2. Chapter 2

2

Chapter 2

Soren

I stand at the window, gazing out at the glittering cityscape below. Five hundred years, and still the sight of human ingenuity never fails to captivate me. The stark lines of my apartment reflect in the glass – the rough-hewn walls of the industrial-style loft are so different from the ornate furnishings I once favored. Yet a few carefully chosen artifacts remain, silent witnesses to the centuries I've lived.

My fingers trace the cool surface of the window. How long has it been since I truly felt the warmth of the sun? Sometimes, I wonder if the price of immortality was worth it. The petty squabbles of vampire society grow more tiresome with each passing decade. We have the gift of eternal life, yet we waste it on power plays and outdated feuds.

"Fuck's sake," I mutter, rubbing the tight muscles of my shoulders.

There must be more to this existence. A way to find meaning beyond the endless cycle of feeding and politicking. I've tried to distance myself from it all, but the bonds of vampire society are not so easily broken.

A sharp knock at the door breaks through my brooding. I tense, nostrils flaring. An unexpected visitor at this hour? Nothing good ever comes from surprises in our world.

I open the door, my eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Maxwell? What brings you here?"

Maxwell Kern stands before me, a forced smile on his face, his normally impeccable silver hair disheveled. "Can't a maker visit his progeny without an agenda?"

I step aside, allowing him entry, but wariness prickles at the back of my neck. In five centuries, Maxwell has never once set foot in my personal space. Something's wrong.

"Of course," I say smoothly, masking my unease. "Can I offer you a drink?"

Maxwell nods, his gaze sweeping across my apartment. I pour two glasses of blood from a decanter, handing one to him as we settle into the leather armchairs by the window.

The silence stretches out between us; not unusual after all these years, but this time, it's uncomfortable.

I sip my drink slowly, watching Maxwell over the rim of my glass. He's always been hard to read, but tonight, there's an undercurrent of tension I can't quite place.

"So, Soren," Maxwell begins, swirling the crimson liquid in his glass. "I hear the Council's been quite…active lately. What are your thoughts on the latest developments?"

I take a slow sip, buying time. "You know I prefer to stay out of these political games, Maxwell."

"Lucien's been making waves in the Assembly," Maxwell says, his tone deceptively casual.

I shoot a quick glance at him. Maxwell never cared about my political views before. Why now? I choose my words carefully, "Lucien's always making waves. It's what he does best."

Maxwell nods, a faint smile playing on his lips. "True. But his latest proposal has gained some traction. He's pushing for more…aggressive measures to secure an alternative food supply for those with the curse."

"You mean abducting witches," I say flatly. The very thought turns my stomach.

"Among other things," Maxwell agrees.

I keep my expression neutral. "Lucien Marlowe will always try to push his own agenda. And invariably, it will be a bad one. I'd rather keep out of it, along with the rest of that snake pit."

Maxwell's fingers tap against his glass, a nervous tic I've never seen before. "Come now, Soren. You must have more interest than that. What of the other clan leaders? Their alliances?"

I set my glass down, unable to hide my growing discomfort. "Maxwell, what's this really about? You didn't come here for a political debate."

My maker takes a deep breath as if weighing his words before plunging in. "I have an assignment for you. An important one."

"Yes?" I cock my head. It's been a while since Maxwell asked anything of me, but I'm always ready to do his bidding.

"I need you to oversee the capture and imprisonment of a witch," he says quickly. "A powerful one. She'll be held at a facility designed for this purpose, but they've had some incidents, and they need to be sure she'll be secure. I've put your name forward."

I stare at Maxwell, disbelief etched across my face. "You can't be serious."

His expression remains impassive. "I assure you, Soren, I am entirely serious."

"And this ‘facility' – who owns it?" I'm getting a sinking sense of foreboding.

"That is not important for you to know right now."

"Not important? How could it not be important?"

"Because it doesn't change anything. Your priority will be the witch." Maxwell isn't budging.

"A witch." I stand abruptly, pacing the length of the window. "Maxwell, you know my stance on this. We can't keep perpetuating this cycle of violence with the witches. It has to stop somewhere."

Maxwell's eyes follow me. "This isn't just about our feud, Soren. The situation is more complex than you realize."

I whirl to face him. "Complex? There's nothing complex about kidnapping an innocent person! Aside from being against Assembly protocols, it's just plain wrong. Simple as that."

"She's hardly innocent," Maxwell counters. "This witch poses a significant threat to our kind."

"And imprisoning her will solve that?" I scoff. "It'll only deepen their hatred, give them more reason to strike back. When does it end, Maxwell?"

