8. Chapter 8

8

Chapter 8

Darick

I pace the length of Arabella's antechamber; my mind is a mess. The plush carpet muffles my footsteps, but it can't quiet the raging thoughts in my mind.

A witch.

I have a witch in my head. The absurdity of it all would be laughable if it weren't so damn troubling. Her face flashes before me again – eyes like emeralds, that cascade of auburn hair.

Fuck .

I stare down at my clenched fists, frustrated by how vividly I can recall every detail of her features. She's beautiful, there's no denying that. But she's a witch . Our sworn enemy. The very thought of finding her attractive feels like a betrayal to my kind.

And yet…

I can't shake the memory of how she smelled. Even with the distance between us, it had hit me like a wave. Sweet, intoxicating – like nectar and sunlight and something I can't put my finger on. My fangs ache at the mere recollection, and I swallow hard against the sudden flood of saliva in my mouth. I can't remember when last I've reacted so viscerally to anyone's scent.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I force myself to stop pacing, bracing my hands against the ornate mantelpiece. The cool marble beneath my palms helps ground me, but it does little to calm the storm of questions. How is this connection even possible? Why her…a witch? And why now, when tensions between our kinds are at a breaking point?

Yet through it all, my thoughts keep swirling back to the sight of her.

She's fiery!

The image of her attacking me with her magic rises unbidden. I almost smile at the memory of her fury, the way her eyes flashed with defiance even as her spell fizzled harmlessly against my skin. She may not be powerful, but she's got spirit. I can respect that, even—

No .

I push away from the mantelpiece with a growl. I can't afford to think of her that way. She's a complication I need to eliminate, not…whatever the hell else my traitorous mind wants to make of her.

Dammit .

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to focus. I need to get my head straight before I face Arabella. The last thing I need is for her to sense my inner turmoil. She's far too perceptive, and any sign of weakness could be disastrous, especially now.

Now that I have the Bloodbane.

I force my features into a mask of cool indifference, steadying myself. I am Darick Drake, leader of Clan Sanguis. I've faced countless battles, weathered centuries of political intrigue. I will not be undone by some slip of a witch with pretty eyes and a scent that makes me want to—

"Lord Drake?"

I turn sharply at the sound of Arabella's assistant's voice, silently cursing myself for getting so lost in my thoughts that I didn't hear her approach. She stands in the doorway, her expression carefully neutral as she regards me.

"The Grand Elder will see you now," she says, gesturing toward the inner chamber.

I nod curtly, straightening my jacket as I follow her. With each step, I push thoughts of the witch further from my mind. I have more pressing matters to attend to. The future of our kind hangs in the balance, and I can't afford to be distracted.

And yet, as I cross the threshold into Arabella's receiving room, I can't quite shake the imagined sweetness of nectar on my tongue.

I step into Arabella's receiving chamber, and for a moment, I'm struck by the sheer grandeur of it all. The room is vast, easily the size of a ballroom, with polished marble floors that gleam in the light streaming through the glass ceiling above. It's a bold architectural choice for a vampire's lair, but then again, Arabella has always been one to defy expectations.

My eyes are drawn upward, following the intricate patterns etched into the glass dome. The full moon hangs directly overhead, bathing the room in an ethereal glow. It's breathtaking, and I find myself wondering, not for the first time, how Arabella manages to linger here, often even until the first light of dawn. But then, she's always been more powerful than most of us can comprehend.

The moonlight casts long shadows across the room, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere. It softens the edges of the ornate furniture and tapestries that line the walls, giving everything a surreal quality.

At the far end of the chamber, Arabella sits on what can only be described as a throne. It's an ancient thing carved from a giant piece of obsidian, its surface gleaming. She looks every inch the Grand Elder, her silver hair cascading down her back, her features as pale as alabaster.

"Darick," she greets me, her voice as smooth and ageless as the rest of her. "It is good to see you."

I bow my head respectfully. "Grand Elder. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

A smile plays at the corners of her lips. "Come now, Darick. We've known each other far too long for such formalities. What brings you to my doorstep so soon after our assembly?"

I hesitate, glancing at the dozen or so vampires scattered around the room – Arabella's security detail, no doubt, along with the usual smattering of humans who seem to be permanent fixtures around our kind. Blood groupies . "I'm afraid what I have to discuss is of a…sensitive nature. Perhaps we could speak privately?"

Arabella's eyes narrow slightly, and I can see the wheels turning behind those ancient eyes. After a moment, she nods. "Very well." She turns to address her security team. "Leave us."

The reaction is immediate. Several of the guards step forward, weapons at the ready.

"But Grand Elder," one of them protests, "we cannot leave you unprotected—"

Arabella silences him with a look. "I said, leave us. I am more than capable of defending myself should the need arise." Her tone is steely, and I'm reminded once again why she's held her position for so long. "Valerian will remain. The rest of you…out."

The guards exchange uneasy glances, but they know better than to disobey a direct order. Slowly, reluctantly, they file out of the room. I watch them go, noting the way their eyes trail over me suspiciously. I can't blame them; the politics of our clans have often led to assassinations and upheaval.

Like Lucien is planning…

As the last guard exits, closing the massive doors behind him, I turn my attention to the one who remains. Valerian. I've heard rumors about him, Arabella's most trusted advisor and protector. He's a tall, wiry vampire with eyes like chips of ice, and he regards me with open hostility.

"Now then," Arabella says, leaning forward slightly, an elbow resting on the arm of her throne. "What is so important that you need such privacy, Darick? What troubles the mighty leader of Clan Sanguis?" There's no irony in her voice.

