I absorb this information as more witches filter in.
“He’s building something,” Selene murmurs. “Something that requires both blood and power. The numbers don’t lie.”
Elias Thorne approaches, his usually immaculate suit slightly rumpled. “Marcus, Selene.” He nods to us both. “Half my clan is backing Lucien now. They believe his promises about a cure for the Bloodbane.”
“And the other half?” I ask.
“Waiting to see which way the wind blows tonight.” Elias straightens his tie. It doesn’t help much. He still looks flustered. “Though after what happened to Maxwell…”
He trails off as more witches enter, their magic prickling against my skin like static electricity.
I catch Morgan Shadowmaster’s distinctive aura before I see him. Dark and enigmatic as always, he moves with calculated grace down the theater steps. The memory of his testimony at the proceedings surrounding Soren’s trial still leaves a bitter taste – his carefully chosen words that seemed to support Lucien’s version of events. Tonight, his face betrays nothing, but there’s a new wariness in how he holds himself.
“Lady Moonshadow seems rather exposed tonight,” Selene observes quietly beside me as Astra hovers in the doorway, her expression carefully schooled. The weight of recent revelations about her son’s defection has left its mark – there’s a brittleness to her movements that wasn’t there before. Several younger witches trail in her wake, keeping close as if to shield her from scrutiny.
I nod. Talk of Heath’s involvement in the witch abductions has spread like wildfire through both communities. Even High Priestess Seraphina’s presence beside her sister doesn’t quite dispel the cloud of suspicion that follows Astra. The High Priestess herself is probably feeling the weight of that suspicion, considering that Heath is her nephew.
“Politics makes for strange bedfellows,” Elias murmurs, his eyes tracking Morgan as he takes a seat deliberately distant from the Moonshadow contingent. “Though I suspect tonight will reveal where true loyalties lie.”
The air grows heavier with each arrival, magic and tension building in equal measure. I keep my expression neutral, but my senses remain alert to every shift in the gathered power. One wrong move tonight could ignite a powder keg that’s been centuries in the making.
Interesting indeed.
There’s a rustle of sound, and I glance up at the entrance. The Blackwoods sweep in like a storm front, their combined presence making the air thick and electric. My attention snaps to Kara immediately – she’s wearing deep green tonight, her strawberry blonde hair loose around her shoulders. The sight of her hits me harder than I care to admit.
She doesn’t even glance my way as she takes her seat, head held high. Is she deliberately avoiding my gaze, or am I simply beneath her notice? The uncertainty grates at me more than it should.
Darick breaks away from the group, Soren at his side. They make their way to where I’m sitting.
“This could get messy,” Darick says under his breath as he settles beside me. “We need to present a united front, regardless of personal…entanglements.”
I know he’s right. Our positions are precarious now – vampires who’ve aligned ourselves with witches. The old guard won’t take kindly to that, regardless of necessity.
But I’m finding it hard to focus on strategy when Kara’s scent keeps drifting over to me. Sunshine on roses; my nostrils flare. She’s bent close to her sister now, whispering something that makes Rowan smile. The curve of her neck as she leans in—
“Marcus.” Darick’s sharp tone pulls me back. “Are you hearing me?”
Before I can respond, a hush falls over the gathering. Seraphina and Arabella have taken their places at the front, their combined power commanding immediate attention. The Grand Elder is tall and regal as she rises, while the High Priestess stands like a pillar of quiet strength beside her.
The real test begins now.
Seraphina’s voice rings clear through the amphitheater, carrying both power and sorrow. “We gather tonight because vows have been broken. Sacred trusts violated.” The HighPriestess pauses, letting the weight of her words sink in. “For too long, we have allowed mistrust to fester between our kinds. This division has made us vulnerable to those who would exploit us both.”
I watch Arabella carefully. The Grand Elder’s face remains a study in neutrality, but her fingers tap once against the arm of her chair – a tell I’ve learned to read over centuries. She’s gauging reactions, particularly among the older vampires.
Elias shifts in his seat, his usual scholarly detachment replaced by barely concealed agitation. Isabella maintains her perfect composure, but her eyes narrow slightly at Seraphina’s words. Even Alaric, typically absorbed in his devices, has set his phone aside to listen intently.
“The Bloodbane curse affects us all,” Seraphina continues. “It has driven desperate vampires to desperate acts. But kidnapping witches, forcing them into servitude – these are not solutions. They are crimes that cannot stand.”
Morgan Shadowmaster’s expression darkens at this, his fingers curling into fists. Meanwhile, Astra sits perfectly still, though the slight tremor in her clasped hands betrays her distress. The weight of Heath’s betrayal shows clearly in the shadows under her eyes.
I notice Kara lean forward slightly, her jaw set in that stubborn line I’m beginning to know too well. I can practically see the fury shimmering like a heatwave around her. Her mother places a steadying hand on her arm, but I can see the same anger burning in both their eyes.
The first accusations come from Zephyra Skydancer, her voice sharp and strident. “Two of my coven lie dead today. Murdered by Lucien’s followers during an unprovoked attack.” Her magic pulses with each word, making the air thick. “Clara and Jasmine were little more than girls. They died protecting the younger ones.”
I watch Isabella’s subtle flinch at the names. Interesting. Perhaps she knew them.
“And now, Evelyn Blackwood.” Astra’s voice carries, though she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. “One of our most respected elders, taken from her own home. Along with a familiar – the Blackwood’s faithful servant.”
