12. Chapter 12

12

Chapter 12

Soren

T he door flies open as I surge into the large living room. Lucien Marlowe's head snaps up in alarm. His expression switches from shock to annoyance.

"I told you that I'm not available to speak, Lord Daire." His voice is tightly controlled. "I have other business to attend to."

I look at where several half-naked blood groupies are hovering near where he's lounging on a wide chaise lounge. I bare my fangs, my eyes glowing red. They exchange fearful glances and scamper away.

"Your business is concluded," I snap, striding further into the room and stopping in front of him.

He rises from his seat, pulling himself to his full height. He's still not as tall as me, and I sense him bristling as I loom over him.

"If you're here to try to get out of your duties of guarding the witch, I'd like to remind you of your bond," he sneers, using bravado to make up for his lesser stature.

"I'm not here for that." My fists are bunched. I work to uncurl them.

"Then what the hell do you want, Daire?" Marlowe visibly relaxes himself and sinks back onto his chair, settling into a nonchalant pose that I know is designed to annoy me.

"The blood you're taking. It's too much."

"What do you mean it's too much?" He raises an eyebrow.

"She collapsed today. Mia…the witch. You're weakening her."

The bastard waves a hand. "She'll be fine. They're tougher than they look." He leans back and drapes an ankle over his knee. "Most of them survive just fine."

" Most of them?" I know my eyes are wide. "Are you fucking kidding me? Just how many do you lose?"

"Don't know. Maybe twenty…thirty percent of them." He gives a casual shrug.

I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to lash out at Lucien's callous disregard for life. My fangs ache to descend, but I force them back. Losing my temper now would only make things worse.

"This is madness, Lucien," I say, struggling to keep my voice level. "You can't just treat witches like disposable blood bags. It's not only morally reprehensible, it's unsustainable."

Lucien's lips curl into a smirk. "Unsustainable? Oh, Soren. Always the bleeding heart." He stands, moving to pour himself a drink from a crystal decanter. "We're vampires. Apex predators. Sustainability isn't our concern."

I take a deep breath, trying to appeal to his pragmatic side. "Think about it logically. If we keep depleting their numbers at this rate, we'll run out of witches to feed from. Then what?"

"We won't run out," he scoffs. "They breed like rabbits." He turns back to me, swirling the crimson liquid in his glass. "You underestimate me, as always. I have plans in motion to ensure a steady supply. In fact, very soon, we'll have all the witches we could ever need."

A chill runs through me at his words. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's just say that this is only the beginning." Lucien's eyes gleam with a predatory light. "Why settle for a trickle when we can have a flood?"

I press Lucien further, my frustration mounting. "What plans? What do you mean by ‘a flood'?"

Lucien's smirk widens as he takes a slow sip of his drink. "I think we're done here, Soren. This meeting is over."

My anger flares at his dismissal. "No, we're not done. I refuse to allow any more abuse of the witches. I want some changes."

Lucien snorts. "You? Want changes?"

"Yes. From now on, they need to be permitted outside for an hour each day. And the blood draining? It happens every second day, not daily."

"Every second day?" He snorts.

"If you were working according to human protocols, you'd be waiting six weeks. The only reason they're surviving right now is because their magic has strengthened them. And they can't access that now. You're killing them."

Lucien throws his head back and laughs, the sound grating on my nerves. "Oh, Soren. You've gone soft. What happened to the ruthless vampire I once knew?"

I clench my fists, fighting to maintain control. "This isn't about being soft. It's about being smart. Healthier witches will yield more blood in the long run. We'll get better results if we don't push them to the brink of death."

Lucien's amusement fades, replaced by a calculating look. He swirls the liquid in his glass, considering my words. After a long moment, he sighs dramatically.

"Fine. I'll humor you. But only because of your connection to Maxwell. The witches can have their little outdoor time, and we'll scale back the draining schedule." His eyes narrow. "But not for the Blackwood woman."

I scowl. "Why not?"

Lucien cocks his head. "Tut tut, Lord Daire. I think you're getting ahead of yourself."

"Why not?" I repeat.

"Because her blood is too valuable to me, Soren." He takes a sip from his glass and smacks his lips. "It is…remarkable." He takes another drink, then dips his nose into the glass and inhales deeply, heaving a sigh.

It suddenly occurs to me that what's in his glass came from the Blackwood witch. He's drinking her blood right in front of me. As a vampire, this shouldn't sicken me. But it does.

"She will die if you continue this way," I snap. "You can't be so stupid that you can't see that."

