Chapter Twenty Samuel

Chapter Twenty

Samuel

W hen Samuel had been instructed to meet Isaac at the palace, he hadn't expected this. Instead of the lush, fine furnishings that he was starting to get used to, this was a stark, bare room that reminded him of a laboratory. The hard marble floor caused his steps to echo, and there was a metal table laden with all sorts of devices he had never seen before—contraptions to draw, contain and test blood. Knives of all sorts. Blood Working tools far beyond his imagining that had his stomach twisting.

"It won't be that bad," Isaac assured him, following his gaze. "I doubt we'll use anything too scary today, anyway. We're keeping it simple."

"Simple is good." He forced out a deep breath, grasping for calm. "I'm sorry that you have to do this."

"It's my job," Isaac said, easy as anything. "Come on, have a seat and roll up your sleeve. Non-dominant hand, please."

Samuel settled onto the stool, shucking off his jacket and laying it on the table. "What are you doing?"

"Just taking a little blood for study." He already held a wicked looking device in his hand—a sharp needle attached to a long, thin tube. "If you don't mind."

"I was always warned to be careful," Samuel said as Isaac lined up a series of vials. "Never to let a Blood Worker get my blood."

"Ah." Isaac turned to him. "I understand your concern, and it is good advice. But we are friends and allies here. If you want, I can help you… master your gift without studying your blood. That is His Majesty's general strategy—practice and willpower and control. But…"

Samuel leaned forward, drawn in by the pregnant pause. "But?"

Isaac moved forward as well, meeting him partway. It felt powerfully intimate and private—ridiculous as they were already alone in the room. There was nobody there to overhear them, yet here they were, leaning into each other and whispering. "But I want to know how the magic in your blood works, and if there is any way to strip it away."

His heart stopped in his chest. "Is that really possible?"

"I don't know," Isaac said, open and honest. "We won't know for sure until we try. Blood Healing is a tricky business—there are limitations that many Unblooded don't realize."

Swallowing hard, Samuel asked, "Such as?" It was such a foolish question, he knew so little of how Blood Working actually worked, but if there was even a chance…

Isaac considered him for a long moment, some internal debate warring across his face, before he let out a sigh. "Blood Healing is powerful, but it is at its core restorative. When I heal a cut, it knits the flesh back to where it had been; when we purge a disease, it cleanses the virus. In all things, it restores a body to its peak, but natural, state. Trying to… change that is complicated, and it requires consistent monitoring and treatment."

Isaac glanced away, for the first time too timid to meet Samuel's eyes. "It is what I do, weekly, for my own treatments."

"Your—" Samuel began, only to be cut off.

"Yes," Isaac cut him off, barreling forward to keep Samuel from interrupting. "I wasn't born… I wasn't recognized for the man I am, when I was younger. My parents, society, they thought they had a daughter, until I was old enough to have the words to correct them."

"Oh," Samuel said, as understanding hit. He had known a couple of people like this, people whose gender did not align with the bodies that they had been born with and the expectations that society put upon them. But they had been Unblooded and poor, and what Isaac was describing was something beyond what they could achieve. "Blood Working can help you transition?"

Isaac's shoulders relaxed at the simple question, at the way Samuel hadn't flinched away in confusion or disgust. "Yes, it can. It can manipulate my body, the hormones in my blood, but it cannot create the organs which would synthesize them naturally. So, here I am, working on it constantly."

What a fascinating bit of magic, what a wonderful potential for good—if one had the ability or money to access it. Still, there was the matter of his own problem. "And my gift… might be like that? Unalterable?"

"I don't know," Isaac said, simply. "That's what I want to investigate."

It wasn't a promise, it wasn't more than a hope. But still, there was another aspect they needed to consider. "And what of the King?"

"What of him?" Isaac stepped back. "I'm just finding out what's possible . What you—what he —decides to do with it is beyond me."

Samuel stared down at his hands, suddenly imagining a life where he didn't have to be so careful all the time. Where he could allow himself to let loose, to be free for just a moment. "You can take what you need," he said, rolling his sleeve up past his elbow.

"Thank you. Now hold still." Isaac grabbed a long, thin bolt of cloth from the table and wrapped it around his arm, pulling it tight. Samuel hissed in surprise, and Isaac shot him a comforting look before running his fingers across his veins, tracing the dark lines that stood out in stark relief against his skin. His touch was hot—burning almost—and Samuel wanted to lean into it.

Instead, he forced himself to focus on the procedure. "What's this for?" he asked, fingering the cloth with his free hand.

