12. Chapter 12

12

Chapter 12

Darick

I watch Rowan's taillights fade into the night, my fists bunched at my sides.

Damn it all to hell.

What was she thinking, coming here? The Nocturne Lounge is no place for a witch, especially not one as reckless and untrained as her.

"Well, that was quite the spectacle," Marcus says, materializing beside me. His tone is light, but I catch the undercurrent of concern.

I growl, "She's going to get herself killed."

"Your witch? Or her sister?"

"Both of them," I snap. "But Rowan… She has no idea what she's walking into."

I can still smell her – that intoxicating blend of sorcery and sweet woman. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to chase after her car.

"And Lucien?" Marcus probes. "His timing was…convenient."

I turn to face him, my eyes narrowing. "Too convenient. He's up to something."

"He's always up to something," Marcus says dryly.

"This is different." I stare in the direction the witches had driven in, even though they're long gone now. "The way he looked at Rowan…like she was a prize he'd just won. And he made a comment about their family history…he knows something."

Marcus nods slowly. "About the Blackwoods?"

"About all of it. Mia's disappearance, the blood allergy, maybe even my connection to Rowan." I stop short as I consider the implications of that. "We need to stop him."

"No arguments there. But Darick…" Marcus hesitates. "Are you sure you can think clearly where Rowan is concerned? Your reaction tonight…"

I bristle at the implication. "I'm fine. She means nothing to me beyond her blood."

Even as I say it, I know it's a lie. The image of Rowan's face, when she saw me with that other witch, flashes through my mind. The hurt in her eyes, quickly masked by anger. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't affect me like this.

But it does.

"For fuck's sake!" I mutter, anger and frustration blending in equal measure. She's so goddamned impossible.

I feel the subtle vibration of my phone and reach for it. Glancing at the screen, I see a message from Arabella, the Grand Elder herself. My jaw tightens involuntarily. This can't be good. A summons from her rarely bodes well, especially in these tumultuous times. I open the message, bracing myself for whatever new challenge awaits.

"Trouble?" Marcus asks, eyeing me warily.

"Arabella wants to see me. Now." I slip my phone back into my pocket, already dreading this meeting.

Marcus winces. "Well, that's never a pleasant experience. Want me to come along?"

I shake my head. "No, I'll handle this. Keep an eye on things here. And Marcus?" I pause, making sure I have his full attention. "If you see Rowan or her sister again, keep them safe. But don't let them know you're watching."

He nods, understanding the gravity of the situation.

I make my way through the city, a sense of unease building in my gut. What could Arabella want? Has she heard about the incident at the Nocturne Lounge? Or worse, does she know about my connection to Rowan?

I pause at the entrance, taking a moment to compose myself. Whatever Arabella has in store, I need to face it with a clear head. I can't let my conflicted feelings about Rowan cloud my judgment.

Taking a deep breath, I step inside. The air is as cool as a mausoleum, which matches my mood perfectly. Arabella's attendant, a young vampire with eyes too old for her face, nods silently and gestures for me to follow.

As we wind through the labyrinth of corridors, my apprehension grows. What if Arabella knows about my state? About the Bloodbane? The consequences of such knowledge becoming public would be catastrophic.

We reach the antechamber, and the attendant leaves me at the door to Arabella's inner sanctum. I steady myself, pushing away thoughts of Rowan, of Lucien, of all the complications that have arisen in the past few days.

Whatever Arabella wants, I'll face it head-on. I have to.

I enter Arabella's chamber, the glass ceiling revealing a waning moon. The light of it catches her hair, creating a halo around her ageless face. Despite her beauty, there's no warmth in her eyes as they fix on me.

"Darick," she says, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. "I trust you know why I've summoned you."

I bow my head slightly, a gesture of respect rather than submission. "I'm afraid I don't, Grand Elder."

She raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a humorless smile. "No? Then perhaps you can explain your recent…dalliances with witches."

My jaw clenches involuntarily. How much does she know? I force myself to relax, to appear nonchalant. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Don't play coy with me, Darick," Arabella snaps, her patience clearly wearing thin. "You were seen at the Nocturne Lounge tonight, feeding from a witch. And there are rumors of a more…intimate connection with another."

Shit. Word spreads fast.