A dark eyebrow lifts. "Oh, Soren. All this concern for a mere witch." His eyes widen. "Oh… Wait a minute. Taken a shine to her, have we?" He chuckles. "You're welcome to her, you know. As long as I get her blood, you can toy with her all you like."

"That's not what I want." I clench my jaw to stop my fangs from extending. I can't remember when last I wanted to hurt someone this badly.

"Then what do you want, my friend?" His tone is mocking.

I'm not your friend.

I want to snarl the words. I don't.

"I want her to be treated with some humanity. All of them. We're not animals, Marlowe. I won't behave like one."

Pale gray eyes survey me silently for too long. And then the bastard chuckles. "Very well, Daire. Your little witch gets a day off. On one condition."

I fold my arms over my chest. "What is it?"

"You will be the one to draw her blood." The side of his mouth curls up into an ugly half-smile.

"What?" I spit the word out.

"You heard me. If you want her blood drawn every other day, you will do it. Otherwise, I will have Dimitri continue his regular schedule."

I set my jaw. I find the thought distasteful. But then I think of how she screamed and fought. How brutal they'd been when they pinned her down. Perhaps I could use a different approach. Convince her that fighting would be unwise.

"Fine," I say. "I'll do it myself."

Lucien smirks. "Good man." He pauses. "Although…"

"Although what?" I'm getting so fucking sick of his games.

"Do you think you're up to it?"

Smug bastard.

"Of course I'm up to it," I snap.

What the fuck?

"Really?" Lucien raises a brow. "You are aware of the power of this female, are you not?"

"I am aware." I nod. "It doesn't concern me. Her magic has been suppressed."

"That's not what I'm talking about." He takes another sip from his glass. "Her power is in her blood. It's potent. Stronger than all of the others. It's one of the reasons we took her."

"One?" I frown at him. "What are the others?"

"None of your concern. What matters is that I will be trusting you with a valuable asset. Can you handle this responsibility?"

"You're already trusting me with it. You brought me on board to take care of her, didn't you?" I'm growing impatient with his double-talk. He was the one who set this condition, and now he's talking me out of it.

"Guarding her and being exposed to her blood are not the same thing," he says. "How do you know you can control yourself?"

I narrow my eyes at Lucien, fighting to keep my expression neutral. "I'm not some fledgling who can't control his urges. I've been around for centuries, Lucien. I think I can handle a little bit of witch blood."

Lucien's lips curl into a smirk. "Can you really, Soren? Are you absolutely certain about that?"

His words hit a nerve, and unbidden memories surface. The moment Mia arrived, her scent had overwhelmed me. The rich, intoxicating aroma of her blood had made my fangs ache, my throat burn with thirst. I can't remember a time I'd felt like that.

And then, earlier today, when I had tasted her blood…sweet…bewitching…I had acted on pure instinct, driven by a hunger I hadn't felt in decades. Even now, I can almost feel it on my hands, though I've washed them thoroughly.

I push these thoughts aside, burying them deep. "Yes, I'm certain," I say firmly, meeting Lucien's gaze. "I've been around witch blood before. This isn't my first rodeo, Lucien. I'm perfectly capable of controlling myself around the witch."

He taps the side of his glass with a sharp fingertip, pursing his lips. Then he sets his glass down abruptly and stands. "Good. Your witches get their…humanity back. Just make sure I get the blood I need."

"I'll see to it." I turn to leave, but Lucien's voice stops me cold.

"Oh, Soren?" His tone is light, almost playful, but I know better. There's always a barb hidden beneath his words.

I pause at the doorway, not turning back. "What is it?"

"I just thought you should know," he says, his voice dripping with false concern, "that witch blood can be…addictive. Especially hers. I'd hate to see you lose control and do something…regrettable."

My jaw clenches, fangs threatening to descend. I know he's trying to get under my skin, to plant seeds of doubt. But I can't help the swirl of unease that runs through me.

"I told you, I can handle it," I growl, my hand tightening on the doorframe.

Lucien chuckles, the sound grating on my nerves. "Of course you can. Just like you handled things with Ingrid all those centuries ago, right?"

The name hits me like a blow to the chest. Memories I've spent centuries burying surge to the surface – Ingrid's face, her scent, the taste of her blood. The guilt and shame that followed.

I whirl around, barely containing my rage. "That was different," I snarl, my eyes flashing dangerously. How the hell does he know that?

Maxwell, what have you done?

Lucien's smirk widens, knowing he's struck a nerve. "Was it? I wonder what the others in the Assembly would think if they knew about your…predilections."

My vision blurs red at the edges, fury threatening to overtake me. But I force myself to take a deep breath to regain control. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me lose it.

Without another word, I turn and stalk out of the room, Lucien's mocking laughter echoing behind me.