Page 72 of Blood and Thorns

VALERIA

Icrouch behind a jagged column of ancient stone, biting down on my forearm to keep from screaming. The cut on my leg throbs with each frantic beat of my pulse, a vicious reminder that I’m still alive—but barely. My breath rasps in my chest, echoing against damp walls. Darkness presses in from every side, the only light a dying lantern sputtering at my feet. This is the catacombs beneath House Draeven, a warren of tunnels once used to store the remains of ancient Vrakken nobility. Now it’s my haven—and possibly my grave.

I stumbled in here hours ago. Maybe it’s been days. Time blurs. Pain and rage guide me more than any sense of clarity. When the fortress collapsed into chaos above, I ran, half-blinded by illusions, half-sure I’d see Vaelorian waiting with open arms, offering protection. Instead, I got…

He gave me up. The memory claws at my mind. I can’t scrub it away. In the midst of that monstrous battle, the swirl of illusions and shrieks, I heard him shout he was done with me, that I was worthless, that I could go to the dark elves for all he cared. My blood hisses with fury at the thought. I believed, foolishly, that there was something real between us. That nomatter how he might manipulate me for politics, he’d never toss me aside. But I watched him do exactly that.

I draw a ragged breath, pressing my hand to the slash across my thigh. The makeshift bandage I’ve tied there is soaked through. Each step sends jolts of fire up my leg. The catacombs smell of mold and old bones, carved recesses in the rock revealing tomb-like alcoves. The gloom is total except for my sputtering lantern, which flickers with pale, sickly flame. If the dark elves pursue me down here…

A tremor steals through me. He gave me up. Over and over, the thought tolls like a dirge. Vaelorian’s last words ring in my ears, raw with betrayal:Take her if you must. She’s the reason our fortress is under siege.The shock and heartbreak were enough to nearly numb me to the pain. And yet, I’m alive, forced to survive alone. The fortress above must be overrun, or close to it. My entire world has collapsed in a single night, and the only ally I thought I had revealed his true colors.

Tears threaten, and I swipe them away angrily. There’s no point in crying. The catacombs offer no comfort, only the company of the dead. My defiance wars with a gnawing sense of helplessness—Valeria, half-blood, abomination, prize for the dark elves. I was naive to think House Draeven’s prince might be different, that he cared. He claimed he’d protect me, defy the Council, fight the dark elves.Liar.The betrayal scorches my heart.

A scuffle of movement along the stone floor sends my heart lurching. I freeze, gripping my dagger, ignoring the spike of agony in my leg. My lantern’s flame sputters again, dancing shadows twisting. Did I imagine that sound? Maybe it’s a rat, scuttling for food, or the old bones shifting. But goose bumps prickle along my arms.I’m not alone.Something, or someone moves out there.

I struggle to my feet, muffling a groan. The dagger in my hand feels too small, too light, but it’s all I have. My illusions waver, a swirl of half-formed wards that flicker around me. The catacombs’ stale air weighs heavily. If it’s a dark elf, I’ll fight. If it’s a Vrakken?They’ll probably want me dead too.My entire world hunts me now: the dark elves for my blood, the Vrakken Council for my “abomination” lineage. I back against the cold stone, heart slamming in my chest.

Then I hear it, a voice, low and urgent. “Valeria?” It’s not a soldier’s bark, not a dark elf’s sneer. It’s… oh gods, it’s Vaelorian. My pulse spikes with a complicated jolt of relief and fury.Why is he here? Why bother following me if he tossed me aside?

A swirl of emotions tangles in me, so fierce I can’t think straight. I glare into the darkness, dagger trembling in my fist. “Stay back,” I rasp, voice echoing in the cramped tunnel. “I’ll kill you if you come any closer.”

Footsteps approach anyway—soft, measured. A glow forms ahead, revealing Vaelorian’s silhouette with a hooded lantern in one hand, his sword sheathed at his side. His wings are folded tight against his back, the ragged edges telling the story of the vicious fight above. He lifts his lantern, illuminating my corner. In the flickering light, I see the strain in his features: a bruise darkens one cheek, dried blood mats a section of his black hair. His eyes, though, remain intense, fixed on me with a mix of desperation and relief.

“Valeria.” My name drops from his lips like a plea.

