Page 72 of Vows Forged in Blood

He crosses the clearing to me in a few long strides and wraps one arm around my waist. A sudden pressure closes in around us, darkness descending like a thick shroud.

“Alaric?” I gasp, clutching at his waist.What in the hells is happening??

As quickly as it came on, the pressure ceases and the darkness falls away to reveal one of the grandest entrances I’ve ever seen. A soaring ceiling, so high that the corners are nearly in shadow, dual staircases curving around to a second-story landing overlooking the entry. Everything is dark wood and brushed metal and deep colored gemstones, not the typical glittering golds you’d typically find in a place like this, but still obviously regal. It’s gorgeous—I never cared for gold, honestly—but completely foreign to me.

“Where…”

A female vampire rushes into the space, three humans trailing in her wake. I blink, completely confused and my head swimming.

“Your highness,” the vampire says, clearly startled but recovering quickly as she bows deeply, the humans following suit behind her. “We didn’t expect you.”

“Everything is in order, I presume.” His voice is stern and flat, but I can hear the tension beneath, how much it’s costing him to speak right now.

“Yes, sir, of course.” Four sets of eyes look from Alaric, to me, to the firm, possessive grip of his hand on my waist. Two of them are better at hiding their surprise than the others, but none of them dare say a word.

Alaric nods and turns to stride up the stairs, every line of his body thrumming with tension, and I try my best to keep up.

“Expected? Where the hells are we, Alaric?” I hiss quietly as I practically run to keep up with his long strides. Did we just…teleport? I can’t wrap my mind around that, so I focus on following Alaric.

We sprint up the main stairs up one...two…fivefloors, then turn down a long, wide corridor lined with dark blue carpet and black marble wainscoting. At the end is another grand staircase, snarling wolves carved into the banister posts. I’m breathing hard, but silently thank Wesley and Takara for all of the morning exercises to build up my endurance.How big is this fucking place?

“Alaric, what the hells is going on?” Again, no answer. He just continues to pull me up the stairs beside him. I begin to wonder if he can even hear me. He seems…off. I peek out one of the windows when we finally reach the landing and realize that we must be at the very top of a high tower—and that we’ve traveled a great distance from the camp: the sea churns below, a dark bluish-gray with white caps erupting as the waves crest and fall. I want to linger and enjoy the view, but Alaric continues on, so I follow.

There are multiple rooms along this corridor, some doors standing open and I try to peer inside as we pass—a study, a lounge of some sort, a library, a training room similar to the one at the cabin but larger. At the end of the hallway are a set of towering double doors, black as night. Alaric’s sigil is carved into the center of each, ruby eyes staring at us as we approach. OrnateMs to represent the Montclare name are etched into each iron handle.

“Alaric,” I say, clutching at his hand. “What is this place?” I ask again. Finally, he finds his voice.

“Our home,” he says simply, almost absently, as he throws the doors open and strides inside.Our home?The room is absolutely massive, adorned in all black and dark wood, hints of red here and there. There’s a large sofa in front of a great stone hearth on one side, a black fur rug covering the stone floor beneath. A huge bed sits on a raised platform on the other side, the headboard carved with wolves and swords, and a large marble pillar stands at each corner. Bookshelves line the walls, another sitting area with a chess set sits in a corner, and of course a wall of weapons. It’s all very…Alaric.

He stops in the middle of the room and I step before him.

“Alaric?” I whisper, growing a little concerned. His chest is heaving and his eyes are wild, like an animal trapped in a snare. He seems to be seeing me but also…not, like he’s somewhere else entirely. Still on the battlefield? I’ve never seen him like this before, but, well, if what I’ve been told of a mate’s blood is true, then he’s neverbeenlike this before. I can feel the tension roiling through him, the bloodlust and the fear and the elation, all melting together in an intense maelstrom that I can’t quite wrap my head around. It’s making my own heart beat erratically, and my pulse jump uncomfortably. Despite the blood and gore, I reach out and place my hands on either side of his face. He shudders and leans into the touch, like he’s desperate to findsomething to ground him, to bring him back from whatever this strange trance is.

“Alaric, be at ease…” He squeezes his eyes shut and I can feel him spiraling, losing his grip on everything. I trace my thumbs along his cheeks, his stubble thick and…sticky against my skin. I release his face and grip his hands tightly in mine, leading him to what I hope is the bathing chamber and he follows obediently. The servants downstairs said that everything was in order, so I assume that means that the house—Manor? Castle??—is ready for him at all times. I’m hoping that includes soap in the?—

“Seven hells,” I breathe as we step inside the room. It’s almost the size of my entire bed chamber at the cabin, everything carved from black marble with veins of crimson, and it’s absolutely beautiful. Masculine but beautiful at the same time, just like Alaric. There’s a water basin, a tub that could easily fit ten people, and a…private privy?Why the hells would that be here?I put the thought in the back of my mind to focus on later and focus instead on what we need: the shower that’s as large as Xanthus’ stall in the stable. I turn the lever and hot water pours from the pipes high overhead. I step away as steam begins to fill the space and turn back to Alaric. He’s standing in the center of the room, watching me with that wild, almost lost look.

