I see Abaddon’s face coloring with rage—jaw clenching, muscles bunching.
Time for the tactician to make an appearance before this devolves into violence we can’t afford.
I lift smoothly from my seat, stepping between Vlad and Abaddon. I make sure to stoop slightly so that Vlad retains the advantage of height—deliberate submission, feeding his ego.
“As Layden says, we have some experience with spirits from other realms.” I keep my voice respectful, measured. “You’ll forgive our reticence to expose any weaknesses we may have to one as strong as you. We’ve never met any beings of such might.”
I bow my head slightly and hear Vlad huff—pleased by the flattery, as expected.
It’s an old tactic. One I’ve used on warlords and emperors for millennia. Bullies who are scared love to be mollified by praise, reassured they’re the biggest and baddest in the room, regardless of the truth of it. Reason is of little use with them. Only flattery and manipulation.
“But I promise we are allies you may rely on.”
“I rely on no one but myself,” Vlad sneers—but the heat has gone out of his voice. The immediate danger has passed.
“Whenever your wise granddaughter finds this spirit to target,” I continue smoothly, “will it not be better to send us out as soldiers to face the threat first—at least before endangering your own far superior family members?”
I glance up carefully through my lashes, gauging his reaction.
The idea of using us as cannon fodder clearly appeals to him. I can see it in the way his eyes light up, calculating.
He huffs out his displeasure—keeping up appearances—but steps back. Then glares at where Phoenix and Layden are standing together near his golden throne.
“If you don’t have something more concrete for me by the end of the day, I will expel every last one of them from the compound.” He looks pointedly at Sabra. “Including the witch.”
Then Vlad looks Phoenix’s way, lifting his eyebrows significantly. “Now. Your uncles and I will do our part to siphon you strength for any coming conflict.”
Phoenix sighs and looks toward the floor—resignation, defeat. “Moderate feeding should be enough.”
I have to work to keep my eyebrows from lifting in surprise. So she is not a vampire but still gets power from them when they feed? How exactly does that work? Symbiotic relationship? Magical bond?
Is “granddaughter” as loose a term as “son” is with these vampires? How exactly are they all related to one another?
Layden mentioned there was a god here. Did he mean Phoenix?
As soon as we can get our hands on him alone, Layden has some serious explaining to do.
Vlad glares at Phoenix. “Now is not the time for moderation,” he snaps. “And a better leader would know that.”
As he turns and begins to walk toward the door, his “sons” immediately move in perfect formation to flank his sides and back—military precision, centuries of practice.
“Yes, Grandpapa,” Phoenix says to his retreating figure, her posture deflating the second he turns the corner out of sight. All the strength draining out of her.
“Fuck,” she says quietly, looking between Layden and Sabra with exhaustion and defeat. “What are we going to do?”
Layden looks worried—genuinely concerned for her.
But Sabra just rubs her hands together with dark anticipation. “Blood magic, baby.”
Phoenix winces but looks resigned. Accepting the necessary evil.
“I’m going to check on my wife,” Abaddon says, finally standing. The tension in his shoulders makes it clear he’s barely restraining himself from violence. “Keep me informed.” He looks around, mouth curling in disgust. “The sooner we’re gone from this place, the better.”
I keep my peace, torn between competing priorities.
Part of me wants to stay and find out what will be involved in this “blood magic” the witch speaks of. Information is always valuable, and understanding the full scope of our allies’ capabilities could prove crucial.
But I also need to get back to Lauren to ensure she’s unharmed in this dangerous vampire’s nest. Left alone in enemy territory with only Kharon as protection.
