Page 119 of Vervain

With a slow blink, I say, “Not me. I can enter.”

“Kamai…”

My hands clench around his. “I can put up my human glamour and⁠—”

“If your not-lover is there and sees you, he will see through it. Your hair and eyes may change, but your face will always be the same.”

“I will be careful. I need to be for my brother. I will find them and bring them back.”

His focus shifts from one eye to the other. A battle rages in his mind, torn between denying me and accepting my words. Either way, I will do what I want. If he refuses, I will enter the Prayer Sanctuary while they sleep and find my brother. I did not get this far just to wait for a plan that might not work.

Serun closes his hands over mine, brushing the backs of mine against his lips. “You aren’t going to get your brother.”

My eyes widen, and feral rage flushes my cheeks.

He leans in and says, “You are going to the top of their tower and destroying Mother’s light so I can enter. That is all you will do.”

“You can destroy it?”

“It’s a crystal,” Avianna says. She grabs the bottle of blood. “And they use it to project an aura of light around the prayer sanctuary, protecting their precious slayers and white coats.”

Serun’s eyes soften, and his mouth brushes against my knuckles. Something cold and smooth slips into the palm of my hand as he closes my fingers around the orb. “If you’re in trouble, use it. If you don’t, so help me, Saya, I will kill every man, woman and fucking child in that place if it means getting you out of there alive.”

Clutching the orb, I breathe, “I will, nightwalker.”

“I’ll stay here with your near-dead servant,” Avianna says, with a slight tilt of her chin. “I doubt I’d be much use anyway. I’d just get in your way…”

Serun steps away from me, and we overlook Olivia. She looks as if she is about to fall asleep. “Olivia’s wounds will heal better with human blood. While Saya and I do this tomorrow night, find her a human to feed on. There are no more echoes. You can hunt.”

Avianna bites her lip and, with a quick glance away, whispers, “When you see my husband, tell him he is a fool.”

“Tell him yourself,” Serun says dismissively, crouching low in front of the torch. “He would enjoy it more if it came from you.”

“Ah…” She smiles, catching me off guard. “He would.”

Serun lures me closer, his eyes smouldering red. “Come, my kamai. The sun will rise soon, but you need to rest.”

I look to Olivia. She is slumped against the wall. Tension swells in my throat at the horror etched across her face. She won’t let me help her. Not while night is still upon us.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

CONVALESCENCE

Saya Claymore

I find it challenging to sleep when my mind wants to torment itself with a thousand words that make no sense. Like a knotted string, I am finding a thread to pull loose, a sentence apart from the others.

The flame has burned out, and I take a moment to adjust to the static darkness. Avianna is to the right of me, facing the wall. Then, across from me and the furthest away, is Olivia. She sleeps like the dead. With her arms by her sides, lying flat on her back, she’s looking up at the ceiling with her eyes closed, I believe. It’s hard to tell from all the way over here in the dark.

As I let go of Serun’s shoulders, I observe him. Cloaked in darkness, his shadows a comforting blanket, he sleeps upright, with me on his lap. His arms cage me, made of stone. I take hold of his hands wrapped around my waist, unshackle them with enough force, and slide off his lap.

On my feet, I grab the bag nearby and make my way to Olivia. She has her eyes closed, which is promising. Strangely, I can picture her in a coffin. Serun slept that way when I woke in his coffin, but that was the only time he slept like that. When he is with me, his arms cage me, keeping my flesh on his.

The zipper on the bag makes my body cringe at the loud noise in the silence. Part of me doesn’t know why, considering it’s daylight and, unless threatened, they can’t wake up. I’m the only nightwalker who can stay awake during the day—an oddity.

I take out my spare clothes, bottled water, and the ointments Serun packed. I grab the stitching on my shirt and tear it in two. I soak one piece in water and lather the other with ointment until it’s like a second layer of skin.

While Olivia sleeps, I wash her face. My heart sinks. Why wouldn’t it? Her wounds crust over, and age plagues her face from all the blood she has lost. Flakes of it moisten, slipping down her cheek as I wash around the deep gash the echo gave her. Burns sharpen across her flared red cheeks and down her jaw, fluttering like butterfly wings on her neck.