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“Whatever you need, you will have it.”
An almost feline smile touched Kyros’s lips. “I will need two souls, strong souls. Witches, perhaps?” He looked back to Max, and continued, “It would be kind of you to volunteer, my lord.”
Maximilian ignored the last part, and motioned to one of the trackers lining the opposite wall.
“Two civilians,” he instructed, and the tracker vanished. Within seconds, he returned with two younger witches. He pushed them forward and retook his position by the wall.
“Please, my lord, we have done nothing—” one of the witches began. Maximilian held up a hand, smiling reassuringly.
***
Kyros watched as the two witches slowly relaxed before they approached him in a trance-like manner. It was obvious Cronin was controlling them. Hunger, his friend and confidant, reared its head as the first witch reached him, and he caught his shirt collar, pulling the boy close. He opened his mouth and inhaled deeply, welcoming the white mist that left the boy’s mouth and entered his own body, strengthening him. Feeling the boy’s strength ebb, his body grow cold, Kyros forced himself to stop. When he released him, the boy fell to the ground unconscious but alive. He did the same to the other, taking as much of his soul as possible without killing him, before turning to the warlock on the bed. He wasn’t a full-blood but the part of him that was still alive, the heart still beating, was definitely that of a warlock.
Placing a warm hand over Max’s cold chest, Kyros recited a quick spell in his native Greek before holding out his free hand. A sharp knife appeared, and the trackers rushed forward, halting only when the grand wizard barked orders for them to keep away.
Lifting the knife to the skin of his wrist, he made a quick, deep slice. Blood poured immediately, and he pressed his flesh to the other’s lips. A light breath escaped as pale blue lips opened, and before long, Max was pulling strongly at his vein. When Kyros would have removed his arm, the man’s hand ensnared his, holding it securely against his lips. He tugged, but it was futile. The grip was strong, and in such a position, Kyros was defenseless. Unless he wanted to seriously injure them both, he would have to get him to release him of his own will.
“That is enough, brother,” he said slowly, reverting to his native language. The man’s lids lifted, and silver-blue gazes clashed, before Kyros felt the grip loosen.
He licked the cut, watching as the skin closed beneath the deep red of his blood. The healing agent in their saliva was one helpful trait from vampire ancestors.
“Is he restored?” Maximilian asked from behind him.
Kyros resisted the urge to snarl, and shook his head. “Not yet.”
A howl of pain erupted from the man on the bed and he bared his teeth. The tendons in his neck stuck out, and Maximilian rushed forward, pushing Kyros out of the way.
“What’s happening?”
Seeing the concern on the Grand Wizard’s face, Kryos smiled and said heartlessly, “His body is dying.”
A full-blooded warlock could survive a blood transfusion from another, due to their relation to vampires, but a mixed breed, a hybrid, had about as much chance of living after ingesting the blood as he had of dying.
“Take him back to his cell!” Maximilian roared, watching as Max gasped for air. His son’s hands came up and scratched at his throat. Minutes passed before he fell backward, his body going lax before a pale blue tinge began creeping over his skin. “If he dies, so will you.”
Kyros laughed. Death would be a blessing compared to chains.
“And if he lives, I will go free?” he taunted back at the grand wizard. He hadn’t believed him for one second. Cronin was a consummate liar. If the mixed-breed boy died, he hoped Cronin went through with his promise to kill him. If he didn’t, Kyros vowed he would kill himself, but not before he killed the grand wizard who’d enslaved him.
***
Vivienne blinked once, twice, her eyes finally fixing on the dark ceiling above. There was a slight throb at the base of her skull but even as she felt it, it faded. She shifted slightly, finding her movements obstructed by the thick duvet covering her. Where am I?
Recognition dawned as she looked around, finding the objects and furniture that marked Conall’s bedroom. How had she gotten here? She remembered Samia, and Sloan…and darkness.
She heard a sound to her right and turned her head. A huge, black wolf was pacing back and forth, his head bent, his concentration obvious. Pushing onto her elbows, she blinked and peered closer. Conall.
Vivienne had just opened her mouth to speak when he stealthily paced over to the door. He eyed it, growled, and turned, intent on pacing back to her side.
