The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The Warrior and the Healer

As the bouncer let him into The Sanguine Queen, Storm reassured himself he faced no more danger now than the other nights. They either knew who and what he was…or they didn’t.

But if something happened to her, could he watch her die and do nothing?

His Academy-trained inner voice chastised him that yes, she could, because it might cost more lives if she blew her cover. The less pragmatic side of him, however, disliked the idea.

The bartender didn’t speak, raising a disdainful eyebrow in an unasked question.

“Whatever,” Storm muttered. “Don’t care.”

The tattooed Valorn studied him warily and poured a drink of something amber. Storm accepted it and handed him a bill.

“You keep coming back,” the Valorn said, surprising him. “What for?”

“A little autonomy,” Storm replied honestly.

The bartender grunted as he poured bloody shots for a group of vampires nearby. “Don’t miss those days, myself.”

Storm side-eyed him. “What’s it like? After…as a Valorn, I mean.”

The Valorn snorted. “You thinking of defecting?”

“Just keeping my options open,” Storm replied with a shrug.

“Then keep this in mind too: imagine drawing on your power out of habit or instinct…only for the act to poison you from the inside out. Then needing to adopt a macabre diet to ensure your own survival. This side of the realms isn’t for the faint of heart, angel.”

Storm grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, truly.”

The bartender almost laughed. “Offense is a part of life out here. I bear no guilt or shame over what I am. After the first few months, you stop noticing the diet.”

“You get back some of your power though, right? When you…you know…?”

“Sort of,” came the reply. “You can access some of what was yours, but you get more of whatever theirs was.”

“Then why isn’t everyone cannibalizing everyone else out here?”

“Doesn’t work that way. Doruri power is poison, and the Valorn are already borrowing someone else’s.”

“So, Fallen and Valorn blood…it’s useless?”

“Yeah, which keeps us from being ‘cannibalized,’ as you put it.” The bartender leaned on the bar, giving Storm a pointed look. “That’s why you don’t see many Valëtyrians in the dark strip. I’ve had at least three requests to spike your drink since you started showing up.”

Out of instinct, Storm’s eyes darted to his glass.

“You’re lucky,” the bartender said. “I don’t tolerate assassination attempts in my bar. Elsewhere though…” He shrugged. “Most places don’t want to tempt Valëtyria to look too close, but I can’t say for certain everyone feels that way. Keep to yourself and don’t cause trouble. You’re safe enough here, but I can’t promise what might happen out there.”

“Appreciate it,” Storm replied genuinely.

The bartender grunted in response. Storm sighed and turned to find a booth, instead meeting a pair of vibrant red eyes.

“Hey,” he said, recognizing Scarlet. “It’s you.”

She preened, flipping her hair. “Hello again, angel. You staying long?”

“Only if you are.” He gave her an appraising look.

She pretended to hesitate, studying the ceiling momentarily. “Oh, all right,” she finally sighed. “I doubt anyone else will keep you company.”

Storm briefly wondered what Kitara would think about his choice of drinking companion when she arrived. He followed Scarlet into the back of the establishment, taking a seat beside her as she sank almost cat-like into a secluded booth.

“Lovely,” she purred. “So what keeps bringing you out to our part of town?”

“A change of scenery,” Storm replied, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards in a half-smile. “And perhaps some other…distractions.”

“Quite brave of you,” she purred, placing a hand above his knee.

He forced himself not to tense and smiled instead. “Some might say ‘foolish,’” he countered.

Scarlet laughed. “That was implied, angel. But do not underestimate your own allure. There is a certain charm in innocence.”

Storm snorted. “I’m offended you think I’m ’innocent.’”

Scarlet’s crimson eyes glimmered with mischief. “You mistake my meaning. You’re no virgin, of that I’m certain. But there is a certain…naivety in your reckless bravery that I find refreshing.”

An aura, like the aurora borealis amidst a sparkling shower of stars, brushed over Storm’s skin, but he forced himself to remain focused on the vampiress beside him.

Thankfully, she saved him the trouble by looking up. “Hey, chiclet.”

“Scarlet.” Kitara sounded annoyed.

Storm finally turned, stifling his relief at her appearance. The Sleeper barely acknowledged him, focusing solely on the vampiress.

Kitara crossed her arms and regarded Storm with a frosty gaze. For a moment, he could believe they were complete strangers, and she a Netherling staring down an unwelcome angelic presence.

She huffed in exasperation at Scarlet. “Aren’t you bored with this yet?”

Scarlet’s expression darkened. “Come on, Sabine, don’t be like that.” An underlying warning crept into her voice. “Sit, have a drink, talk to us. You never know, you might hit it off.”

Kitara glanced toward the door. “You forget: Valëtyrians don’t exactly have high regard for the Doruri.”

“He won’t cause any trouble, will you, angel?” Scarlet crooned, patting Storm’s cheek. “You’re not that foolish.”

