Three witches step forward, sharing their accounts. Fae Lightdancer’s voice shakes as she describes finding her grandmother’s garden in flames. Cayden Ross shows the scars on his arms from fighting off vampires who tried to take his daughter.
The vampires counter with their own witnesses. A tall woman with golden hair details how her clan was ambushed by witch assassins. “They struck without provocation—”
“That’s a lie!” The words burst from me before I can stop them. Mom shoots me a warning look.
Darick rises, his movements lacking their usual fluid grace – so strange to see him mortal now. “We have proof of Lucien’s ongoing involvement in several schemes to garner increasing amounts of influence within our community. We believe he has political aspirations.”
Arabella’s eyes narrow, and Lucien spins to face Darick. “That’s a baseless accusation, Drake. And coming from you, it means nothing.” His lip curls as he shoots a look toward our family. “You’re little more than a traitor to your kind.”
Several vampires hiss, others whisper behind their hands.
“On the contrary. The fact I have no clan allegiance means I have nothing to gain from this, Marlowe.” He turns to Arabella. “The reports I told you of were not exaggerated, my Lady. LucienMarlowe is angling for power. And we have proof to support these claims.” Elias backs him up with detailed reports, but I can see the council’s skepticism.
“You base your accusations on a paper trail?” Lucien snorts. “It means nothing. Forgeries. Easily made to look like something it’s not.”
Arabella sits motionless, her smooth face unreadable. The strength radiating from her makes my skin prickle. Yet still, she hesitates.
What the hell is wrong with her??
Morgan Shadowmaster glides forward, his dark coat seeming to absorb the light. “Perhaps,” he says smoothly, “we should consider that both sides speak the truth.” His words carry weight, but his eyes reveal nothing of where his loyalties lie.
Is he for real?
My temper is rising as it becomes clearer that the vampires are going to stall us yet again. Sheer frustration starts to build. The air grows thick with energy – mine, the other witches’, the vampires’. One wrong word could set this place alight. I focus on breathing, on containing the storm building inside me. But when Lucien catches my eye and winks, my composure shatters.
My magic explodes outward in a burst of pure fury. Glasses shatter. Papers fly. A few vampires stumble back, hissing.
“Control yourself!” High Priestess Seraphina’s voice cracks like a whip. “One more outburst and you’ll be removed from these proceedings.”
I force myself to take deep breaths, channeling the rage to where I can contain it. Mom squeezes my hand – both a warning and a comfort.
The council drones on, debating jurisdiction and precedent. I make myself focus on the actual information being shared. Several covens have reported similar attacks – always at night,always precisely targeted. The vampires counter with their own grievances, though theirs seem suspiciously vague.
My eyes keep drifting to Marcus. He sits there like a statue, face impassive as Lucien spews obvious lies. Where’s the fierce protectiveness from earlier? The warrior who rushed to save me? Now he won’t even speak up?
Was I wrong about him?
“The Blackwoods have long been a disruptive influence,” Lucien says smoothly. “Their…unfortunate tendency toward blood magic is well documented.”
“You, of all people, should know about that, Marlowe,” Soren interjects. “You tried to tap into Mia’s power.”
“Nonsense.” Lucien is dismissive. “The woman attacked me. You saw what she was capable of at your execution. She disrupted a sacred rite and killed many of our guards. And as for Victor…” He trails off, an expression of sorrow crossing his face. “He was a good friend. A noble elder.”
Try as I might, I can’t find it in myself to feel sympathy for him.
“I’m not talking about the Sun Trail.” Soren’s face darkens. “You lured her to that church and—”
“The ramblings of a madwoman and the poor fool she bewitched,” he scoffs, looking around at the others. They’re not looking as doubtful as I’d hoped they would be.
Why are they buying into this shit?
Through it all, I expect Marcus to object, to defend us. He doesn’t even flinch.
The tension in the room builds as more accusations fly. My magic responds, barely manageable, and I take in deep breaths, fighting for control. I force myself to pay attention.
I notice the subtle shifts as various council members react – who nods at whose statements, who exchanges knowing looks. The alliances aren’t what I expected. Morgan Shadowmasterseems to defer to Lucien more than his own High Priestess. And is that fear I see in Elder Runeweaver’s eyes when Lucien glances his way?
Marcus maintains his composure through it all, even when Lucien implies our family had something to do with the recent vampire deaths. Not a flicker of emotion crosses his face.
