22. Chapter 22

22

Chapter 22

Soren

B y Blood, what was she thinking? It's a question I've asked myself a dozen times since I received the news.

For fuck's sake, Mia!

But then again, am I really that surprised? If I were in her shoes, I'd be trying to get out, too. There's just too much fire in her to remain caged up indefinitely. And it's starting to feel like that's Lucien's plan. He's given no indication that there is any end to this assignment. For all I know, he could expect me to oversee this facility until all of these witches die of old age. Unless he kills them first.

The thought makes my teeth grind.

The bare walls of the facility blur past me as I stride through the corridors. I'm heading to the ancient cellblock, where Heath – the sick fuck – decided to lock them.

I reach the dungeon, my jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. The musty air hits me like a wall, thick with the scent of fear and despair. Lucien and Heath are already there, waiting for me with matching smirks that make my skin crawl.

"Well, well," Lucien drawls, his voice dripping with false pleasantry. "Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence. I hope we didn't interrupt your beauty sleep, Soren."

I bite back the retort that springs to my lips. Now's not the time for petty squabbles. "We need to address the witches," I say, keeping my voice level. "What's our next move?"

Heath snorts. "Next move? They tried to escape. I say we make an example of them."

The casual cruelty in his tone makes my stomach turn. I won't let that happen to Mia. To any of them.

Lucien regards me with cold amusement. "You seem awfully concerned about their welfare, Soren. Getting soft in your old age?"

I meet his gaze steadily. "I'm concerned about the efficiency of our operation. Torturing them won't get us more blood."

"Perhaps not," Lucien concedes, "but it might ensure they don't try this little stunt again."

I shake my head. "We need to talk to them. Find out how they managed it, plug the holes in our security. Punishment without information is just wasted effort."

Lucien considers this for a moment, then nods. "Very well. Let's see what our little witches have to say for themselves."

As we move toward the cells, I steel myself for what's to come. I know I'll have to be careful, to walk a razor's edge between appearing loyal to our cause and protecting Mia as much as I can. But I'm determined to find a way through this mess, no matter what it takes.

I enter the dungeon, the damp chill seeping into my bones despite my vampiric nature. The smell of mold and decay assaults my senses, mixing with the acrid tang of terror emanating from the cells. Lucien and Heath flank me, their eagerness for cruelty tangible in the stale air.

As we approach the cell holding Mia and her accomplices, my chest tightens. The sight that greets me is worse than I imagined. The three witches are chained to the back wall. Their clothes are torn and dirty, a far cry from the clean attire I'd ensured they had in their previous quarters.

Mia's eyes meet mine, and the fire I've come to admire still burns there, though dimmed by exhaustion and fear. Her auburn hair is tangled and matted, her skin pale and drawn. Beside her, one of the witches cradles an arm that appears to be injured, while the other trembles uncontrollably, her eyes darting between us like a cornered animal.

The cell itself is a relic from a bygone era of cruelty. Stone walls weep with moisture, and rusted chains hang from iron rings embedded in the rock. A single, bare bulb casts harsh shadows across their faces, emphasizing the hollows of their cheeks and the dark circles under their eyes.

I struggle to maintain my composure, to not betray the horror and guilt churning in my gut. This is my fault. I should have seen this coming, should have done more to prevent it.

Lucien steps forward, his lips curled in a cruel smile. "Well, well," he purrs, "I hope you're enjoying your new accommodations. Perhaps this will teach you the folly of trying to escape."

Mia lifts her chin defiantly, though I can see the effort it costs her. "We're not your pets," she spits, her voice hoarse but still strong. "You can't keep us here forever."

Her comment sparks something in me because I've been getting the sinking feeling that that's exactly what Lucien has in mind. There's been no indication of my role here being anything but permanent. It doesn't bode well for her.

Beside me, Heath chuckles drily. "Look at you now. Not so high and mighty anymore, are we?"

Mia glares at him, her emerald eyes blazing fiercely despite her battered state. "Fuck you, Heath Moonshadow! You're going to rot in hell for what you've been doing here!"

"You know what your problem is?" Heath says. "You're weak. All of you. Clinging to your outdated traditions, your precious ‘natural order.'" He spits the words like a curse. "You had power, and you squandered it."

The hatred is clear in his voice, and I find myself wondering what could have driven him to betray his own people so completely. There's a story there, buried beneath layers of bitterness and rage.

"But me?" Heath's chest puffs out with pride. "I saw the truth. I embraced real power. And now look at us." He gestures between himself and the imprisoned witches. "Who's on which side of these bars?"

Mia's voice, though hoarse, cuts through the air like a whip. "You're nothing but a traitor, Heath. A coward who sold out his own kind…and for what? A pat on the head from your vampire masters?"

"Enough bickering, children," Lucien interjects. I stand back, watching as he approaches the cell bars. His eyes glitter with malice, a predator toying with cornered prey. The fucker is enjoying this.

I force my face into an impassive mask, acutely aware of both Heath and Lucien's attention. One wrong move, one flicker of sympathy, and I could jeopardize everything.

"Now then," Lucien begins, his voice as cold as a winter wind, "let's discuss your little adventure, shall we?" He focuses on Mia, clearly identifying her as the ringleader. "How did you manage to orchestrate this impressive failure?"

