Allis Vaelthorn gritted her teeth, frustration simmering beneath her composed demeanor. She knew the protocols, the outcomes, the consequences. High Marshal Bower would not stand idly by after learning a Marshal-level Inquisitor had been taken hostage. He’d act with precision, ensuring Dreven’s face adorned bounty boards in every kingdom. As reckless as this Outworlder seemed, he couldn’t outrun the weight of the law forever.

That thought calmed her. For now.

As Allis assessed her options, she considered her captor’s strength. Iron rank, she guessed, with herself just shy of that. If she bided her time, escape wasn’t impossible.

“Dreven!” Lisan Emberton called from the front of the wagon, her voice tight with tension. “Port Free is the best place to get you registered, but now we’ll have to worry about bounties.”

Port Free? Of course. Allis’s lips twisted in a grimace. Lisan’s plan, no doubt. It was a shrewd one. Once the Adventurers Guild officially recognized someone, they could slip into society as legitimate—no questions asked.

Dreven sighed, his voice low and gravelly. “I need a drink. Watch the Marshal, Lisan. I won’t be long.”

He disappeared into the trees, leaving the wagon in tense silence. Lisan climbed into the back, her movements deliberate as she glanced at Allis. Bound and seated on the rough wooden boards, Allis refused to show weakness, her sharp eyes meeting Lisan’s unflinchingly.

“Lisan Emberton.” Allis softened her voice, letting a trace of persuasion creep in. “Untie me, and we can bring Dreven in together. If you do, I’ll see to it personally that no charges are brought against you. You have my word.”

Lisan frowned, folding her arms. “You don’t get it, do you? You don’t know who—or what—Dreven is, and you certainly don’t understand why I’m here.”

Allis narrowed her eyes. “Enlighten me. Outworlder, likely a sub-variety of elf. Stronger than most, but nothing the Inquisition can’t handle. Another dangerous anomaly with new magic. A threat to be contained.”

Lisan snorted, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Wrong. Dreven was an elf. And unfortunately for you, Marshal, I’m bound to him by blood—unable to bring him harm. If you’re unlucky, he might bind you the same way.”

The weight of Lisan’s words hit Allis like a blow. Her pulse quickened. In all her years with the Inquisition, most Outworlders fell into predictable patterns: humans, elves, dwarves, beastkin—familiar forms, even if their magic wasn’t. Occasionally, an Outworlder manifested as a hybrid or a rare, new race.

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But this?

“Bound by blood?” Allis murmured, her mind racing.

Lisan nodded grimly. “It’s not something I’d recommend.”

The implications made Allis’s skin crawl. The Inquisition hunted Outworlders for a reason. Most disrupted the delicate balance of Ultima, bulldozing through its lands like a storm. Some brought strange, chaotic magic that fractured dungeons or unleashed Dungeon Tides, devastating settlements. Others, drunk on delusions of grandeur, thought themselves saviors of a world they barely understood.

And now this Dreven threatened to tip the scales again.

“Lisan.” Allis’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You’ve been with him longer than I have. Is he dangerous to this world?”

Lisan hesitated, her expression pained. “I can’t lie. Dreven… has the potential to bring immense change. But domination? Conquest? That’s not his style. He’s self-centered, sure, but his goals don’t seem to be about control.”

Before Allis could respond, Dreven reappeared, his movements smooth and predatory as he climbed into the wagon. The sunlight filtered through the canopy, glinting off his pale skin.

Allis’s breath caught. He had removed his cloak, and for the first time, she saw him clearly. His lips were stained red, as if freshly bitten, the color unsettling against his alabaster complexion.

“Marshal Vaelthorn.” His voice was casual, yet carried a weight that made her spine stiffen. “You’ve put me in an awkward position. Lisan says we should let you go after a few days. But I’m not sure I agree. You’ll only try to bring me in again.”

Allis forced herself to meet his gaze. “What do you suggest, then?”

Dreven smiled faintly, a glint of sharp teeth visible beneath his lips. “You have two options. First, a blood bond—temporary and task-bound. The second… I turn you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous.

Allis’s heart pounded. She glanced at Lisan, whose hands trembled on the reins, her knuckles white. “Explain.”

“A blood bond,” Dreven said smoothly, “is an oath sealed in blood, compelling the bound to fulfill a specific task. Once complete, the bond dissolves. Turning you, on the other hand, would make you like me—a Sanguinari.”

Allis’s stomach twisted. “Sanguinari?”

“Creatures who feast on blood and wield blood magic. We are few, but our power runs deep.”

Her mind reeled. A blood-drinking monster? Who would willingly choose that?

“No,” she said quickly, her voice firmer than she felt. “I’ll take the blood bond.”

Dreven nodded, his smile lingering. “Very well. When we stop tonight to rest the horse, we’ll seal it.”

He leaned back, his posture casual, but his presence oppressive. The sun, now high overhead, seemed to agitate him; his lips twitched, and he pulled his cloak tighter around him as if shielding himself.

As the wagon jostled down the road, Allis’s thoughts churned. Dreven was more dangerous than she’d realized. If he could turn others into what he was, Ultima stood on the precipice of a new race—and a new threat.

And she might be the only one who could stop it.