Page 34 of Blackwarden
“I see you found something treacherously boring to read.”
I couldn’t help but match his smirk. “These Blackwardens must have all been very full of themselves.”
“You have no idea.”
I flipped through a few more pages, seeing how much further I had left in the chapter and froze. The symbol on the chapter header was familiar. I’d seen it a few times now. It was on the Old Fae book I couldn’t read, as well as Keres’ pendant. I stood abruptly, the book that had been sitting beside me fell to the ground with a thump.
When I looked up at him, his stoic mask had returned. I wondered if he’d even be able to confirm if I worded my thoughts as a statement instead of a question. Keres was a Blackwarden. Was it a secret? I glanced back down at the symbol, letting this new knowledge sink in. According to this book, the Blackwardens had all been put to death for their treasonous involvement in the Fae Wars. They’d aided the humans with shadow magic, had made alliances that had cost them dearly. Maybe that meant he wasn’t a Blackwarden. How could he be alive if they’d all been put to death?
“Born of shadows,” I whispered. How had it not clicked when I’d read this in the introduction?
His long fingers removed the book from my hand, throwing it down on the settee before they nudged my head to the side, sweeping my hair away to expose where he’d bitten me. I squeezed my eyes shut as warmth plunged into my stomach from his touch. Vicious memories of his voice melted through me.“I want you...so badly, it’s agony.”
“This hasn’t always been on your neck, has it?”
I closed my eyes, trying to push the heat away as he gently trailed his fingers over my skin. Mother save me, those fucking fingers.
“No.” I swallowed hard, my voice a bit breathier than I’d intended. “I noticed it after you bit me.”
He took a generous step back, hands falling to his sides in fists. When I met his gaze, I flinched. He looked...terrified.
“I marked you.”
“What...” I trailed off, trying to focus on taking deep, even breaths. “What does that mean?”
He shook his head as he backed away, running his hands through his hair in such a human way.
“Keres?” I asked, trying my best not to sound as scared as he looked.
He took a deep breath before meeting my eyes again.
“It means your portrait isn’t finished.”
Goosebumps prickled down my arms at the tone of his voice. It was empty, broken. He turned and fled. I couldn’t let him leave without giving me a proper explanation. He’d marked me? What did that mean and why was he so concerned? I refused to be in the dark any longer, whether he could answer my questions or not.
I chased after him, but his shadows seemed to pull him down into their depths, and before I’d gone more than a few steps, I was running down an empty hall. I stood alone for several seconds staring at the wall at the far end, heart racing. I looked at one of the braziers happily flickering beside me.
“Where did he go?”
Nothing happened. I’d hoped the Gatehouse and I had built a pleasant enough rapport over the last few days that it would help me.
“Please?” I whispered. “Help me help him.”
I waited, wishing something might happen. Something that would guide me in whatever direction he’d gone, but I was left in the same place with nothing but the darkness. I turned to leave, intending to go back to the library to continue reading the Blackwarden book, but shadows gathered around my feet, pausing myretreat. The hall became far darker than it had been just a moment ago. I spun back as the brazier at the far end of the hall flared to life.
I should have gone back to my suite. I should have spent the evening alone, ignoring all of this, pretending nothing happened, and I wasn’t going to yet another strange place the following day. Instead, I was pulled down the hall toward Keres, as the shadows closed in around me, beckoning me. My steps grew more hurried, the minutes of my freedom echoing in my soul. I hadn’t had a chance to knock before Keres pulled the door open, an intensity in his expression I wasn’t prepared for.
He didn’t say a word. Instead, he turned away, leaving the door wide for me to follow.
I’d been in this room before, but under very different circumstances. His sitting room was larger than mine, which made it seem emptier. He had a similar area for relaxing with two chairs and a side table. On the other side was the easel I’d seen before next to a small table covered with paints and various containers. I burned with curiosity as he returned to it, taking up a paintbrush and gazing at the painting. His eyes glanced past the canvas to me, studying my face then dropping to the place on my neck where he’d bitten me.
“Is that my portrait?”
He only stared at me, and I thought perhaps I’d asked yet another question he couldn’t answer, but instead he nodded for me to come closer.
As I came around the easel, I didn’t know what I expected. But it hadn’t been a perfect replica of my face. The brown waves of my hair cascading over exposed shoulders. It was like looking into a mirror, and I took a huge step back.
“You painted this?”