He rises, closing the distance between us. "It ends when we secure our survival. You know the Bloodbane is spreading. We need–"

"No," I cut him off sharply. "I won't be part of this. Find someone else for your dirty work."

A flicker passes across Maxwell's face, his gray eyes glowing silver. Then his expression hardens.

"I had hoped you would see reason, Soren." He straightens, his voice taking on a resonant quality that makes my skin crawl. "But you leave me no choice."

I feel it then – the oppressive weight of the maker's bond pressing down on me. My muscles lock, every instinct screaming to obey. A tightness grips my chest, squeezing the breath from my lungs. My ears buzz with the force of Maxwell's command, drowning out all other sounds.

"Maxwell," I grit out, fighting against the compulsion. "Don't do this."

But the pressure only intensifies. My body trembles with the effort of resisting, sweat beading on my forehead. The room spins, reality blurring at the edges as the bond demands my submission.

"I'm sorry, Soren," Maxwell's voice lowers, thick with regret. "I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice."

Through the haze of compulsion, I keep my focus on Maxwell's face. What I see there gives me pause. His expression is twisted with pain, mirroring my own internal struggle. This isn't the cold, calculating maker I've known for centuries. Something's wrong.

He hates this as much as I do.

The realization hits me with sudden clarity. What's really going on?

I force myself to take a deep breath. Maxwell's face swims in my vision, distorted by the pressure building behind my eyes. But I can't let this go. Not without answers.

"Why, Maxwell?" I grit out, each word a battle. "What aren't you telling me?"

Maxwell turns away, unable to meet my gaze. "I'm in a situation, Soren," he says quietly. "A dangerous one. I can't say more, but I need you to trust me."

The bond pulses again, threatening to overwhelm me. But that hint of vulnerability in Maxwell's voice gives me the strength to push back. I've known this vampire for centuries. He's many things, but he's never been one to show weakness.

I look at him then, really look at him. The set of his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes – it's all wrong. This isn't the confident, commanding maker I've known for half a millennium.

He's afraid.

Whatever this is, it's serious. Deadly serious.

"Maxwell," I manage. "What kind of trouble are you in?"

He shakes his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "The kind I can't talk about, son. Not if I want to keep us alive. Just know that this witch represents something important…and dangerous…to all of us."

All of us.

The implication hits me, then. My maker is not easily intimidated; this has to go much deeper. Maxwell isn't just protecting himself. Whatever danger he's in, it extends to others. To his entire bloodline, perhaps all of our kind.

I close my eyes. The maker's bond still thrums insistently, but now I understand. This isn't about politics or old feuds. This is survival.

I clench my jaw, buckling against the overwhelming urge to submit. Every fiber of my being rebels against what Maxwell is asking. Kidnapping a witch? It goes against everything I believe in, everything I've worked toward for centuries. The tension in my body is almost unbearable as I struggle with the maker's bond and my own moral compass.

"And this witch…" I trail off as I catch my breath. Now that I'm not fighting it, the bond is less constricting. "What's so special about her?"

"She's powerful, Soren. Her magic is deadly. Don't think for a second that she will hesitate to use it. She…she's evil."

I mull over this for a while. There is good and bad within every species. God knows that my kind has more than its share. Stands to reason that the witches have evil among them, too. I've heard of the dark magic practitioners. Those who've let power go to their heads. If she's among them, we may be doing her kind a favor.

"Why me?" I ask my final question.

"Because you're the best of my line, son." Maxwell's expression softens. "I know I can trust you. Even without the bond, I know you'll do what's right. And considering your history—"

"Let's not go there," I stop him short.

"Of course. But you must know it has relevance."

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. The weight of five hundred years settles on my shoulders. Loyalty, duty, morality – they all war within me. But in the end, there's only one choice I can make.

"Alright," I say. "I'll do it." I open my eyes, fixing Maxwell with a hard stare. "But I want answers, Maxwell. Soon."

The relief that washes over Maxwell's face is unmistakable. He reaches out, squeezing my shoulder. "Thank you," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I promise, when I can, I'll explain everything. But for now, my command is that you obey me and those who I represent."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The maker's bond hums with approval, but it does little to ease the knot in my stomach. What have I just agreed to? And what kind of danger could possibly have Maxwell this frightened?

As I watch him collect himself, preparing to leave, I feel a surge of protectiveness. Whatever this is, whatever danger we're facing, I'll do whatever it takes to keep my maker safe. Even if it means compromising my own principles.

I'll find a way to live with myself afterward.