Negative Atmosphere

NEGATIVE ATMOSPHERE

“ D inner time!” the guard barks. “Move to the back of your cells and face the wall.”

I jump off my cot, my stomach rumbling at the prospect of food, even if it’s the mediocre slop they serve us.

Zane presses his freckled face against the bars, appearing paler by the day. “Hey, when do I get fed around here? I’m starving.”

The guard doesn’t even look at Zane as he gestures for me to assume the position. “Feeds for your kind are done weekly, vamp.”

“Weekly? I hadn’t eaten for a week before we even got dumped in this hellhole!” Zane protests. “This is inhumane! ”

“Good thing you’re not human, then, isn’t it?” The sound of my cardboard box hitting the ground comes from behind me, followed by my cell door locking. “When you last fed ain’t my problem.”

I turn to grab the squished box, the scent of overcooked mystery meat wafting from within. Not even my overactive imagination can trick my mind into believing this is a juicy hamburger from Nesse’s.

After the guard’s footsteps fade away, Esme’s melodic voice drifts over from her cell. “Zane, love, do you think you can hang on for a few more days? I hate not being next to you. If I was, I could give you some of my blood through the bars.”

“I’ll be all right. Don’t worry about me,” Zane assures her, but strain tightens his voice. “I’m tougher than I appear. A little fasting won’t kill me.”

Esme sighs, unconvinced. “If you say so… You’d tell me if it was bad, right? I can’t stand the thought of you suffering.”

“Cross my heart,” Zane vows. “The hunger is only an annoying itch right now. Nothing I can’t handle.”

I poke at the unidentifiable lump in my box, my hunger diminished with worry for Zane.

All the delays in our trial put him in a tight spot.

I meet Owen’s gaze from across the cell block. His brows furrow as he takes in my dejected posture and the untouched box balanced on my knees. Concern rolls off him in waves as the wheels turn in his mind.

He taps his wrist and tilts his head toward Zane’s cell, then shifts his eyes toward the overhead lights.

I nod in agreement. Zane is one of us, even if he rejected Ambros as his leader. When he asked for our help, he became one of the pack, and we take care of our own.

The thud of the returning guards’ boots sounds in the corridor, and I shovel a few bites of the mystery mush into my mouth, chewing fast. It would annoy me with how little time they give us to eat, but lingering over the food only makes it worse so it’s best to gobble it quickly.

Gruff voices bark orders as they make their rounds, collecting the empty boxes. I’m still chewing when I toss mine through the bars, forcing the guard to pick it up, the same as he did to me.

The mild defiance earns me a glare, but what can he do? Spit in my food? It would probably improve the flavor.

“You think you’re funny, do you?” he asks.

With a shrug, I lean against the bars. “I’ll admit, the negative atmosphere is killing the vibe. ”

“Well, I think we can fix that.” With a jerk of his head toward his partner, the two guards march back out.

Before the door closes, a shout cracks through the air. “Lights out!”

The cell block plunges into darkness.

“I hope you’re happy now,” Elias grumbles.

“I’m not unhappy .”

A grating noise comes from behind me, and I hurry to my cot to help Esme remove the loose stone in our wall.

As soon as it clears, I reach through, and Esme’s hand meets mine halfway.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper as a thud comes from the opposite side of the cell block.

“But Zane needs blood.” Her hand trembles in mine. “He’s in pain right now and hiding it.”

“Focus on keeping you and the baby safe.” I squeeze her fingers. “We’ll take care of getting Zane blood.”

A relieved sigh drifts through the small opening. “Thank you, Rowe.”

With a final squeeze, I release her and teleport to Owen’s cell.

While I was comforting Esme, he had moved his cot to the wall bordering Zane’s cell .

Owen sits on the edge of the thin mattress, his skin luminescent in my altered vision.

He pulls his arm out of his shirt, then rests his back against the bars and threads his arm through them.

“Here, Zane.” He taps the bars on the other side to alert the vampire. “We can’t have you getting weak.”

