Lethe's Kiss (Ari & Soren Book 3)

Chapter 5 - Ari

I considered this a moment. I wasn't ready to believe I was anything more than a man who happened to carry around the power of an ancient goddess in his soul, but the vampire had a point.

"Alright," I said, "I'm willing to try, but... Well, isn't the new-blood dangerous? How will I get close enough to, er, feed it?"

"You will not get close at all," Volkir assured me. "I do not keep much medical equipment on hand, but a bowl and blade should do to collect your blood, and then I will deliver it myself. Half a liter or less should do."

I nodded and drew a deep breath. "When? Now?"

"I'd like to attempt it as soon as possible, yes," Volkir answered, nodding. "The longer that unfortunate girl is deprived of her mind, the less chance we have of restoring it."

He rose and crossed the room, moving with his usual powerful grace, and opened a glass-fronted cabinet of ornately carved black wood. From this he retrieved a beautiful jade bowl, which was probably worth more than I wanted to know, and returned, setting it on the low table around which our chairs were set.

Next, he went to an arrangement of knives displayed on the wall and chose one with an ivory handle and a long, thin blade. This he tested with the pad of his thumb and, seemingly satisfied with its sharpness, came and knelt beside my chair.

"You are quite ready?" he asked.

I nodded. It wasn't as if I'd never been bled for a strange ritual before.

"Soren, the first-aid kit, if you would. In the kitchen."

Soren rose, still frowning but offering no objection, and disappeared towards that room, returning a moment later with the little red bag. I wondered what Volkir wanted with such a thing, but I suppose his stronghold was very remote, and he did have human guests from time to time.

From the kit, Volkir took an antiseptic wipe, a square of gauze, and a roll of bandage. The scent of rubbing alcohol stung my nose as he tore open the wipe and, taking my arm in a firm but gentle grip, smoothed it over the skin several inches above the underside of my wrist.

Then, keeping his hold on me, he took up the knife and set the base of the blade to my flesh.

I waited, teeth clenched against the expectation of pain, but Volkir made no move. He remained completely still, his pale hand contrasting with my richer tone where he grasped my wrist, and I noticed that the tiniest of tremors shook the blade he held in the other.

"Forgive me, my dear," he said, and then slid it swiftly across my arm.

The knife was so sharp that at first I felt nothing; then came the sting as blood welled thick and dark and poured from the cut and into the jade bowl. I watched, a bit mesmerized by the color and consistency of the strange, vital liquid escaping my veins. Volkir's grip gradually tightened to the point of pain and, distracted, I looked up.

He too, was watching the blood that filled the bowl. In fact, he appeared transfixed by it, and I noted that his fangs had partly dropped, nicking his bottom lip.

"Volkir?"

He started as if stung, and released my arm, standing quickly and turning away with his hand covering his mouth.

"Soren," he said, sounding uncharacteristically strained, "can you manage? I believe I need to...step out for some air."

"Of course," Soren answered, managing not to sound quite as smug as he looked, and coming to take his father's place at my side. Volkir stepped quickly from the room, shutting the door a little too sharply as he went, and making me jump at the unexpected loudness of the sound.

"What happened?" I asked.

Soren lifted a shoulder in a shrug, pressed the gauze over my wound and wrapped the bandage around my arm, quick and tight. "He underestimated your allure, my dear," he said, imitating his father's deeper, more accented voice. "Or the allure of your blood, at any rate."

"You don't seem affected," I pointed out.

"Yes, well, I've already had my fill," he said. "I'm like a man who's eaten a full meal and two servings of dessert. Turning down a third helping is not so hard. He, on the other hand, is like a man who has eaten nothing all day, hunger needling him towards madness, and then had a heavenly feast set before him—which he knows is not for him and that he cannot touch. Something of a mild torture, if there can be such a thing," he added, sounding a little too pleased with the idea. "I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did."

My eyes widened a bit as I absorbed the fact that my father-in-law had just experienced a very strong desire to eat me. "If you knew he'd react, why'd you let him cut me? Why not do it yourself?"

"Because he was in a mood, and I wanted to prove he's not as impervious as he likes to pretend," he said, and then imitated his father again, repeating his earlier words. "And besides, I kept a close watch, ready to intervene the instant I sensed hunger overcoming reason in his mind."

He rolled his eyes, and then met mine and smiled—a little sadly, I thought—before leaning in to kiss me between the eyes. "I love you," he said, and brushed something from the corner of my mouth, "I love that you're always selfless and kind, even when it scares me to death."

He stood, lifting the bowl with care. "Stay here and recover a bit. This is the second batch of blood you've lost in a short time, after all—mage or not. I'll get this in something more...portable...and then we can safely reconvene."

With that, he left me alone with my somewhat jumbled thoughts and a throbbing pain in my arm. Sighing, I rested my head against the back of the chair and closed my eyes.

Between the blood-loss, the events of the previous night, and the uncomfortable strain that seemed to be growing between Soren and Volkir, I was even more exhausted than before; and with a strange mélange of colors swirling in the darkness behind my eyelids, I either passed out or fell sleep where I sat.

The result was the same either way, and I finally got a few moments of much-needed rest.