have always been stories of vampires, myths and legends told around campfires from long before the Blood Peace, when vampires were still monsters hiding in the shadows. For some reason, all the stories claimed that vampires didn’t breathe. Though it’strue that they can hold their breath for extremely long periods of time, theydobreathe, and I’ve always wondered where that particular false characteristic came from. Of course, there were plenty of other silly ones to go along with that: an allergy to garlic and sunlight, the inability to cross bodies of water, a lack of reflection in mirrored surfaces. Perhaps I can ask Takara…or Alaric?No, that’s ridiculous, I chide myself as I push the thought away. I know that once settled in at the camp we won’t be speaking very often, if at all. We certainly won’t be discussing the origins of vampire mythology over a pint.

“I had a husband and a son,” Takara finally says quietly, pulling me from my thoughts. “Long, long ago. They died in a Revenant attack and I was gravely injured. One of the vampires found me, one of Alaric’s men, actually—it’s the reason I was selected as your Keeper, I believe—and he gave me the choice of attempting the turning or ending things mercifully for me. I chose the turning.” She hikes one slim shoulder, making the gesture look ridiculously elegant as her sleek black hair shifts to the side. “At the time, I had grand notions about seeking revenge, deciding that living on as a vampire would be the only way I could avenge my family and then join them, but…well, I wasn’t made to be a soldier.” Her lips curl upwards. “I did two days of training and promptly decided to serve the Montclares in other ways instead, that my service to the family would be payment to Alaric and his Coven for taking my revenge for me.” She glances to me and adds with a scrunch of her nose, reminding me so much of Enid in that moment that my heart cracks, “The training involved lots of dirt and physical exertion—andnotthe fun kind.”

I bark out a surprised laugh and Takara chuckles softly, the tips of her small fangs peeking out as she smiles.

After a few moments, I say, “I’m sorry. About your family, I mean.”

“It was almost a hundred years ago now,” she says in a tone that tells me the subject is closed for now. I nod and turn back to the window, watching as we move farther into the camp. I frown. Buildings are scattered all over.Actualbuildings, with walls and roofs and even chimneys, and soon there are hundreds of them, thousands maybe, spread out in neat rows. The lines fan off in both directions as far as I can see, vanishing in the distance.

“What the…?”

“Those are the living quarters, my Lady,” Takara answers. “Not to worry, I’ve been assured that the High General’s cabin is much larger than these.”

“I…well, I honestly expected to be sleeping on the ground in a tent.” Takara looks horrified.

“Absolutely not, my Lady. And besides,” she adds, “even if they did live in tents, we would have demanded a cabin for you. Forus,” she amends. “A Consort and her Keeper donotsleep in tents.”

I laugh lightly at the disgust in Takara’s voice at the thought of sleeping in a tent. The rows of cabins finally stop, but we continue on the road. Apparently, the High General’s quarters are set apart from the rest, up a small rise with an admittedly stunning view of the dark mountains in the distance behind it. We finally came to a stop in front of the cabin and exit the carriage. I roll my shoulders and neck, barely stopping myself from rubbing my ass. It’s entirely numb from sitting for so long, despite the thickly cushioned seats.

I eye the large cabin in front of me with interest. Though simple, it’s beautifully crafted, with motifs of battle scenes carved into the four thick columns flanking the oversized front doors. The doors themselves are each carved with Alaric’s sigil, the snarling wolf seeming to look right through me.

It’s at least five times as large as any of the other cabins I’d seen, made out of a deep, red wood and gray stone, withwings extending to each side, angled slightly back towards the mountains. I wonder what the inside of a vampiric warlord’s personal quarters might look like. Sparse and utilitarian? Rich with spoils of war? Maps and weapons strewn across every surface? From the little I know of Alaric, I would guess the first, but I can’t deny that I’m curious to know the truth. Will I ever be invited inside? Will I go there to provide blood? Or will he simply send someone to collect it from me from my own cabin now that we’re at the camp?

Off to the right and slightly lower down the hill, another cabin stands, much larger than the other living quarters for the soldiers, but not nearly as large as Alaric’s. It looks new—built after Alaric learned he’d be bringing a Consort back with him? This must be for me. It’s customary for Consorts to reside with their princes, technically in the same home, though they usually have their own wing and completely separate life for the most part, but I’m not surprised that Alaric would only make so many concessions. Being forced to take a Consort after all these years is one thing. Sharing his home is another.

And that’s completely fine with me. I’m perfectly content to live in the smaller cabin with Takara. A chef had also been sent from the palace, though I know there are cooks here at the camp who prepare the meals for the humans who serve the army, so why I need a personal chef is beyond me. I mean, I know exactly why—to most, the Consort is one step below royalty, someone who deserves and needs special attention—but I still think it’s silly. My palate is decidedly unrefined and I’d be more than happy to eat whatever the rest of the humans do. I’d probably prefer it, actually.

Either way, I wonder if Reginald will reside with us in this cabin or if he’ll stay with the rest of the humans. Where are the rest of the humans, anyway? Do they all live together, or do they get their own quarters like the soldiers apparently do? What dotheydo, exactly? Wash and mend clothes, and clean up around the camp, I imagine. Will I be allowed to mingle with them?

I puff out my cheeks and let out a long, slow breath. I’m getting extremely tired of not knowing what’s going on or what’s to come.

The wind blows in, and though it’s cooler than what I’m used to farther south, it isn’t the utterly bitter cold I’d been expecting this far into the Northlands. It feels nice, actually, and I raise my face to let it kiss my skin, blowing wisps of hair away from my face.

