Chapter 3 – REGINA #2
"Through what means?" Dominic asks, though his knowing smile suggests he's already guessed.
"Proximity is usually sufficient for minor workings." I'm dancing around the topic, and they know it.
Esme laughs, the sound like breaking crystal. "She means sex magic, darlings. Isn't that right, little witch? The most direct transfer of life energy."
The room feels suddenly warmer, the air thicker.
Vampire glamour—their version of it anyway—pressing against my senses.
They're trying to seduce me, literally. The magical equivalent of roofying someone's drink.
It's probably a test, to see how easily I'll fold.
Or what I'll put up with. Fortunately, I've developed a tolerance.
"That's one traditional method," I acknowledge stiffly, pushing back against their influence. "But not the only one."
"But certainly the most pleasurable." Valerian is beside me now, though I didn't see him move. His cold hand rests on my shoulder. "We could offer you experiences beyond mortal imagination, Regina. Centuries of refined technique."
Great. I've stumbled into a vampire orgy recruitment session. This feels way too much like that time I went on a date and the guy tried to get me to join his insurance MLM.
"I'm here for a professional arrangement," I say firmly. "Not to become anyone's pet."
Of course, I'll need to siphon that way eventually. It's the most practical option, but I've always preferred to have a bond first. And I don't know if their interest will change when they find out what's beneath the glamour.
Who the fuck am I kidding?
Of course it will.
"Professional." Dominic chuckles. "Such human concepts. We offer you power, protection, and pleasure beyond your wildest dreams. In return, you provide magical service and..." he gestures vaguely, "sustenance."
And there it is. They want a blood bag who can cast spells. And one they can fuck.
"Sustenance," I repeat flatly. "You mean blood."
"A mutually beneficial exchange," Valerian echoes my earlier words mockingly. "Your magic requires energy. Our existence requires blood. A perfect symbiosis."
"I didn't agree to become a food source."
The thought makes my stomach roil, conjuring unwanted memories of my encounter with a bloodthirsty monster of a very different persuasion.
"The flyer specified 'complete integration with the Court,'" Esme points out. "What did you think that meant, darling?"
I should have known better. Desperation makes fools of us all.
"I think we've misunderstood each other," I say, standing. "I should go."
Valerian moves faster than my eyes can track, suddenly blocking my path. "Perhaps you're being hasty. Consider what we offer—immortal protection against your former coven. No witch, no matter how powerful, can stand against us."
It's tempting, especially with Kyle's deadline ticking away. But I'd be trading one form of exploitation for another.
"I appreciate the offer, but?—"
"They will come for you," Dominic interrupts. "They’re already tracking you, I’m sure. Without our protection, without sustenance, how long do you think you'll last?"
My stomach twists. He's right, and we all know it.
"I'll find another solution."
"There is no other solution," Valerian insists, his voice dropping to a hypnotic cadence. "No other coven will risk Evergreen's wrath for one witch, no matter how special. We are your only option, Regina."
The pressure of his glamour intensifies, pressing against my mind like a migraine. Between resisting their influence and maintaining my own glamour, my magical reserves are draining rapidly.
"I need to think about it," I manage. "This isn't what I expected."
"Of course." Valerian steps back, all graciousness again. "Take some time to consider. But not too much time. Your deadline approaches, does it not?"
How does he know that? I didn't mention Kyle's ultimatum.
Esme smiles at my confusion. "Your phone has been buzzing in your pocket. Seven times now. Someone's rather desperate to reach you."
I'd silenced it, but vampires can hear a pin drop from three rooms away. Of course they can hear the inner workings of electronics. I reach for my phone, and my heart sinks. Five texts from Kyle's burner, each more threatening than the last. And two missed calls from Cadence.
Great. Perfect timing as always, sis.
"Family troubles?" Esme asks innocently.
I ignore her, scanning Kyle's messages. The latest one makes my blood run cold.
UNKNOWN: Rebecca says you're with vampires. Bad choice, Regina. They can't protect you from me. 15 hours left.
He knows where I am. Or at least what I'm doing. Which means Rebecca is actively tracking me, not just passively following the coven bond.
"Shit," I mutter.
Valerian's smile turns predatory.
I look up at these beautiful, deadly creatures and weigh my options. They're powerful enough to give Kyle pause, maybe even powerful enough to protect me until I can break the coven bond. But their price—blood and sex and servitude—is steep.
Is it better than going back to Kyle? Maybe. Is it my only option? No. There's still Cadence, though the thought of crawling to my sister's door with Kyle's coven hot on my heels makes me physically ill.
"I need guarantees," I say finally. "Written terms. No blood-taking without consent. No compulsion. And I get veto power over any magical workings you request."
Valerian laughs, the sound eerily beautiful. "You're in no position to negotiate, little siphon. You need us far more than we need you."
"There are other vampires," I counter.
"And there are other witches. But none so desperate." Dominic rises, approaching slowly. "None so uniquely suited to our needs."
Something in his tone makes me step back involuntarily. The movement costs me concentration, and I feel my glamour flicker.
No. Not now.
I try to reinforce it, but I'm running on fumes. The magical mask slips for just a second.
It’s long enough.
Three sets of vampire eyes widen. Esme gasps, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.
