Page 22 of Vows Forged in Blood

“Then she told him that if he ever laid a hand on any of us again, she’d put snakes in his bed every single night for the rest of his life. Needless to say, there was no more bullying after that.I bet the bastard still crosses the street when he sees you coming, doesn’t he?”

I wrinkle my nose but admit, “Perhaps…”

Descartes lifts his tankard in my direction.

“To our Lady Dahlia, wielder of serpents and punisher of pricks!”

Cheers ring out around us. I laugh, rolling my eyes, but I raise my cup in return. Everyone converges, slamming cups together, ale and blood sloshing all over. I squeal just a bit, but laugh, feeling like I’m really part of things here for a moment. Just then, something flashes through my mind.

Not just my mind, my entire body.

Alaric. I know without a doubt that he’s near, every inch of me singing with electricity and tension. I’d thought the bond had faded over these weeks, but now it feels as strong and solid as ever. I yank my gaze from the others as cheers erupt around the fire. My eyes land directly on Alaric, as if drawn there by an invisible force. The moon shines down directly on him like a beacon and I can’t drag my eyes away, no matter how hard I try. Seeing him again after all these weeks is like being struck by a bolt of lightning.

The men all raise their glasses and clap their fists over their chests. My heart thuds as I realize that perhaps he’ll be angry that I’m here, drinking and carrying on with his men. I shrink back, trying to hide behind the hulking bodies around me. Which is stupid, of course. I know he can sense me here.

But he doesn’t storm over and demand that I leave. In fact, he doesn’t even pay me any attention at all, merely weaving through the crowd, accepting handshakes and slaps on the shoulder and a cup of something with a nod of thanks. He doesn’t so much as look my direction. I’d been worried moments ago that he’d be angry that I was here, but now I realize he doesn’t give two shits about me or what I do. The thoughtsours my mood. Which is utterly ridiculous. It shouldn’t matter what Alaric thinks of me. Or doesn’t think, apparently. I’m his Consort, a glorified blood dispensary, nothing more. If we were in this situation under normal circumstances, I would never see him at all. I remind myself that he isn’t being cruel, it’s just the way things are. I try not to take it personally, but the ale is making that hard.

I try to shake the thoughts away…and ignore the way my blood heats at his nearness. Regardless of anything else, I can’t pretend I don’t notice the way my stomach flutters as I study him, heat pooling in my belly. He’s all in black, the leathers molding to his muscular body in a way that should be a crime. Embarrassingly, I actually bite my lip as my gaze skates down his body, from his broad shoulders to the smooth skin of his chest, visible where his shirt gapes open, and lower still, to his narrow hips, the way his weapons belt hangs there in a way that’s inexplicably sexy. His dark hair tumbles over his forehead and I have the sudden, intense urge to brush it away, to dig my fingers into it and pull his face to mine…

As if he can feel me staring or sense my thoughts, his eyes snap to mine.

My lips part as I inhale softly, and he holds my gaze as he responds to someone to his right. I’m frozen, locked in a strange trance with Alaric that I can’t explain and can’t break free from. His eyes are dark amber in the firelight, and I wish so badly that I could read the thoughts clearly racing behind them. Is he surprised to find me here? Does he care? Had it been hard for him to be away because of the bond? Is he…thirsty? I swallow hard at that, and Alaric’s eyes dip to my throat. His jaw clenches before he turns away to speak to someone else, though it looks as if pulling his gaze away had been an effort. Or maybe I’m just seeing things because of all the ale.

I let out a slow, shaky breath and then throw back what’s left in my cup. Though I tell myself not to, I glance back at Alaric, and Elias catches my eye instead. He winks, as if we’re in on some secret together that I don’t quite understand, and grins widely. I blush and give him a small, awkward wave because I’m honestly not sure what else to do and the ale says a wave is a good idea. I turn back to Wesley.

“Is this…normal?” I ask, gesturing towards Alaric as he continues to mingle with the soldiers. He actually seems to genuinely care about what they’re saying. He doesn’t look my way again but I know without a doubt that he’s well aware of me watching him. He’d told me that he’d be able to feel my moods and emotions, and my cheeks flame, remembering the way my body had reacted when I’d been watching him a moment ago. Would he have felt that? Would he have understood what the feelings meant?Gods.I rub the back of my neck.

“What?” Wesley asks, taking a sip of his own ale.

