Page 38 of Taste of Death

He spoke sarcastically, but I knew there was truth to his words.

“Is now a good time to tell me why Blood ‘til Dawn hates you so much?”

A long silence passed, and I thought he would ignore the question entirely. As he watched people fill the seats in front of the dais, he said, “My clan did awful things to Blood ‘til Dawn.” His gaze turned toward me. “That’s the objective truth, not one of those two-sides-to-every-story bullshit. A lot of people suffered. That’s why many vampires are glad Rathka’s Curse wiped out my bloodline.” He leaned in closer, his breath tickling my ear. “Some even think I wrought the Curse upon my kin. What do you think of that?”

“I don’t believe it for a second.” I laughed. “You couldn’t bear to see little ol’ me starve in your courtyard. There’s no way you could wipe out your entire family.”

Novak leaned back, chuckling. “It’s sweet that you have such faith in me.”

“Besides, that makes no sense,” I added. “If you cursed your family, why would you be hated if they were so awful? Wouldn’t you be a hero?”

He shook his head. “Anyone capable of wiping out a clan is capable of other terrible things. Plus, I came from them.” He shrugged. “Who’s to say I’m not just as terrible, or even worse than they were?”

“Me.” I leaned toward him to whisper conspiratorially. “I think you’re a softy under all the big bad rich guy stuff.”

Novak’s head fell back with laughter. His eyes were bright with mirth and his grin made my heart skip a beat. “You’re the only one in the world who thinks that, akra.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“True enough.”

Our attention turned toward the dais as a hush fell over the crowd. Tavia and Cyan stood facing each other in front of a small altar. A third person with long, black hair covered in stripes of black and white paint stood on the far side of the altar, in the space between the couple.

“Who’s that?” I asked Novak in a whisper.

“Ruslan,” he answered. “His clan is Temkra’s Blood. They’re very religious, so they’re often tasked with doing ceremonies like these.”

After being prompted by Ruslan, Cyan removed his shirt and picked up a long dagger. His eyes never strayed from Tavia as he began cutting his own chest with the blade. I could see that he was carving characters, going over scars that were already on his skin.

I wanted to cover my eyes, it looked so painful. But he never flinched, not even as his skin reddened and swelled with each mark.

“Holy shit, what is he doing?”

“Tavia never told you about Blood ‘til Dawn and their vows?”

“She definitely never said anything about this.”

“Silver is the only material that can irreparably damage vampires and cause scars.” Novak angled his head toward me. “Blood ‘til Dawn scar themselves with silver blades when they make vows. Makes it a permanent reminder so that you’re more inclined to keep your vow. Probably doesn’t feel good to break your word and have a lie carved into your skin for the rest of your life.”

“Wow, I had no idea.” Reluctantly, my respect for Cyan increased a little. He was carving himself up for Tavia like his body was a ritual offering. “What did your clan think of this custom?” I asked Novak.

“Barbaric, naturally.” He snorted. “Real vampires break vows, double-cross, and lie all the time. Whatever it takes to come out on top, according to my father, at least.”

“But not you?”

Novak was quiet for a moment, intently watching the ceremony. “No. After seeing all the damage lies can do, I don’t want to subject other people to that.”

My chest warmed as I turned my attention back to the dais.

Cyan’s vow to Tavia was now running off of his chest, the markings heading toward his ribs. His lips moved, but his voice was too low to hear. The vow was meant only for her. Tavia’s gray eyes were wide, shining with tears of emotion. She worried at her lip, hands clenched in front of her as if fighting the urge to stop the man she loved from harming himself. But she must have known about this custom and that it would be part of the ceremony.

“He really loves her.”

I didn’t realize I had said that out loud until Novak replied with, “Seems that way.”

Once Cyan was finished, Ruslan turned to Tavia, holding out his hand as he said something. She placed the back of her arm in his palm and allowed him to draw another knife across her forearm, letting her blood spill into a wooden bowl on the altar. It reminded me of Novak cutting his arm to let me drink his blood.

The sacrifices we make for the ones we love.

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