4. Chapter 4

4

Chapter 4

Darick

I stand alone in my vast library, surrounded by towering shelves filled with leather-bound tomes and ancient scrolls. The room holds an air of timeless wisdom, with its rich mahogany paneling and the soft glow of antique lamps. Normally, this sanctuary brings me peace, but tonight, I'm oddly troubled and confused.

For the past half hour, I've been overwhelmed by a storm of emotions that don't feel like my own. Grief washes over me in waves, threatening to pull me under. A sense of loss, so profound it makes my chest ache, grips me tightly. And then there's the rage – white-hot and all-consuming – that makes me want to lash out at everything around me.

None of it makes any fucking sense.

I rub a hand over my face, pacing the length of the room. My reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows shows a man I barely recognize – disheveled, wild-eyed, and utterly bewildered. This isn't me. I've never felt so…out of control.

Suddenly, a disembodied voice shatters the silence: "Those bloodsucking monsters took her from us!"

The words hit me like a steam train. I stop in my tracks, fighting to steady myself. The voice is female, filled with pain and fury. And for reasons I can't begin to fathom, it makes me feel even angrier and more grief-stricken than before.

What the hell is happening to me?

Am I going mad? Is this some kind of psychic attack?

I can't explain it, but for a moment, it feels as if I'm tapping into someone else's raw, unfiltered thoughts.

Which is pure bullshit. It must be hunger affecting my brain.

Unexpected rage bubbles up inside me again, and I want to put my fist through the nearest bookshelf. Bloodsucking monsters, the voice had said. That could only mean one thing. Vampires. The irony isn't lost on me. I am one of those monsters, aren't I? So why do I feel this overwhelming need to hunt down whoever "took her" and tear them limb from limb?

I close my eyes, trying to make sense of the storm in my head. There's something there, just out of reach. I just can't put my finger on it.

"Fuck," I mutter, slamming my palm against the nearby desk. The wood creaks in protest, and I force myself to ease up. The last thing I need is to explain to my staff why I've demolished another piece of antique furniture.

I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. This has to be connected to the blood allergy somehow. First, my body betrays me, and now my mind? Is this how it ends for me? Driven mad by the Bloodbane?

Can't be. The Bloodbane takes time.

The door to the library swings open, and I whirl around, fangs bared on instinct. Marcus stands in the doorway, his eyebrows raised in surprise at my defensive posture.

"Darick?" he says cautiously, taking a step into the room. "Is everything alright?"

I force myself to relax, retracting my fangs with effort. "No," I admit, my voice rough. "No, it's not."

Marcus closes the door behind him, his dark eyes scanning me with concern. "What's going on? You look like hell."

I laugh bitterly. "Feel like it, too." I hesitate, unsure how to explain something I don't understand myself. "I think… I think I'm hearing things. Feeling things that aren't mine."

Marcus frowns, moving closer. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm drowning in grief and rage that have no fucking reason to exist," I huff. "It's…it's intense. Like someone else's emotions are being pumped directly into my brain."

"Could it be related to the Bloodbane?" Marcus asks, tilting his head.

I run a hand over my face, suddenly feeling every one of my thousand years. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably. But this…this is different. I heard a voice, Marcus. A woman's voice. She said something about ‘bloodsucking monsters' taking someone."

Marcus's eyebrows shoot up. "That's pretty specific. Was it someone you know?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "It has to be some sort of hallucination. But it felt…real. And now I can't shake this feeling of loss. Like I'm mourning someone I've never even met."

I look up at Marcus, hating the vulnerability in my voice. "What's happening to me?" I stiffen my stance, trying to make myself feel like less of a pussy.

"It's hunger," Marcus says firmly. "That's all it is. I know you're ancient, that you can go for long periods without feeding, but still, it's going to affect you, right?"

I stare at him for a moment. "Perhaps." I don't convince myself. I'm sure Marcus isn't either, but I don't want to dwell on it. "Why are you here?" I change the subject.

