Page 15 of Thorn of Sorrow

My mind went blank. After years of holding him at a distance, I had no idea how to bridge the gap I’d created, no clue how to find the right words.

Giovanni jerked his head slightly, silently instructing me to follow. I hesitated as he walked away, his dress shoes clicking on the marble flooring. Vampires could move without a sound, so why was he making his presence known?

I debated on whether to follow or stay put, until curiosity finally won out. Pushing off the wall, I hurried after him as he turned the corner. As soon as I rounded it, he was there, waiting for me.

We walked in silence, and I noticed we weren’t heading for my bedroom, but I forced myself not to ask where he was leading me. I didn’t trust a single vampire, not even Giovanni, not entirely. He might’ve treated me kindly, but that didn’t change the fact he was still steeped in darkness.

Giovanni Winterhaven was my solace and my undoing, the calm I craved and the chaos I feared, a darkness I couldn’t trust but who I always wanted to turn to.

We stopped in front of a solid black lacquered door, and I watched as he pressed his hand against the smooth surface where a doorknob should’ve been.

Why have I never seen this before? Over the years, I’d explored the castle at great length, had been down this corridor many times, but I never recalled this door being here.

The intricate scrollwork lit up, glowing as tiny rivulets of fluorescent blue slid through the grooves, though it didn’t move quite like liquid. Then I heard a soft click.

He pushed open the door and walked inside. My heart was racing, but I didn’t move, afraid to take a step. But once again my curiosity finally won out.

As soon as I crossed the threshold, the door closed behind me. There wasn’t a handle on this side either.

I was trapped.

Turning, I started to demand he open the door, but the words caught in my throat as my gaze swept over the room. Leather pieces were draped over black mannequins, battle uniforms and armor from wars long since forgotten. Weapons lined the walls—spears and javelins with gleaming tips, wicked-looking knives with curved blades that seemed to thirst for a fight.

My gaze landed on headpieces perched atop a display, their crowns adorned with what appeared to be stiff horse hair running down the center like a fierce Mohawk.

I was standing in Giovanni’s past, staring at the things that shaped him into who he was today. There had to be over a dozen battle attires, all different in style. “How many wars did you fight in?”

“This isn’t the entire collection.” He moved around a mannequin, running his fingers over the chest plate with a look of reverence. “I lost a lot of what I owned. What remains pales in comparison to what I’ve worn.”

From what I’d learned, vampires lived a long time. I just didn’t know how long. Maybe I should’ve asked when Malachi had given me immortality.

“How old are you?” I asked, my hand trailing over one of the leather pieces on the mannequin closest to me. But the moment my fingers brushed the surface, a vision blazed through my mind, sharp and vivid, and I snatched my hand back like it had burned me.

I glanced at him and found him watching me, as if gauging my reaction.

“A few thousand, give or take a couple centuries.”

Thousands? My breath caught. I was expecting hundreds, but thousands? I couldn’t wrap my head around living that long. My childhood felt like a lifetime ago, and I was only twenty-six. I rubbed my forehead.

“Overwhelmed, little bird?” His chuckle was soft, sliding gently over me like an intimate caress.

“Why do you call me that?” Ever since I’d come to live here, Giovanni had called me little bird, and I never knew why.

He nodded toward the leather outfit closest to me, the one I’d touched, silently telling me to touch it again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

“They are just memories, imbued into the fabric of my uniforms, Kyson. Harmless.”

Harmless. Right. In this place, that word held an entirely different meaning. I swallowed roughly, licking my lips, unsure if I wanted to see the bloody wars he’d fought in.

Calling myself a dozen different idiots, I placed my hand against the shoulder piece.

A sharp gasp escaped me as my mind was yanked into a barren wasteland cloaked in heavy fog. The air felt thick and oppressive, the trees naked and lifeless, their branches twisted like grasping hands.

Bodies littered the ground, a grim and endless sea of the fallen. Among the carnage, only one figure stood, wrapped in the same leathers my fingers rested against.

In each hand, daggers glistened, their blades dripping with blood. Giovanni moved silently across the desolation toward a lone tree. Kneeling at its base, he set his weapons aside and reached down.

When he rose, he held a small bird, cupped gently in his hands. Its tiny chest heaved, one wing fluttering weakly while the other hung at an unnatural angle, the only movement in a world stilled by death.

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