Authors: Juliette Cross
“I’ll punch you again, Jess, if you keep that up.”
“Fine.” She glanced out the glass wall into another blustery gray day. “Petrus said blood-drinking was used by witches.”
I followed her gaze. The thick cloud cover pressing down promised more snow. “He told me about some witches living up north when we visited. But they’re supposedly nature-loving and the like.”
“That may be so now, but according to Petrus, there were once dragon witches who used sacrificial blood, meaning blood taken from an unwilling human, to cast different spells. They used the life blood to enhance and sometimes twist the inherent gifts of their dragon.”
“He mentioned something like that, but he never said they practiced blood-drinking. Of course, I didn’t think to ask because that was before we deduced the victims were being harvested for blood.”
Jessen’s expression pinched with a pensive thought. “Kol said that there was even a witch in his own ancestry. She used the blood of innocents to twist their gift of dreamwalking. Empowered by blood, she could enter the mind of almost anyone and change their thoughts, their memories. She changed them to benefit her own power. She also used it to plague her enemies with chronic nightmares, driving them mad.”
I stood up, mouth agape. Crossing to the window, I watched a white-winged Morgon land on a nearby rooftop, graceful and lovely. “Okay. But you’re talking about ancient history. The dragons are all dead. What you’re implying is that there are Morgon witches using these kidnapped girls for their blood in the here and now. It must be this coven of the Syren Sisterhood following the old rituals.”
Jess nodded, her expression grave. “So you know about them.”
“Petrus already explained that they exist, but live far away from both human and Morgonkind, living sort of like cloistered priestesses up in the Wastelands of Aria. They never leave, and allegedly only use their craft for good, using animal blood for their rituals.”
“Until now,” added Jessen.
“Until now. But that’s a big
if
the Syren Sisterhood is involved. If they are truly a private sisterhood, living outside of society, what would be their benefit to aid a brutal band of raping, murdering Morgon men? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
We both stewed in silence. I contemplated the idea of blood being harvested for witchcraft. The idea of a coven living far to the northeast in the frozen wastelands connected to the Butchers defied any sort of logic.
“Did Kol mention his thoughts on this new revelation? What am I saying? Of course, he didn’t. The man’s mind is a steel trap. You won’t get anything unless he wants you to.”
“No.” She smiled. “But I did hear him tell Lucius he’s organized a party to go to the Sisterhood’s stronghold to see what can be discovered.”
“And the witches were always female?” I asked, pacing near the window.
“That I don’t know. Kol was in a hurry to meet with the Guard in Drakos, one of his prime objectives being to send some men on this mission to the coven in Aria. Lucius briefed me quickly, then headed out the door to meet with his security team.”
“Aunt Moira!”
I spun to find Julian barreling across the living room. He lifted himself with fluttering wings into my arms. My emotions in turmoil, it only took one tight hug from this kid to lift my heart back to where it belonged.
“Whoa!” I laughed. “Hey there, big guy.”
“I like having you live here. I see you so much more.”
Bright blue eyes sparkled. Jessen stood up, arching her back, making her mound more pronounced. “Come on, Julian. Let’s get you some lunch.”
“I’ll take him, Jess. Why don’t you get some rest.”
She considered for about two seconds. “Well, if you don’t mind, I would love that. A little nap would do me good.”
“Go ahead. Julian and I will hold down the fort.”
“Yeah, we’ve got it, Mom.”
I set him down and took him by the hand. “Let’s go see what Ruth has in the kitchen.”
We found Ruth in full swing, popping chicken pies into the oven for dinner. I started for the refrigerator, but she shooed us to the dining room table where she already had a sandwich and chips with cold milk waiting for her youngest charge.
“Wow. I wouldn’t mind having a Ruth at my place, you know.”
“Mom wouldn’t let you have Ruth,” he said.
I sat with him as he stuffed his face. I probably looked much the same way to Jessen minutes before. “I don’t think Ruth would want to leave with such a champion eater like you to wolf down everything she made.”
He swallowed the last bite and gulped his milk, leaving a cute white moustache on his upper lip.
“Let’s play a game, Aunt Moira.”
“Okay. What would you like to play? I’m not very good at Morgon chess like your dad.”
