Page 51 of Slaying the Vampire Conqueror

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used those skills. Years, surely. Weaver, I hoped I remembered at least something. I was very conscious that Atrius’s blade had been at my throat not all that long ago.

Atrius didn’t seem comforted by this answer. He didn’t so much as look at me, still scowling into the fire.

I knelt before him on the rug, the rough fur ticklingmy bare knees.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you injured?”

He took a long time to answer, and still, he did not look at me.

“An old injury,” he said.

“Sometimes the worst ones. I did something to my knee a decade ago, and I still feel it. Suppose it’s an occupational hazard of our lifestyles, isn’t it?”

My attempt at levity fell pathetically flat. I was starting to think that Atrius was simply immune to being charmed. Or maybe I just wasn’t very good at being charming.

“So you can help?” he said gruffly.

“I can try.” I gave him a gentle smile. “Where is the injury?”

“‘Try’ isn’t good enough.”

My smile withered. It was getting harder to pretend.

“Well, it’s the best I can offer you.”

His eyes snapped to me, the normally cold amber suddenly searing hot beneath the firelight, verging on the red I’d witnessed in battle.

“Dozens of my men are dead because of your mistakes. Maybe your abilities aren’t good enough.”

The words were hurled with perfect aim, direct and deadly-sharp in their honesty. That didn’t surprise me—I knew Atrius could be cruel. What did surprise me was that they hurt when they landed, bringing with them the memory of rows of red beneath the moonlight and a wave of nausea that I struggled to swallow back.

“Then maybe you should have kidnapped a better seer,” I snapped, before I could stop myself. “It was never my choice to come help your band of monsters.”

He went rigid.

“What asacrificeyou’re making,” he sneered. “Let’s see how long it takes the Arachessen to take you away if I dump you at the gates. Days or hours? Do you think they’ll leave me the pieces, or just feed them to the wolves?”

Another mark perfectly struck. Not just harsh words. No, they were accurate, yanking back the curtains on the things the Sisters often did not like to think about. The threads held us together, and the threads held our vows. A Sister who had broken her vows was in pieces. And so, that would often be her punishment for abandonment.

Sometimes I wished I could close my eyes against unwelcome images. Instead, I needed to let those memories pass through me, and then watch them go.

Sharp words lingered at the tip of my tongue, prodded loose by his. I had to take a breath to fight them back.

“I sense that you’re suffering,” I said. My voice was tighter than it should have been—I should have leaned into ‘comforting, healing presence,’ but instead landed somewhere closer to ‘frustrated schoolteacher.’ “I may not have been the best healer in the Arachessen, but I studied it. They drilled it into me just like all the rest.” I gave him a weak smile. “I can try.”

His eyes flicked back to me. Lingered.

Then, at last, he pressed his palm to his chest. “Here.”

I was confused. I didn’t know what kind of injury he could be referring to. “Your… pectoral muscles or?—?”

“It’s more complicated,” he snapped. “It’s—” He looked away again and let out a huff. “Never mind. This is none of your concern. I’ll be fine on my own.”

Weaver help us all. I rubbed my temple. “If the choice is between trying to help you and suffering through your sulking for the foreseeable future, then for the sake of everyone who has to be around you, just let me try to help.”

I wasn’t prepared for it when, in one abrupt movement, he turned, grabbed my wrist, and pressed my hand to the center of his chest. The movement practically yanked me onto his lap, my forehead nearly bashing against his.

“Do you feel that?” he said—and there was a hint of hopelessness to his voice, something that almost sounded like a plea.

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