Sebastian met the eyes of the others, and knew they were all silently wishing someone else would step up and test his hand.
In a hundred years or so, with more exposure to the sun, such a short period of time in its natural light wouldn’t mean much. But right now, for every second their fragile skin spent beneath the sun, the quicker they would burn. It was also a rite of passage. To prove worthy to be named as one of the privileged, each would test his manhood. That, or travel to the wilds of a newly discovered land called America.
“You next, Edmund? Or will it be Sebastian?”
“This is childish,” Edmund protested. Not five minutes ago, he’d been jeering on Jacob to test his mettle. One look at the latter man’s disfigured fingers, fused together from damage, seemed to have tempered his lust.
“Take your turn or step aside, Edmund,” Sebastian drawled. He didn’t want to feel the sun’s burn anymore than his companion, but there would be no satisfaction until everyone did the deed. He didn’t like the rite of passage, but he accepted it.
“What’s the rush? Need to get back to rutting your mother?”
He’d heard enough of the taunts about his mother—and lack of a father—to let them roll off him by now. “No, a sapphire-eyed, raven-haired vixen needs my attention...”
Edmund scowled at the description of his sister. Sebastian smirked.
“Get on with it, both of you.” Jacob spoke between clenched teeth, but his arm no longer smoldered. The angry red flush covering his face diminished to a healthy pink. A few minutes more, and the burn would be nothing but a memory. He plucked the pocket watch from Edmund’s vest before winding it. “The hour grows late,” Jacob continued. “At the ready.”
Sebastian silently swore, but pushed up the sleeve of his linen shirt. The material scraped against the coarse hair covering his arm, pulling on some of them due to his haste. His expression remained impassive. These little acts of fortitude were childish, but expected among the vampire elite. If there was any chance—any at all—that he and his mother were to be pushed higher than their current stations because of a little pain, he would go through with it. This or any of a million other tortures they could put him through. She deserved it.
He and Edmund stepped forward. A quick glance into the other man’s face proved a pallor gone unnaturally white. Sebastian stood straighter at the sight, unwilling to let the young men surrounding him see the least bit of trepidation in his own face or stance. Thank the old gods they couldn’t hear the way his insides trembled. Undoubtedly, this was going to hurt like hell.
Ignoring them watching with gleeful anticipation, he clenched his teeth and stared into the beam of light. The starkness of it drew his attention, the glare so innocent-seeming. Amazing that such a little thing could inflict such damage.
“Ready,” Sebastian said to Jacob. Beside him, Edmund echoed the same.
“Now!” shouted Jacob.
Closing his eyes, Sebastian thrust his arm forward and into the beam, prepared for the worst.
“One...two...”
The knocks of his heart matched the cadence of Jacob’s counting, but Sebastian paid it little attention. Instead, he opened his eyes and studied the skin of his forearm.
Surprisingly, the warmth there wasn’t anything like he expected. While true that he felt its caress, the agony he expected didn’t ignite. Instead, his arm faintly glowed with awareness. He studied it, as if it hadn’t been attached to him for the past twenty years. As if it were a newfound toy, a puzzlement meant to be solved.
“Fourteen...fifteen...”
Sebastian glanced into Edmund’s face, then frowned. Already his friend pulled his teeth back, baring them against pain. Jacob watched him too, fascination spread across his features. The others edged forward as a crowd, similar to what Sebastian had done when it hadn’t been his turn beneath the sunlight. He understood their morbid curiosity too well.
“Twenty-nine...thirty...”
Edmund’s arm had begun to flush pink, every passing second encouraging the color to deepen. Before his eyes, Sebastian focused on the long, curling hair on his arm that began to draw in, withering as if a fine plant deprived of water. Edmund struggled with keeping his hand beneath the sunlight, his arm jerking in his body’s reflex to protect itself. His mind, probably overwrought with the need for the acceptance of his peers, kept the arm in place.