Before further argument could be voiced, he made a small, precise cut. Blood welled instantly, carrying the scent of life untainted by mechanical processing. Sebastian's reaction was immediate and visceral, his body strained toward the scent despite remaining unconscious, fangs descending fully in pure predator's response that needed no direction.
Boarstaff knelt beside the vampire prince, careful to remain beyond the ancient binding circle's edge. "How do I do this without waking him? Without triggering the hunger your texts warn about?"
"Like previously, four drops only," Doechaser instructed. Her magic flowed to strengthen the binding circle. "Let them fall on his lips. The ancient ways required strict control, enough to sustain, never enough to awaken the deeper hunger."
Boarstaff positioned his wrist carefully. The first crimson drop fell, landing on Sebastian's parted lips where fangs had descended in unconscious urgency. The effect was instantaneous, a shudder ran through the vampire's entire body, not pain, something more primal. The transformed brass at his collar rippled like water over rocks.
The second drop followed, then the third. Each one sending visible waves of change through Sebastian's transformed components. The brass didn't just conduct the blood's power, it responded, awakened, became something neither fully metal nor fully organic.
As the fourth drop fell, Sebastian made a sound unlike any before, not agony, but something between relief and desperate need. His unconscious form strained toward the source of blood with predator's instinct that transcended artificial control.
"Enough," Doechaser warned sharply. "Any more risks waking him before the transformation completes."
Boarstaff withdrew, watching as the blood worked throughSebastian's systems. Color returned to grey-tinged flesh. The erratic rhythm of his exposed mechanical heart steadied, though it pulsed with patterns no vampire artificer would recognize. The transformed brass throughout his body caught crystal light differently, not the copper sheen of polished mechanical working, but deeper hues that spoke of mountain stone, of ore that knew it had once been part of living rock.
"What happens now?" Boarstaff bound his wrist with practiced efficiency, even as one of the apprentices approached to heal him.
"The transformation continues," Ochrehand replied. "But with blood to sustain his organic systems, he has a greater chance of surviving it. Of becoming whatever lies between what he was and what he might have been."
Sebastian's breathing had changed, deepened, steadied into rhythm that held nothing of artificial regulation. The pain hadn't left his unconscious features entirely, but it had softened. Transformed, like the brass that pulsed with strange life beneath his skin.
"Keep the guards at every threshold." Boarstaff rose to his feet. "I'll return before dawn. If you need me before that, come for me."
As he climbed worn steps back toward sunlight and politics, Boarstaff found his thoughts lingering on the vampire prince. On transforming brass that stirred with remembered life. On suffering that transcended artificial differences. On choices that might still lie ahead, when transformation completed and Sebastian de la Sang finally woke to whatever he was becoming.
The council waited above. Defensive preparations needed oversight. Scouts required new orders as vampire hunting parties pushed deeper into their territory. Yet part of him remained in that crystal-lit chamber, watching transformation unmake everything Sebastian's father had built into him, piece by mechanical piece.
And wondering what might emerge when the process finally completed.
Chapter Eight
Boarstaff watched the young warriors practice their spear drills, his back against one of the Heart Tree’s exposed roots. The sounds of wood striking wood filled the early morning air. He flexed his fingers, wincing at the sharp sting from his wrist where the fresh cut he'd made for the vampire showed no signs of healing. Sometimes he missed being able to just train with his friends until his arms ached from the blows. Life had been simpler then, long before he took up the mantle of Warchief.
"Warchief." Thornmaker approached with a grim expression. "The delaying tactics slow them, but the primary hunting party adapts quickly. They've abandoned their original path for a more direct route."
"They sense something," Boarstaff said. "Some connection to their missing prince."
"It appears so. Their leader..." Thornmaker hesitated. "Our scouts report it's the second brother. Zarek."
Boarstaff knew that name. Sebastian's brother. The most brutal of the de la Sang sons, known for replacing his entire jaw with articulated metal, whose brass-tipped fingers had torn through orc flesh in countless raids. Even he bore scars from encounters with Zarek.
"How long before they reach our outer markers?"
"Not much time now at all." Thornmaker's hand tightened on his spear. "We should relocate the remaining villagers this afternoon. The shamans are preparing the eastern tunnels."
Boarstaff nodded, already calculating necessary preparations. But part of his attention remained on what lay beneath their feet, in the sacred chamber where a vampire prince underwent transformation.
"And our guest?" Thornmaker asked carefully. Word of Boarstaff's decision to personally feed Sebastian had spread among thecouncil.
"Stable, for now," Boarstaff replied. "The blood sustains his organic systems while the transformation continues."
Thornmaker studied him. "You took a risk. Giving your own blood."
"A calculated one." Boarstaff kept his voice neutral. "As warchief, the responsibility is mine."
"As is the connection such feeding creates," Thornmaker said. "The old writings speak of blood freely given, of bonds not easily severed."
A horn blast cut through the morning air, not the urgent signal of approaching threat, but a different pattern. Internal alert. Something had changed within their borders.
