Page 101 of Vervain

I’m not at the fuel station. I’m in a bed…in a room…somewhere.

What happened before this? I peel away the dead skin of my memories, only to wince as I recall the slayer who grabbed me by the hair and dragged me into the sun, revealing that I don’t burn. Then Serun woke, and in the blink of an eye, bodies became gruesome sculptures, sliced up and unrecognisable.

And there was a dog. She protected me before she fled.

Pain shudders across my wrist, pinching with tension. Hissing, I tuck my arm back towards my chest and rub, only to be met with fabric. I open my eyes, and after a few hard blinks, bandages come into focus, wrapped around my arm from where the slayer cut me.

Drip, drip, drip.

Peeking out from underneath the covers, I discover the bedroom is luxurious. Cement walls and thick, long, red velvet drapes with golden stars flow through the entire room.

I sit up, pushing white hair out of my face and letting it fall over one shoulder. A powdery, exotic scent fills the room from the burning candles on the oak dresser. Everything is deep brown and maroon, reminding me of those fancier homes in Cherry Bloom.

Scanning the room, my focus snaps to the darkest corner. Shadows slip from the ceiling, but that’s not what’s making the dripping sounds. My body tenses at every splash, warning me to stay away, but once my eyes meet his, I shuffle off the bed.

I’m not wearing the clothes I was wearing, but I push aside the fact that Serun probably undressed me and placed me in this silk slip nightgown and make my way over to him. Those unsettling eyes stay glued to mine, and when I am close enough to touch him, I gasp. Hands reach out of the shadows, grabbing at my waist and hauling me to him. Serun’s cheek rests against my stomach, and a sticky wetness creates a faint fabric-peeling sound when his mouth presses gently into the gown.

My hand moves into his hair, and when I do, the shadows rippling with agitation drop, misting into the floorboards. Stone, red eyes snap to me when I tuck my hand under his chin, forcing him to look at me. Blood is smeared across his mouth and onto his chest, staining his clothes red. “What happened?”

He lowers his gaze, and the affectionate side of him comes out when his hands move, skimming my skin when he lifts my gown—as if the mere thought of not touching me frightens him. “I was hungry,” he admits.

I rest my hands over his to halt them just before they meet the curve of my arse, and take a step away. “Come. Let me clean you, nightwalker.”

He rises like a cautious cat, while I draw him over near the bed and tell him to wait. I make my way to the nearby door, expecting it to be the bathroom, and I’m right. Serun’s eyes burn a hole in the back of my head, even when I am out of sight. I grab the first cloth I see on the counter and soak it in the sink.

Serun is still in the same position when I return. Those pearly red eyes lower when I stand before him, and when I look up, my face softens at his guarded look. “Take off your shirt so I can clean you properly,” I say.

His hand goes up, scratching at his chest again. This time, he looks away. “I’d rather not, my kamai…”

“Now,” I demand.

He seethes a breath, ears bending back, but when he looks me in the eye and sees the resolve there, he turns away submissively. My focus immediately lands on tense muscles when he removes his shirt and tosses it to the ground. My body remembers the taut muscles when I woke in his coffin back in the Undercity. I wanted to run my fingers across them—drink him in until I was drunk.

Serun smiles crookedly.

“Something funny, nightwalker?”

“Always when it comes to you,” he says.

I raise the cloth to his chest, dragging it down to clear a watery red path. I’m careful, like when I used to tend to Cole’s wounds. He would cry louder if I worked fast, believing that fast meant it hurt more, though that was merely an illusion.

Even though I doubt Serun is harmed under all this gore, I’m still careful. I don’t want to scare him off. For a man feared by all, he fears when someone gets too close. Every time I’ve wanted more, he has given me an inch, only to take a thousand steps away.

We are in a game of cat and mouse, but I want to be caught.

Pressing against his collarbone, I drag the cloth down, clearing another streak of wetness when I notice an ugly, red scar. It moves down his shoulder in a circle, like a pike or something stabbed into him, and it never fully healed. A wrinkled red scar.

Is that why he scratches all the time? This wound bothers him?

I reach up to wash away more blood when Serun’s hand rests on my wrist, over the bandage. Looking away from the scar and up into his eyes, a barrage of feelings I can’t ignore batters my heart.

“I didn’t want to bite you without your permission,” he says, tender fingers drawing circles along the bandage. “I don’t want to take from you, Saya Claymore. Whatever you want, I will never hinder it. If you don’t want me in your life, I will let you go when our brothers are safe.”

I breathe a laugh. “I doubt your words.”

His hands move up, cupping my face. “If it weren’t for me, you could have escaped without those slayers knowing. But you stayed and fought while I was dead from the sun. I am a burden.”

A long sigh escapes me as I move my hands over his. The cloth drips diluted blood onto our arms. “Serun, I don’t think I can be parted from you. You know me—every fragment of me, and it doesn’t frighten you. You don’t see me as weak, and I certainly hope you don’t just want me because you believe I can bear your children.”