4. Chapter 4

4

Chapter 4

Soren

I stride into the stronghold, my footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. The air here is heavy, oppressive, a far cry from the opulent vampire residences I'm used to. This place is all function, no form – a fortress designed to contain powerful beings against their will.

The corridors are lined with iron-reinforced doors, each one sealed with both physical locks and magical wards. I had no idea there'd be so many.

And there are many here. More than just the one Maxwell originally told me about. He dropped that bombshell on me later.

I can sense them now, their power muted but still evident. It makes my skin crawl. I'd been told the facility was designed to contain powerful entities, but nothing could have prepared me for this. This goes far beyond anything I expected.

Fuck.

This isn't right, no matter how I try to justify it. But at the edge of my senses, Maxwell's bond prickles and tingles, a reminder that obedience is not optional.

This is bigger than you, Daire. Do your duty.

I spot a tall vampire at the end of the hall, his burly frame tense as he pores over a tablet. He snaps to attention as I approach.

"Lord Daire," he nods, all business. I'd met the leader of the security team during my preliminary briefing at Maxwell's residence.

"Grayson," I return the greeting, keeping my voice level. "Show me around the facility." I continue walking, not comfortable in this oppressive space. He opens a door, stepping aside to let me pass, then falling in step beside me as we head into another corridor, this one bare and clinical. I can't feel the witches here.

Thank God.

He launches into the details, his tone clipped and efficient. "The facility is impenetrable, as you will have seen on arrival. We've got a team of six stationed at key points around the perimeter. Another four inside, rotating shifts to monitor the cells. All communication is on encrypted channels, and we've got magical dampeners in place to prevent any psychic outreach."

I listen, my jaw clenching tighter with each word. But Maxwell's command echoes in my mind, an unbreakable chain.

I follow Grayson through the winding corridors, each step feeling heavier than the last. The stronghold is a bizarre mix of ancient and modern – centuries-old stone walls now house state-of-the-art security systems. It's as if the building itself is caught between two worlds…much like I feel at this moment.

We enter what appears to be an operations room, a hub of activity with monitors lining the walls and a large central table covered with documents. The contrast between the high-tech equipment and the centuries-old architecture is jarring.

Grayson clears his throat. "Lord Daire, allow me to introduce you to the key members of our team."

He gestures to a lithe woman with sharp eyes, her fingers flying over a keyboard. "This is Elena, our tech expert. She handles all surveillance and communications."

Elena gives me a curt nod, barely looking up from her screens. I can sense her focus, her dedication to the task at hand. It's also immediately clear that she's human, which surprises me. Humans often consort with vampires, but I've seldom heard of any working with them.

"Viktor here is our head of physical security," Grayson continues, indicating a mountain of a man with scars crisscrossing his arms. Viktor grunts in acknowledgment, his eyes constantly moving. He's alert, ready for any threat. A formidable opponent, should it come to that.

Grayson then turns to a lean, silver-haired vampire with an unnervingly calm demeanor. "And this is Dmitri, our interrogation specialist."

I can't suppress the internal flinch at those words. Interrogation. A polite term for torture, no doubt. Dmitri's serene smile does nothing to ease my discomfort.

As I assess each team member, noting their strengths and potential weaknesses, I'm struck by the efficiency of this operation. They're good at what they do, which only makes this situation more troubling. They've been working together for a while.

How long has this been going on?

A thousand details are clicking into place in my head. The stories of witch abductions have persisted for centuries. There's been no denying them, but I've always assumed they were random events. Not something like this. I'll have to take it up with Maxwell later.

Grayson is sweeping an arm toward the banks of monitors that take up one wall. "As you can see, every inch of the place is closely monitored. Each cell has cameras in it, as well as every hall and access point."

I nod, running an eye over the screens that show rows of dimly lit rooms. Shadowy figures move within them.

Blood almighty!

Witches. There are dozens of them. Some curled on bare bunks, others pacing restlessly, some standing staring out of the small windows of their heavy cell doors. One room stands out, bare and clinical, its contents stark beneath bright lights. A plain white bunk in the center. Machinery along a wall.

"What's that?" I ask, pointing.

"Medical center," Grayson says curtly.

"Medical center?" I press.

"Yes." He nods. "The activities there are logged in the daily report feeds, which you now have access to. Dimitri can tell you more." Grayson doesn't elaborate. I frown at the room on the screen, then turn my attention back to Grayson, who seems to be standing at attention.

"And the new arrival?" I ask.

"Her quarters are there." He points at the screen. "Would you like to inspect them?"

"She's not there yet?"

"That operation is set to commence shortly, sir."

I'm grateful I haven't been compelled to take part in the abduction itself. The thought of actively participating doesn't sit well with me. Still, being here, overseeing this operation…it's a fine line I'm walking.

You're doing it for Maxwell. For the others whose lives are on the line.

"Walk me through the plan," I demand. "I want no mistakes." The last thing I want is for this to be bungled and put everyone at risk.

Grayson's posture straightens, all business. "We've been monitoring her movements for several weeks now, sir. We've identified the optimal time for extraction with minimal risk of detection."

