2. Chapter 2

2

Chapter 2

Darick

I stride into the Assembly meeting room, the familiar scent of power and ages of intrigue washing over me. The room buzzes with tension, an undercurrent that sets my teeth on edge. Vampire clan elders, their faces masks of carefully controlled concern, fill the space. Some nod in deference as I pass, others watch me with wary eyes.

My chair at the Assembly table awaits, a seat of responsibility I've carried for longer than most nations have existed. As I lower myself into it, the weight of my secret presses down on me. The irony isn't lost on me – here I am, Darick Drake, high elder of Clan Sanguis, harboring the very affliction we've gathered to discuss.

Bullshit! I may not have it.

But even as I try to deny it, I know that it's true. That event at the Nocturne Lounge has been repeated half a dozen times since it first happened six months ago. Every human I've fed from has left me writhing in pain. There's a gnawing hunger in my gut that's becoming impossible to ignore.

I can't drink blood. I'm going to starve.

Unless….

Unless nothing. I have to focus. I school my features into impassivity, a skill honed over a millennium. My kind can be ruthless; weakness is exploited.

Show them you're strong.

"Silence!" a voice cuts through the rumble of voices that's been rising in volume since I got here. "Our lady approaches."

The Grand Elder of the eight clans, Arabella Ravenscroft, sweeps into the room. The announcement was hardly necessary. Her presence alone is enough to quiet the noise. With a gesture both elegant and commanding, she calls the meeting to order.

"Esteemed members of the Blood Assembly," her voice carries easily through the hushed room, "we gather tonight to address a matter of grave concern."

I lean forward imperceptibly, my fingers tightening on the arms of my chair.

Here it comes.

"The Bloodbane," Arabella continues, her eyes sweeping across the gathered elders, "has been increasing among our kind. It warrants some fresh perspectives. As you know, this is the primary topic on the agenda today, and as is custom, I will open up the floor for us to debate this matter."

A ripple of unease passes through the group. I force myself to remain still, to betray nothing of the cold dread pooling in my stomach. But I sense a slight movement behind me where Marcus has stepped up behind my seat.

Give nothing away, Marcus. I silently will my closest confidante to keep my secret. Not that it's necessary. Marcus and I have years of secrets between us. Just never one this big.

"This is not news, Lady Ravenscroft. The Bane always been among us," says Elias Stone, high elder of the Ferox clan. "At least, for as long as I can remember."

"Yes, but it's getting worse," Isabella Montague adds. "Two of my most established vampires have shown signs of it." She flutters both hands. "How can this be? I would understand if it had struck the newly turned. But these are long-standing members of my clan. Strong and seasoned."

"We've always known that there are no limitations to who it might strike, Lady Montague." Elias turns to face her. "In all the time that my clan has been researching this, we've found that the affliction doesn't discriminate. In fact, there are more elders than young ones."

"It just makes no sense," Isabella mutters, her expression dark.

The others are growing more heated as the topic is bandied about. I watch silently, my jaw clenched tight enough to crack granite. The Assembly's veneer of civility crumbles as tempers flare.

"We all know what must be done!" Victor Valmont's fist slams onto the table. "It's time we get what we need from the witches!"

A chorus of agreement rises, but it's met with equal opposition. I remain motionless. Every muscle in my body screams to move, to speak, to do something. But I can't risk it. This is all too raw. I might let something slip. And I'm not ready for this to be public knowledge yet. Or even ever.

Arabella's voice cuts through the din like a blade. "Quiet!" The room stills. "It is true that, over the centuries, we have found no other solution; the witches are the answer. The alternative is death by starvation over years. A gradual weakening, loss of powers. Excruciating hunger. However," she looks around at us, "it only works when both vampire and witch are compatible. A blood match. That complicates things. There has to be another way."

The words hit me hard – the cold reality of the future I'm facing. I feel Marcus tense behind me; he's aware of it too.

"Compatibility isn't always necessary." It's Valmont again. "Any witch's blood can stave off the thirst for a time."

"Barely," says Arabella. "And it's only a temporary measure – there needs to be a constant supply, which is unsustainable without cooperation from the blood source. We have to look deeper."

"That's why I say we should be more proactive," says Valmont. "We need access to more regular sources, as well as the ability to test compatibility."

Someone nearby laughs drily. "That's never going to happen."

"Unless we don't give them an option," Victor says cryptically.