A rustle comes from the darkness. “Thank you.”

“No horny bites,” Owen murmurs, voice strained. “I can handle the pain.”

“Can’t have Ros getting jealous,” I tease as I settle onto the bed beside Owen and rub his chest.

“It’s a good thing your kind heal fast,” Zane murmurs.

Owen flinches as the vampire latches onto his wrist, fangs piercing flesh with a soft pop.

As I tuck myself against Owen’s lean frame, his free arm comes around me, snuggling me close. “I’m worried about this bargain the Northern Trinity is offering.”

I pat him in reassurance. “I’m not taking it.”

“What if they apply pressure?” He catches my hand and brings it to his lips. “What if they threaten my life? I attacked Aven. ”

I still against him. “Do you think they’ll go that far?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Then they’ll regret their decision.” Owen winces as Zane feeds, and I pat his arm in sympathy, well aware of the pain of a bite without the benefit of the aphrodisiac. “What I don’t get is why a Rothaven is so damn important. Why can’t they break the old spells and cast new ones themselves? Mel’s moms managed it in Hartford Cove, after we sucked the magic dry fighting Elias.”

His fingers flex on my hip. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Mind whirling with possibilities, I hum noncommittally. “Maybe it’s like the Rothaven grimoire in Silver Hollow? The spells can only be taken down by a Rothaven?”

“Could be.” He shifts with discomfort, his voice strained. “They should have just asked for help.”

“They’re the strongest witches in the Northern territory. Asking for help makes them appear weak.”

“While strong-arming you makes them look powerful?” He leans his head against the bars. “This is so frustrating.”

I search his face in the darkness. “Are you regretting leaving Hartford Cove to come with me? ”

His head snaps up. “Never.”

From the opposite side of the cell block, rattling bars disrupt our conversation.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Elias calls out. “I don’t suppose one of you could spare a vein? I’m parched over here, too.”

I snort, but Owen beats me to the punch. “Nice try, asshole, but I could smell the blood on you the first day we arrived. You’ve gotten your fix for the week.”

“Oh, that?” Elias scoffs. “Barely even an appetizer. They keep me on rations, feeding me only enough to stop me from going feral. It’s torture, plain and simple.”

“You should have thought about the consequences before you became a mass murderer,” I snap, unable to stop myself, anger bubbling in my veins. “Guess they don’t cover the whole ‘actions have consequences’ thing in huntsmen orientation.”

Elias barks out a harsh laugh, the sound grating against my eardrums. “You have no idea what it’s like to be the leader of the huntsmen, or the choices I had to make. I only came to Hartford Cove to get my daughter back and claim the Sunlight Spell to save my people. Your people attacked mine first. We defended ourselves. ”

I rear upright. “Nice rewrite of history there, asshole. I seem to recall you shooting first and asking questions never.”

“Those bitches?” Elias sneers. “Do you have any idea what they planned to do with your mates? I did you a favor.”

My mouth opens, but Owen’s hand on my arm stops me short. “He’s just trying to mess with your head.”

I know he’s right, but it’s hard to ignore the anger that simmers in my gut every time Elias opens his mouth. After everything Elias has done, the lives he destroyed, the idea of him playing the victim…. I want to teleport over there and show him what real torture is.

I take a deep breath, letting Owen’s steady presence anchor me.

But Elias isn’t done. “This coven is no better than me. They’re going to kill that weak-willed witch you’re babying. Mark my words.”

A startled cry rings out from Esme’s cell, and Zane snarls, “I’ll kill you! If you so much as breathe in my mate’s direction, I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”

“Ignore him,” I say, repeating Owen’s advice from a moment ago. “He’s trying to divide us by turning us against each other. We can’t let him win.”

“Rowe’s right.” Owen pulls his arm back through the bars, the ugly bite wound on his wrist already healing. “We need to stay united. It’s the only way we’re going to get through this.”

I rest my head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat and drawing strength from his solid presence. “I don’t want to go back to my cell.”

His arms come around me. “Then don’t. I’ll wake you when I hear the guards returning.”