Mia meets his gaze boldly, but I can see the slight tremor as she swallows. "Go to hell," she spits. Her eyes flit to me, then back to Lucien.

Lucien's laugh is humorless. "My dear, I'm already there. And now, so are you." He turns to the witch with the injured arm. "Perhaps you'd like to enlighten us? I'm sure we could make your stay more…comfortable."

The witch whimpers, shrinking back against the wall. Mia shifts, placing herself between Lucien and her companion. "Leave her alone," she growls.

"Such bravery," Lucien mocks. "Or is it stupidity? You seem to be under the mistaken impression that you have any power here." He leans closer to the bars, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Let me assure you, witch, that your situation can become much, much worse."

I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to intervene. Lucien's cruelty is a blunt instrument, and I know it will only make the witches more resistant. But I can't risk showing any disagreement, not with Heath watching my every move like a hawk. As much as I've hated being involved in this place, I've taken some consolation in knowing that I've been able to improve things for these people.

"I'll ask one more time," Lucien continues, his patience clearly wearing thin. "How did you bypass our security? Who helped you?"

The silence that follows is deafening. I can hear the rapid heartbeats of the witches, smell the fear rolling off them in waves. But still, they remain defiant, united in their silence.

Lucien straightens, fury etched across his face. "Very well," he says, his tone promising retribution. "If you won't speak now, perhaps a few days without food or water will loosen your tongues."

Mia tosses her head. "That all you got, bloodsucker?" She snorts. "Go screw yourself."

Lucien eyes her silently for a moment, then appears to make some sort of decision. "It seems to me that I'm not going to get through to you with a reasonable ultimatum."

Reasonable ultimatum?

The bastard just threatened to starve them.

"Which means you're useless to me," he continues, then rubs his jaw. "Wait, let me rephrase that. Your blood is useful. Them?" He looks at the cowering witches beside Mia. "I can replace them in a day."

"What are you getting at?" Mia's defiance is starting to slip.

Lucien turns to me. "Get rid of them," he says.

I blink in confusion. "What?"

"You heard me." Lucien looks over at a guard nearby and jerks his head at the cell door. "Get them out of there."

Mia's mouth drops open. "No! You can't!"

"I can, and I will." Lucien's voice is pure ice. "If you can't be useful by pointing out the gaps in our security system, I'll use your little friends to send a message to the others."

"Please!" Mia shakes her head wildly, growing more frantic as the guard makes his way across the cell and unchains her companions.

"Get your stinking hands off me!" the fair-haired woman yells at him, struggling to get free of his grip. The dark-haired one, the one with the injured arm, puts up less of a fight but is no less defiant.

I stand frozen, my mind racing as Lucien's words sink in. The implications of what he's suggesting turn my stomach, but I force my face to remain impassive. I can't betray my horror, not now.

"Lucien," I say, keeping my voice steady, "are you sure this is the best course of action? We've invested time and resources in these witches. Disposing of them seems…wasteful."

Lucien's eyes narrow as he turns to me. "Are you questioning my judgment, Daire?"

I choose my next words carefully. "Not at all. I'm simply considering the practical implications. If we lose them, we lose valuable blood sources."

"Don't overestimate their value to me, Daire. I can have them replaced like that." He snaps his fingers. "As for our dear Mia," Lucien continues, turning back to the cell, "you're far too valuable to dispose of, my dear. Your blood is…special. But don't think that means you'll escape punishment."

Mia's face pales, but her eyes remain rebellious. "You won't break us," she spits.

"You're already broken, stupid girl." Lucien waves a dismissive hand at her before turning his attention to me. "Get to it, Daire. Get rid of them."

I go rigid. I've done terrible things in my long life, but this…this is different. These aren't nameless victims or enemy combatants. These are women I've come to know, however peripherally.

I force myself to nod, keeping my face an expressionless mask. "Of course, Lord Marlowe."

As I move toward the cell, I can feel Heath's eyes boring into me. This is a test, I realize. Lucien wants to see if I'll balk, if I'll show any hint of sympathy or hesitation. One wrong move, and everything I've worked for, every small kindness I've managed to implement in this godforsaken place, will be undone. Not to mention that Maxwell will certainly be the one to suffer the effects of my failure. I can't have that.

I've been a soldier, a killer, a monster. I've told myself that I've changed, that I'm better now. But am I? Can I really do this?

Sabine and Jemma shrink back as I approach, fear radiating off them in waves.

"No, Soren, you can't! I'm begging you!" Mia's desperate pleas fill the air, but I force myself to tune them out. I can't afford to let her words sway me, not now.

"Please," Sabine whispers as I grab her good arm. "Don't do this."

I meet her eyes for a brief moment, and in that instant, I see a lifetime of hopes and dreams all about to be snuffed out by my hand. The guilt is overwhelming, threatening to choke me.

But I can't stop. I can't hesitate. Too much is at stake.

I roughly pull Sabine to her feet, gesturing for the guard to do the same with Jemma. As we exit the dungeon, I catch a glimpse of Mia's face. The betrayal and horror I see there cut me to my core.

What have I become?