Chapter 7
Kara
Iwatch as Marcus sinks to his seat, his expression thunderous. When he looks my way, I lower my eyes. I’m not sure I feel comfortable with this role he seems to have taken on as my protector.
Or nursemaid.
But right now, I’m more annoyed with the lean, dark-haired vampire who’s standing in the center of the circle.
Lucien fucking Marlowe.
I can’t believe the nerve of the man. The absolute freaking nerve! It’s taking everything within me to stop myself from blasting him with a disintegration spell.
Evil. He’s pure evil. And he revels in it. From the casual confidence of his stance to the cool smirk as he runs his eyes over us.
He thinks this is a game. The bastard!
My fingers dig into my palms, nails biting deep enough to draw blood. The copper scent makes several vampires turn their heads, and I force myself to unclench my fists. I feel nausea spike as I notice one of them lick his lips.
Control. Must maintain control.
“The attacks follow a clear pattern,” Seraphina states, gesturing to a map that has materialized in the air. Red dots mark each incident, forming an unmistakable spiral. “These are coordinated, not random.”
Three witches step forward, sharing their accounts. Fae Lightdancer’s voice shakes as she describes finding her grandmother’s garden in flames. Cayden Ross shows the scars on his arms from fighting off vampires who tried to take his daughter.
The vampires counter with their own witnesses. A tall woman with golden hair details how her clan was ambushed by witch assassins. “They struck without provocation—”
“That’s a lie!” The words burst from me before I can stop them. Mom shoots me a warning look.
Darick rises, his movements lacking their usual fluid grace – so strange to see him mortal now. “We have proof of Lucien’s ongoing involvement in several schemes to garner increasing amounts of influence within our community. We believe he has political aspirations.”
Arabella’s eyes narrow, and Lucien spins to face Darick. “That’s a baseless accusation, Drake. And coming from you, it means nothing.” His lip curls as he shoots a look toward our family. “You’re little more than a traitor to your kind.”
Several vampires hiss, others whisper behind their hands.
“On the contrary. The fact I have no clan allegiance means I have nothing to gain from this, Marlowe.” He turns to Arabella.
“The reports I told you of were not exaggerated, my Lady. Lucien Marlowe is angling for power. And we have proof to support these claims.” Elias backs him up with detailed reports, but I can see the council’s skepticism.
“You base your accusations on a paper trail?” Lucien snorts. “It means nothing. Forgeries. Easily made to look like something it’s not.”
Arabella sits motionless, her smooth face unreadable. The strength radiating from her makes my skin prickle. Yet still, she hesitates.
What the hell is wrong with her??
Morgan Shadowmaster glides forward, his dark coat seeming to absorb the light. “Perhaps,” he says smoothly, “we should consider that both sides speak the truth.” His words carry weight, but his eyes reveal nothing of where his loyalties lie.
Is he for real?
My temper is rising as it becomes clearer that the vampires are going to stall us yet again.
Sheer frustration starts to build. The air grows thick with energy – mine, the other witches’, the vampires’.
One wrong word could set this place alight.
I focus on breathing, on containing the storm building inside me.
But when Lucien catches my eye and winks, my composure shatters.
My magic explodes outward in a burst of pure fury. Glasses shatter. Papers fly. A few vampires stumble back, hissing.
“Control yourself!” High Priestess Seraphina’s voice cracks like a whip. “One more outburst and you’ll be removed from these proceedings.”
I force myself to take deep breaths, channeling the rage to where I can contain it. Mom squeezes my hand – both a warning and a comfort.
The council drones on, debating jurisdiction and precedent. I make myself focus on the actual information being shared. Several covens have reported similar attacks – always at night, always precisely targeted. The vampires counter with their own grievances, though theirs seem suspiciously vague.
My eyes keep drifting to Marcus. He sits there like a statue, face impassive as Lucien spews obvious lies. Where’s the fierce protectiveness from earlier? The warrior who rushed to save me? Now he won’t even speak up?
Was I wrong about him?
“The Blackwoods have long been a disruptive influence,” Lucien says smoothly. “Their…unfortunate tendency toward blood magic is well documented.”
“You, of all people, should know about that, Marlowe,” Soren interjects. “You tried to tap into Mia’s power.”
“Nonsense.” Lucien is dismissive. “The woman attacked me. You saw what she was capable of at your execution. She disrupted a sacred rite and killed many of our guards. And as for Victor…” He trails off, an expression of sorrow crossing his face. “He was a good friend. A noble elder.”
