Page 32 of Vervain

“For us to travel avoiding the slayers.” Serun slows his steps until he walks beside me. “I wanted a way for my brother to escape if they ever tried to cross the sea again—as well as for my family to have easy access to this place without being so exposed.”

“Is this the only train you have?”

“Yes. We tried having one on our side of the border, but slayers snuck through and it caused a lot of meaningless deaths. So, I disbanded the railway and tightened security around the border.”

“You’re acting like nightwalkers are the victims when you are the ones who control us.”

“Because you’ve only heard one side of the story. We are the enemy. We control everything you do. We are the reason you fear the dark. Yes, topside is rough, with most nightwalkers there desperate and starved, but we aren’t the reason the world is like this.” His voice is softer, and his shadows smooth out as he says, “I never wanted this, but we have accepted that Mother’s departure cracked the world, and with it came monsters who want to survive too.”

“By caging humans and using them for resources.”

“We don’t cage humans, Saya. We don’t control. There are laws, yes, but my laws protect humans.” His eyes narrow slightly. “We want to survive. Is that so much to ask?”

I open my mouth to reply, but my attention turns to the sudden light ahead until it breaks across my skin. Whatever was left of the warmth in my body vanishes, and I pick at my fingernails, focusing on the pain instead of my exposed, icy skin. A reminder that I am not human, I am this thing that⁠—

“You’re beautiful, Saya,” he says, causing me to look at him and then quickly away. “In my world, you are a deity. Someone to worship.”

A shallow sigh slips out as I say, “You have a way with words, but who is really saying it? The nightwalker I met at the feeding ground, or the Lord of the Undercity?”

“They’re the same.”

“I’d like to believe the nightwalker I met would not have put me in a cage.”

Shadows stir in the corner of my eye, and our bodies are drenched in light. “I’m sorry, Saya,” he says, just shy of a whisper.

I bite my lower lip, my fang sinking into my flesh, and the taste of iron floods my tongue.

We break away from the enclosed stairwell, and it opens onto a stone path with a row of pillars down the centre. Nightwalkers stand near a yellow line, murmuring conversations pricking my sensitive ears. Excitement stirs in the air, and I recognise some of the other newborns from the auction. They each stand beside a new master, their simple clothing a stark contrast to lavish gowns and satin suits, many of them smoking through long cigarette holders.

“Lord Serun is here,” says a hushed voice.

The conversation becomes more animated when the rest of the crowd notices us. Serun doesn’t acknowledge them. We move down the path, his focus fixed ahead while those around us crouch low, creeping towards us, animalistic, murmuring their thanks.

Worshipping him.

I see Devan and his unusual master with grease stains all over a long-sleeved grey tunic. Devan’s rough, calloused hands are clasped together, and he winks and flashes me a grin when we pass.

In the corner of my eye, Serun’s eyes narrow, and his shadows start to drape like a cape, dragging across the ground, inking the tiles black. Shadows tear like ripped paper, becoming clawed hands that crawl their way to Devan. A hungry growl rips through the already frosty air, and the lighting dims to drench the tunnel in grey.

Nightwalkers creep back with low hisses and bent ears, afraid of Serun.

“You don’t like him?”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you like his cock is twitching, begging for blood to harden.”

Sucking in a breath, saliva catches in my throat, and I cough.

Serun chuckles. “I enjoy this flustered side of you.”

“Enough, nightwalker.”

“Enough of what?”

I turn away as a hint of a smile reaches my face, no matter how much I don’t want it to. Unused muscles click into place, and I feel the softness of it touch my eyes, along with a stutter of warmth from my heart.

Maeve waits at the end of the lane with the Death Spirit, silver scars shining across his sun-kissed skin. He wears similar clothing to his master instead of the bland shirt and trousers most nightwalkers from the cages now wear. The buttoned-up white suit is covered in black veins that remind me of a spider’s web.

Serun stops before them, and my nose tickles at an overwhelming lavender scent.