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It was a mistake, entering into the bloodsharing ritual with him.
Not that I haven’t done it before. It’s just that before, I didn’t know I was doing it.
Farin told me once that the bloodsharing ritual had forged something within Nox, something that felt stronger on his side than on mine. Farin attributed it to the bloodsharing ritual being stronger for the male, but now, as I remember the early hours of this morning, I’m wondering if the difference in sexes wasn’t what was to blame for the inequity of the cravings.
I wonder if it’s just the difference in remembering the beauty of the ritual. The feeling of giving ourselves to each other in a way that feels so complete, so full, there’s something about it I don’t think I can return from.
If I was pining after Nox before, I’m yearning now, and that’s going to be a problem.
Because the bloodsharing ritual doesn’t matter. Nox’s participation in it last night is just a leftover strand of what the Old Magic didn’t erase—the blood bond between us.
There was a time in my life, the old version of Blaise, who would have clung to that as an anchor for hope. Who would have been naïve enough to think the Old Magic had overlooked our bond, that he’d somehow missed it when he cursed Nox.
But I’m so, so tired of being naïve.
There’s no way the Old Magic, a source as ancient as it is, missed our bloodsharing bond.
If he left it behind, left it untouched, he did it for a reason.
It’s there to torture me. To lure me back into Nox’s arms. It’s there so that no matter how much distance I put between us, I’ll still feel the tether, the hook he has in my soul.
And it’ll either tear at me forever, or reel me in, only to consume me.
Not for much longer, though. Not when I likely won’t make it through tomorrow.
“Did you sleep all right?” Nox asks. I flinch as his hand reaches across the bunker and finds mine, stroking the area of my wrist that still feels tender from where he fed on it earlier.
I wriggle my wrist out of his playful fingers, though it takes great effort. When I meet his gaze, there’s a question there, but whatever it is, he keeps it to himself.
“We need to get a message to Asha,” is all I say as I don my hood and rush out into the night.
It’s not too long of a walk from the sandstorm bunker to the city of Meranthi, and I can’t help but wonder what might have happened had I made it to the city in time. Had Nox not needed to rescue me.
The rational part of me wishes that had been the case. Then I wouldn’t know the taste of Nox’s blood. I wouldn’t be tormented by the aching that gnaws at my chest right now.
But the rational part of me has never been the strongest, and I can’t help but grasp onto the memories of earlier today, letting my mind feed on them like a poison that intoxicates the drunk. I can’t seem to stop.
That’s the treacherous thing about the bloodsharing ritual.
It sure does feel a whole lot like love. But it’s just an imitation.
It’s like if Nox and I were to exchange wedding vows. Sure, we’d be bound together, but that wouldn’t make him love me.
Nox tries to converse with me as we search the city walls for an opening, but I do my best to keep the conversation logistical.
He doesn’t give up on the small talk, though.
“Sure you don’t want to snap my neck and use this paldihv? It would look good on you.”
I stiffen. “Of course it would. It matches my soul.” The words are supposed to come out nonchalant, but my delivery is off.
Everything about Nox has me off.
“Blaise, about this morning—”
“Over here,” I say, nodding toward a section of the wall that doesn’t seem to be too heavily guarded.
I can’t do it. Can’t have him tell me that it was a mistake. That it meant nothing to him other than a lapse in self-control. A carnal desire overtaking his good sense.