"Makes the veins easier to access," Isaac replied, grabbing the needle and tube contraption. "Be glad for it, you don't want me stabbing around trying to find the vein." He dropped the open end of the tube into the mouth of the first vial, then carefully pressed the needle against his skin. "This might hurt a bit," he warned, then immediately pierced him.

Samuel grunted, instinctively flinching away, but Isaac was holding him in a firm, tight grasp, his hand large and warm around his arm. It felt strangely comforting to be held so—to be grounded and controlled—and he didn't want Isaac to let him go.

But Isaac wasn't paying attention to him—he was pulling the tourniquet loose, watching the flow of the blood through the tube, filling the vial. "Not so bad, right?"

"No," Samuel managed, past suddenly dry lips. "Not bad at all."

The first vial was nearly full, and Isaac pinched the edge of the tube shut as he moved it to the next one. "Two more should be enough, for now."

Samuel nodded, not quite trusting his voice or control. There was something thrilling about leaving himself entirely in Isaac's power, and he really didn't want to think about that. So, he sat in silence, biting the inside of his cheek, until Isaac was done draining blood from him.

"There we are." He still wasn't looking at him, focused on pulling the needle from the vein. Tossing it onto the table, he pressed his thumb over the tiny pinprick, forcing the blood to well out. At last, he met Samuel's gaze as he wiped away the last of the blood, his eyes dark and fierce. Isaac sucked his own thumb into his mouth.

Samuel couldn't tear his eyes from it, from the soft press of teeth against skin, the flash of a tongue past his lips.

And then the fucker smiled at him, and Samuel realized he knew exactly what he was doing.

"And now," Isaac said, grabbing Samuel's arm. He could feel the tickle of something in the back of his head, the faintest connection, as the skin knitted itself back together. "All healed. Just give me a few moments to clean up and then we'll get to the real work."

"Right," Samuel said, shaking himself out of his daze, slowly putting himself to rights as Isaac washed the remains of his blood away. Of course, this room had its own plumbing—the Eternal King really would spare no expense, would he? It was the kind of thing that should make him mad—that did make him mad—but he was still feeling so off-balance that he couldn't quite muster the proper response.

Hells, this was embarrassing.

"You okay there, Samuel?" Isaac asked, suddenly appearing at his side. The knowing smile he wore made it abundantly clear that he was aware of what was going on in Samuel's head.

"Fine," Samuel said, scowling up at him. It did little to discourage the Royal Blood Worker. Isaac just laughed.

"All right, all right. Let's talk magic."

"Like that wasn't magic," Samuel said with a huff, and Isaac inclined his head to him.

"It's more like alchemy when you get down to it—ah, never mind." He ran his hand through his hair, blowing out a little huff of frustration. "That doesn't matter now. What matters is what we're going to do. From what I was told, what you need to practice is control."

"Yes," Samuel said, then started. "Wait, practice ? You can't mean for me to use it!"

"Well, yes." Isaac cocked his head to the side. "How did you think you were going to master this gift?"

"That's the entire point! I don't want to use it!"

"But if you do not practice you never will have control." Isaac grabbed him by the hands. "I know your gift frightens you but if you do not master it, it will master you." Samuel wanted to roll his eyes at that inane bit of advice, but Isaac was rubbing soothing circles on the backs of his hands. "As I said before, I'm not afraid of your power and you shouldn't be either."

"But I am," Samuel whispered. "You don't understand—you can't understand."

"Then try me."

Samuel wanted to run, to hide, but Isaac was still holding him, looking at him without fear or judgement in his eyes. He had never thought it could be like this, that someone could know about the darkness within him and not turn away. Not only that—despite the orders the King gave him, Isaac wasn't using him for his own power or glory. He was helping him, as a friend.

Or, given the way he kept holding his hands, perhaps something more.

So he did something he never thought he'd do—he told the truth.

"It's not simply about what I can do," Samuel began. "The fact that I control people, or the fear that I'll slip up. It's deeper than that. This power is part of me. No—it lives inside me. I can feel it." He pulled one hand free from Isaac's, placing it over his chest. "Here. It breathes and it hungers and it pushes, and every time I give in to it, it gets harder to push it back into its cage."

"You think practicing will only make it stronger," Isaac said.

"Yes." Samuel hung his head. "And as it gets stronger, I'll get weaker."

"That's not true. You'll get stronger with it—it won't be able to fight you anymore."

He could feel his hands trembling. "But what if we're wrong? The King said it's getting stronger with each generation. Even if my father could control it—and from what rumors held he didn't really bother to try—that doesn't mean that I will."

And there it was. The fear that had haunted him his whole life. It was easy to write off one or two mistakes. But it was never just that. He had spent his whole life trying to pull himself away, to limit the damage he could do to others, but it still kept happening.