"What is that?" she hisses, her hand flying to press against the pearls at her throat, all seductive pretense vanishing.
I slam the glamour back into place, draining the last of my reserves. "Nothing."
But it's too late. They saw.
"Your face." Valerian's voice hardens.
"It doesn't matter," I insist. "It's old. It doesn't affect my abilities."
"You’ve been mauled by a shifter," Dominic states coldly, his previous interest replaced with disgust. "And not a normal shifter, either. Was it?"
The room's temperature seems to drop ten degrees. The guards around the room shift position, moving closer.
“And you didn’t think to mention this?” Esme's voice drips with revulsion.
"It's not relevant." But we all know that's a lie. The ancient enmity between vampires and shifters is legendary. Vampires consider shifters filthy, primitive creatures—beneath contempt. Wolves in particular.
And I bear a wolf's mark on my face.
Not even a mating mark, but the evidence of violence. Of the predatory nature that lurks within them all, no matter how civilized they try to appear on the surface.
"Not relevant." Valerian laughs, the sound no longer beautiful but cruel. "You come into our home, seeking our protection, offering your services, while bearing the mark of our enemies?"
"It was an attack, not a bonding," I argue. "I have no connection to any wolf pack."
"Yet," Dominic adds ominously. "Wolf marks are rarely random, witch. The beast claimed you, whether you acknowledge it or not."
"That's superstitious bullshit," I snap, fear making me reckless. "It was an isolated incident years ago."
"Was it?" Valerian circles me again, but this time there's nothing seductive about it. "Or perhaps you're a spy. An agent sent by wolf-allies to infiltrate our Court."
"That's ridiculous." My frustration bubbles over. "I'm running from a witch coven, not working for wolves. I hate wolves."
"Hmm." Valerian stops, staring into my eyes. "Perhaps you do. But intention matters little. The mark changes things."
"Significantly," Esme agrees. "We cannot risk a vampire-wolf conflict over a disfigured witch."
I flinch at the revulsion in her tone, even if I'm used to it. It never stings any less.
"I'm not asking you to fight wolves," I protest. "Just witches."
"Who may well have wolven allies," Dominic counters. "These alliances shift constantly. We will not be drawn into conflict on multiple fronts for someone who may be claimed by our enemies."
"I'm not claimed by anyone!"
Well, that isn't entirely true. But no one they don't already know about.
"Your face says otherwise," Valerian states coldly. "Our answer is no, Regina Cook. Find protection elsewhere."
Just like that, my last decent option vanishes. "You can't just?—"
"I believe we just did." Valerian gestures, and two guards materialize beside me. "Show our guest out. The meeting is concluded."
"Perhaps the wolves themselves might help you," Esme suggests with cruel mockery. "Since you already bear their brand."
The mere suggestion sends ice through my veins. “I'd rather die,” I grit out.
"That may yet be your choice," Dominic says dispassionately. "But you will make it elsewhere. Goodbye."
The guards grip my arms firmly. I don't resist as they escort me through the winding hallways. Fighting vampires on their territory is suicide, especially with my magic depleted.
They release me unceremoniously at the front gate, which creaks shut behind me with damning finality. I stand there for a moment, staring up at the gothic monstrosity that represents another door closed, another option gone.
The night air feels colder now, or maybe that's just the chill of growing desperation. I check my phone again. Kyle's messages continue, counting down the hours. There's a voicemail from Cadence I'm not ready to listen to.
Fifteen hours left before Kyle comes for me.
The walk back to the hostel feels ten times longer than the walk to the vampire mansion.
Every shadow seems to hide a threat. Every passing car might contain Ryan or other coven members.
Without my glamour—which I've let drop completely to conserve what little energy remains—I keep my head down and let my hair covering the worst of my scars.
A drunk man on the street corner takes one look at my face and crosses to the other side. A woman walking her dog at night stares for a second, blanching, then quickly averts her eyes.
This is what Kyle "saved" me from, supposedly. Public revulsion. Stares and whispers. Before the glamour spell he taught me, I rarely left the coven house. Another form of control I was too blind to see.
By the time I reach the hostel, I'm bone-weary and fighting tears of frustration. The night clerk—different from this morning—barely glances up as I pass.
I trudge up the stairs to my room, each step a monumental effort. When I finally close the door behind me, I slide down against it until I'm sitting on the floor, head in my hands.
One by one, my options are disappearing. Vampire protection? Gone. Other covens? Too risky with Kyle's deadline so close. Independent magic? Impossible without breaking the coven bond first.
Which leaves Cadence.
My wild, beautiful sister who wraps herself in neon colors and loud laughter to hide her own wounds. Who warned me about Kyle from the start with uncanny accuracy.
But going to her means putting her in danger when Kyle inevitably tracks me down. Even if I’m rested and replenished, capable of putting up a fight, it won’t be safe for her.
There has to be another way. Some option I haven't considered.
I drag myself to the bed and collapse, not bothering to undress or even remove my shoes. The room swims around me, exhaustion and magical depletion taking their toll. The ceiling crystal pulses weakly in the darkness, its meager energy a cruel reminder of what I've lost.
My eyes drift closed, Kyle's countdown ticking away in my mind.
Fifteen hours.
Fifteen hours and fifty-nine minutes.
Fifteen hours and fifty-eight...