4. Chapter 4

4

Chapter 4

Rowan

I take a moment to steady myself as I hesitate on the threshold of the hotel conference room. It's been chosen as neutral ground for this meeting, and yet still, I can feel the atmosphere beyond the door, a vortex of supernatural tension. It's been a day since the gathering of the Conclave, and my nerves are a mess. Now, looking into the bland decor of the spacious room, my anxiety hitches higher.

I've never seen so many powerful witches and vampires in one place before. It's like walking into a powder keg with a lit match.

Seraphina glides ahead of us, her head high and her shoulders straight. She exudes an air of calm authority, but I can see the tightness in her bearing. This isn't going to be a friendly chat over tea and cookies.

"Breathe, Ro," Kara whispers, squeezing my hand. I try to smile back, but it feels more like a grimace.

As we move further into the room, I sense eyes on me from every direction. Some witches look at me with pity, others with barely concealed suspicion. The vampires are worse – their gazes feel like icy fingers trailing down my spine. I lift my chin, refusing to be cowed.

You're here for Mia. Nothing else matters.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts. The vampire delegation enters, led by a statuesque woman with a haughty bearing. Arabella Ravenscroft, I realize with a jolt. The Grand Elder herself. Her startling green eyes sweep the room, coolly assessing.

I scan the faces behind her, my pulse quickening. Part of me expects – hopes? – to see Darick among them. But he's gone. Because of me. The guilt threatens to choke me, but I push it down, forcing my nerves to settle.

I watch as the vampire elders file into the room, each one more intimidating than the last. They move with an eerie grace, their steps silent on the plush carpet. I work to maintain my composure as I take in their pale, perfect faces and predatory gazes.

Behind Arabella, a tall, dark-haired vampire with icy gray eyes strides in. His presence seems to suck the air from the room. Lucien Marlowe, I realize with a jolt. The same vampire who'd unnerved me when we'd last met with the Blood Assembly. My stomach tightens at the sight of his cruel smile.

As the vampires take their seats across from us, the temperature in the room seems to drop. Yet my palms are sweaty, and I rub them against my jeans. My mouth goes dry, and I wish I'd thought to bring water. I probably should have chosen something more formal to wear, too. I feel more out of my depth than ever.

A red-haired vampire catches my eye, her gaze cold and calculating. I swallow hard, my throat clicking audibly in the tense silence.

The last vampire to enter is a broad-shouldered man with close-cropped brown hair. He scans the room before taking his seat next to Lucien. As he sits, his gaze locks onto mine, and I feel my blood pressure spike.

For Pete's sake, Rowan! Get a grip!

"If everyone is here, shall we begin?" Seraphina looks around at those gathered at the long boardroom table. "It would seem—"

"Just one moment." Arabella raises a hand. "We're waiting for one last clan elder." As she says the words, the door swings open one last time…

And my heart stops.

My world tilts on its axis as Darick strides into the room, looking as alive and powerful as ever. His tall, muscular frame fills the doorway, commanding attention without effort. His thick blond hair is swept back, accentuating the sharp angles of his face. Those ice-blue eyes, which I thought I'd never see again, move over the room with chilled intensity before landing on me.

Oh, my God!

The blood drains from my face, leaving me light-headed and dizzy. The world narrows to a pinpoint, Darick its sole focus. My magic surges, a confused tangle of relief, anger, and something deeper I'm not ready to name.

This can't be real!

Despite my shock and confusion, I can't deny the visceral attraction that surges through me. It's like a magnetic pull, drawing me toward him even as my mind screams in disbelief.

Around me, I sense rather than see the reactions of others. There are sharp intakes of breath, muted gasps, and a sudden tension that crackles through the air. The witches, to their credit, manage to keep their responses subdued. I can feel Gran's hand on my arm, steadying me, reminding me of the need for caution in this delicate situation.

But I can't tear my eyes away from Darick.

How is this possible?

I saw him turn to ash. I felt the heat of the flames that consumed him. Yet here he stands, looking more alive than ever, his gaze locked on mine with a focus that makes my thighs feel like jelly. Just a couple of days ago, those eyes were trailing over my naked skin.

My mind races, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. Is this some kind of trick? A vampire doppelganger? Or did I somehow fail to kill him? The implications of either possibility chill me.

I can't do anything but stare as Darick calmly takes his seat at the table, acting for all the world like he hasn't just risen from the dead.

Breathe. Just breathe.

There's no way that anyone could hear my heart thundering, but part of me is convinced they can.

The vampires seem completely unfazed by Darick's presence. They nod in greeting, some even offering small smiles. It's surreal watching them act so normal when my entire world has just been turned upside down.

I glance around at my fellow witches, seeing my own shock mirrored on their faces.

Seraphina clears her throat, clearly thrown off balance. "Well, now that we're all…present," she begins, her voice wavering slightly. "We've called this meeting to discuss…recent…recent events."

