Three hours had passed since Levin slipped through my trapdoor and hid in my subterranean laboratory. The obsidian vial of phoenix tears sat on my copper work table next to twenty failed glass flasks of cloudy red liquid. My canvas apron was stained with dried iron and crushed nightshade from our endless hours of mixing. Levin stood across from me, his long green hair tied back with a strip of frayed twine as he ground dried roots in a stone mortar. Neither of us spoke of the blood-binding curse that still hummed faintly beneath our ribs whenever we stood too close.
We simply worked in the damp gloom above the vampire domain, fueled by my stubbornness and the desperate hope of an end to slaughter. I poured a drop of the shimmering golden tears into the boiling copper basin, watching the dark crimson liquid clear into a translucent, glowing amber. The vapors rising from the rim smelled not of iron or rot, but of fresh spring rain and turned earth. My hands shook slightly as I pulled the brass lever to cool the vat, terrified of another hiss of steam and ruined batch.
Levin stopped grinding and looked over the rim of the basin, his bright green eyes narrowing slightly at the steady light.
“That looks different from the ones that melted the glass 2 hours ago,” Levin said, leaning in so close his shoulder brushed against mine. “It isn't smoking at the edges, and the color is entirely wrong for blood.”
“It is stabilized,” I whispered, staring into the bright amber surface that reflected our tired faces. “The phoenix tears didn't just mix; they neutralized the feral decay entirely.”
“Then test it,” he urged, his voice dropping an octave as he reached out and touched my wrist. “Drink it yourself, Lilly, or hand a flask to me before the temperature drops.”
“You know I cannot drink it until I verify the iron count,” I muttered, pulling my arm away despite the warmth of his skin lingering against my pulse. If this fails, three colonies go hungry tonight, and I have to send Hunter out for another harvest.
“Then let me taste it,” Levin said, his fingers wrapping around the neck of the warm glass flask before I could stop him. “An elf's constitution can handle volatile magic better than a mortal throat or a half-starved vampire's stomach.”
Before I could snatch the glass back, he lifted the stopper and swallowed half the glowing amber mixture in a single, unhesitating gulp. I stood frozen, my heart pounding against the magical tether as I waited for him to collapse or choke on the synthetic brew. Instead, a strange, breathless flush spread up his pale neck and across his sharp cheekbones. He dropped the empty glass onto the stone table with a sharp clatter that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and the scent of spring meadows grew so thick in the small room it crowded out the damp stone smell.
He reached out and grabbed both my hands, his fingers burning hot against my cold skin. “Lilly,” he gasped, his voice tight and trembling with a sudden, overwhelming heat that had nothing to do with magic or poison.
“I want a female vampire to drink my blood right now.”
I pulled my hands back as if the touch had scorched my skin, staring at him in absolute disbelief. “What on earth are you talking about?” I demanded, my voice bouncing harshly off the stone walls. That was supposed to be a synthetic blood substitute for my court, not an aphrodisiac for elven botany.
“I don't know,” Levin panted, pressing a hand to his forehead as he tried to steady his breathing against the counter. “It feels like every drop of blood in my veins is turning to liquid sun, and the only thing that will settle it is—” He stopped, biting down hard on his lower lip while his bright green eyes searched my face with a desperate, wild intensity. “Forget it. Just get me that custom plant you promised.
I stared at him for three long seconds, my mind racing through every herbal text and alchemical recipe I owned. The phoenix tears had reacted with the monster blood to create an unforeseen catalyst that targeted elven vitality. Without a word of warning, I turned to the back shelf where the special orders rested in clay pots. I grabbed the thorny, silver-stemmed nightshade he had ordered , its pale blossoms glowing faintly in the gloom. I shoved the heavy clay pot directly into his arms, nearly making him drop it on the stone floor. “Here is your plant,” I snapped, my cheeks burning with a heat that rivaled his. “Take it, use whatever magic you need to fix yourself, and get out of my shop before I lose my temper.”