“Alaric…visiting with the soldiers like this?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says easily, and then laughs at my incredulous expression. “I know, you wouldn’t think it, but it’s true. He fights beside us, bleeds beside us, mourns beside us, celebrates beside us. He thinks of himself as one of us, despite being the High General, despite being a fuckingprince.” Wesley sounds as if he worships the vampire, as if he were almost a god. Seven hells, almost every soldier around the fire is looking at Alaric like that. Do they truly see him that way? I assumed they were all just terrified of him, that he was a rough and strict leader who demanded obedience and loyalty, settling for nothing less, but now I think that I may have been very wrong about Alaric Montclare.

Braddock brings me another tankard of ale and though I probably should stop drinking at this point, I smile in thanks, raising the glass to the big blacksmith before taking anotherdeep drink. I start to relax a bit more with every sip and soon I’m laughing with the men, cringing when some of them begin to sing horribly off-key, and leaning in as more stories begin—now all of them about Alaric. Battles won and lost (though those were few and far between), great heroics and daring rescues. He’s like a character in one of Enid’s novels for gods’ sake, the ones she pretends are all about adventure and chivalry, whenreallythey’re about a devastatingly handsome almost-villain who does unspeakably arousing things to the heroine in their bed chamber that make your toes curl and your blood heat just reading the words on the page.

I may or may not have sneaked several from her collection and read them myself on occasion…

“And so the bastard has the tip of his sword resting just over the High General’s heart,” a vampire with russet-colored hair says, talking animatedly, “armor gone, wounded and covered in blood, the rest of us with our backs against the wall—literally. We were backed up against the edge of a cliff with snarling hounds keeping us at bay.” Alaric isn’t smiling, exactly, but his lips quirk up on one side in an amused half-smirk. “And the Revenant says, ‘kneel, High General. Kneel before me and surrender and I might spare your men.’” He pauses dramatically before adding, “And then the High General smiles at him. Fuckinggrins.”

A chorus of cheers rings out. The vampire tamps his hands in the air, telling them to quiet down, but he’s grinning, obviously getting the exact reaction that he wanted.

“So, the High General is there, grinning with a sword aimed at his heart, and he says,” the vampire looked around for a minute, adding to the drama, and pitches his voice low, “‘I kneel beforeno one,’ and lunges forward, impaling himself on the fucking sword and putting his fist straight through the Revenant’s chest. Ripped out the bastard’s spine. He fuckingran himself throughjust to get close enough to end the prick!” Cheers erupt, even louder than before. Elias slaps Alaric on the shoulder, shaking him lightly, and he looks at the ground—hiding his smile?

He’s sitting across from me now and when he looks up again, our gazes meet through the flames. My pulse races and his eyes are glowing in the firelight, burning, his body tensing. Fire seems to flick through my veins, my pulse racing andthoughtsrising in my mind again. Crazy thoughts. Impossible thoughts. Thoughts I need to force away as soon as possible. His eyes dip briefly to my lips and I feel like I’m going to combust. I unconsciously wet them and I would swear that Alaric leans forward, as if he’s going to leap across the fire to me.No, I’m imagining things. It’s the ale and the binding and I need to stop staring at him.But I don’t. I can’t. He scrubs his hand over his jaw, dragging a finger slowly over his lips and my stomach flips.

“What about the time he used a Revenant’s entrails as a rope to climb up the side of a cliff?” someone calls out, and cheers and laughter break out around us, shattering the strange moment. Alaric shifts his gaze to the man who’d spoken, all evidence of the intense tension from a moment ago erased as if it had never existed at all. Gods, maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe I just really need a good fuck.

“Are you alright?” Wesley asks. I blink and shake myself.

“Of course, why?”

“You look flustered. And mouthwatering, if I’m being honest,” he adds with a smirk. “Your blood is pounding in your veins right now.”

“Oh, uh, must just be the ale,” I say, forcing myself to relax and forget the moment with Alaric. I give Wesley an easy smile and swat him in the shoulder. “And I can’t believe you just said I lookedmouthwatering.” I roll my eyes and he snaps his fangs playfully in my direction, making me giggle and squeal.

The night continues with more stories, more songs, more laughter, entirely too much more ale, and thankfully, no more odd moments with Alaric, though I can’t shake the feeling that he’s watching me like a hawk, despite the fact that he never seems to actually look at me. It’s unnerving.

I’m surprised by the comradery, the obvious love among the warriors. I must have said something out loud without realizing it, because Wesley nods.

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