I wince at her uncharacteristic stumbling. Seraphina's always so poised, so eloquent. Seeing her struggle only heightens my discomfort.

Arabella's brow furrows as she looks around at our stunned faces. "I'm afraid I don't understand," she says. "What recent events are we discussing? And why do you all look as though you've seen a ghost?"

The vampires exchange confused glances, murmuring among themselves. I catch Darick's eye for a moment, and my breath catches in my throat. There's a hint of…something in his gaze. Amusement? Challenge? I can't quite read it.

I sink lower in my chair, wishing I could disappear.

How are we supposed to explain this?

As the witches all swivel to look at me, the vampires respond in kind.

"I…uh…" My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. "We thought… I mean, I…"

Confusion clouds my mind – how is he here? Relief floods through me, knowing I hadn't actually killed him. But hot on its heels comes rage. If he's alive, why didn't he tell me? Why let me suffer with the guilt?

And underneath it all, there's something else. A pull, an attraction I can't deny, even now. It terrifies me.

Darick's face remains frustratingly impassive. Not a flicker of emotion crosses his features as he regards me coolly. It's maddening.

"Miss Blackwood?" Arabella prompts, her voice sharp.

I jump, realizing I've been silent for too long. "We…there was an incident," I fumble for words. "With Dar- I mean, Lord Drake. We thought he was…gone."

"Gone?" The Grand Elder raises a perfect eyebrow.

Murmurs ripple through the room. I catch snippets of whispered conversations, words like "impossible" and "lying" making my stomach knot.

I glance at Gran, silently pleading for help. She gives me a small nod, but her eyes are troubled.

"Perhaps," Seraphina interjects, eyes narrowing on me, "we should start at the beginning."

The beginning?

How could I possibly start from the beginning? The whole story is completely unbelievable, from beginning to end. And that's saying a lot, considering we're a gathering of supernatural beings.

I try to gather my thoughts, but every time I look at Darick, my concentration shatters. How can he be here? How can he act so calm?

As I struggle to find words, I notice movement from the corner of my eye. Lucien Marlowe leans back in his chair, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. His icy eyes are fixed on me, gleaming with keen interest.

My skin crawls under his scrutiny. There's something toxic in his gaze, something that makes me want to run and hide. But I can't. I have to explain. I have to make them understand.

"I…we…" I stammer. "There was a fight." Fight? Hardly a fight, Rowan! I thought…I thought I'd…"

The words stick in my throat. How can I admit to killing Darick when he's sitting right there? How can I explain something I don't even understand myself?

I feel my panic rising. The room seems to shrink around me, the air growing thick and suffocating. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, drowning out the sounds of confusion from both witches and vampires.

I can't do this.

I can't seem to find air, my throat constricting, my thoughts scattering.

I. Can't. Do. This!

Without conscious thought, I push back from the table. My chair topples backward, landing on the thick rug with a thud.

"I- I…I'm sorry," I choke out. "I can't… I have to…"

And then I'm running. I bolt for the door, ignoring the gasps and exclamations behind me. I don't look back, don't stop to see their reactions. I just run, desperate to escape the suffocating pressure and confusion.

As the door slams shut behind me, I hear the room erupt into a jumble of raised voices. But I just keep running, my only thought to get as far away as possible.

I burst through the hotel's emergency exit, gasping for air. The alarm blares behind me, but I don't care. My feet carry me down the stairs to the sidewalk, my mind in turmoil.

Darick's alive. He's alive.

How? How is this possible? I saw him turn to ash. I felt the heat of the flames. I cleaned up the remains, for crying out loud!

I duck into an alley, my legs shaking. My back hits the brick wall, and I slide down, hugging my knees to my chest. The rough texture of the bricks grounds me, reminding me this is real. This is happening.

If Darick's alive, what does that mean? For me? For Mia?

Oh God…Mia!

The photo on his phone. Was it real? Is she really out there, held captive by vampires? Or was it all some sick game?

It was real, dammit!

My head is filled with possibilities, each more confusing than the last. If Darick faked his death, what else has he lied about? Our connection, our moments together – were they all just part of some elaborate scheme?

And what about Mia? Is she really alive? Is there still hope of finding her?

I drop my head to my knees and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the world. But the questions keep coming, relentless and overwhelming.

What have I gotten myself into?

I hear footsteps approaching, the sound echoing off the brick walls of the alley. My heart leaps into my throat, and I lift my head, half-hoping it's Kara or Gran coming to check on me.

But it's not.

Darick stands at the mouth of the alley, towering against the streetlights. His icy eyes lock onto mine, and I feel that familiar pull, even as my mind screams at me to run.

I scramble to my feet, pressing my back against the wall. My legs are wobbly, and I'm not sure if I could run even if I wanted to. Darick takes a step closer, his movements fluid and menacing. I can't read his expression in the dim light, and that terrifies me more than anything.

"Hello, Rowan," he says, his voice low and controlled.