Page 7 of Vows Forged in Blood

“Aye,” he says, nodding, “I know it’s a shock, and I’ll miss ye with every fiber of my being, but all will be well. I have faith.” He eyes me until I relax slightly, nodding. If he’s sure of this, if he’s able to be strong and accept this, then I can too. “I’ll be right back. I’ve got something for ye.” He grins as my eyes light up with excitement and suspicion. I adore surprises, but Arwan Clayburn is known as a lover of jokes and tricks. He could come back with a heartfelt gift that will make me cry…or something ridiculous to make me laugh. The odds are evenly matched on the outcome.

While I wait, I stand before one of the high work tables lining the walls of the large room.Mywork table. When we’d inherited Lord Burren’s wealth and title, da had been able to build a much bigger and better shop, hiring one of his apprentices on as another smith, and taking on several new apprentices as well.It had always been his dream and the fact that it had become a reality was all I could ever want. He’d made a special work area within it, just for me and my projects.

I run my fingers over the polished table top, thinking on the hours upon hours I’ve spent here, the heat and the sounds of clanging and the smells so much a part of me that I don’t know how I’ll survive without them. I pick up a gauntlet I’ve been working on, turning it over in my hands as I squeeze my eyes shut against the pain.

“He made my sword, you know.” I gasp and whirl, dropping the gauntlet. “Your father, I mean,” Alaric Montclare clarifies from the doorway. He’s changed from his formal dress, now clad in what looks like military gear: black leather pants and vest over a black tunic, a weapons belt slung around his hips and the hilt of a giant sword peeking out from behind his back. I grip the top of the work table behind me, my pulse thundering as he slowly makes his way into the large space. The blood we shared during the Choosing has connected us in some way, I think. His mere presence here has my heart racing and the blood in my veins singing, a longing to be near him rearing inside my chest…like a hound longs to be near its master, I think coldly. That’s what I am now. His pet. His property. The thought cools some of that longing, but there are still embers burning beneath the smothered flames.

He eyes me curiously as I try to regain my composure and bend to quickly scoop up the gauntlet.

“You need not fear me,” he says smoothly.

“I’m not afraid,” I say a little too quickly, my words belied by my thundering heart that I know he can hear. He arches one dark brow, but otherwise doesn’t comment. I lick my dry lips and swallow hard. “What are you—” I stop, remembering myself at the last moment, and instead bow my head. “Your highness,”I amend, “I was told I’d be brought to you after I collected my things. I…I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I am not like the other princes,” he says, ignoring the rest. “I care for no titles other than High General, and that is only for my men. You…” He takes a moment, almost as if he’s steadying himself, before he speaks again. “You may just call me Alaric.”

I have no idea what to do with that. I never imagined even being in the presence of one of the princes, let alone calling him by his given name. I wonder yet again if maybe I’m dreaming, that this is all in my head and I’ll wake up any minute.

He begins to stroll around the space, inspecting tools and running his long fingers along weapons and scrap pieces of metal. I watch him in silence, my pulse racing as I take the opportunity to openly study him. He’s utterly terrifying and incomprehensibly handsome at the same time. Tall, with a broad chest and shoulders, thick, black hair in a devil-may-care disarray that makes him even more attractive. It’s the kind of hair that you long to run your fingers through while you do all manner of sinful things—and looks like perhaps someone already has. It’s unsettlingly how gorgeous this man is.

His features are hard and sharp, as if he’s a sculpture brought to life. He looks to have stopped aging around thirty-five or so, but I know he’s much older than that, three hundred at least, maybe more. Despite him looking regal and breathtaking in his finery at the Choosing, I have to admit that the dark fighting leathers suit him much better. There’s a rugged wildness about him that makes my breath shallow and my blood heat. Something about him calls to me in a way I can’t describe. It has to be the blood we shared, doesn’t it? Or is it just his preternatural allure, the vampire prince in him working its wiles on my mind and body?

“Alaric,” I say, testing out the name. His eyes seem to darken slightly at that, the gold flashing a deep amber for a moment.“I thought I was to be delivered back to the palace. Why…” I trail off as he runs his fingers gently, almost reverently, along the blade of a sword hanging from a hook on the wall, and realization dawns. “Oh. Of course, you want to meet my father. He’s just inside, I can go fetch him for you.”

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Alaric asks, gesturing to my hands.