Storm offered her a pained smile. “Hardly.”

“I should just go,” Kitara muttered, shifting her weight away from the table.

“Oh, before I forget,” Scarlet said, examining her fingernails. “I might have a lead for you. About the Maker.”

Kitara turned again, genuine surprise in her expression. “You do?”

The vampiress nodded and gestured to the booth opposite. “But you have to sit and socialize for a bit first. Put aside your differences. You’re both out here, aren’t you?”

Kitara huffed a sigh and sat across from them, arching her eyebrows in an expression of unwilling acquiescence.

“That’s better.” Scarlet signaled to a passing waitress. “Something dark for me, something lighter for my friends here.”

The waitress nodded and disappeared to get their drinks.

“So, about the Maker—” Kitara began.

Scarlet lifted a hand. “Don’t be rude,” she chided, then returned her attention to Storm.

He did his best to appear uneasy—not difficult, considering her hand had moved another two inches up his thigh.

“Ignore her,” Scarlet cooed. “She’s been burned too many times, isn’t that right, Sabine?”

The Sleeper waved a hand in response.

The waitress reappeared and handed them glasses of various liquids.

“You know,” Scarlet said to Storm, “a true gentleman pays for the ladies’ drinks.”

Storm considered commenting Scarlet was no lady but shot her an amused smirk instead and handed a bill to the waitress. She grudgingly accepted it like someone handling hazardous waste and disappeared again.

Scarlet’s hand continued creeping up his leg.

He didn’t know what would happen if she attempted to fondle him. The unwelcome touch stirred nothing in him, and she would recognize that immediately.

“So, Sabine, what kept you?” Scarlet asked Kitara, sipping her bloody drink.

“Slayer patrol,” Kitara replied smoothly.

Scarlet rolled her eyes. “You know, for all your bravado, you sure are scared of stake-happy angels.”

“After…what brought me here,” Kitara hedged, “I can’t be too careful.”

Scarlet met Kitara’s gaze with a mischievous grin and turned back to Storm. “Our poor Sabine here was taken in by a two-timing bastard. Did her dirty and ended up dead, and honestly, he deserved it.”

Storm glanced across the booth at the Sleeper. “That right?”

She jerked her head in a nod.

“Sorry to hear that,” he replied quietly.

Kitara’s smile looked forced. “Ancient history.”

Scarlet’s fingers just reached Storm’s inner thigh when her phone buzzed. They both jumped.

The vampiress swore, removing her hand and digging for it. She answered. “What?” Her eyes narrowed. “They what?” Her gaze darted between Kitara and Storm. “Okay—I’ll be right there. Wait for me.” She hung up with a pout. “Guess the party’s over. Something came up.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain later, okay?” Scarlet shot Kitara a glare and pushed past Storm. “Sorry, doll.” She patted his cheek again. “Maybe next time, yeah?”

Storm forced a smile and cleared his throat. “Anytime, baby.”

She tittered and swept out of the bar. Storm exhaled in relief, while Kitara sipped her drink and avoided his eyes.

“Now what?” he asked quietly.

“We sit.” Her voice was just as soft. “Then I pretend to get annoyed with you, or you pick a fight with me, and I leave.”

Storm itched to reach for her mind, to cut through the tension so palpable between them. Appearances were important; they should appear to barely tolerate each other. But the desire to connect with her echoed strongly through his veins, and it took everything he had not to act on it.

Frustration made him restless, and he shifted in his seat.

Kitara’s gaze flickered over him, a smirk lifting her lips. “Problem?”

“Not at all,” he said breezily.

A moment of silence stretched between them. Then she said something Storm didn’t expect.

“I didn’t like it,” she breathed, studying the tabletop. “I didn’t like her touching you.”

He struggled to maintain a carefully bored expression for the benefit of anyone watching. “No?”

“No.”

She didn’t elaborate, which exasperated him. “Jealous?”

“You certainly didn’t seem to mind.”

“Seriously?”

Kitara noted his scowl but didn’t reply.

To hell with this.

Storm couldn’t reach out and touch her, but he wouldn’t let her think the vampiress had any sort of effect on him. Focusing on her aura, he extended a mental invitation to her, rather like initiating a phone call, and waited for her to accept.

If the brush of his mind surprised or annoyed her, she gave no sign. He expected she would ignore him.

Something flickered in her gaze, and to his surprise, she answered the connection.

«I thought I made my opinion of mindspeaking rather clear,» she said, though amusement suffused the tone of her consciousness.

«If you think for one damn minute I wanted anything to do with Scarlet, you’re out of your mind.»

She focused on the glass between her hands. «Well, considering you’re in my mind now, you know that’s not true.»

He resisted the urge to smirk. «Did you just make a joke?»

«It happens occasionally.»

«Kitara.»

She looked up to meet his gaze.

«Her touching me did nothing to me, okay? Nothing. I’d offer to let you check, but you’d probably stab me.»