"You mean take from them? But we can't do that." Selene Nightshade is looking in my direction as she speaks, and I stiffen until I realize she's looking at the man behind me. Marcus's sister is as shrewd as he is. Their maker had been strategic in her choice of young ones. Clan Vesper has thrived under Selene's direction.

Anger ripples through the assembly. "Why not? We are vampires!" someone snarls. "We shouldn't be at the mercy of witches!"

I want to laugh. I want to snarl. Instead, I sit, outwardly calm while my mind races. How long can I keep this secret? How long before my own clan realizes their leader is compromised?

"We're wasting time." The voice that interrupts is cold, calculating. The others grow silent. I shift my gaze to the source.

Lucien Marlowe.

Even after several lifetimes, the sight of him still sets my teeth on edge. His lean frame seems to absorb the shadows around him as he looks about the table, commanding attention without raising his voice.

"My esteemed colleagues," Lucien drawls, his pale gray eyes glittering. "Why do we tiptoe around the obvious solution?"

I tense. Whatever Lucien's about to propose, I know it won't bode well for anyone but him.

"We've tried diplomacy," he continues. "We've tried coexistence. And where has it gotten us? Watching our own waste away while witches hoard the very thing that could save us."

Hoarding? It's their own damned blood, for fuck's sake!

A murmur of agreement ripples through the room, surprising me. I had no idea there was such a strong contingent who supported this idea. I fight to keep my expression neutral, even as I feel Marcus's presence behind me grow more rigid.

Lucien's lips curl into a cold smile. "I say we take what is rightfully ours. We are the superior species. Why should we beg for scraps when we can simply…take what we want? Everything we want?"

The room erupts once more. Some rise in support, others in outrage. I remain still, even as my mind races. Lucien's proposal is dangerous, outrageous – and tempting to those driven by fear.

And I could be one of them.

Never.

"I don't think we should be reckless." My own voice startles me. I hadn't meant to say that out loud. Half a dozen pairs of eyes swivel toward me.

"You think what I'm proposing is reckless?" Lucien's eyes meet mine across the room, a challenge gleaming in their depths.

"Don't you?" I raise an eyebrow. "What you're suggesting is a war on the witches."

"I wouldn't call it war," Lucien smirks. "We'd simply take what we need."

"By force?"

"By any means necessary."

"I'd say that means war." I sit back in my seat, forcing myself to relax. While I've never had any great love for the covens, I don't see the benefit of unnecessary bloodshed.

"If they simply give us what we need, nobody needs to get hurt. If they resist, well…" He splays his hands. "Then they'd be asking for it, wouldn't they?"

I lock eyes with Lucien, feeling generations of animosity crackling between us. "You're proposing we throw away centuries of careful balance for what? A power grab?"

Lucien's lip curls. "Balance? Is that what you call cowering in the shadows, Drake? I call it weakness. Cowardice."

"Careful, Marlowe," I growl, jutting my chin forward. "There's a difference between caution and cowardice."

"Is there?" Lucien sneers. "I'm surprised to hear such weakness from the leader of Clan Sanguis. Aren't you supposed to be warriors?"

My fists clench on the table. "A true warrior knows when to fight and when to hold back. This isn't about bravery, it's about survival."

"Survival?" Lucien scoffs. "We are vampires! We should be ruling, not hiding! We are untouchable!" He pauses. "At least, some of us are. And some of us should be more eager to solve this problem." His eyes narrow on me. And there's something within them that makes my blood run cold.

He knows.

Somehow, the bastard knows or at least suspects. My jaw clenches imperceptibly. Whatever game he's playing, I refuse to play along.

"War is not the solution." I keep my voice level.

Selene tries to interject. "Perhaps if we glamor them to—"

"Quiet!" Lucien and I bark in unison, our gazes never breaking. I know there may be merit to her suggestion, but I'm determined to see where Marlowe plans to take this.

"I'm inclined to agree with Lady Nightshadow." It's our Grand Elder now, but with Lucien goading me, I disregard her.

"Glamors and enchantments would be pointless." Lucien tosses a thick wave of black hair off his forehead. "It's time for decisive action."

"You're planning to attack them." I stare at him, and he shrugs, which is all the answer I need. I lean in, my voice low and dangerous. "You're willing to risk everything we've built? For what? Your ego?"

"For our future!" Lucien snarls. "Or are you too busy sympathizing with witches to see that?"

"I don't give a damn about witches," I hiss. "But I won't see our kind destroyed because of your bloodlust."

"Destroyed?" Lucien laughs coldly. "We are superior in every way!"

"Superior, yes. But outnumbered," I counter.

