It shouldn’t be this way. I’ve survived on blood bank donations for decades, with only the occasional foray into drinking from live veins.
But—like everything else in my life, it seems—Maeve Vandermere has changed that. Drinking her blood waslike feeling sun on my face after too long in a dungeon lit only by candlelight. And now, the candlelight simply does not suffice.
I turn and lean back against my counter, then slide down until I’m sitting on the floor, arms draped across my knees.
And deep inside my chest, the blood bond flickers.
It’s warm, like a tiny glowing spark.
As much as I’ve tried to ignore it, it hasn’t gone away. It’s raw, frayed, but still very much alive.
After reading the excerpt inMagia Sanguinis Antiqua, I felt certain that creating distance between myself and Maeve would free her—free usboth—from the bond I’d inadvertently created. But I was wrong.
Why won’t it go? Why won’t this connection die?
I lift a trembling hand and press my fingers to my chest, feeling the thrum of my heart and knowing that Maeve’s is somewhere alongside it, and if I tried hard enough, I could probably feel it, beating tight in time with mine.
With a shake of my head, I push myself up off the floor and cast a withering look at my half-empty glass before walking into the sitting room and peering out the window.
The academy glitters with snow and frost, and my breath fogs the window as I sigh. The castle is quiet, asleep.
But not Maeve.
A burst of heat warms my chest, and I feel her magic as if it’s my own: electric tingles racing across my skin, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
My gaze is pulled in the direction of the Skyreach Spire, though I can’t see it from here. But through the bond, I know she’s out there, in the cold, calling on her magic.
And I want to go to her. Desperately. The desire to see her,to hold her in my arms and bury my face in her hair, almost takes me to my knees. I reach out and brace my hands against the windowsill, then rest my forehead against the frigid windowpane.
For a long while, I simply remain there, eyes closed, breath fogging up the cold glass.
Maeve’s magic pulses through the bond again. Where it used to feel wild, now it feels controlled, steady. Like a heartbeat. Without needing to see it, I know she’s working with her energy sphere. And I know she doesn’t need me to stabilize it.
She can do that all on her own.
All on her own.
I open my eyes slowly as my thoughts start to spin.
All this time, I’ve seen Maeve as someone to be protected—mostly from me. I’ve tried to protect her future, her freedom. I didn’t want her tied down by a blood bond that might steal away the life she deserves, that might reshape it into something she never intended.
But maybe I’ve also been trying to protect myself. My fear.
The fear that loving her—truly, deeply, without any barriers—would mean surrendering the last illusion of control I have left. Would mean submitting to the bond tying our blood together.
Maeve has never been weak, has never been someone who needs protecting, especially not by the likes of me. She could rend this academy to the ground with her storm magic, could tear trees from the earth and send lightning crackling across the sky.
She is powerful—with or without me.
The thread in my chest pulls tight. I close my eyes again, focusing my effort into the bond. And I can feel the strength of her concentration, can feel the way the storm and electricity respond to her, like they’re two partners in a dance. She has learned to steady herself and her power.
Pride curls in my chest. But guilt follows in its wake.
How many times did I remove Maeve’s ability to make her own choices? How many times did I decide what was best for her future without trusting her enough to decide for herself?
You’re making choices for me instead of with me.
I grit my teeth against the memory of those words. At the time, she was angry. But now I see that she was alsoright.