I feel a flicker of panic but squash it ruthlessly. I can't let her see how much this affects me. "The witch at the Nocturne was nothing more than a convenient meal," I say, infusing my voice with boredom. "As for the other rumors, they're just that – rumors."

Arabella's eyes narrow. "Are they? Because I've heard some very interesting things about a certain Rowan Blackwood."

The sound of Rowan's name on Arabella's lips sends a jolt through me. I struggle to keep my face impassive. "The Blackwood witch? I've had some interactions with her, yes. But only in the context of our ongoing negotiations with the covens."

"Is that so?" Arabella leans forward, her gaze sharp, astute. "Then why do I sense there's more to this story, Darick? What aren't you telling me?"

"With respect, Grand Elder, I think this attention is misdirected."

"What makes you say that?" She cocks her head, an eyebrow raised.

"At our last meeting, I raised concerns that I was hoping would be addressed, Grand Elder."

"About Lord Marlow." She eyes me coolly. "I haven't forgotten that, Darick. In fact, I'd thought that by now, you'd have the information you promised."

Fuck.

"I'm working on gathering that evidence, Grand Elder. These things take time."

Arabella's eyes narrow. "Time is a luxury we may not have, Darick. If Lucien is indeed behind the attack on the Starlight Vigil, we need proof. Now."

I struggle to keep my composure. How can I explain the delicate web I'm trying to untangle without revealing my own vulnerabilities? Marcus, Selene, and Elias are working tirelessly, but Lucien is as cunning as he is ruthless.

"I understand your urgency," I say, choosing my words carefully. "But Lucien is not an easy target. He covers his tracks well."

"And yet you were so certain when you came to me before. What's changed?" Her expression is calculating.

"Nothing's changed," I insist, perhaps too forcefully. "Lucien is a threat to our kind. His actions, his ambitions – they put us all at risk. I'm more convinced of this than ever."

"Convictions without proof are dangerous, Darick," Arabella says, her voice sharp. "I expected better from you."

Her words sting, but I push on. "Give me more time. I have allies working on this. We will uncover the truth."

Arabella's expression hardens. "Your lack of progress is…disappointing."

I feel my temper flaring. "With all due respect, Grand Elder, this situation is more complex than you realize. Lucien's influence runs deep. We can't afford to move hastily and tip our hand."

"And you can't afford to level accusations without evidence," Arabella counters. "I need more than your assurances, Darick. I need you to back up your claims. You worry about war, yet your own behavior makes it look like you're angling for one – with your own kind."

I'm about to retort when the door swings open. My words die in my throat as Lucien glides in, followed by Valerian, Arabella's advisor.

What the hell?

"Grand Elder," Lucien purrs, bowing deeply. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Arabella's eyebrows lift slightly. "Lord Marlowe. This is…unexpected."

I fight to keep my face neutral. Lucien's timing is impeccable, as always. Too impeccable.

"My apologies for the intrusion," Lucien continues. "But I felt compelled to share some rather urgent information." His eyes flick to me, a hint of amusement in their depths. "Ah, Darick. How fortunate you're here as well."

"Lucien," I growl, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "What an unpleasant surprise."

Arabella's gaze sharpens. "What information, Lord Marlowe?"

Lucien's smile is all teeth. "It concerns our mutual friend here, actually. And his…shall we say, extracurricular activities?"

Goddammit!

As if things weren't bad enough.

"Oh?" Arabella's tone is deceptively light. "Do tell."

I step forward, my hands itching to wrap around Lucien's throat. "Whatever game you're playing, Lucien—"

"Now, now," Valerian interjects from his position near the door. "Let's hear what Lord Marlowe has to say. After all, we're all friends here, aren't we?"

The look I shoot Valerian could melt steel. He merely smirks in response.

Lucien spreads his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I'm simply concerned for our kind, Grand Elder. Darick's recent…associations have raised some eyebrows. I fear they may compromise our delicate negotiations with the witches."

"You dare—" I start, but Arabella cuts me off with a raised hand.

"Elaborate, Lord Marlowe," she commands.

Lucien's smile turns fawning as he addresses Arabella. "Our esteemed colleague has been…shall we say, fraternizing with certain elements that could compromise our entire society."

I tense as Lucien continues, "It seems Darick has developed quite an appetite for witch blood lately. Curious, isn't it? One might wonder if there's a particular reason for this newfound taste."