She ducked her head to hide her laughter. When she composed herself again, she found his eyes still intent on her. The atmosphere between them shifted, charged with an electric tension. Kitara’s aura resounded through the bar, silent to everyone but him: a beacon in a tar pit of darkness. He couldn’t resist the pull even if he tried. He was drawn to her, like a moth to flame.

His piercing gaze fixated on her face, trying to read her expression, if not her thoughts.

«I believe you.»

The tension drained from his shoulders. «Good.»

«Let’s go back to my place,» she said. «Being here is making me paranoid.»

«Agreed.»

The corner of her lips twitched despite herself. «Your fear I might stab you gave me an idea. I’m going to be a total bitch for a few minutes, but I’ll wait outside for you.»

Storm barely nodded before she shoved away from the booth with a snarling scowl. “Don’t you fucking touch me,” she snapped. “I may not have power, but I can still end you.” And with that, she dashed the remainder of her drink in Storm’s face, leaving him sputtering and his eyes stinging.

A few patrons wolf-whistled in appreciation and others hollered insults in Storm’s direction as Kitara stormed out of the bar.

As Kitara passed the bar on her way out, Blake caught her eye. “Was that really necessary?”

Kitara slowed, holding his dark gaze with her own vibrant green one. “No one touches me without my consent. And I’ll make the same example out of anybody who tries.”

Blake lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, my bad.” He regarded the rueful silverblood across the room with a wrinkled brow. “Wouldn’t have thought he had it in him.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Kitara muttered. She breezed outside to silence her aura in a nearby alley and wait for Storm’s reemergence.

He joined her in the alley shortly after, but she remained invisible as he approached.

“Impressive performance,” Storm said with a rueful grin, his face still damp from her drink. “I almost believed it.”

She snorted. “Come on, let’s take the back way.”

Falling into step beside her shadow, they walked through a twisting route of alleys.

“Tell me something,” she said softly. “Are you a comprehensive or selective Healer?”

Storm side-eyed her. “Comprehensive.”

Kitara hummed an acknowledgement. “You’re unregistered. I’m surprised they let you into the Academy. Comprehensive Healers are getting rarer by the day.”

“Because of my…birthright,” he began with a grimace, “my dad thought it best. It annoyed me at the time, but I’m grateful now. Otherwise, I would be confined to the long-term care facility in Valëtyria all the time. And I…don’t think I could handle that.”

“I’m sorry.” The back of Kitara’s hand brushed his.

“Don’t worry about it.” He managed a rueful smile. “I’d rather hit stuff with a sword anyway.”

As they passed a group of chattering humans, Storm put his hand to the small of Kitara’s back to steer her invisible form around them. She didn’t miss the appreciative glances the women spared him, and a flare of something like possessiveness lit up within her.

“How does that work, anyway?” A thrill tingled down her spine at the warmth of his fingers against her skin. “Your sword. Making it appear and disappear.”

He hesitated before replying. “It was my mother’s. One of the Myragnar crafted it. That’s something they could do, once. Metaphysical quantum mechanics forging. Before…”

“Before they all went into hiding.”

“Yeah. Anyway, when I graduated from the Academy, and my mother was still—when her condition hadn’t changed, my father asked them to pair it with my aura instead of hers, as a graduation gift.”

He still hadn’t pulled his hand back, and Kitara found herself leaning into his warmth. “Is it wrong that I’m a little jealous? Weapons you can summon with a thought…it would be incredibly convenient.”

If her movement surprised him, he didn’t let on. “I don’t know that any of those Myragnar lived,” he admitted. “If they had, I imagine there would be a lot more of these kinds of weapons floating around.”

“Literally.”

He choked on a laugh. “Yeah.”

Kitara grinned, grateful for the levity. They settled into an amiable silence as they continued to her flat.

When she admitted them inside shortly after, Kitara tried to ignore the lingering caress of Storm’s thumb against her back as she settled onto her couch. Storm dropped into the desk chair opposite her, leaving Kitara marginally disappointed by the distance between them.

Now that they’d returned to the flat, awkwardness sprung up between them. The mutual mindspeaking opened up an intimate line of communication: one neither expected.

Storm toyed with the sleeve of his jacket. “You asked me a few questions tonight.”

“Yes? Is that an issue?” She raised an eyebrow.

He snorted. “No. It’s…refreshing that you asked. Most people couldn’t care less about my sword or my abilities outside of how they relate to being a silverblood.” He hesitated. “But I have one for you.”

The tension in his posture and the unease in his tone set her nerves on edge. “What?”

“A question. You won’t like it.”

“Then I might not answer,” she warned, “because I won’t lie.”

A beat of silence.

“Did you try to kill Phoenix? The first silverblood?” Storm said in a rush.

She inhaled sharply, and he tensed, intent on an answer. On her subsequent exhale, he got it.

“Yes. After he tried to kill Devika.”

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