“Pfft. Let’s play a fun game. Hide-n-seek! Mom’s always too tired to play.”
“I imagine she is.” I laughed. “All right.”
“Yay!”
The poor kid had definitely been cooped up too long already.
“But we have to be super quiet. Your mom is taking a nap.”
“Okay, okay. You hide first.” He raced back into the living room and jumped on the sofa. “This is base. If you get here before I find you, you win.”
His wings flapped excitedly as he buried his head under a pillow and started counting. “One, two, three…
I slipped off my boots and socks and tip-toed toward the bedroom quarters. Stepping into Julian’s room, I glanced up at his ceiling, reflecting the snow-gray sky outside, no sun to be found. His closet was a walk-in, pretty easy for me to find a corner and wait.
Not three minutes later of sitting in the dark, I heard the patter of his feet and a giggle outside the closet door. With his heightened sense of smell, I would lose every round of this game. Totally unfair.
He threw open the door. “Gotcha!”
I laughed and tickled him till he fell on the ground in a fit of giggles.
“Stop! I can’t breathe.”
I finally let him up. “That’s the price for finding me too fast. It’s not fair you can use your sense of smell. I can’t do that.”
“You want me to hold my breath?” he asked with a sincere expression. So sensitive, this little one.
“Of course not, silly,” I laughed. “Your turn. I’ll give you one minute.”
I went back to the sofa and waited out the time. I started in his father’s study, thinking he might venture outside the bedroom quarters to trick me. Not under the desk or behind the sofa in the study. My eyes lingered on the red-tufted carpet, remembering the last time I was in here, my cheeks flaming hot.
I peeked into the dining room, but there were few places to hide there. I tip-toed down the long corridor, housing the master suite, Julian’s bedroom, and four guest rooms. The first bedroom was empty. So was the adjoining bathroom.
Walking down the hall, I felt a wafting breeze from the master suite. Surely, he wouldn’t take the chance in waking his mother. Her door stood ajar.
“Julian,” I whispered, slipping into their bedroom.
A small fire crackled in the hearth. Jessen lay sleeping on the bed on her back, one arm hanging off. Funny. She always used to sleep on her side. I supposed pregnancy changed lots of things.
A chill prickled up my spine. Something felt wrong. I tip-toed to Jessen, pressing my hand to her brow. Her forehead felt clammy.
“Jessen.” I gently shook her. She made a soft moan.
The white, gossamer curtains hanging over the terrace archway billowed with a cold wind. The steel doors were open.
“Aunt Moira.” Julian’s faint voice echoed from the outer balcony.
“Damn it, Julian.” He knew better than to open the doors, but a child didn’t understand the repercussions. He must’ve thought since his mother was sleeping, he could get away with it.
The guard should’ve closed the door and sent him back in. I pulled the Volt gun from the harness under my sweater, edging toward the curtain rolling with the gusting wind. Pulse pounding in my throat, I parted the curtains.
The guard lay crumpled on the tile floor, wings obviously broken in several places, a pool of his own blood seeping across the entrance. From the crimson pool, tiny bloody footprints led farther out onto the terrace.
“Julian!” I screamed, running out onto the balcony, Volt gun aimed and ready.
I’d never known true fear until I saw what awaited me against the far wall of the terrace. Barron Coalglass held my nephew before him, clutching his tiny throat with one hand, bending one wing with the other. As a child, his wings were still pliant, but not unbreakable. I was more concerned about his throat.
“Put the gun down, Moira.” Cold, commanding words. His arrogant sneer made my gut roil.
“Let him go, Barron.”
He laughed, his black eyes never leaving me. “Good to know you’ve put your investigating skills to good use. Now that we both know who one another is, let me explain something. I have nothing to lose whereas it seems…you do.”
He tightened his grip on Julian’s throat. My nephew whimpered, round eyes wide and full of fear, his small body seeming more fragile and vulnerable in the shadow of a killer.
“Julian,” I whispered. “It’ll be okay.”
“Well, now,” said Barron. “It might and it might not be. That all depends on you.”
“What do you want?” My hand trembled, my finger itching to pull the trigger.
“I thought that was quite obvious.” He grinned. “You.”
“The other guards will realize we’re missing shortly. You’re insane if you think you’ll get away.”