I arch an eyebrow. "And her magic? If she's as powerful as you say, how do you plan to overcome that?"

A smirk plays at the corner of Grayson's mouth. "We have that covered, sir. Our inside man will ensure a smooth operation."

As if on cue, the door swings open. A young man strides in, exuding arrogance and barely concealed nervous energy. My eyes narrow as I take in his appearance – the subtle aura of power that surrounds him.

A witch.

My lip curls in distaste. This traitor, this turncoat, is one of their own kind. Disgust rises in my throat, bitter and acrid.

"Lord Daire," Grayson says, "allow me to introduce Heath Moonshadow. He's been instrumental in our planning."

Heath gives a cocky nod. "Pleasure to meet you, Lord Daire. I've heard so much about you."

I don't bother hiding my disdain as I regard him coolly. "Have you now?"

A witch betraying his own kind. Why would he do such a thing?

The question burns in my mind, but I keep my expression neutral. Whatever his motivations, this Heath is a wild card – one I'll need to watch carefully.

I turn my attention fully to the male. "So, Mr. Moonshadow, tell me. What exactly drives a witch to betray his own kind?"

Heath's cocky demeanor falters for a moment, his eyes darting away before meeting mine again. "It's not betrayal. It's…progress. The old ways aren't working anymore."

"Progress?" I scoff. "And kidnapping your own people is your idea of moving forward?"

His jaw tightens. "You wouldn't understand. Our community is stagnating, clinging to outdated traditions. We need change."

"I see." I leave the words hanging.

Heath's composure cracks further. "It's more complicated than you could possibly comprehend."

I narrow my eyes at him, my disgust barely concealed. "Enlighten me then. What grand vision justifies this?"

Heath's chin lifts defiantly. "I don't expect you to understand my motivations, Lord Daire. This arrangement with Lord Marlowe will benefit both witches and vampires. What I'm doing is for our own good."

My blood runs cold. "Marlowe?" I interrupt sharply. "Lucien Marlowe is involved in this? What does he have to do with it?"

The young witch's eyes widen slightly, but then he quickly schools his features. "My dealings with Lucien are none of your business."

Fury rises within me, but I keep my expression neutral. Lucien's involvement changes everything. I've long suspected he was up to no good, but this…this is far worse than I imagined. How the fuck could Maxwell drag me into something like this? If word got back to the Assembly, my reputation would be shattered. And that's if I was lucky and didn't have to face some sort of sanction.

Grayson, sensing the tension, steps forward. "If we could return to the matter at hand, Lord Daire. Heath's role is crucial. He'll suppress the witch's magic, allowing for a smooth extraction. Once that's done, we'll bring her back here."

I clench my jaw, torn between my duty and my growing unease. "Show me to her cell," I command, my voice tight.

As we walk, my mind races. Lucien's scheming has always been a threat, but this level of organization, this blatant disregard for the fragile peace between our kinds…it's beyond anything I'd anticipated. And yet, here I am, bound by Maxwell's orders to oversee this very operation.

The weight of my conflicting loyalties presses down on me as we approach the cell. We stop at the door, and I wait as Grayson unlocks it using a biometric panel.

I step into the room, my eyes scanning every inch of the space. It's sparse but not inhumane – a simple bed, a small table, and a bathroom area separated by a partition. The walls are a dull gray, reinforced with layers of both physical and mystical barriers. Runes have been inscribed in intricate patterns on the surface.

"Are these to suppress magic?" I ask.

Grayson nods, then gestures to a barely visible panel on the wall. "We also have these. State-of-the-art magical dampeners, sir. They create a magnetic field that interferes with the witch's ability to channel her power. It's adjustable, allowing us to fine-tune the level of suppression as needed."

I run my hand along the wall, feeling the faint hum of energy beneath my fingertips. It's impressive, I have to admit. And necessary, I remind myself. We can't risk her using her powers to escape or harm anyone.

She's evil. Remember that. A threat to our kind.

And the others? Are they evil, too?

I stop my train of thought and turn my attention back to Grayson. "And the physical security?" I ask, moving toward the door.

"Triple-reinforced steel, sir. Enchanted locks that only respond to authorized magical signatures. The hinges are on the outside, of course, and there are no weak points in the structure."

I nod, examining the door closely. It's solid, impenetrable. Yet, as I look at it, I can't help but imagine how it will feel for her, trapped behind this barrier.

"The bed," I say, turning back to the room. "It looks…adequate."

Grayson raises an eyebrow. "It serves its purpose, sir. We're not running a hotel."

I shoot him a sharp look. "No, we're not. But unnecessary cruelty serves no one. Make sure she has proper bedding."

"As you wish, sir," Grayson replies, his tone neutral.

I take one last look around the cell, my jaw clenching. This is necessary, I tell myself. We're not here to torture her, just to contain her. It's for everyone's safety. Including hers.

I turn to Grayson. "I want to be notified the moment she arrives. I'll oversee her placement personally. And remember, she is not to be harmed, do you understand me?"

"Of course, sir." He gives a terse nod. "I will reinforce this with the team."

"Good." With that, I turn on my heel and retrace my steps to the operations room, taking my place in front of the rows of blinking consoles.