I take a deep breath, my posture stiffening as I prepare to deliver the news. "Lord Lucien Marlowe attacked a gathering of witches tonight," I say, my voice tautly controlled despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "It was a sacred ceremony. Many were injured." Many of ours , but I don't mention this.

Arabella's eyes widen, her composure slipping for just a moment before she regains control. "Are you certain?" she asks, her voice tight with concern.

I nod, my jaw clenching. "I saw it with my own eyes. My team and I intercepted the attack, but not before damage was done."

Arabella leans further forward, her eyes shadowed with concern. "This is troubling news indeed. But Darick, are you absolutely certain it was Lucien?"

The question catches me off guard, and I feel a flicker of doubt. "I… I didn't see him personally," I admit, frustration creeping into my voice. "But it bore all the hallmarks of his tactics. The brutality, the disregard for consequences—"

"But you have no concrete proof?" Arabella interrupts.

Fuck. I don't.

I clench my fists, anger and disappointment warring within me. I should have done my fucking homework. "No," I growl. "No concrete proof."

Arabella sits back, her expression thoughtful. "Darick, you know I trust your judgment. But I cannot act against Lucien without evidence. He is a powerful figure within our society, and such accusations could have far-reaching consequences."

I nod, grudgingly acknowledging the truth in her words. The cunning bastard has played this perfectly. Of course he wouldn't expose himself so blatantly. He's always been a master of manipulation, working from the shadows.

"I understand," I say, fighting to contain my frustration. "I will gather evidence. I'll prove his involvement beyond any doubt."

Arabella's expression softens slightly. "I know you will, Darick. Your dedication to our kind has never been in question. But we must tread carefully. The balance between vampires and witches is precarious at best. As you said during the assembly, we cannot afford a war."

I nod, respect for Arabella's measured approach tempering my frustration. She's right, of course. It's why she's held her position for so long. Her fairness, her ability to see the bigger picture, is what's kept our society from tearing itself apart countless times over the years.

"I'll be discreet," I promise. "But I won't let Lucien's actions go unchecked. He's a threat. He may try to convince us that this new tactic of his is for the good of our kind. But it's going to backfire."

Arabella regards me silently for a long moment. Finally, she nods. "Very well, Darick. Investigate, gather your evidence. But do not act without consulting me first. The stakes are too high for rash decisions."

"Of course, Grand Elder," I say, bowing my head slightly. "You have my word." I pause for a moment. "The humans cannot learn of this attack." It's the last thing we need.

"I doubt the witches would make it public," the Grand Elder replies. "They are notoriously secretive about their kind."

I nod grimly. She's right about that much, at least. Witches have been hiding in plain sight for centuries, masking their true nature from the oblivious masses. But this attack was brazen, committed right under the noses of an entire suburban community. It won't be easy to sweep under the rug.

"Even so," I say, "the impact will not go unnoticed by their covens and circles. We need to be prepared for the fallout."

Arabella's expression darkens. "Indeed. They will see this as an unprovoked assault on their sacred rituals." She pauses, glancing at Valerian. The cold-eyed vampire gives a barely perceptible nod. "Which it was, if I understand your report correctly?"

I nod. "Lucien's actions were reckless and dangerous, driven by his own twisted agenda."

An agenda that I'm sure extends beyond the witches. If I know the man, he has his eye on a certain obsidian throne. Mine won't be the only clan he's targeting.

"And you're certain these vampires were acting under Lord Marlowe's orders," Valerian points out coolly. "Who's to say you weren't simply dealing with a few rogue upstarts? It's no secret that there is no love lost between you and Lord Marlowe. How are we to know this isn't a ploy to throw him out of favor?"

I bristle at his condescending tone, but Arabella holds up a hand, silencing us both. "Enough, Valerian. Darick has always been one of our most capable leaders. If he believes Lucien is behind this, then he should be given the chance to prove it."

I'm mildly surprised by her defense of me, but I don't dwell on it. There are more pressing matters at hand. "Lucien's agenda aside, this attack has put us all in a tricky position," I say. "We need to move quickly to minimize the damage before the witches retaliate."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Valerian asks, his tone laced with doubt. "Even if we can contain the human element, the witches themselves won't stay quiet. Not after this."

He's right, damn him. The witches may value their secrecy, but they're also fiercely protective of their own. An assault on a sacred ritual…they won't take it lightly. And with tensions already running high thanks to the Bloodbane crisis, it could be the spark that sets off an inferno.

I exhale a sharp breath, frustrated. "I'm going to find the proof you need, Grand Elder. Put a stop to it before he can escalate things further."

Arabella seems satisfied with my answer. "Very well. We will reconvene in a week to discuss our findings." She rises gracefully from her throne, signaling the end of our audience.

I bow stiffly, tamping down the unease churning in my gut. As I turn to leave, I can feel Valerian's icy glare boring into the back of my skull. He doesn't trust me – and why should he? It wouldn't be the first time a clan leader plotted to take down another. For all he knows, I might be the one with the secret agenda here.

And I certainly do have secrets.

Just not about this.

The witch…

I push the thought from my mind as I stride from Arabella's chambers, my footsteps echoing hollowly in the cavernous hallway. I can't afford to dwell on her right now. I need to focus on containing the situation, gathering intelligence on Lucien's operations.

And yet…I can't quite shake the scent of nectar that seems to cling to me, a phantom reminder of her . The witch who should be nothing more than a complication, and yet somehow feels like the beginning of something far more dangerous.

As I step out into the courtyard, I tilt my head back, letting the cool air wash over me. For a fleeting moment, I almost feel at peace.

But I know it's an illusion. Darkness is coming, a storm brewing on the horizon. And I have a sinking feeling that the witch with the emerald eyes is going to be at the very center of it.