25. Elias #2
Andrei’s knife taps once against the table, sharp enough to echo. “Very convenient.”
Silence descends for a few minutes until Dracula leans forward at last, his stare still sharp but in a logical way rather than threatening like the others.
“If you’re done being complicit survivors and ready to be useful, prove it.
All the names you know. All locations. All the logistics in your little brains. ”
There is still suspicion threaded through every word and it grates, sharp under my skin. We’ve already bled to escape that monster, nearly dying, and still it isn’t enough to believe us.
But if I were sitting on their side of the table, staring down the people who let their daughter be held captive for a month? I wouldn’t believe a word of it either.
“I know the main goal is to get your wife home,” Dante responds, somehow steady and void of any of the rage that I’m fighting with. His chest rises with a slow inhale before he breathes out, “But I can do better than that if you have contacts within the human government.”
My eyes widen a fraction, surprised that he can even think of a larger scheme at a time like this. I shouldn’t be surprised, given his earlier display of logic under high-pressure situations when he came up with our plan to escape the compound on the spot.
He pauses, but no one answers so he presses on, his gaze unwavering as he glances between the three vampires. “Which I’m sure you do, given the treaty and the ban on hunters, making my father’s entire operation illegal.”
He glances at me, then Callum, before pinning his eyes back on Dracula. “We can make sure my father’s compound and his whole network is dismantled for good. If I can talk to your contacts, I’ll tell them everything they need to make sure this never happens to any magical creature again.”
Another breath fills his chest, dragged out this time as his shoulders rise with it. They sag when he lets it out. “Let’s hit them from all angles. Give them no chance to recover the network and replace the head of it once my father is dead.”
I blink at him repeatedly, truly impressed by that brain of his. It’s an incredible plan, taking into account everyone who could help us end this for good. The extent of my own plan was to go in there and put some bullets in Terrance’s head.
Andrei’s knife stops its idle tapping as his head tilts in consideration. “Now that’s a tactical plan I can get behind.”
“You’ll speak to our contacts,” Dracula says finally, voice clipped. “But if they take too long to form a unit to assist us, we will be going in after our wife without them.”
His eyes settle on me and I can’t help the smirk that lifts the corner of my mouth. I can practically feel the challenge in his stare and his words. Will you risk yourself even without that back up?
“I’ll be ready whenever you are, sir.”
He inclines his head in the briefest nod I’ve ever seen, and maybe I’m delusional, but it feels like a small thread of respect and understanding has forged between us.
Lincoln slides a stack of paper across the table, a pen dropping beside it with a sharp click. “In the meantime, you will all contribute to one master list of information on this hunter network.”
Andrei leans in, his gaze fixed on Dante. “I want every level of the building laid out. How many guards, where they’re posted, shift rotations. Don’t leave out the surrounding perimeter security and the area the compound is located. I want zero surprises.”
The weight of their demands hangs heavily in the air, but for the first time since stepping into this castle, I feel the fire in my chest settle into something useful.
The thought of my uncle, of his empire rotting from the inside out, is enough to curl my lips up.
Dante drags the paper toward himself and begins to write.
Callum and I add in the thoughts we have as we start with the surrounding location, before focusing on the building itself.
I’m blown away by the knowledge Dante has of the network outside of the compound, and the level of detail in which he can recall it all.
Terrance has contacts within the government itself and multiple facilities throughout the country, which is news to me.
Callum and I lock eyes and nod. There’s no more doubt in our minds that our uncle absolutely had the influence to keep us trapped at his side forever, blocking our college acceptance and who knows what else.
The vampires ask questions for clarification as we go, and there’s no backtalk or wasted words from us. Just ink and vengeance bleeding out onto the page.
T he butler’s steps echo sharply down the corridor as he leads us toward the rooms we’ve been given by Dracula.
The wing reeks of old money with dark chandeliers dripping crystal and velvet curtains heavy enough to block out the moon’s glow.
Stone walls and floors keep the air cold, and I have to wonder if they even feel the temperature the way we do.
“You will not leave your rooms,” he says, voice flat and final, like he’s said it a hundred times before. He gestures at the three ornate wooden doors at the end of a hall. “Food will be brought for you.”
Despite having three rooms, we silently file into one, like the thought of being separated is suddenly foreign after what we’ve been through. Callum drops straight onto the four-poster bed, his weight hitting the mattress like the fight’s finally drained out of him.
Dante claims the nook next to the window after drawing the curtains back to reveal the courtyard below. “We gave them enough to make a difference,” he mutters, steady in a way I almost envy. “Even if they don’t want to hear us out anymore. We helped set vengeance in motion.”
I think his words are meant to give us reassurance, but it implodes any semblance of satisfaction I felt leaving that meeting.
That outcome hadn’t even crossed my mind until Dante uttered it.