Marcus's expression darkens. "I came to discuss the Assembly meeting. Lucien's proposal…"

I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Fuck. I'd almost managed to forget about that clusterfuck."

"We can't afford to forget it, Darick. Lucien's gaining support. His plan to forcibly take the witches' blood…it's barbaric, but some of the others are starting to see it as a viable solution."

The rage I'd been feeling earlier resurfaces, but this time it's my own. I clench my fists. My temper's been getting out of control lately. I need to watch it. "It's not a solution. It's a declaration of war."

Marcus nods grimly. "I agree. But you know Lucien. He's always been a ‘means to an end' kind of vampire."

"The blood will flow if he has his way," I say, my voice ominous. "It always does."

I turn to the window, staring out at the city lights below. I've seen this before – the rise of tyrants, the fall of empires. And always, always, there's blood. Especially where Lucien Marlowe is concerned. An image flashes through my mind of a blood-soaked battlefield. Tattered pennants fluttering in a night breeze that wasn't strong enough to blow away the stink of decaying corpses.

Lucien Marlow has a lot to answer for.

"We need to analyze which clan leaders might side with him," Marcus says, interrupting my dark thoughts. "Isabella Montague seemed…receptive to his ideas."

I snort. "Of course she did. Anything for more power and influence. The Tenebrians have always put their own interests first."

"And Victor Valmont?" Marcus asks.

I frown, considering. "Victor's a wild card. He's more interested in his arcane research than politics, but Lucien might be able to tempt him with promises of new knowledge."

"What about Lady Ravenscroft?" Marcus suggests.

I shake my head. "Arabella's too tied to tradition. She won't support anything that could destabilize vampire society. But…" I pause, a thought occurring to me. "She might not actively oppose Lucien either. She's always been one to sit on the fence until the last possible moment."

Marcus moves to the liquor cabinet, pouring us both a glass of blood-red wine. It's a useless gesture – alcohol hasn't affected me since I was turned – but I appreciate the familiarity of the ritual.

"And Stone?" he asks, handing me a glass.

I dip my nose to the rim of the glass, savoring the rich aroma even if I can't taste it. "Alaric's pragmatic. He'll side with whoever he thinks will come out on top. We need to convince him that Lucien's plan is too risky."

Marcus nods, his face grim. "That leaves Elias Thorne and…Selene."

"Elias will be against it," I say with certainty. "His whole purpose is to heal and protect. He won't stand for anything that harms witches or humans…or anything else, for that matter."

"Selene?" Marcus asks, a hint of something I can't quite identify in his voice.

I raise an eyebrow. "Your sister? You tell me."

Marcus sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Selene's…complicated. She's a diplomat at heart. She might try to find a middle ground."

"There is no middle ground here," I growl. "Either we find a way to coexist with the witches, or we go to war. And if we go to war…"

I don't finish the thought. I don't need to. Marcus and I have both seen enough battles to know how this ends.

"Lucien's influence is growing," Marcus says softly. "The younger vampires, especially…they're drawn to his strength, his certainty."

I nod, grounding myself as I pull in a deep breath. "It's always the same. In times of crisis, people flock to those who offer simple solutions, no matter how brutal."

We stand in silence for a moment.

"What's your thinking on this, Darick? What do you have in mind?" Marcus finally asks.

I set down my glass, wishing for the hundredth time that I could still feel the burn of alcohol. "We watch him," I say simply. "We gather our allies, we make our case, and we watch every move that motherfucker makes. If he tries anything, we stop it."

Marcus nods, his eyes hardening with resolve. "And if we can't stop him?"

I turn back to the window, staring out at the city below. Somewhere out there, witches are going about their lives, unaware of the storm that's brewing. Unaware that their very existence hangs in the balance.

"Then we prepare to fight," I say grimly. "And pray that we're strong enough to weather it."