7. Chapter 7

7

Chapter 7

Soren

S he's not what I expected. But then again, what did I expect? Gnarled, wizened features and a hooked nose? The reality couldn't be further from that.

Yes, she's exquisite, but what does it matter? She's still capable of great evil. I could sense her power. It crackled like a force field around her. Even with her magic suppressed, I could still feel it.

At least, I think that's what it was. Magic. What else could have had my skin tingling, my pulse surging?

She was trying to manipulate me. That much was clear. And for all I know, those delicate features could simply be some magical illusion masking the face of a monster.

She doesn't have magic, Daire.

I shake my head, clearing it as I stride away from her cell, trying to shake off the way she unsettled me. Grayson emerges beside me, but I don't slow down.

"I said she was not to be harmed." My tone is terse.

"Harmed?" Grayson picks up his pace to keep up. "She wasn't harmed, Lord Daire."

"Her clothes. They were torn and bloody." I throw a hard look at him.

"She put up a fight, sir. Her injuries were minor."

"I don't care how minor they were," I bark. "What part of ‘not to be harmed' don't you understand, fool?"

A muscle twitches in Grayson's jaw. "Of course, sir. I will see to it that the offenders are reprimanded."

"Good," I say, not caring that I'm probably being unreasonable.

I force my emotions down, burying them deep. There's work to be done, and I can't afford distractions. Entering the operations room, I nod curtly to the team assembled there.

"Status report," I demand, my voice clipped and professional.

Viktor steps forward, hands clasped behind his back. "All security measures are in place, sir. We've doubled the guards on rotation and implemented the enhanced magical dampening field as requested."

I scan the security feeds displayed on the wall of monitors. Mia's cell is visible from multiple angles. She's sitting on the cot, her posture tense but composed. I tear my gaze away.

"Show me the perimeter defenses," I order, focusing on the task at hand. Elena swipes through schematics on a tablet, projecting them onto the main screen.

For the next hour, I meticulously review every aspect of our security protocols. I drill the team on emergency procedures, potential breach scenarios, and containment protocols. It's familiar territory, a comfort in its way. The routine helps steady my thoughts, pushing aside the lingering unease from my encounter with the Blackwood woman.

"And the witch's personal effects?" I ask, realizing I haven't seen a report on those yet.

Elena speaks up. "All catalogued and secured, sir. Nothing of note aside from some minor magical trinkets. Those have been neutralized."

I nod, satisfied. "Good. Maintain vigilance. I want hourly reports on—"

My phone buzzes insistently in my pocket, cutting me off mid-sentence. I fish it out, my stomach tightening as I see the caller ID.

Maxwell.

I leave the room to take the call.

I answer, steeling myself. "Maxwell."

"Soren. I want an update." His voice comes over the line.

I keep my tone clipped and professional. "The witch has been successfully captured and secured. All protocols are in place. No complications to report."

"Injuries?" Maxwell's question is abrupt.

I hesitate for a fraction of a second. "Minor. Nothing of consequence."

A pause. I can almost hear Maxwell's frown. "And the security measures?"

"Double rotations, enhanced magical dampening. We're prepared for any eventuality."

"Good." His response is curt. There's an edge to his voice I can't quite place. Tension? Worry? It's unlike him.

I'm about to inquire further when Maxwell cuts me off. "I need to see you. Immediately."

The words unsettle me. In all our centuries together, Maxwell has never sounded quite like this. Then again, he's been acting completely out of character since the start of this fiasco.

"Of course," I respond, already moving. "Shall I come to your estate?"

"Yes. Now." The line goes dead before I can respond.

I stare at the phone for a moment, unease coiling in my gut. Whatever this is about, it can't be good.

I rest a hand on the door jamb as I lean into the ops room; several faces turn to face me. "I have matters to attend to. Contact me immediately if anything comes up."

Without waiting for them to reply, I turn away, heading down the hall and making my way through the maze of corridors that lead to the exit. I ignore the guards there and stalk away from the sprawling facility. From the outside, it looks entirely innocuous. Just a three-story building that was once a stately home. A home owned by a vampire. But that was never common knowledge.