Try as I might, I can’t find it in myself to feel sympathy for him.
“I’m not talking about the Sun Trail.” Soren’s face darkens. “You lured her to that church and—”
“The ramblings of a madwoman and the poor fool she bewitched,” he scoffs, looking around at the others. They’re not looking as doubtful as I’d hoped they would be.
Why are they buying into this shit?
Through it all, I expect Marcus to object, to defend us. He doesn’t even flinch.
The tension in the room builds as more accusations fly. My magic responds, barely manageable, and I take in deep breaths, fighting for control. I force myself to pay attention.
I notice the subtle shifts as various council members react – who nods at whose statements, who exchanges knowing looks.
The alliances aren’t what I expected. Morgan Shadowmaster seems to defer to Lucien more than his own High Priestess.
And is that fear I see in Elder Runeweaver’s eyes when Lucien glances his way?
Marcus maintains his composure through it all, even when Lucien implies our family had something to do with the recent vampire deaths. Not a flicker of emotion crosses his face.
Maybe I imagined everything. The connection, the trust, all of it.
The thought shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.
“…And I would put it to you, Grand Elder, esteemed High Priestess,” Lucien looks from Arabella to Seraphina, “that it is, in fact, the Blackwoods who are at the center of this. A dark conspiracy. They’ve been involved in every act of violence we’ve been plagued with since the start of it all, and—”
“You have got to be kidding me!” Rowan is on her feet at my side. Her hands are glowing. “You’re pinning this on us? On our family?” Mia puts a hand on her arm and Dad murmurs something softly to her.
“Oh, would you look at that? A Blackwood witch losing control,” Lucien smirks.
“You bastard! You abducted me. Held my sister captive for a year! In your facility!”
“Miss Blackwood, there was so much magic in that place; how are we to know it wasn’t your own kind who were behind it?” He chuckles when Rowan snarls at him. “And there goes the control again.”
“You want to see me losing control? I’ll fucking show you losing control!” The air cracks and rips as a bolt of pure power shoots from her fingers, narrowly missing Lucien. He ducks left, triumph written all over his face. There’s a collective gasp from the others.
“Rowan!” Dad barks.
Mia surges forward, her grip on Rowan’s arm tightening. “Ro, please. He’s not worth it.”
“It’s the Blackwoods who aren’t worth it,” Lucien sneers. “Troublemakers, the lot of you.”
“Oh, I’ve had just about all I can take of you!” I half-yell, only realizing I’m on my feet when I’m a few feet away from him. Energy is sparking and sizzling in the air around me.
“Help! I’m being attacked!” Lucien staggers back dramatically, clutching his chest. His eyes gleam with barely concealed delight at the chaos he’s created.
Goddess! I’m going to kill him!
My magic surges, wild and electric. The candles around us explode in a shower of sparks. Wind whips through the chamber, upending chairs and swirling clothing around wildly.
“Kara, stop this!” Mom’s voice cuts through the mayhem. Dad’s hands grip my shoulders, trying to ground me, but my temper is beyond control now.
“Remove them!” Arabella’s voice rings with authority. “The Blackwoods have proven themselves incapable of civil discourse.”
“This is exactly what I warned you about,” Lucien practically purrs.
“Out!” Arabella barks. “Get them the hell out of here.”
Before I can unleash the full force of my rage, strong arms wrap around my waist. The world tilts as I’m hoisted over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
What the fuck?
It doesn’t take me more than a second to recognize the wide set of the shoulders I’m dangling over. The hard planes of muscle moving smoothly beneath my belly.
“Put me down!” I pound my fists against Marcus’s back as he carries me out. “How dare you! You asshole!”
He strides through the clearing beyond the entrance of the theater, ignoring my struggles and increasingly creative curses.
“You arrogant, bloodsucking assclown!” I yell.
“Let me fucking go, you bastard dickhead…shit-for-brains!” I’m spluttering out idiotic insults that will probably come back to haunt me, but I’m just too mad to think clearly.
My magic sparks uselessly against his skin – he must be shielding himself somehow.
“Put me down, you overgrown leech!” I thump my fists harder, but he doesn’t flinch, which only makes me madder. “I’m going to blast your ass six ways to kingdom come, you knuckle-dragging vampire twatwaffle!”
Once outside, he sets me on my feet. I immediately shove him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you insufferable dickmunch? You had no right to—”