Page 10 of Vervain

The light of my sword pulses, radiating along the edges of the blade. I point it at Serun, and his eyes crinkle as if he finds all this amusing. With no thought of consequences, the sword instinctively shrinks into a dagger, and with a flip to catch it by the blade, I throw it at him. Blinding white light flashes across the room like lightning, aimed directly at his head.

The others rise, but Serun leans back comfortably, a cruelly lit grin on his face. And as the blade is mere inches from his face it redirects, sinking into the ground near the table and turning to ash. Before the light fades, I see it. A sphere of shadows encases them, and it fucking devoured my magik.

“Amusing,” he chuckles. “Would you like to try again?”

Lucifer scoffs beside him as Serun glares through me.

With a sigh, I straighten and fold my arms across my chest. “Nightwalker,” I say in a bleak tone.

All of them flash a look at Serun as they settle back in their seats. With more moonlight encasing the room now, I can see their marble faces, as though carved from stone.

“Saya,” Serun murmurs, his ears bending back before pricking. “How are you?”

How am I?

I flick my tongue across my top teeth, running it along my fangs, but the movement doesn’t cool me down like it used to. Fire roils through my veins. “I woke in a fucking coffin underground, crawled my way out, was caged and then sold at auction. Slayers have my young brother, and I don’t even know if he is alive…” I swallow the bite of tears as my voice grows smaller the more I speak, “I am now held hostage, and all those dearest to me are dea—” Bile burns in the back of my throat, cutting me off and making it difficult to swallow.

My hands tremble, tightening into fists. If I weren’t afraid of using my magik, my friends might still be alive.

“And what?” Lucifer drawls, the jovial facade he wore in the theatre vanished. Red eyes focus on me, but he keeps his head turned away, as if the mere act of looking at me irritates him. “Humans are bothersome creatures, always cutting off their words without finishing them.”

After a deep breath, I say flatly, “My friends are dead. Slaughtered by your creatures.”

The other male nightwalker leans forward, his arms dragging across the table and his back hunched. “Can you specify which creatures? Without a name, I am left dumbfounded.” His voice is elegant. Egregiously proper. A rich voice I’ve heard before, many years ago.

Mum’s Blessed used to watch those old black-and-white movies. She told me people made them a long time ago, before Mother’s fall, but most were lost. This nightwalker’s voice sounds like he could have been an actor in one of those films.

Serun tilts his head towards the nightwalker with the rich voice and says, “Hen puknu en echoes, kuro.”

“Ah! The red moon,” he says with slow nods of his head, his eyes settling back on me. “They are not our creatures, Lady Consort. They came when Mother left.”

“Dobyonu rage,” Serun says.

I lift my chin higher. “Nightwalker, use our common tongue. I’d rather not have to wonder what you mean if you keep speaking in Daryun.”

The woman—Maeve, I now realise—cracks, and a smile breaks across her face as she looks to Serun, then to me. “He said, ‘Mother’s rage’ in Daryun, Lady Consort. As for waking in a coffin underground, it is customary, signifying rebirth amongst nightwalkers. Did Serun not explain this to you?”

“I didn’t have time,” Serun interjects. “We were in Hellsgate, fighting off Mother’s rage. But yes, Maeve is correct. Every nightwalker—even a half one—must wake in their coffin and crawl out. Rebirth into their new life.”

My brow twitches at the idea of being buried alive as some kind of weird custom, but with a shake of my head, I focus on the rest. “Mother’s rage?” I look away from Maeve and back to Serun. “Is that why she was cradling the crescent moon? She was trying to heal her rage?”

They all look to Serun, brows pinched, but he doesn’t tear his focus from me. Red eyes on mine, his right ear flicks, and the finger tapping against the stone table ceases.

The room falls silent, and when it does, I digest more of who they are. They each wear the same clothes they did in the theatre, but once my focus settles on their bright, enigmatic red eyes, my good sense returns. Chills crawl across my skin as I recall how easy it was for the nightwalker in the private room to lock up my body with a single stare.

I quickly dart my focus to the ground, earning a deep chuckle from my consort. I stare at my dirt-covered feet that curl inwards. Scabbed-over cuts and an already healed ankle.

“Nightwalkers cannot control you now, Saya. My blood is in your system for eternity⁠—”

“You have a liar’s tongue,” I interrupt. “Just tell me what you want from me, nightwalker. Why am I here?” My hands tighten, trembling with frustration. “Why take away my blessings—my choice—after everything you saw?”

I wait for an answer. Part of me believes he won’t give me one. I am his consort now. Claimed to be a nightwalker’s bride—and because I am part nightwalker, I’m under Serun’s Law. Simple as that.

“For your protection,” he says, his presence tingling against my skin. For a moment, I’m back in the private room with Serun’s mouth brushing against mine. His hands touching the parts of me I’d learned to hate, only to love the bite of his ice.

That was a trick.

“And why would you want to do that?”