Page 58 of Darkbirch Academy

31

Dayn steps closer, his movements deliberate but unexpectedly soft, as if approaching a skittish animal.The intensity in his gaze is tempered by something almost like hesitation—an unfamiliar vulnerability that makes my pulse quicken. He reaches for my hand, his fingers brushing against the runes on my wrist with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the heat of his touch.

“Not much,” he says, his voice low and measured. “Just enough to begin the ritual. A few drops willingly offered will suffice.”

His thumb traces the edge of the rune and I feel it flare in response, a warm, tingling sensation spreading up my arm. His other hand comes up to cradle my wrist, turning it slightly so that the pale skin of my inner arm is exposed. His touch is careful, almost reverent, but there’s an undercurrent of something darker—a hunger that he’s barely keeping in check.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep still even as every instinct screams to pull away. “And how exactly do you planto collect it? Should I just hold out my hand and say ‘take what you need?’”

Dayn’s gaze drops to the curve of my neck, lingering there with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. His fingers tighten slightly around my wrist, not painfully, but enough to anchor me in place. “The blood must be taken directly,” he says, his voice low and deliberate, “from a point where life flows closest to the surface. The neck is... efficient.”

For a moment, I can’t breathe. My pulse hammers beneath his fingertips, betraying the calm I’m desperately trying to project. “Efficient,” I echo, my voice tight. “Of course. Why waste time when you can just... bite me?”

His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker in his eyes—something that might be amusement or irritation. “You misunderstand. This isn’t some primal act of savagery. It’s a ritual necessity. The exchange must be precise, controlled.”

“Controlled,” I repeat, my tone dripping with skepticism. “Because that makes it so much better.”

His thumb brushes over the runes again, and I feel them warm beneath his touch. “Your sarcasm isn’t helpful,” he says evenly.

“Neither is your lack of warning.” I pull my hand free from his grasp, stepping back to put some distance between us. My heart is racing now, my mind spinning with too many thoughts at once. Drink his blood. That’s what my grandmother said. But now it’s my blood he needs—and not just any blood. Blood taken from my neck, like some kind of twisted intimacy.

Dayn watches me carefully, his body still as stone but his gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “This isn’t negotiable,” he says finally. “The ritual requires your cooperation.”

“And if I refuse?” I ask again, though I already know the answer.

He exhales slowly, as if weighing his words. “Then we both lose something vital.” His tone softens imperceptibly, though the edge remains. “I don’t want to force you, Esme. But time is not on our side.”

I press my lips together, forcing myself to think rationally despite the storm raging inside me. My mind races, analyzing possibilities, strategies, angles.

A slow breath escapes me as I settle on my move.

I meet his gaze, my jaw clenched. “Fine. I’ll give you what you need. But on one condition.”

Dayn’s expression doesn’t shift, but his eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of wariness breaking through his calm facade. “And that would be?”

“You let me drink some of your blood in return.”

The silence that follows is deafening. For the first time since I’ve known him, Dayn looks genuinely unsettled. He takes a step back, his amber eyes flaring with something I can’t quite place—anger, disbelief, maybe even fear.

“Absolutely not,” he says, his voice low and cold as winter stone.

“Why not?” I press, stepping forward to close the distance he just created. “If it’s just a ritual necessity, what’s the harm? Symmetry, right? You take mine, I take yours. Seems fair.”

His jaw tightens visibly, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he regards me with an intensity that would make most people shrink back. But I hold my ground, my chin lifted in defiance.

“Esme,” he says slowly, each word deliberate and laced with warning, “you have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“Enlighten me then.” My voice is steady despite the tremor in my chest. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you’re fine with taking what you need from me but draw the line at returning the favor.”

The air between us crackles with tension, the convergence of ley lines beneath us amplifying the energy until it feels like the room itself is holding its breath. Dayn’s gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, I think he might refuse outright—might shut me down with a cutting remark or simply walk away.

But then something shifts in his expression—subtle but unmistakable. The faintest flicker of uncertainty crosses his face before it’s quickly masked by practiced composure.

“Drinking my blood isn’t some trivial act,” he says finally, his tone measured but edged with caution. “It’s not like sipping a drink at dinner or sharing a meal. My blood carries power—ancient power. It could… overwhelm you, in ways you can’t predict or control.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Funny how you’re suddenly concerned about my well-being when it comes toyourblood but were perfectly fine with taking mine.”

Internally, however, his words give me concern. In what ways could it overwhelm me? Then again, my grandmother wouldn’t have asked me to do something fundamentally detrimental to me, would she? Her advice was given to help me survive. Help us all survive.I have to trust her.

---