I step out into the cool night air, my mind racing with possibilities. What could be so urgent that Maxwell needs to see me immediately? The unease in his voice troubles me more than I care to admit.

There's no time for conventional travel. I close my eyes, focusing on the shadows around me. They respond to my will, coalescing and thickening until they envelop me completely. In an instant, I'm moving faster than any mortal eye could track.

The world blurs around me as I travel through the shadow realm. It's a place of darkness and whispers, where reality bends and twists. To the uninitiated, it would be terrifying. But for me, it's become second nature over the centuries.

I emerge from the shadows at the edge of Maxwell's estate, the familiar grounds materializing around me. The journey that would have taken hours by car has been reduced to mere moments.

The gates of Maxwell's estate loom ahead, snapping me back to the present. I pause, taking in the familiar sight. The wrought iron bars, intricately designed with ancient vampire symbols, are silent symbols of Maxwell's power and status.

I approach the grand entrance of Maxwell's estate, my footsteps crunching on the gravel path. The manicured gardens and imposing facade are as immaculate as ever. Yet something still bothers me.

My heightened senses pick up subtle discordant notes in the air. The usual scents of night-blooming jasmine and freshly cut grass are tinged with something acrid. Fear? Anger? It's hard to pinpoint, but it sets my teeth on edge.

I near the ornate front door, resisting the urge to materialize directly inside. Propriety demands I announce my presence properly, regardless of Maxwell's urgency. He is my maker, after all, and some traditions may not be broken.

Before I can knock, the heavy oak door swings open. Maxwell stands there, his usually impeccable appearance disheveled. His silver hair is mussed as if he's been running his hands through it repeatedly. His eyes, normally a calm gray, now flicker with an intensity that makes me take an involuntary step back.

"Soren," he says, his voice tight with barely contained agitation. "Come in."

I frown as I step past him. "Is something wrong?"

He doesn't reply immediately; he simply turns and heads toward the sweeping staircase that leads to his study. It's oddly quiet. No sign of the usual servants and attendants he normally has around him.

As I fall in step beside him, he breaks the silence.

"The witch," he says abruptly, turning to face me. "Tell me everything about her capture."

I blink, caught off guard by his intensity. "As I said on the phone, it went according to plan. We—"

"Details, Soren," he snaps, cutting me off. "I need details."

I frown but comply. "She was intercepted en route to her grandmother's house. The insider information proved accurate. She put up a significant fight, but our team was prepared. The magical suppression worked as intended."

Maxwell nods, but his eyes are distant, as if he's only half-listening. "And her condition now?"

"Secure. Unharmed, aside from minor injuries sustained during capture." I pause, studying him. "Maxwell, if you're worried about this assignment, I assure you that when I gave you my word—"

"No." He waves a hand dismissively. "This is bigger than the witch."

Bigger?

My mind boggles. He's already pushed my boundaries with what he's asked me to do. What could be worse?

We reach the door to Maxwell's study, and he pushes it open.

Fuck!

I freeze in the doorway, my eyes locked on the figure lounging on Maxwell's leather couch. Lucien Marlowe. What the fuck is he doing here?

Lucien rises smoothly. Our eyes meet, and I'm struck by the cold calculation in his gaze. It's like staring into the eyes of a viper, coiled and ready to strike.

"Ah, Lord Daire," Lucien drawls, his voice dripping with false warmth. "So good of you to join us."

I clench my jaw, fighting to keep my expression neutral. Every instinct screams at me to be on guard.

"Marlowe," I acknowledge curtly, inclining my head slightly. "I wasn't aware you'd be here."

He smiles, all teeth and no warmth. "Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world. I must thank you for taking on our latest…assignment. Your efficiency is, as always, admirable."

My suspicions crystallize into certainty. Lucien is behind this, pulling strings I can't even see yet. The realization sits like ice in my stomach. How deep does this go?

I glance at Maxwell, seeking some explanation, but what I see only increases my unease. My maker, usually the epitome of poise and control, looks more uncomfortable than I've ever seen him. His eyes dart between Lucien and me, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"Well," I say, keeping my tone carefully neutral, "I'm here now. Perhaps someone would like to explain what's going on?"