Arabella's gaze sharpens. "What are you implying, Lord Marlowe?"

"Oh, nothing specific," Lucien says, his eyes gleaming with malice. "I just find it interesting that a vampire of Darick's standing and…vitality…would suddenly require such frequent doses of witch blood. It's almost as if he's developed a dependency."

I open my mouth to defend myself, but Valerian beats me to it. "It does seem rather concerning, doesn't it? Perhaps Darick's judgment has been…compromised?"

The urge to rip out Valerian's tongue is almost overwhelming. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm. I can't let them see how much this affects me. I can't let them know the truth.

"Grand Elder," I say, my voice cold and controlled, "it's no secret that there's no love lost between Lord Marlowe and myself. His attempts to discredit me are as transparent as they are pathetic."

Lucien's eyes narrow, but I press on before he can interject.

"These allegations are pure fiction, designed to deflect attention from his own questionable activities. If anyone's judgment should be called into question, it's his."

"How dare you!" Lucien snaps, taking a step towards me. "You're the one compromising our entire society with your witch obsession!"

I laugh, the sound harsh and mirthless. "Obsession? That's interesting, coming from you. Tell me, Lucien, how many witches have disappeared lately? And how many of those disappearances can be traced back to your doorstep?"

Lucien's face contorts with fury. "You're treading on dangerous ground, Drake."

"Am I? Or are you just afraid I'm getting too close to the truth?"

"Enough!" Arabella's voice cracks like a whip, silencing us both. Her eyes blaze with anger as she looks between us. "I will not have two of our most prominent members bickering like children in my presence."

I force myself to take a step back. Lucien does the same, though his eyes promise retribution.

Arabella's gaze fixes on me, her expression unreadable. "Darick, these are serious allegations. Whether they're true or not, the fact that they've been raised at all is…concerning."

I work to stay composed as Arabella's words hang in the air. Her eyes, cold and inscrutable, give nothing away.

"You're dismissed, Darick," she says, her tone brooking no argument. "I'll speak with Lord Marlowe alone."

Goddammit!

The thought of leaving Lucien here with her, free to spin his web of lies, is almost unbearable. I open my mouth to protest, but Arabella's sharp glance silences me.

"That wasn't a request," she says, ice in her voice.

I bow stiffly, my eyes never leaving Lucien's smug face. "As you wish, Grand Elder."

As I turn to leave, Arabella's voice stops me. "And Darick? I expect a full accounting of your recent activities. Soon."

The implied threat in her words is clear. I nod once, not trusting myself to speak, and stride out of the room. The heavy door closes behind me with a finality that sends a chill down my spine.

I pause in the antechamber, my mind racing. What is Lucien telling her now? How much damage has he already done? The uncertainty gnaws at me, fueling my growing unease.

Is Arabella falling for Lucien's lies? Or is this all part of some larger game she's playing?

The not knowing is maddening. I've always prided myself on being steps ahead, on having contingencies for every scenario. But now, I feel like I'm fumbling in the dark, and the stakes have never been higher.

I storm out of Arabella's chambers. Lucien's smug face is burned into my memory, and I can almost hear him spinning more bullshit to the Grand Elder. The urge to turn back and confront him is almost overwhelming, but I know it would only make things worse.

As I stride through the corridors, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, grateful for the distraction from my turbulent thoughts. It's a message from Marcus.

My eyes narrow as I read the cryptic text: "Strange activity detected in sector 7. Witches involved. Details unclear."

"What the hell?" I mutter, my brow furrowing. Sector 7 is firmly in vampire territory. No witch would dare venture there without good reason – or a death wish.

Then it hits me.

Rowan.

It has to be.

"What the hell is she up to now?" I growl. After the scene at the Nocturne Lounge, I wouldn't put it past her to do something reckless. But this? This is beyond foolish.

For fuck's sake, woman!

I quicken my pace, my mind already racing through possible scenarios. If Rowan's involved, she could be in serious danger. And if she's caught by the wrong vampires…

I shake my head, pushing away the dark thoughts. I need to focus, to think clearly. But all I can see is Rowan's face, her eyes flashing with fury and something else – hurt, maybe? – when she saw me at the Nocturne Lounge.

"Dammit, Rowan," I mutter, my fingers already flying over my phone to message Marcus back. "What the fuck have you gotten yourself into this time?"