My entire body trembles. “You have no right to say my name,” I snap, biting back tears. Anger surges, fueling me. My free hand curls into a fist. “You gave me up, left me to the dark elves. Is the fight for House Draeven’s throne worth so much you’d sacrifice me?”

He flinches, pain flickering across his face. “I never meant it,” he says urgently. “It was a ruse. I had to make them think I’d abandoned you so I could?—”

“Shut up!” My voice ricochets off the stone walls, raw with heartbreak. “I saw how easily the words left your mouth.Take her if you must.Do you know what it felt like, hearing that from the only person I thought…” I choke on the rest, chest burning with grief.

He steps closer, and I press my back to the wall, dagger raised. “Don’t,” I warn, voice trembling. “Stay away. I’m not falling for your manipulations again.”

His expression contorts with sorrow. “I swear to you, I never truly abandoned you. I had to distract them so I could circle back. I tried to find you after the corridor collapsed, but the fortress was overrun. I had to secure the keep, or none of us would have survived. Please believe me.”

My eyes blur with tears I can’t hold back. “Believe you? After every lie, every half-truth about my heritage, after you used me to glean intel, after you told me I was worthless in front of everyone?” The dagger wavers in my grip. A sob rips free. “Why are you here, Vaelorian? To finish the job? Or to drag me back as your puppet?”

He shakes his head, stepping deeper into the lantern’s glow. My dagger touches the center of his chest, pressing against the leather of his coat. He doesn’t flinch, just meets my gaze, heartbreak shining in his obsidian eyes. “I’m here because I’ll never leave you to die in these catacombs. You matter to me, more than any war or House Draeven politics. I played that role above because it was the only way to keep the dark elves off your trail?—”

“Stop lying,” I hiss, but a sliver of doubt worms into my anger. Why would he come here, wounded and exhausted, if notto help me? I tremble under the weight of conflicting emotions. “You walked away once already.”

His hand lifts in a slow, deliberate motion, clasping my wrist where I hold the dagger to his chest. “Let me prove it. Let me help you. Look at you, you’re bleeding. You can barely stand.”

My wounded leg throbs, fresh warmth dribbling from the soaked bandage. I grit my teeth.He’s right that I’m in bad shape.But letting him near me after that betrayal feels impossible. My entire being roils with fury, heartbreak, and a twisted longing I can’t extinguish. “Don’t pretend you care.” The dagger trembles a fraction.

He leans in, voice hushed. “I do care. I’d tear down the Council if they tried to hurt you. I’d face Xathien’s entire army for your safety. I know you have every right to hate me, but I beg you to understand: I had no choice.”

My vision blurs with tears, rage tangled with longing. “No choice. That’s always your excuse.” My breath shudders as I lower the dagger an inch. My mind screams to keep him at bay, but my body sags with fatigue. “Then why does it ache so much to see you again?” I mutter, voice quivering.

A flicker of intense relief crosses his face. He steps closer, pushing the dagger aside. “Because,” he murmurs, “we can’t deny what we share.” His hand brushes my shoulder, warm despite the chill down here. The contact makes me flinch, but I don’t fully pull away.

Tension coils in the dark. Our gazes lock, the catacomb’s damp air pressing in. Anger still crackles in me, but a desperate need for reassurance pulses beneath it. The adrenaline of survival, the heartbreak of betrayal, the rawness of this moment: it all collides in my chest. My breath hitches, tears carving a path down my cheeks.

He cups my face with a trembling hand. I want to slap him away, scream at him, but I find myself unable to move. My hearttwists painfully, remembering every stolen glance, every heated promise. “Valeria,” he whispers, voice torn. “I’m sorry.”

A strangled sob escapes me. Then I lash out—my free hand strikes at his chest, pushing him back. He staggers, letting me vent my wrath. “You… you’re a bastard,” I hiss. “I hate you. I needed you, and you?—”

He grabs my wrist mid-swing, pulling me flush against him. My breath whooshes out. We’re pressed chest to chest, his heartbeat thunderous against me. The dagger clatters from my limp fingers. My soul screams with confusion, but his proximity ignites something primal in my veins. My half-Vrakken senses roar with the closeness of his body, the scent of his sweat and blood.

---