Without a word, I start to unbuckle the straps on his armor, trying to ignore how much thick, black blood coats it. I gently pull it off of his chest and thank all the gods for all of the exercises Nova and Wesley put me through: with Night’s Fury still in the sheath attached to the back, the armor weighs a ton and nearly knocks me over when it comes loose. A stab of panic flashes through me worrying for my friends, not knowing what their fate might be after the battle, but I push it aside. There’s nothing I can do about that now. In this moment, I can only take care of Alaric, only help to bring him back to me.

I pull his tunic off next, taking a selfish moment to admire his bare chest and run my hands over his sweat-soaked skin. I take a steadying breath when my fingers trace over the spot where the gruesome wound had been when I’d come to him almost two days ago. Now, only smooth, wet skin remains. I lean forward and plant a soft kiss over the spot, unable to stop myself. A low growl rumbles through his chest and I quickly pull away and kneel down to unlace his boots. He kicks them off and I rise. I know he needs to get out of his leathers but…well, honestly, I don’t know that I’ll focus on what needs to be done if I remove those at this point. So, instead I grip his hand and lead him to the shower stall, stepping inside with him though I’m still fully clothed. The heat is that beautiful pleasure-pain sensation after being out in the freezing Northlands. I hadn’t even realized how cold I’d been until it’s being chased away by the warmth of the water now.

“What are you doing?” he rasps, sounding like it’s still a struggle to speak.

“I’m getting you cleaned up. You’re covered in blood and…bits of Revenants,” I say, trying not to gag. The worst of it had been on his armor, but his neck and face and hair are all still coated. I silently thank the staff for keeping things at the ready as I reach for a new bar of a soap and a cloth on the shelf set into the marble wall. I work the soap into a thick lather, inhaling deeply the luxurious scent of pine and snow and something spicy that I can’t even name.

He lets me wash his chest and arms, scrubbing all of the grime of battle away. With every sweep of my hands, he seems to relax a fraction. Bit by bit, stroke by stroke, he’s coming back to me. I clean his neck and face, and maneuver him beneath the stream of water to wash his hair. By the time we rinse the soap from his curls, he seems to be back to himself.

“Keeva,” he breathes and all of the tension that has been squeezing my chest since I awoke falls away. I sigh in relief.

“There you are,” I say quietly. Without warning, his lips are on mine, his hands tangling in my hair. I gasp and groan as he forces my lips apart, his tongue thrusting frantically against mine. The fire engulfs me immediately, and all of the worry and panic from these last hours reach a fever pitch. I need him in a terrifyingly desperate way. I tug at his pants, and he literally rips them off of his body. He quickly gives my clothes the same treatment and heaps of fabric and leather litter the floor of the shower. His big body shudders as he wraps his arms tightly around me, pulling me hard against him. He backs us up until we’re against the stone wall and lifts me easily, hands beneath my ass and urging my legs around his waist. I obey, digging my fingers into his shoulders and back. He kisses me as if he’ll die any moment if he doesn’t. It’s desperate. It’s hungry. It’s devastating. I can feel everything clamoring inside of him, the connection and the love and the fear, the sharp, intense desire that isn’t just desire at all, it’sneed. It’s a physical, aching need of a vampire for his mate. I moan into his mouth, running a hand through his wet hair, as that same need echoes within me.

Every lap of his tongue stokes the fire burning inside, threatening to leave me in ashes.

“Need you,” he croaks against my lips, and the fire flares. He moves away from the wall, fumbling with the levers on the wall to turn off the water as he passes by. He strides back into the bed chamber and we’re greeted by blissfully warm air and the smell of burning wood.The servants here are quick and silent as death, I think. I can only imagine what they must be thinking after seeing the way Alaric had me clutched in his arms when we arrived, what one of them must have known was happening in the shower. I shake away the thoughts. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. The rules, the expectations, the honor or thedishonor of it all. All that matters is this moment with Alaric. All that matters is that he’s alive and whole and here with me.

The memory of how close he’d come to death, to leaving me to navigate this world alone, slams into me and I kiss him harder, desperate to feel him and chase away that nightmare. As if he can feel what I’m thinking—and hells, at this point maybe he can?—he kisses along my jaw, murmuring as he goes.

“I’m here, Keeva. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here…” I gasp and moan as his tongue and fangs gently glide over my skin. He makes his way down my throat, never biting, but driving me mad with the anticipation, before coming back to kiss my lips once more as he walks us through the room, up the two steps to the platform where the bed sits. He stops, pinning my back against one of the large pillars, and leans his forehead against mine. Both of us are breathing hard, chests slick and heaving. He slowly lowers me to the floor, steadying me with his big hands on my waist. He kisses me again, slower, though no less desperate. He kisses down the column of my throat before dipping his head to my breasts.

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