Soren

I'm still there three hours later when Grayson strides into the room.

"We have her, sir." He points at the screen, where a pair of vampires are carrying an unmoving figure into the cell. It's an unnecessary gesture. I've barely taken my eyes off it for the entire time I've been waiting here.

"Good," I say curtly. As I watch, the vampires leave, the door slamming shut behind them. The figure remains still on the bed, where they've left her. It's hard to make out much from the way that she's lying, but, to be honest, she doesn't give the impression of being powerful or evil. Just a woman, really. Long, auburn hair is splayed over her face, obscuring her features.

"How long will she be out." I turn to look at Grayson.

He shrugs. "No telling. Heath says he subdued her with enough magic to take down an army. Could be hours. Days, even."

My eyes narrow on the screen where the woman has just sat up. "Or maybe now," I say drily.

"Shit," Grayson says abruptly, which is the first sign of alarm I've ever seen from the stoic military man. He's clearly not one of the ancients. Probably turned recently. During one of the world wars, if I were to hazard a guess.

I watch as the woman gets up off the bed and starts exploring her surroundings. And again, I'm struck by the fact that she looks nothing like my idea of a powerful witch. That mane of tawny red hair swirls around her shoulders as she grows increasingly agitated. Her features appear finely sculpted, from what I can see when she's not spinning and prowling about. Suddenly, she lunges for the jug on the table and smashes it onto the floor.

By Blood!

I watch in alarm as she picks up a shard of the broken jug, closing her hand around it. Blood drips from her fist. She dips her fingertip into it and begins tracing patterns on her arm. She frowns darkly as she examines the markings, then drops to the floor, making more marks there.

What the fuck?

The sight of her blood has my fangs distending in a way that disturbs me. I've lived too long to be a slave to my base instincts. But more importantly, what she's doing is…

Blood magic.

That's forbidden. I may not know a lot about witches, but I know that much. Maxwell was right. She's powerful. And from the looks of it, quite happy to use forbidden spells.

But after a few minutes of poring over the spot where she's marking the floor, her shoulders slump. She stands, her shoulders straightening, as if she's bolstering herself.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" she yells suddenly. "Let me out of here!" She spins toward the door, pummelling it with her fist. "You can't keep me here! Do you have any idea who I am?" She hits the door again. "I'm Mia Blackwood, and when my family finds out about this, you'll wish you'd never been born!"

I fold my arms over my chest, watching her silently.

Mia Blackwood.

It's hardly the kind of name you'd expect for an evil sorceress. But then again, I just saw her practicing one of the arcane arts, so clearly, these things are deceiving.

She's silent for a moment, and then, "Cowards!" she yells. "Face me, you bastards!" She kicks the door, makes a low sound of pain, then spins and leans her back against it. She slides down until she's sitting on the floor. "Please. Someone… anyone…" she whimpers.

I grit my teeth, reminding myself that she'll probably use every ploy in the book. And as if to prove me right, she surges to her feet again, spinning around. She stops and stares directly up into the lens of the camera. And for the first time, I get a good look at her.

She's beautiful.

She has the fair, porcelain complexion that many redheads are blessed with. Pert nose, high cheekbones, a wide forehead over arched auburn brows. Her lips are pink and pouting, although their softness is offset by the stubborn set of her jaw. But it's her eyes that get me. Vivid green, bright as emeralds in the sun. And they're staring right at me as she shouts at the camera. For a moment, I'm tempted to step away from the console.

Get a grip, Daire. She can't see you.

I find myself transfixed by those eyes, though. They're compelling. Probably an indication of her power. I imagine she is incredibly skilled in the art of manipulation.

Blood magic. Plus, the ability to manipulate people. And who knows what else she has up her sleeve. Certainly enough to scare Maxwell. Yes, she's dangerous, alright. Pretty lips and a perky nose can't disguise that. Nor can a smattering of freckles.

I glance at Grayson. "It's time to meet our guest," I tell him. He nods once, waiting as I head to the door.

I straighten my spine, squaring my shoulders as I school my features into a mask of cold indifference. It's an expression I've perfected over centuries, one that has served me well in countless negotiations and confrontations.

As I stride down the corridor, my footsteps echo off the stark concrete walls. The sound is oddly comforting in its familiarity – how many times have I walked similar halls in my long existence? But never quite like this. Never to face someone like her.

I slow as I approach her cell, my hand hovering over the security panel beside it. Through the thick metal, I can hear her pacing, muttering to herself. The scent of her blood still lingers in the air, stirring a hunger I thought I'd long since mastered.

For a moment, I hesitate. What am I about to unleash? What have I already set in motion by agreeing to this?

No. This is necessary. For Maxwell. For all of us.

I steel myself, pushing aside doubts and misgivings. Whatever power she possesses, whatever tricks she might try, I've faced worse. I will not be swayed by a witch, no matter how compelling her eyes or how intoxicating the scent of her blood is.

I swipe my thumb over the panel, which is programmed to grant me access. The lock mechanism clicks open. My fingers close around the door handle, ready to turn it and confront whatever awaits me on the other side.

This is it.