“It’s nothing,” I say hastily, moving to put the gauntlet down, but suddenly he’s here, right in front of me, only a few inches separating us. I gasp in surprise, eyes flying wide.Dear gods he’s fast. Vampires are all fast, of course, faster and stronger than humans, but Alaric is like lightning. He hadn’t made a single sound, just seeming to materialize before me in an instant. I have a feeling seeing a prince using his full abilities would be something to behold—and to fear. No wonder he managed to drive the Revenant army almost totally out of Braxhelm. No wonder his very name strikes fear in the hearts of any who hear it. No wonder I’m trembling ever so slightly at his nearness.

He plucks the gauntlet from my fingers, turning it over in his hands. As if to himself he murmurs, “beautiful workmanship. It’s light as a feather, and yet—” He flicks his hand, his nail suddenly claw-like and sharp as a razor, and rakes it down the side of the gauntlet. “—nearly impenetrable. Remarkable.” His brow furrows. “What’s that there?”

It takes me an embarrassingly long moment to find my voice, unnerved as I am with him being so close and with his blood singing in my veins, but I somehow manage to say, “it’s a mechanism to release a set of hidden blades. If you press just there,” I point to the small release, nearly unnoticeable “you can see.”

He does, his eyes alighting and his lipsalmostquirking into a smile, I think.

“Clever.” He studies the gauntlet closer. “The blades are completely undetectable. And I assume when worn, the mechanism could be released with a certain movement of the wrist.” I blink, pleasantly surprised by his deduction.

“Yes, exactly.” He nods and hands it back. I take it, careful not to touch his fingers as I do, very aware of his body and how close he is to me. I inch backwards as I put the gauntlet back on the table.

“I don’t suppose your father would be willing to part with them? And perhaps build several more sets?”

I should sayof course, anything for the High General and a Prince. But instead, when I open my fool mouth, what comes out is, “It’s mine, actually.”

Alaric’s brows rise in surprise and he tilts his head slightly, in question. I inwardly kick myself, cursing so colorfully my mum is definitely aghast in her grave. Being so close to him, alone with him, is…unnerving. I’m not thinking clearly. But he stares at me, waiting for an answer, so I sigh and go on.

“My design. My work. I’ve been learning from my father since I was old enough to know not to jump headlong into the forge,” I say with a small shrug. Why am I telling him all this? I blame being so close to him, the strange connection between us, my blood practically screaming at me to move closer to him, to do…other things I dare not give thought to. What is wrong with me? Before I can stop myself, I add, “Discrete weaponry is a bit of a hobby, you could say.”

I’ve always been fascinated with the idea of unassuming weapons, things that may not appear to be a threat but suddenly are. Perhaps it goes back to Enid and her illness. She was often teased and taunted by the other children when we were young and I always wished that she could feel as strong as I knew in my heart she could be, to have those boys who pulled her hair orpushed her in the mud believe her to be as weak and delicate as they imagined—and then have them regret it.

I’ve designed corsets and vests outfitted with hidden sheaths for daggers, hair pins that doubled as throwing stars, walking canes with spring-loaded swords hidden within them, parasols with razor sharp edges hidden beneath lace and silk. Of course, I have no idea how to actuallyuseany of those weapons, so they aren’t exactly helpful for me, personally, but still, I love the art of them, the way my mind seems to relax as I sketch my designs. And da has even sold a few things to some of his patrons, so it’s not as if all my tinkering is for nothing.

Alaric studies me for a long moment, as one might study a particularly interesting looking insect. His face remains as unreadable as the surface of a lake, no clues at all as to what may be churning beneath. He opens his mouth to speak, but da walks in. Before I can even let out my breath, Alaric is suddenly a few feet farther away, moving again like lightning.

Da’s face is stoic, the set of his shoulders tense. He has a small box in his hands and he sits it gently on the table behind him. He bows to Alaric, eyeing him sternly when he rises. What does a man say to a vampire prince who was taking his daughter off to a war camp to drink her blood?Thank you? Best of luck? Fuck you?Alaric surprises me by speaking first.

“Duke Clayburn. I wish we had met under…different circumstances, but I wish to extend my thanks.” Da’s thick brows arch upward in clear surprise.

“Thanks?” he repeats, confused.

“I’m not sure if you remember, but you forged my blade?—”

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