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‘They believe they can feel the power rising between us. To a Cruor, giving your blood to another is giving them power—but we exchanged. They’re turned on and afraid at the same time. They don’t understand. I’ll keep them focused on me, Grace. Just keep going.’

From that moment, the small smile remained, the purring tone. His touches grew slow, sometimes tight. He rolled his head at times, and his mouth was slack, his breath tearing in and out of his throat.

He walked down the altar, running his hand over my body, then back up, trailing fingers up the inside of my leg, pulling the shift up until I was afraid he would bare me, and I tensed. But the material was pinned under my legs and behind, and my weight caught it when it reached the extent of the hem.

Voski let his hand keep moving up the fabric and over me, instead, and I breathed a little easier.

When he made it back to my head, he stood at my side, between me and his mother who still stared.

Then he grasped a strand of my hair at the nape of my neck. For a split second, as that blade descended, fear sang through me. I flinched, squeezing my eyes closed. But there was only a moment of pressure where he grasped my hair, before it released.

Still holding that strand, he reached for his own hair, hissing as he pulled a small chunk out, away from his scalp, and cut it with the blade.

To my shock, he reached into his pocket and drew out a small, thin, shining leather strap. A strap made of dragonhide. Little more than a lace. I thought it was the drawstring from his leathers hood. But I had no idea why he’d bring it here.

Turning the blade hilt in his hand to grip it while he used his fingers, Voski tied one end of the leather strap around the two pieces of hair and knotted it tight. Then he held up the little clutch, and his eyes burned with a fervent light. He turned, scanning everyone as he shouted.

“I call on the true power—the power of the dragons—to bind us! To mingle our blood, our power, our purpose! Come!”

He dropped his hand and pulled down my chin, placing the knotted end of the leather between my teeth and urging me to bite down to hold it, as shrieks rose around us. But he kept saying the words, over and over, as he braided our hair and the dragonhide tie.

I was stunned and confused—and aware that the hubbub in the room grew with every passing second—protests, whispers, shouts… and Voski acting strangely.

Writhing on his feet.

Grunting. Twitching, like he’d been poked.

But still he continued, even through gritted teeth, and in the bond he urged me not to let go.

‘It’s not magic, Grace. It’s a show.’

‘Why is Koa afraid?’

‘She and Kham brought help. Don’t worry.’

But around us, the dark snakes and vapor tendrils crawled higher and higher, like flames with new fuel rising from the base of the altar, but black and whipping.

Lady Ashford appeared at his shoulder as Voski tied off the braid of hair.

“Vane! What the hell are you thinking? You can’t call on the power of the dragons!”

“No, Mother, you can’t,” he spat back.

And for the first time, I saw the woman react. Her head snapped back, and she blinked. She covered for the shock quickly, but my heart rose, and I showed Voski what I’d seen.

But he didn’t answer.

“Bring the brazier,” he muttered to her as he pressed down on my chin to open my mouth again and free the braid, then turned away from me.

There was a strange, human moment.

She stared at him, clearly wanting to question. But something else burned in her gaze as well. Hope, of a sort. Hunger.

Then she ducked her head like she’d submitted to him, and knelt. Moments later she rose from the floor, two large, thick pads on her hands like a glassblowers glove. And between them, a bronze bowl, darkened with heat, and shimmering.

I gasped when Voski suddenly freed my other hand and then there was another, singing pain in the unhurt palm. Pressing our bleeding hands together, he ground them to make them drip blood, which sizzled on hot coals inside that bowl, then he threw the dragonhide and hair braid over them.

The hair went up in a whomph, while the dragonhide was untouched. As the smoke drifted, the smell of burning hair filled the air, burning in my nose, and making my nerves jitter.