Page 5 of Vows Forged in Blood

I’d been the first Montclare to leave the life of luxury and join the army.

Now I would be the first one to forsake his mate.

She. Is. Not. Mine.I growled the thought, over and over, determined for it to become fact by sheer force of will. Even so, her name left my lips without thought when the Magister asked for my choice. As much as I was determined not to accept this ridiculous idea, I also refused to leave this place without her.

The binding had been a special kind of torture, but if there was one thing I’ve mastered in my three hundred and fifty years in this world, it’s complete discipline over my body. Even so, I barely held myself still, barely stopped from yanking her to me, sinking my fangs into her throat and drinking what the gods had deigned was mine by rights. Her blood was…ecstasy. Never had I tasted anything so sweet, so full of life, so addictive. It drove me nearly mad, made my pulse race and my cock ache and strength flood every inch of me. With but a few drops, I felt as if I could destroy all of the Revenants single handedly.

Mate or not, with the taste of her on my tongue, I could understand why the elders had decreed that taking straight from a living source was to be avoided by the royal line. My baser desires and instincts flared to the front, my fangs shooting everlonger, my nails flaring and sharpening into claws, the urge to bite her tender flesh startling me in its fierceness. My muscles tensed, bulging as my body prepared to strike. I could snap her like a twig, could turn her bones to dust without even trying should I lose control. I heard my brothers chuckling low behind me and I knew that the bastards knewexactlywhat I was thinking and feeling—at least to an extent. I feared that what I was experiencing was even more intense because of the fact that she was…No. Again, I refused to even think it.

I also understood now why so many of my men frequented the blood house in the village to the west of the camp. I was suddenly envious of my men, envious of their lack of title, the lack of expectation to be above such desires and to abstain from ever taking blood directly from a human’s body, of doing…other things with a human. The idea of sinking my fangs and my cock into Dahlia…I’d shuddered violently and locked every muscle into place, commanding my body to obey.

In addition to the bliss of her blood, I felt a connection between us snap into place as soon as our glasses were drained. It was as if a cord tethered us together now. A thin cord, given the small amount of blood, but a cord nonetheless. I knew the cord would only strengthen for me each time I drank her blood, and I scowled at the thought. This was going to be difficult enough as it was, but being connected to her in this way was going to make everything that much harder.

“This concludes the Choosing,” the Magister’s voice rings out now. All of the vampires bow their heads. The other Potentials finally rise from their kneeling positions in front of the dais, some wearing expressions of shock, others of devastation, and still others of disgust and anger. One girl in particular sneers at Dahlia with such contempt that I’m glad that looks cannot kill or my new Consort would be dead on the spot. Instincts flare and for reasons I can’t quite understand, I shift to put myselfbetween Dahlia and the girl, to shield her, to…protect her. The girl shifts her gaze upward and whatever she sees on my face has her paling and quickly averting her eyes, scurrying out of the room behind the other humans like a rat fleeing a sinking ship, her heart thundering in her chest, fear thick and acrid in the air.

I turn, intending to say something to Dahlia—though I admittedly don’t know what—but the Magister’s attendants are already dragging her away from the dais and out of a side door, the girl looking utterly dazed. From my blood? Or from the situation in general? Her entire world has just been upended, after all, of course she might be a bit out of sorts. Sebastian clamps a hand on my shoulder as I stare after my Consort. The word feels strange in my mind. I will not eventhinkthe other. She is my Consort only, nothing more.

“See, not so bad, was it? You chose well, brother. She’s quite stunning. And thatdress.” Sebastian shakes his head, squeezing my shoulder. “A bit unorthodox, of course, but…my gods.” Princes do not engage in physical acts with mortals—at least not officially. Unofficially, I know damned well that plenty of them partake, it’s simply not spoken about and hidden away—but that doesn’t mean we can’t…appreciate the view. And it’s true: the dress is unlike what any other Potential had worn. It wasevocative. While the others wore white or pale shades of pink or blue, in tulle and gossamer, flowing away from their bodies and making them look like, in my humble opinion, large puffed pastries, Dahlia’s dress was midnight blue silk that flowed over her body like water, hugging every curve as if had been painted there by an artist’s skilled hand. The straps over her shoulders connected with links of metal, and the front dipped daringly between her breasts. At first look, it appeared that an overlay of black lace ran along the bodice and down the skirts, flowing out behind her in a small train, but upon closer inspection, I found that it was thin, intricately designed chainmail.A dress befittinga blacksmith’s daughter, I muse.And a dress befitting the mate of a warlord…I scowl at that, banishing the thought away.

