“Really.” I meet his eyes. “Have you forgotten about the others? The ones who never made it out of Lucien’s hellholes?” I glance at Mia, who is living proof that those places exist.
“The joint council meeting will be dangerous,” Dad continues after a moment. “There are factions on both sides who’d rather see this erupt into open war. We’ll need to tread carefully.”
I notice how Marcus and Darick exchange glances at that. There’s clearly more going on in vampire politics than they’re sharing with us. And maybe that should surprise me, but it doesn’t. It’s just as I thought. These creatures can’t be trusted.
Rowan’s hand on my arm is gentle but insistent as she pulls me away from the others. We drift toward the kitchen while everyone else clusters around Dad and Soren, deep in discussion about the upcoming council meeting.
“So,” she says, leaning against the counter. “Want to talk about what happened with Marcus?”
“Nothing happened.” The denial comes too quickly, and I know it from the way her eyebrow arches.
“Really? Because that whole scene looked pretty intense.” She fidgets with her glasses. “Look, I get it. The whole vampire-witch thing? I’ve been there. Still am there, with Darick.”
I cross my arms. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” Her green eyes meet mine. “I used to think so, too. Used to tell myself all the reasons why it could never work, why I shouldn’t feel anything for him. But sometimes…sometimes the heart doesn’t care about should or shouldn’t.”
“It’s not like that,” I insist, but the memory of Marcus’s touch, the way our magic sparked together, makes me falter. “He just…there’s something about him that gets under my skin.”
“Yeah, that sounds familiar.” Rowan’s smile is knowing. “Maybe you’re fighting it so hard because you know there’s something there worth fighting.”
“If Poppy was here, she’d back me up,” I say, trying to lighten the moment. “She’d be the first to tell me how crazy this is.”
The mention of her familiar brings a shadow across Rowan’s face. We both fall silent, the weight of everything we’ve lost pressing down on us. Gran. Poppy. It feels like our world is being picked apart, piece by piece.
“I miss her,” Rowan whispers. “Even her sarcastic little comments. Especially those.”
I squeeze her hand. “We’ll get them both back. I promise.”
As I say it, I hope it’s true. Because after what I went through tonight, I know more than ever that we’re up against something powerful. Something dangerous. And as strong as we are, I don’t know if we’re cut out for this. Of all the things the Blackwoods have faced, I don’t think we’ve ever faced this. I don’t think we’ve faced pure evil.
And there’s no doubt in my mind that that’s what Lucien Marlowe is.
6
Chapter 6
Marcus
I’mprettysurethisis going to get interesting, but I haven’t figured out what direction it will take yet.
I arrived early so I could get a seat with my back to the wall – old habits die hard. Or, as in cases like mine, they don’t die at all. Now, I’m watching as others stream in. Vampires and witches eyeing each other with open suspicion. Some with naked hate.
It’s definitely going to get interesting.
The air reeks of sage and sandalwood – the witches’ attempt to cleanse the space. Under that, I catch traces of old blood and death. No amount of incense can mask centuries of violence from vampire senses.
After some deliberation, it was decided to hold the meeting in a disused open-air theater – a combination of the outdoor space that the witches favor, along with the enclosure that we vampiresfeel more comfortable with. I’m grateful for the towering wall of the stage behind me, while the moonlight lends everything a silver glow.
As I wait, I track each arrival, cataloging potential threats and allies. Isabella Montague glides in, her designer heels clicking against the stone steps. She catches my eye, gives a slight nod. Her financial ties to Lucien are well-documented, but there’s something in her demeanor tonight that suggests uncertainty.
Alaric Stone follows shortly after, tablet in hand as always. His tech empire has flourished under Lucien’s patronage. Still, I’ve known Alaric for centuries – the tension in his shoulders tells me he’s questioning his allegiances. Or maybe he’s not. It’s hard to tell with creatures who’ve had centuries to hone the art of deception.
“Brother.” Selene materializes beside me, elegant as ever in midnight blue. “I’ve found something interesting in Lucien’s accounts.”
“Tell me.”
She leans down a little closer. “Large transfers to offshore accounts, all linked to properties near ley lines. But here’s the curious part – the timing coincides perfectly with witch disappearances over the last year.”