It would keep happening, until the man was gone and all that was left was a monster.

Isaac looked away. "That's why I took some of your blood, isn't it? If this fails, we'll have another option."

"You said it wasn't a guarantee."

"Nothing is guaranteed," Isaac admitted. "Except if you don't try, you will fail."

He pulled away, and this time Isaac let him go. He wanted to flee—to find some space from the truth that Isaac was speaking. He was right, after all. Ignoring it had never been an effective tactic, and even if it was, the Eternal King wouldn't allow him to let such a talent lie fallow.

"Why are you risking so much for me?"

"You keep asking me that," Isaac replied. "And… I can't give you an answer."

"Can't?" Samuel whirled to face him. "Or won't?"

"Heh, you're learning." He shrugged. "Both? I'm the Royal Blood Worker, Samuel. I've aided the Eternal King in matters that leave me damned. But if I can do even just a little good in this life, then I will. So, what do you say? Are you ready to begin your practice?"

Samuel looked pointedly around the room. "There is no one here to practice on."

Isaac smiled, slowly and sadly. "Yes, there is."

"Hells."

"Hells indeed," Isaac echoed. "But it's all right. I know what I signed up for. Besides, I know you won't make me do anything too bad. Perhaps pat my head and rub my stomach at the same time? Hop on one foot? Quack like a duck?"

Samuel couldn't help it—he laughed, and Isaac laughed with him. It was just such a ridiculous idea. Sir Isaac de la Cruz, the Royal Blood Worker.

Quacking like a duck.

"I told you it wouldn't be so bad." Isaac shook out his shoulders—loosening himself up as if for a fight. "But, sadly, this isn't a childish game. Let's just keep it simple and straightforward, yes?" When he met Samuel's eyes, there was no hesitation there. "I trust you."

For a moment Samuel considered his options, just having him hop on one foot or some other innocent thing. But, no, he was right. If he was to master this power—if he was to please the Eternal King—he needed to take this seriously. He looked at Isaac and said the first thing that came to mind.

The thing he had been aching for, but was too cowardly to admit. But they had shared something here, something soft and vulnerable, and Samuel ached to know what it would be like if he could just reach out a little bit more.

"Kneel ."

Isaac went ramrod-straight, his ease vanishing as his eyes went wide with surprise. For a second, just a second, he resisted, his body trembling as he fought with every ounce of his will. Then Isaac sank in front of him, struggling the whole way, but he still managed to land on his knees with grace. It was only in the tension in his neck as he bowed his head that Samuel could see the fight—the way that Isaac needed to cling to control, to his image, to his pride—and he wondered what this moment must have cost him.

Samuel forced himself to watch, unable to turn away. He told himself it would be dishonorable, but in truth, there was a part of him—deep and shameless—that stirred with a dark kind of thrill. The pleasure curled through him, low in his stomach and intoxicating, knowing that he was the reason Isaac was now on his knees. That he had taken this proud, stubborn, brilliant man and brought him low with a single word.

That no matter who or what he would face, he'd always have this power.

And then it was over. Isaac scrambled back to his feet, his breath coming hard and fast while his cheeks colored. The slip in his control lasted only a moment, then he was grinning up at Samuel like they had just played the most marvelous game. "You cheeky bastard."

"What was it like?" Samuel asked. "Please—I've never known."

Isaac paled slightly, but he faced Samuel unflinchingly. "It was like… being trapped in my own body. I knew what I was doing, I knew I was supposed to fight it and I tried. But I knelt anyway. I couldn't do anything else until I was done."

Samuel turned away, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth as he tried to keep from retching. Finally, he managed, "And you couldn't resist. I really am a monster."

"No, Samuel," Isaac grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around until they were face to face. "It's all right, really." His smile turned sly. "Besides, if you wanted me on my knees, all you had to do was ask."

"You're a damned menace," Samuel said, pushing him away, but he couldn't help it. He was laughing.

"Perhaps," Isaac admitted. "But it works." He was so close that Samuel could feel his breath against his skin.

"It's just… a lot," Samuel admitted.

Isaac's laugh was so soft that he felt it more than heard it. "We'll figure it out. Now, if you stop getting lost in that damn head of yours, let's back to work?"

"Okay," Samuel whispered, and Isaac stepped back.

"Have at me, then."

It was easier after that. It seemed that no matter what they did, Isaac didn't hold it against him. It was knowledge, it was science, and he was determined to help Samuel figure it out. It stirred a feeling of fondness in Samuel's chest, something he thought he'd never feel again, not after the death of his mother.

It felt almost like trust.