He’s right…we gave them everything we possibly could, and worry claws up my throat now at the thought of being iced out of any future plans.
I naively thought once we proved our value to them with our information, that there was no way they’d lock us away and stop us from being involved in their plan to attack.
Suddenly my skin feels too tight and itchy as restlessness climbs higher with every breath I draw.
What the fuck can I do now?
Terrance is still breathing.
Their queen is still caged.
And Briar is somewhere in this damn castle, breaking apart, and I’m standing here, useless.
“I’m going to my room to shower,” I mutter, quickly stalking out of the room.
Neither of them look twice before the door shuts behind me with a hollow thud.
I push open the closest door to one of the rooms provided for us and don’t even stop to take it in.
My feet echo against the stone floor as I rush into the bathroom, pleased to see it has a functioning set-up similar to our world, and quickly turn the knobs to let the shower spill with hot water.
After stripping off the clothes that hold the grime of too many memories, I make quick work of scrubbing off any remnants in my hair and on my skin. My hand pauses in the middle of my chest, where I felt the bullet rip through me.
Not even a scar remains, Briar’s blood healing me so thoroughly that no one would ever believe what happened if I told them. I wait for the hot water to chase away my restlessness and allow my exhaustion to overcome it, but it never does.
My thoughts turn to Briar and I let out a growl before slapping my hand against the tiled wall.
“She isn’t yours to worry about,” I whisper as I take a deep, shuddering breath.
Yet why can’t my mind or body accept that?
Every part of me rebels at the thought, and before I can think better of it, I’m out of the shower and drying off.
I dig through the wardrobe that has various clothes for both men and women until I find a pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt that are my size, thankful that I don’t have to ask the vampires for anything.
They’ve already done enough in housing us here, away from Terrance.
As soon as I’m dressed, I pull my door open, needing to pace a distance that extends far past my four walls. I’ll drive myself insane here.
I wait a beat to see if anyone will appear, but nothing happens.
Feeling emboldened by that, I turn down the corridor, my boots striking the stone heavily with each step.
Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?
I continue to scan as I wander the wing, waiting for the inevitable shape of a vampire guard or staff member to step out of the dark, but no one does.
My brow pinches at the lack of security on us.
The situation rolls through my mind, and I’d bet my life that those three vampires would never leave three hunters unchained in their home if they had their heads screwed on straight. Yet here I am, walking their halls, and not a single set of eyes is on me.
Realization settles into me. They’re not careless…
they’re rattled to the depths of their beings.
Their wife is in enemy hands and their daughter was dragged back to them broken.
All the discipline that should steady their decisions has slipped under the weight of it all.
They’re not thinking with the same clarity they should be because they’re swarmed with a panic they refused to show us in that room.
For a heartbeat I feel an echo of that helplessness of knowing someone is out there suffering while you can do nothing. The sensation catches me off guard as I think of Briar, enough that my steps falter.
My head shakes in an attempt to clear the memories and I force my feet to keep moving.
If I stop keeping myself busy, I’ll see the way she looked when she realized her mother wasn’t coming through the portal.
It’s the same broken expression I saw on Callum’s face when he realized our mother was truly dead.
A muffled scream tears down the corridor, loud enough to make my entire body go on alert. A second later comes a crash of something shattering before silence follows.
I know that sound. Rage under the weight of immense grief, seeping through the cracks.
The echo of another scream drags me down the corridor, each crash of an object sharper than the last until I stand in front of the room the sounds comes from.
The faintest trace of lavender clings to the air here and it reminds me of the way Briar smelled that night she pushed between Callum and me on campus.
It’s her behind this door, fracturing alongside the broken objects.
I lift my palms to brace against the frame of the door, my forehead lowering until it rests against the wood.
If she opened this door and saw me standing here, I’d likely be the last person she’d want in her space, seeing her break down.
I’m not built for soft words. I’ve never been able to stitch comfort into anything I say.
Yet the sound of her channeling her grief into fury is one I’m well acquainted with. I know that sound because I’ve lived it, because it’s the only thing that’s ever kept my lungs working when the weight of my parents’ deaths tried to drown me.
The truth I don’t want to admit out loud crawls through me anyway: I want to be there for her. Not because I can fix this for her and not because I think I have the words to soothe her–but because if she needs a person to snarl at and direct her anger at, I know I can be that for her.
The thought shocks me, accompanied by a small trace of yearning that curls tightly in my chest where I shouldn’t have room for it.
I don’t know when I started wanting anything except breaking free of Terrance and getting vengeance, but the desire to be next to her is here all the same, and it’s louder than my better judgment telling me to walk away.
Another crash sounds alongside a broken sob.
I breathe out as my fingers curl slowly around the doorknob.
I shove the door open, braced for whatever storm waits for me on the other side.
Maybe I can’t give her peace, but I can give her an outlet that keeps her from breaking alone.