Chapter 6 #2
The doors blast open with a gust of cold air, cutting through the rising pressure. Lucien strides in like he owns the place, immaculate in a charcoal suit that clearly was made for him. His face is a perfect mask of concerned innocence.
“My deepest apologies for my tardiness,” he says, voice carrying easily through the theater, an actor about to take center stage. “I was detained by matters that couldn’t wait.”
I watch as heads turn, tracking the ripple effect of his entrance. Isabella straightens almost imperceptibly while Alaric’s hand tightens the arm of his chair. Several younger vampires shrink back in their seats. Astra’s expression darkens further, if that’s even possible.
“You dare show your face here?” Zephyra rises, wind whipping around her. “After what you’ve done?”
Lucien spreads his hands in a gesture of peace. “I come seeking a resolution to our mutual difficulties. These tragic events pain me deeply.”
He has to be fucking joking.
Marlowe is brazen, but this is unexpected, even for him. Then again, he’s raised the bar of unexpected behavior recently.
His gaze sweeps the gathering, lingering just a fraction too long on Kara. My fingers dig into the armrest, wood creaking under my grip. The surge of protectiveness catches me off guard – I have no right to feel this territorial.
“Pain you?” Lake’s voice cuts through the whispers. “You kidnapped my mother!”
Several vampires shift uncomfortably. Isabella actually shrinks back from the fury radiating off the Blackwoods. But others – too many others – are nodding at Lucien’s words, buying his act.
I glance at Arabella, trying to read her reaction. The Grand Elder’s face remains impassive, giving nothing away. Is she truly considering Lucien’s obvious manipulation or merely playing her own game? After a thousand years, she’s mastered the art of inscrutability.
“These accusations are both painful and premature,” Lucien continues smoothly. “I assure you, I seek only to heal the rift between our kinds.”
The raw magic sparking off the witch contingent suggests they feel differently about his peaceful intentions.
“Heal the rift?” It’s Zephyra once more, her expression still dark with the pain of loss. She spins to look at Seraphina. “Are you going to stand by and let him get away with this?” Her eyes latch onto Arabella. “And you? Are you condoning this?”
Our Grand Elder remains silent.
“I’m afraid,” Lucien’s voice carries that perfect note of regret, “that the attack on the coven was an act of self-defense. We had received credible intelligence about another planned incursion into vampire territory.”
The lie rolls off his tongue, smooth as silk. I’ve known Lucien long enough to recognize his tactics – he’s trying to split the clans, create doubt. And from the way some of the vampires are nodding, it’s working.
Zephyra surges forward, a blast of wind whirling so violently that papers go flying. “How dare you! My people would never commit an act of violence. Never!”
The sheer rage emanating from her makes my fangs itch. Even Lucien takes a half-step back, though he maintains that practiced look of concern.
“My dear Lady Skydancer—” he starts, but she cuts him off with a slash of her hand that sends a gust of wind strong enough to move furniture.
“Don’t you dare! They were innocent!”
One of her coven members – a tall witch with silver-streaked hair – grabs Zephyra’s arm. “My lady, please.” Her voice is low but carries enough authority to make Zephyra pause. “He’s not worth it.”
The winds gradually die down as the other witch whispers something in Zephyra’s ear. I catch fragments about “playing into his hands” and “exactly what he wants.”
Zephyra’s magic settles, though her eyes still burn with fury as she slowly sits back down. Her coven member keeps a steadying hand on her shoulder.
There’s a sound from across the room, and I shoot a look at where Kara is half out of her seat.
As she notices the attention she’s getting, she settles back down, her expression shuttering.
But not before Lucien looks her way, too.
His gaze lingers too long, and something dark and primal stirs in my chest. The way he looks at her – like she’s a prize to be claimed – makes my fangs ache to descend.
Control yourself.
I force my fingers to relax when I realize I’ve bunched them into fists. Half a millennium of discipline shouldn’t crumble because of one witch. But when Lucien takes a step in Kara’s direction, my body tenses, ready to move.
“The Blackwood line has always been…fascinating,” Lucien says, his voice carrying that oily undertone that sets my teeth on edge. “Such raw power. Such potential.”
Kara meets his gaze unflinchingly, chin lifted in defiance. The air around her rolls with barely contained magic, and for a moment, I see what Lucien sees – that fierce spirit, that untamed power. It calls to something in my blood.
But where I want to protect, Lucien wants to possess. I’ve seen that look in his eyes before, right before he destroys something beautiful.
“Stay away from her,” I growl, the words escaping before I can stop them.
The theater falls silent. Lucien turns to me, eyebrow raised in mock surprise. “My, my, Marcus. Have you developed a soft spot for our witch friends?”
I rise slowly, deliberately. Every vampire instinct screams at me to challenge him, to rip that smug smile off his face. The wood beneath my fingers splinters completely.
“You know,” Lucien continues, taking another step toward Kara, “I’ve always wondered what makes some witches’ blood more…compatible than others.”
My vision edges with red. One more step and-
“Enough!” Arabella’s voice cuts through the tension. “That’s enough from all of you.”
“My Lady, I—” I begin.
“I said that’s enough, Marcus Nightshade.” Her voice is icy. “Sit. The fuck. Down.”