"Outnumbered?" he scoffs. "How do you figure that?"

"To humankind, witches are crackpots who dance around naked in the moonlight and think they can cast spells. Hardly anyone believes they actually exist, and those who do, are generally seen as crackpots too."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because the humans won't see us going to war with a different race; they view witches as human. All they'd see are vampires attacking humans without provocation. They'd see us as a danger to their species. They'd fear us. And you know what humans are like when they're afraid." I can't understand how he hasn't considered this.

"Bullshit. They love us." He snorts. "I have a dozen willing human females waiting for my attention as we speak," he smirks. "They wouldn't care if I kept a dungeon full of witches for my clan's private consumption."

My mind reels at the implication. "You are out of your fucking mind!" I clasp my hands together in front of me. My fingertips are tingling oddly.

Lucien seems unperturbed. "I'll do what I must to take care of my clan. If one of them has the Bloodbane, I'll ensure they have access to all the witch blood they need. My people come first. Can you say the same?"

"Yes, absolutely. How long do you think your ‘groupies' will adore you if the world decides to paint a target on our backs? It'll only be a matter of time before you turn the humans against us."

"So? We fight back."

"Against all of humankind? We are not invincible, Marlowe." I snort. "Have you forgotten what sunlight does to most of us? How vulnerable we are during the day?"

"Then we attack at night!" Lucien's eyes gleam with a fervor that troubles me.

"And then what?" I demand. "We can't—" Suddenly, my vision blurs. A shower of blue sparks dances across my line of sight, momentarily disorienting me. I blink hard, trying to clear my head.

What the fuck?

"You were saying?" Lucien's voice cuts through the fog.

"I said we can't…we can't…" I struggle to regain my train of thought.

"I think you were saying that you'd sacrifice your own people to save a few hocus pocus freaks."

"That's not what I said, dammit!" A teacup spins toward my face in my peripheral vision, and I duck inadvertently.

"Sorry, just a small technical glitch." A woman's voice comes out of nowhere and I twist, trying to locate the source.

"Are you alright, Lord Drake?" Lady Arabella's voice is laced with concern. I look around in confusion.

Shit.

Is this a symptom of the Bloodbane? I've never heard about hallucinations.

"I'm fine," I mutter, straightening.

Lucien, ever the opportunist, seizes on my momentary lapse. "Look at him," he sneers to the Assembly. "How do you think he'd lead his clan to safety if he can't even sit up straight?"

Something crackles over my fingertips, and I curl my hands into fists.

"This is fucking ridiculous!" I mutter beneath my breath.

Hallucinations, and now phantom sensations. I can't go on like this.

I clench my jaw, fighting to regain control. The room swims before me, but I force myself to focus on Lucien. His smug face comes into sharp relief.

"My esteemed colleagues," Lucien purrs, his voice oozing false sincerity. "It's clear that some among us are…compromised. Perhaps it's time for those who aren't afraid to take necessary action."

My nostrils flare as I steady my breathing. I know Lucien's game now. He's not just pushing for war with the witches; he's making a power play. And I'm his target.

"What exactly are you proposing, Lord Marlowe?" Arabella's voice cuts through the tension.

Lucien's eyes gleam with triumph. "I propose a task force. One dedicated to doing what must be done in order to secure our future." Some of the vampires are looking uncertain. Lucien has always been a skilled manipulator, and now he's playing on their fears.

"And who would lead this task force?" I manage to ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

Lucien's smile is predatory. "Why, I would be honored to take on such a responsibility. For the good of our kind, of course."

Of course. I barely suppress a snort. This isn't about the good of our kind. It's about Lucien's insatiable hunger for power.

"And what exactly would this task force do?" I press, trying to expose the danger in his plan.

"Whatever is required," Lucien replies smoothly. "We'd start by identifying key witch populations. Then, we'd…negotiate from a position of strength."

I don't miss the message between the lines. "You mean kidnap and coerce witches to be blood sources."

Lucien waves a dismissive hand. "If that's what it takes."

There's a tense silence as we all take this in. I sit back, thinking on this. Lucien's proposal is dangerous, not just for the witches but for all of us. If he succeeds, he'll plunge us into a war that might doom us.

But as I look around at those in the room, I can already imagine what's going on in their minds. Fear of the Bloodbane, fear of a slow, agonizing death. Fear of losing more of our people. And Lucien is offering them hope, no matter how false.

I, of all people, should be looking for hope now. But not from Marlowe. He's up to something.

And whatever it is, it's not going to be good.