Page 104 of Slaying the Vampire Conqueror

But I just stepped closer again. Pressed my hand to the center of his chest, over his sweat-stained cotton shirt. Far beneath my touch, his curse writhed.

I didn’t want to give him sympathy. I barely even considered it. When Naro and I clawed our way to survival through the worst of the Pythora Wars, we lost so much. In the beginning, when our parents were killed, people used to say,I’m sorry. And then the years passed, and the bodies piled higher, and no one said they were sorry anymore. The loss was just another unfair part of life. No one needed platitudes. When my sister died, people gave us bread instead. It was much more useful.

I felt so alone then. Now, as an adult, I knew that the reason why people were distant was not because they didn’t feel our loss, but because they felt it too much. They had no room for more. I thought perhaps one day, I’d stop feeling it, too. Perhaps one day, it would fade. The Arachessen promised me it would.

Itnever did.

Maybe the Sightmother had lied to me. Maybe I was just never good enough to be an Arachessen. But the truth was the truth. Fifteen years had passed, and now here I was, as angry as ever. Angrier. And tonight, I felt Atrius’s loss just as strongly as my own.

And I just couldn’t anymore.

I. Just. Couldn’t.

“Why?” I said. “Do you think I’m afraid of this? Afraid of you? As if I don’t feel the darkest parts of you every night. As if I don’t recognize?—”

“You recognize it because you feel it just as much.” His words were hard. All sharp-edged accusation. Strange, though, that such cruel words held such tender affection beneath them. Like he was challenging me to meet him at this most difficult terrain, somewhere that hurt, somewhere that was just as angry and broken as we were.

It was wrong of me.

But I wanted it, too.

His hand touched my chest, too, mirroring mine on his, my heartbeat strong and fast beneath his skin.

“In the beginning I doubted you,” he breathed, his words close to my face. “I doubted why the Arachessen would let you leave. But now I see why they didn’t want you. Because you’re just like us. Just as cursed by the past. And that curse just keeps fucking taking, doesn’t it?”

“You’re right.” My mouth twisted into a sneer without my permission—my teeth gritted against my words. I thought I’d feel shame to admit it to myself. I didn’t. I felt so blissfully free. “I understand you. I’m just as broken. Just as angry. I hate them just as much. Nothing will make that alright. Nothing. Once I thought a goddess could. But I was wrong.”

I fought the urge to take the words back as soon as they left my lips. But that was out of guilt. Not because I didn’t feel they were true.

Beneath my palm, the curse inside him pulsed, as if struck.

“But I think you know that, too,” I murmured. “All about goddesses and broken promises. Don’t you?”

He laughed, vicious as torn flesh. “You want to see the truth, Sylina? Do you have room in your heart for another dark story?”

He was taunting me. Like his jeering tone could chase me away. He was wrong.

I thought of the fragments of his vision, still burning in my memory and throbbing in his chest. The snow. The cold. A young vampire man’s head in his hands. And Nyaxia, cold and cruel and drenched in hate.

“I live in dark stories. And I’ve been living in yours for nearly four months. If you’re going to invite me in, invite me.” I pushed against his chest, hard. “I already see you, Atrius. I’m not afraid.”

So quick I wouldn’t even sense the movement, his other hand clutched my hair, tilting my head back toward his. I could feel his words over my lips when he spoke again, low like shifting gravel.

“You want my confessions, seer? Fine. Once, a long time ago, just like you, I thought my goddess would save us. And I gave her everything. Everything.”

The walls, all at once, shattered. And the wave of pain, of rage, of darkness and fear that rolled over me threatened to sweep me away. I had been reaching deep into Atrius’s presence—now, his emotions, such perfect mirrors of my own, surrounded me.

Far in the threads, I sensed an old memory—a city of white and red, powerful spires and moonlit crimson glass windows, framed against mountainous peaks.

“Do you see that?” His mouth came to my ear, breath hard and ragged. “That was my home once. A long time ago. My cursed, damned home. The House of Blood. When I was young, I met a man who was an idealist. A prince. My prince. And some wretched seer’s prophecy said that he would save the House of Blood from itself, and I believed in him.”

His voice sounded like glass breaking, all pain and anger. It poured through my threads, mingling with my own.

“So I followed. I built his army. I led his warriors. People who trusted me. And together, we journeyed to places no mortal, human or vampire, shouldgo.”

The images melted, reformed. I couldn’t even make sense of the next fractured memories—buildings floating in the night sky, shadowy figures walking on misty nothingness, bodiless faces peering through the darkness. All of them too distant, too quick, to capture.

“We were to earn back the love of Nyaxia. We would prove to her that the House of Blood was worthy of her. The things we did?—”

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