Page 79 of Vervain

I look between the blade and Serun several times, unsure what is happening. “Why, though?”

“Reasons,” he says, but his eyes tell me he doesn’t want to share in front of Devan. “You need a weapon for our travels topside.”

Devan looks between us before gliding his fingers up to the tip of the blade. “It can cut through anything. Even its aura is sharp, see…” His thumb doesn’t quite touch the sword, but a slice of red appears across his skin, swelling into a dollop of blood.

This pungent scent wafts through my nose and into my lungs, clinging to the fleshy walls with a taste so sweet. Savoury. My tongue darts out, licking my cracked lips, moistening them at the possibility of tasting what drips from his thumb.

“Saya?” Serun says when I bump into his shoulder. Robotically, as if lured by a voice, I make my way towards the nightwalker. Hunger stirs inside me, the delectable perfume sliding down my throat and into my lungs like smoke. Another breath of it amplifies every desire. Saliva thickens in my mouth, and my fangs ache with the need to sink them into his flesh.

Devan raises the sword, clearly believing I want to hold the weapon. Instead, my eyes are on his neck, imagining ripping away muscles and bone.

I’m so fucking⁠—

A cold grip wraps around my wrist, and before I can claw at Devan’s flesh, darkness consumes me, pulling me out of the armoury. My back shudders as it hits smooth metal, and my arms press to the wall either side of me, Serun’s hands pinning mine to the wall while I writhe underneath his intense red glare.

“Saya, look at me,” he demands.

From down the lane Serun took me to, I desperately eye the entrance. Darkness shrouds us, and nightwalkers move by in oblivion. Still, the scent of Devan is like a song lingering in the air, luring me back to his workshop.

“I’m so hungry,” I rasp, my hands balling into fists and my body squirming to break Serun’s tight grip. “Just a taste. One bite.”

He blocks my view, intense eyes burrowing into my marrow. “Eyes on me, darling.”

“Serun,” I moan, drawing my focus away from the thin red line of mist luring me back to Devan, and gaze into crimson eyes. “He smells so fucking good.”

“I am a little offended,” Serun says.

The power the Nightwalker Lord has over me wavers, and I break free, facing the entrance once more. Inky black veins crawl to the surface of my skin, stealing away my light, my fingertips blackening.

“Saya,” Serun growls, a deep rumble in his throat. “Look. At. Me.”

Power crushes against my rib cage. My focus snaps to Serun and shadows peel away from him, revealing the face I am forever drawn to.

With a sharp breath, he rests his forehead against mine. His grip slackens and drops to my hips, drawing me closer until our chests press together. “Bite me, consort. Taste me.”

“Pardon…” My voice falters when Serun’s long, clawed finger draws across the pad of his palm, slicing a red gash across it. The potent lemongrass scent of his blood mists the air. My nostrils flare, and saliva pools in my mouth.

We exchange no more words. I take his offered hand and sink my fangs into already bleeding flesh. Serun lets out a guttural moan, and I quench this terrible thirst with blood that achingly burns down my tight throat.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

ENGRAM

Serun: Location, Truen

Death is something Serun learned from a young age. It surrounded him. Whether it was a moth in a spider’s web, a childhood pet buried among corpse flowers, or the smell of his parents’ lifeless flesh.

He travelled here in a wagon that swayed from side to side. Other survivors from Wolfcarin sat with him, soot and dust from the bombing clinging to their faces. Serun didn’t see it happen, but he felt the rumble of Truen cracking under the sheer weight of powerful explosions.

That night, everyone who slept by the river near Silkvale woke to the sound and saw the glowing red above the pine trees. Sobs broke out, but Serun stood still and watched, waiting for the endless glow to end. Soon after, blankets of smog rose, thickening in the sky and blackening it with ash.

The young woman who saved him now stands on a branch high in a tree. Her blade gleams, and her white hair floats in the breeze. They haven’t spoken since she ushered him and a few other survivors into the wagon. Everyone travelled in silence, too scared to speak in case they were being watched.

Serun wants to blame this teenager for what happened to his state. But when she tilts her head at him, her silver eyes defiant, Serun looks away and glares at the river.

How can he hate a creature who was only defending herself?

He crouches by the water to wash the ash away, wondering if it’s remnants of his parents on his skin. Maybe his friends? He tries not to think about it, but it’s not until he hears the hushed voices behind him that he rids himself of darker thoughts.