Page 42 of Captive
"If I make it through this," he whispered, voice raw without noble smoothness, "I won't be what my father made me."
"No," Boarstaff said, thumb still touching where brass moved against Sebastian's temple. "You'll be something new. Something neither of our people have seen before."
Recognition passed between them then, understanding that transcended ancient hatreds, that acknowledged possibilities beyond processing everything unknown into something safe. Beyond the careful lies both their peoples had built their societies upon.
The crystal formations flared with colors unseen in generations, painting ancient knowledge across the chamber walls. Sebastian's back arched as another surge of magic burned through synthetic systems never meant to process such power. Never meant to wake what vampire nobility had buried beneath brass and steam.
"Hold him steady," Ochrehand called out. "The transformation's at its peak!"
Boarstaff didn't hesitate. His hands gripped Sebastian's shoulders, grounding him through a change that threatened to tear him apart from within. Brass burned against his palms, metal waking to something beyond its forged purpose. To possibilities that lived in the spaces between synthetic and natural, between processed and real.
"The old texts speak of this moment," Doechaser said quietly. "When transformation hangs on a blade's edge. When what they're becoming might either destroy or remake them."
Sebastian's eyes found Boarstaff's through the pain and revelation.
"Stay with me," Boarstaff commanded, voice carrying authority that belonged to neither warchief nor captor. Just certainty that what they witnessed mattered beyond ancient hatred. "Show me whatvampire nobility sacrificed for their synthetic lies."
The transformation peaked, magic surging through chambers designed to contain pure vampire nature before synthetic precision had caged it. Sebastian's remaining brass pulsed with dangerous life as the Heart Tree's power called them back to what they'd been before vampire artifice.
Chapter Seventeen
The blood worked through Sebastian's system differently, carrying more than sustenance. Ancient knowledge flooded his mind, not just blood rituals from an age before brass, but truths about what his kind had been. Power that lived in vampire nature before they turned to synthetic restraints, before they chose to regulate everything wild into manufactured safety. Each revelation cut deeper as he thought of the child who still clung to her wooden doll, awaiting the same fate his ancestors had chosen centuries ago.
The visions came in waves, overwhelming in their clarity. He saw vampires from the earliest days, their forms moving with frightening speed and hunger, feeding without restraint or mercy. No brass components, no copper threading, just pure predatory instinct channeled into devastating efficiency. They fed relentlessly on blood, moving through communities like a plague, draining entire bloodlines before moving on to the next settlement. And with each feeding, the vampires grew stronger, hungrier, more consumed by need, until even they forgot what they had once been.
"Look at me." Boarstaff's thumb traced the edge of Sebastian's jaw, turning his face toward the chamber's luminous walls.
Sebastian jerked his head away initially, a reflexive response to unwanted contact while he remained bound and vulnerable. But as recognition dawned, Boarstaff's familiar scent, the careful pressure of his touch, Sebastian stilled, allowing the contact. The casual intimacy sent awareness singing through awakening metal, and Sebastian had to fight the urge to lean into his hand.
"Warchief." Moonsinger's voice cut like steel through the chamber. "Such familiarity with a vampire noble invites disaster."
"Everything about this situation invites disaster," Boarstaffreplied, though his hand didn't leave Sebastian's face. "Yet here we stand."
"There's a difference between containing him and..." Thornmaker's gesture encompassed their position with clear disgust. "This gradual erosion of necessary boundaries."
The spearmaster's scarred face twisted with more than just strategic concern. Personal hatred burned in his eyes as he studied the intimate positioning between warchief and prisoner, his grip tightening visibly on his weapon, knuckles white against the worn wood.
"With respect, you forget yourself, Warchief," Thornmaker continued, his voice carrying decades of justified anger. "This creature's kind displayed my daughters' bodies at our borders. Mutilated them as warnings." His voice cracked slightly before hardening again. "And now you caress their prince like a lover."
Sebastian snarled at the disrespect, centuries of aristocratic breeding reacting to such blatant insubordination. The sound that escaped him held nothing of noble composure, just raw fury that made the crystal light flare with warning intensity. Every line of his body radiated barely contained violence despite his restraints, fangs descending fully in response to the breach of protocol.
Weapons snapped up instantly. Guards raised spears, council members stepped back, and Thornmaker's grip tightened on his weapon as the chamber filled with sudden tension. Even bound by sacred magic, Sebastian's display of aggression sent alarm through every warrior present.
"Stand down!" Boarstaff commanded sharply, immediately stepping forward to place himself between Sebastian and the bristling weapons. His positioning was deliberate, protective, despite the obvious danger Sebastian had just revealed. "Lower your weapons."
"Warchief," one guard protested, spear still angled toward Sebastian's heart. "You saw what he just..."
"I saw a prisoner responding to hostility," Boarstaff cut him off, though his own hand remained ready near his weapon. "Nothing more."
The guards reluctantly complied, but tension crackled through the air like lightning before a storm. Sebastian's snarl had reminded everyone exactly what they were dealing with, regardless of histransformation.
Sebastian slowly forced his fangs to retract, taking a deep, measured breath as tension remained visible in his shoulders.
"What provoked that reaction?" Boarstaff asked quietly, his hand settling on Sebastian's shoulder. "Thornmaker's words were harsh, but not directed at you."
"A subordinate speaking to his superior in such a manner..." Sebastian's voice carried the formal cadence of his upbringing. "In my father's house, such insubordination would merit severe punishment."
"Thornmaker is a trusted advisor," Boarstaff replied. "His counsel, even when harsh, serves our people."