“She is of a new noble family, so she was not raised in this life. But,” Sebastian studies me for a long moment, searching my eyes in that way he has, “I think that might suit you perfectly. And hells, if she has more garments like that dress, sharing a cabin may not be so bad…” My brother waggles his eyebrows in a manner that’s very unbecoming of the head of the Montclare Clan, grinning like a horse’s ass.

“You could have warned me about the blood,” I hiss, changing the subject from the way Dahlia had looked in that sin of a gown, and ducking out of his grip to shove him hard in the shoulder.

Sebastian chuckles. “Now where would the fun be in that?” I narrow my eyes but that only makes Sebastian’s grin widen. “We knew that you could handle it, oh great warlord.” I roll my eyes and he laughs, that deep, booming laugh that warms my soul. Fiona bounds up then and immediately frowns at my hair.

“I cannot believe you went through your first Choosing looking like that. I could have?—”

“No, you couldn’t have, Fi. My hair cannot be tamed.”

“Just like your heart,” she says with a roll of her golden eyes. She wraps her arms around me and I hold her close, squeezing her tightly. I’ve missed her. I know I should come visit more often, but it’s hard for me to be away from my men, to keep the war from my mind for any real amount of time. As if reading my thoughts, Fiona sighs.

“Will you stay and celebrate?” she asks, though she already knows the answer.

“I want to get back to my men.”

“Why you choose to spend all your time among smelly, dirty vampire soldiers is beyond me,” Fi says with a dramatic shudder.

“Iam a smelly, dirty vampire soldier, dear sister,” I remind her, placing a swift kiss to her temple.

“I am proud of you, little brother,” Sebastian tells me with a ruffle of my hair. “Your Consort is being escorted home to collect her belongings and then she’ll be brought back for you?—”

“I’ll go to her,” I interrupt. Sebastian’s brow furrows and Fiona rolls her eyes again.

“Do you not know who her father is, Bastian?” she asks. Of course she would know. Fi would have studied the dossiers on all of the Potentials, probably knows their family histories going back centuries and learned it just for fun. She’s always been the scholar of the family, retaining information in ways I can’t even fathom. Bastian thinks on it for a moment and then his eyes light with understanding.

“Ah,Clayburn. The smith. Of course you want to meet the man in person. Is that why you chose her, then? Because of her father?”

“Partly,” I admit, though it isn’t completely true. It’s a perk, to be sure, but I’d chosen Dahlia for a host of other reasons that I need more time to fully analyze and understand, reasons I most certainly can’t explain to Sebastian. To tell the leader of the Clan that I’d found my mate in a human? He’d be…concerned to say the least. It’s unheard of. Mates areneverhuman. The loss of a mate is too traumatic for a vampire to bear, his or her life and soul too entwined with the other to continue alone. Humans are entirely too fragile, their life spans too short. The gods would never play such a cruel joke as to pair a prince with a human. Except, apparently, they have…if I choose to accept it, which of course, I won’t.

Of course, if somehow a matewashuman, they could be turned…but the catalyst for turning is death. It would be almost too much for any vampire to handle, even for the short time between death and the transition, but princes felt thingsstronger than other vampires. It would be agony to wait, to feel the loss of his mate, even for a few hours.

And the turning doesn’t always work.

I shake myself, not wanting to continue down this particular line of thinking.

“I wonder if the great smith has received all of your declarations of love in the post,” Sebastian muses in a teasing voice. “Perhaps he’ll agree to be your Consort in his daughter’s place.”

I shove my favorite brother harder this time and he laughs heartily.

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