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Chapter 12
Something wasn’t right. I felt it even before my eyes had opened to the morning light streaming in through the window over my pullout bed. I was aware of the wrongness before even becoming fully conscious.
Mrak’s presence wasn’t with me. After last night, after finally being able to feel him as I had, to have him with me, inside me, the emptiness of his lack of presence was visceral.
I bolted upright in bed, batting away fatigue as it threatened to pull me back under. “Mrak?”
No response came, but a louder-than-normal string of birdsong filtered through the open door to the front of my shop. I was pretty sure I hadn’t left that apartment door open last night, but Mrak had carried me to bed from out there and now, now—I scrubbed my cheeks with my palms to push away the last waves of sleepy fog.
I swung my legs over the side of the pullout bed and stood. “Mrak, are you here?”
Still nothing. For a single fleeting moment, I thought maybe Mrak had left me again, but now that all truths were out there, now that I’d promised to help him return home to Kithonia as long as he’d bring me, I was sure he’d never leave my side.
Paranoia swept through me alongside worry. I pulled on a shirt and leggings before cautiously making my way to the door that separated my studio apartment from my workshop. Only then did it become clear where the abnormally loud birdsong had come from.
The front door to Dark Iron was wide open and a charm had been hung from the bell inside it. A charm with Mrak’s symbol crossed out.
My breath caught in my throat. No wonder Mrak’s presence was gone. Someone had placed a ward against him with enough magic to reach my studio apartment in back.
I moved quick, lunging for the closest sword hanging on a wall, but just as my fingers closed around the hilt, rough hands yanked me backward.
I sailed, falling into a nearby table. The contact sent pain splintering through my back and hips. Fire built in my palm on instinct—I wasn’t much for sword fighting anyway—and I glared up at my attackers.
Four women, all vampires with shiny white fangs bared, dressed in thick, black trench coats to block out the sun outside. They’d be fine in here in the shop if they avoided the windows and open door, but by the surprised looks on their faces, they hadn’t expected me to come out front yet.
Four vampires. One a witch. This was sure to end well without Mrak’s presence.
I cut one quick glance toward the charm hanging from the doorbell and threw my sphere of fire toward it. If I could melt the charm and knock it down, Mrak could join me in this fight. I wouldn’t be alone.
But at the same time I shot fire toward their charm, three of the vampires lunged for me. The other one shot her own magic—a strong gust of wind—toward my fireball to stop it, knocking it off course and into a wall with blade schematics on it. The papers immediately went up in flames.
I had all of two seconds to mourn their loss before the other three vampires grabbed me, hauling me up off the table and into the air. The tallest of the all-female group reeled back and slammed a fist into my gut that sent breath from my lungs. I sputtered before she swung again. I managed to jerk to the side enough that her fist missed, but there was nowhere I could go and nothing I could do to fight three supernaturally strong vampires. That I knew all too well.
So when her fist came back around and nearly broke my jaw, all I could do was hang my head, defeated. I wanted to spit blood from my bit tongue in her face—one small act of defiance—but knew she’d just lap it up and enjoy it.
Vampires were disgusting and very much all the same: bloodlust-driven, power-hungry creatures.
“Your protector can’t save you now, Aisling,” she cooed. She had long, blonde hair that’d been tinted at the ends in crimson hair dye. It was tacky-looking, but she was terrifying, and when she drew a blade to press against my neck, it didn’t matter how tacky she looked because every single memory of Lazarus’s feeding community careened into me.
“L-Let go,” I demanded weakly.
She was starting to look familiar by the second. They all did. But it wasn’t until she dipped a fingertip into the blood dripping down from my mouth that a name swam to the surface: Val.
“I’ve always wondered what made you humans so special to Lazarus that he’d collect favorites,” Val purred. “You were so very much among that group.” She slipped her finger coated in my blood into her mouth and made a show of sucking the blood away.
My stomach churned. At the mention of Lazarus’s name, my body had reacted, despite me having zero chance of escaping. I jerked, trying to tug my arms free from the vampires’ hold.
Val touched a hand to my cheek and pressed her blade closer to my skin at the same time. “Shh, calm down. There’s no need to worry.” Her hand closed around the side of my neck. “No one needs to get hurt here today. That’s more mercy than you showed Hunter.”
This time, Ididspit blood in her face. “If you’re going to harass me and then feed from me, just fucking kill me. I’m done with your games.”
Val wiped the blood off, an annoyed look tightening her expression, but she just swiped the blade across the skin of my collarbone. A bright-hot burn seared where the blade cut, followed by pain as the wound began to bleed. “I can do this all day, Aisling. I’d be happy to drag this out. I don’t think you deserve mercy after what you did. Do you?”
She leaned her head toward the wound. I jerked again, trying to draw away, but the other two vampires with Val held me tightly. I couldn’t remember their names, but they’d been Lazarus’s personal enforcers. How had so many vampires survived that burning? Hunter, Val. These women. Maybe the fire hadn’t burned as hot as I’d thought—or Mrak hadn’t been as thorough.
Mrak.My heart cracked open. I needed him right now. I had to get out of here alive. But he couldn’t reach me, not like this with that charm warding Dark Iron.
My palms itched, embers growing there again. I didn’t need Mrak. Not just yet.