"I don't think that your role requires too many additional details." Lucien's expression is smug. "Suffice it to say that you will be serving a higher purpose."

I bristle at Lucien's evasive response. My patience, already thin, threatens to snap entirely.

"Higher purpose?" I repeat, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "I'd appreciate some clarity on what exactly that entails."

Lucien's lips curl into a smirk that makes my skin crawl. "Now, now, Lord Daire. Surely a vampire of your…standing understands the need for discretion in delicate matters."

The condescension in his tone grates on me. I'm not some fledgling to be patronized, and certainly not by him. I've spent centuries building my reputation, my power. To be treated like an errand boy…

I glance at Maxwell, searching for some explanation, some reassurance. But he won't meet my eyes. It's clearer than ever that whatever hold Lucien has over my maker, it's significant.

Lucien continues, his voice smooth as silk hiding a steel blade. "What we set in motion here, Soren, will change the course of history for our kind. You should be honored to play a part in it."

"Honored?" I can't keep the bitterness from my voice. "I fail to see the honor in kidnapping and imprisonment."

Maxwell finally speaks, his voice strained. "Soren, remember your oath. Your bond."

I clench my jaw, feeling the weight of that ancient blood tie. It's a reminder I don't need – the compulsion to obey hums in my veins, an inescapable part of who I am.

Lucien's eyes gleam with satisfaction. "Yes, your bond. Such a beautiful thing, isn't it? The loyalty between maker and progeny. I'm sure you wouldn't want to…strain that relationship, would you?"

The threat, veiled as it is, hangs heavy in the air. I'm caught, and Lucien knows it. Whatever game he's playing, I'm just a pawn – and I hate every second of it.

"Since my loyalty is assured, and you're not prepared to share any more details, I don't see why you needed to meet with me, Marlowe."

He eyes me for a moment, then speaks. "I wanted to get the measure of you, Soren."

"The measure of me?" I hate how casually he uses my name. As if we're friends. This man is no friend of mine.

"Yes. I want to see what you're made of. To see if you're fit for this job. Maxwell seemed confident, but I… Well, I'm a hands-on kind of man." He smirks. "I like to know who's working for me."

"Let's get one thing perfectly clear right now, Marlowe," I snarl. "I don't work for you. My loyalty lies with my maker."

"And by that token, it lies with me."

Fuck, he's a smug bastard.

"Yes," I acknowledge. I don't mean it, but I can feel Maxwell's discomfort growing, so I say it for him. "So," I add, "if this was what you wanted to know, then I gather this conversation is over?" I start turning to the door, knowing I'm pushing the boundaries of courtesy but unable to tolerate being around him any longer. The air around him feels toxic.

"One last thing, Lord Daire," he stops me.

I pause. "Yes?"

"You're sure you're up to this task? The female has ways to bewitch a man. You may be out of your depth."

"I'm not afraid of the witch," I snap. "And I have no intention of letting her get to me on any level. On that, you have my word." I glance at Maxwell as I say it because my promise is meant for him rather than the snake in front of me. The lines around Maxwell's eyes soften, which is a small reward, but I'll take it.

"Good. That's all I wanted. You may leave." Lucien waves a hand as if dismissing me.

I may leave?

Who they fuck does he think he is? Bringing me all the way here just to gloat and "get the measure" of me.

I manage a tight nod in the direction of my maker, then turn on my heel and walk out the door. I fight not to slam it behind me.

This is a monumental fuck-up. I can feel it in every cell in my body. My maker is dancing like a puppet on a string, and I've become just a cog in Lucien's political machine. And I don't even know what role I play.

My teeth are grinding as I stalk toward the door to the mansion.

Greater good? Change the course of history for our kind?

What bullshit is that? Our culture has strong codes, a clearly defined structure. And it's all carefully interwoven with vampire integration into human society. If he's planning to shift the balance of power, change the way we function, our entire house of cards could come tumbling down.

I have to find out what the fuck's going on. And I have to do it before this madman destroys all of us.