As if reading my thoughts, Takara says, “winter is still months off yet. When that comes…well, we’ll be sure you have proper clothing before then, not to worry. I’ll return shortly.” With that, she glides away in that eerily graceful way that vampires have, almost as if her feet aren’t even touching the ground. I’m admittedly a bit jealous of it.

I watch her go, and then glance around at the rest of the party who have all dismounted and are talking in small groups or unloading things from the carriages or saddlebags. No one seems to be paying me much attention at all, so I just stand here alone, a bit awkwardly, unsure what I should be doing. On the one hand, I’m a Consort and that means I can do mostly whatever I please, but on the other, I’ve just entered a war camp, the most notorious war camp in all of Braxhelm to be exact, and am surrounded by vampire warriors. Though they’ll be respectful of the title in that I’m sure they’ll incline their heads when I pass and not hurt me in any way, I have a feeling they won’t really give two shits about who I am or what I’m doing there. These people have far more important things to worry about than some ridiculous, ancient custom and made-up title. Little things like preparing for battle and protecting the entire continent from Revenants, for example. I shiver a little at the thought, cutting my eyes to the mountains far in the distance.I know that the Revenant army lies just beyond, always at the ready, always plotting and planning and trying to find a way through Alaric’s forces and back into Braxhelm.

I tear my eyes away from the mountains, disliking the fear that skitters up my spine the longer I look at them, as if I stare long enough, I’ll see the enemy just beyond. There’s a large stable set off to the left of the cabin, and, without having anything else to do, I wander towards it. I’ve always loved horses and have been shoeing them for years at the shop. I walk slowly at first, waiting for someone to tell me to stop, but no one pays me any mind, so I shrug and quickly speed inside. An absolutely massive horse stands in the center of the aisle between the rows of stalls. I know immediately that he’s Alaric’s horse, though this is as close as I’ve been to him throughout the journey north. He’s easily the largest horse I’ve ever seen. I’ve heard rumors that Alaric’s army is full of massive beasts, war horses bred for battle and to withstand the harsh northern climate. Though a little frightening, he’s absolutely beautiful: black as midnight save a silvery-gray patch in the shape of a star on his right flank. He reminds me of Night’s Fury and I wonder if Alaric had chosen the horse for that reason, or if it was just a happy coincidence. His mane is just as a dark, flowing thickly down his neck like spilled ink.

“Hello there,” I say softly, and the horse whickers quietly in response. “Pleasedon’t kick me…” I add as I approach. I gasp quietly when the horse turns his head to give me a measuring look. His eyes are a glittering crimson with a starburst of silver around his pupils. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. It’s…menacing. I can only imagine how terrifying it would be to see this horse riding into battle, red eyes gleaming, and Alaric Montclare on his back, blade raised and thirsting for blood. I swallow hard and wait for a moment, letting the horse make a decision, and then ease forward when he lowers his headslightly, telling me that he’s going to tolerate my presence, at least for now. I let out a slow exhale before reaching out and trailing my hand down his side and up his neck as I come around to his front.

He eyes me, but the more I look, the less menacing the red becomes. His eyes are soulful with an incredible intelligence within, something otherworldly and powerful. I can’t help but smile as our gazes hold for long moments, and then he presses his nose into my hands, demanding attention. I laugh lightly.

“Beautiful boy,” I say, rubbing his nose. “Ack, but you know that, don’t you?”

Chapter 7

ALARIC

Iwatch from the shadows of the stable as Dahlia cautiously makes her way towards Xanthus. Cautious, but not afraid. She’s braver than most humans, I’ll give her that. I watch for a few moments more as the two share a long look before Xanthus finally decides that he likes her and shoves his nose into her hands. She murmurs nonsense to the horse, stroking his nose and his ego all at once, laughing lightly when he pushes his big head into her shoulder for more attention when she stops rubbing him for a mere second.The big baby, I think, almost smiling. She seems so at ease here, genuinely happy for a precious moment. I can only imagine what she must be thinking now that she’s seen the camp, seen the life I’ve condemned her to. Will she hate me for it? I scowl, reminding myself that it doesn’t matter. It would probably be better if she hates me, honestly. It will be easier to keep distance between us if she has no desire to be near me.

Her hair is in a thick plait over one shoulder, but a few strands have escaped and curl softly against her temples and cheek. I roll my eyes as the insane urge to brush them away rushes through me.Fucking ridiculous.She took my adviceabout her wardrobe and instead of a gown she’s in tight leather britches that look as if they’ve been molded to her body and a leather corseted vest, lacing up the front. I try to stop the thoughts but I’m powerless: I imagine tearing those laces free, ripping the leathers from her and taking her hard against the stall door just behind her. I imagine the feel of her lips on mine, the thrum of her pulse beneath my tongue as I lick her throat before biting, sinking my aching fangs into her flesh and drinking deep. I imagine her hands in my hair, her gasps and cries, imagine lifting her up and slamming my cock?—

“He likes you,” I say, striding out into the light before my imagination drives me mad. She yelps and leaps away from the horse, her back hitting the stall door. I clench my jaw, the image from a moment ago, of her against that very door with my body flush against hers, searing my mind and blood once more. Her heart thuds loudly in her chest and the sound makes my body feel as if it’s on fire. “Calm your heart, Keeva,” I bite out through clenched teeth. Every beat is like a hammer against my control, daring me to break. I will beat this, Iwillmaster myself, but I need time. She swallows hard and straightens.

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