Nodding, I let my eyes drift closed, allowing the ethereal magic of the stones to pull me down, down into the fortress’s ancient foundations.

I find myself in a nursery, the glow of a flickering oil lamp illuminating the shadowy space.

A woman with long, red hair sits in a rocking chair, humming as she rocks a swaddled baby in her arms.

The tune triggers a memory of my grandmother singing the same melody when I visited her in the summers as a child, when the humid nights made it hard to drift off. I’d lay there, sweaty and restless, until her soothing voice and that gentle song lulled me to sleep.

With a start, I realize this must be the last Rothaven witch who resided here. Immense power swells within her, forming a deep bond to this place.

The baby fusses, and she shushes her, love radiating out like a beacon in the dimness. “Hush now, little one. The night is for dreaming.”

Her voice, thick and sweet like honey, pulls me into the vision, the sounds and smells and textures solidifying around me until it feels like I’m there, a silent observer to this intimate moment from ages past.

The baby quiets, and she carefully stands, cradling the tiny form against her chest. She moves with a gentle sway to the empty crib and lays the now sleeping infant down.

She fusses with her nightclothes, smoothing and straightening with attentive fingers. The love pouring off her steals my breath. It’s radiant, illuminating her face and suffusing the room with warmth.

I watch, captivated, as she lingers over the baby, unwilling to leave just yet. Her hand drifts over her small head, magic sparking at her fingertips as she smiles.

Did my mother look at me in the same way when I was a baby? So many years have passed since her death that I can barely remember her face or the sound of her voice.

“Dream of starlight and sage, my darling,” she whispers. “Of black cats and midnight dances. The secrets of the ethereal are in your blood.”

Her words tug at something in my chest, some deep-rooted knowing that I can’t quite grasp. Before I can examine it further, her head lifts, and for a moment, I think she looks at me.

But then I hear the discordant noise that shatters the peace of the nursery. Shouting and the unmistakable clang of steel-on-steel echoes from somewhere beyond the closed door.

The Rothaven witch goes still, a lioness scenting danger.

With a flick of her wrist, the oil lamp dims, shadows springing up to blanket every corner of the nursery. She strides to the door, and I turn to follow, an unseen spectator tethered to her steps.

Her hand hesitates on the latch when a shout of pain rends the air outside, raw and masculine. She glances back at the sleeping baby, torn between a mother’s instinct to protect and a witch’s need to find her eternal spark.

Indecision wars on her face for an instant before resolve hardens her features. Shoulders squaring, she yanks open the door, ready to face whatever nightmare awaits on the other side.

Chaos greets us in the corridor, an acrid stench mingling with the coppery tang of blood. Unnatural fire flares in sconces along the walls, casting an eerie purple glow over the scene.

A man stumbles into view, and my breath catches. It’s him, the witch’s eternal spark. I can see the thread that binds them together, glowing bright as a star as he nears. Crimson blood mats his dark hair, and a wild, hunted look fills his eyes as he races toward us.

“Rowena!” The name sounds like both a prayer and a warning on his lips.

Startled, I freeze in place. Can he see me?

Then he catches the witch’s arms, his grip fierce with desperation. “The fortress is breached. We have to get our daughter out, now!”

Fear clutches at my throat, but the Rothaven witch, Rowena, shows no hint of panic. Her chin lifts, and power crackles around her, strengthening the defenses of the Northern Fortress.

“Evander, you’re hurt.” Green light glows around her fingers as she touches his temple, knitting the wound with a whispered incantation. “ What happened? How did they get past the wards?”

“Betrayal.” Evander spits the word like venom. “That bastard Malachai was one of them all along. He sabotaged the protections from within.”

Rowena hisses out a curse. “I never trusted him. I should have?—”

A bone-chilling shriek reverberates through the stone walls, cutting off her self-recrimination, and the temperature plummets, hoarfrost forming on the floor beneath our feet.

“They’re inside the keep,” Evander says. “There’s no time. Take Nesse and…”