“I’m not as stupid as you think. Intel guarantees that the Nightwing men are gone from the premises and are quite preoccupied with their misguided attempts at capturing us. As for the other guards, well, they’re all dead. Your sister and the servants are currently taking a chemical-induced nap. You see, there’s no one to come to your rescue. You have no options.”
I glared at Barron, trying to hold the gun steady, my eyesight blurring with angry tears.
“Moira.” His tone lost its friendly note, dropping to threatening and deadly. “Put down the gun and come quietly, or I’ll crack his neck and toss him over the side. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll break his wings, toss him over, and let the fall do the rest. Then Gor and Balisk behind you there will slit your sister’s throat, after they have a little fun with her, and kill the servants. And still, we’ll take you kicking and screaming.”
I felt the two at my back, not daring to take my gaze from Barron. Malice gleamed from his eyes. He was right. I had no choice.
“If I come without a fight,” I choked out, “you’ll not harm my nephew or my sister or anyone else.”
“I promise.” He smiled.
“How can I trust you? You’re a bloody murderer.”
“True. I suppose you’ll have to take that chance.”
I’d never known hatred like I did at that moment, helpless to do anything but what he wanted. It shook me, along with the fear and anger vibrating through my frame.
I dropped the gun. My hands were pinioned behind my back at once by the two Morgons behind me. One of them roped my wrists together, leaning toward my neck and sniffing like the animal he was. “She’s been marked.”
“I see that,” said Barron. “Violently so. By a very dominant male. Seems we’re taking someone’s prize.”
I held my head high. “Yeah, and he’ll kick your ass if you hurt me.”
Disregarding my comment, he marched closer, guiding Julian by the wing. “It’s no matter, our master is more dominant than all of them put together. He’ll wipe that scent right off.”
I started to struggle. “Let Julian go, Barron.”
“Ah, yes. Our deal. Gor, break all of the comm devices in the home and lock him inside. The others will be out for hours. That’s all we need.”
A hand holding a chemical rag covered my mouth and nose. A cold sweat swept over me as the drug pulled me under, and arms wrapped me in a steel grip. The last thing I heard was Julian screaming my name.
I awoke to the damp smell of earth and a pain in my left foot. I jerked upright, chains jangling. My right ankle was cuffed and chained to a stone wall. I lay on a filthy mattress on a dirt floor. Dark droplets stained the cushion. Blood.
“Oh, God.”
I jumped up, knowing other victims had been here before me. I wobbled at a wave of nausea and dizziness. Whatever chemical they used to knock me out left a horrible headache in its wake.
At least I was still wearing my clothes. Remembering the photographs of the victims—naked and mutilated— a violent trembling shook my body. Whether from the aftershocks of the chemical or from bone-deep dread, I wasn’t sure.
I glanced down at my throbbing foot. A bandage wrapped between my toes. I squatted and peeled it off. Five stitches closed a thin wound.
“Shit.”
They’d found the techno-tracker. It was supposed to be advanced, secret technology of Nightwing Security. How’d they know I’d have an embedded tracker?
Barron had slipped by telling me his intel informed him of Lucius and Lorian’s whereabouts. Only an insider in the Guard or Nightwing Security would have that information. Of course, Barron probably didn’t count on me getting out of here alive, so it didn’t matter what he let slip.
A square table stood against the far wall near the arched entrance of the room. The arch was large to fit a Morgon-sized man through the door. A cross-hatched iron gate sealed the entrance. A small sconce in the wall cast a dim light. The walls were built of stone and earth, like tunnels underground. The overwhelming sensation of dense weight above convinced me of that.
I had no idea how long I’d been out or how long it had taken to travel here. If I did, I could’ve at least guessed how far away they’d taken me.
The table had a drawer on the side. I shuffled toward it, but it was out of reach. I jerked on the chain, scraping the thin skin of my ankle in the process. “Damn it!”
Now I knew why one ankle of each victim was so chaffed. Except Layla’s. Looking around, I’m not sure if she had it worse or better than the others. At least her terror and suffering was over quickly.
I yanked on the chain links tethered to the wall. Didn’t budge. I banged the lock of the steel cuff against the stone, only managing to make my bare ankle bleed.