Chapter 8
Marcus
Istalk across my living room, unable to find peace. This place is normally my sanctuary, my safe haven, but right now, it’s doing nothing to help. My lips still burn from Kara’s kiss, my body electric with the memory of her pressed against me.
What the fuck is going on?
I stop at the window, pressing my forehead to the cool glass. This witch has me coming undone. The taste of her lingers – honey and storm clouds and raw power. And the strange feeling of something prickling at the edges of my senses.
My fingers drum against the glass. The political implications alone should be enough to stop this madness. Lucien’s growing influence, the missing witches, the rising tensions between our kinds – I know how to handle these challenges. Strategy. Intelligence. Calculated moves on the board.
But Kara…
I close my eyes, remembering how her magic had flared against mine, how perfectly she’d fit in my arms. The fierce defiance in her eyes even as she’d surrendered to the kiss.
“Control yourself,” I mutter, pushing away from the window. This isn’t like me. I don’t obsess. I don’t fixate.
I analyze, plan, execute.
Yet here I am, prowling my own home like a caged animal, replaying every moment. The soft gasp she’d made. The way her hands had fisted in my shirt. The intoxicating blend of power and vulnerability.
I need to focus on the bigger picture. On protecting both our kinds from Lucien’s machinations. On finding Evelyn Blackwood before he can use her for whatever his next move is. On keeping the peace between vampires and witches.
Instead, all I can think about is the way Kara looked at me right before she kissed me – like she wanted me as much as she hated wanting me.
Goddammit!
At first, it had been entertaining to toy with her a little. But now it feels like the tables have turned, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it one fucking bit.
I need to fix this.
I press a button on my phone. “Send someone up.” My voice is clipped, controlled. Within minutes, there’s a soft knock at my door.
The girl who enters is stunning – long dark hair, curves in all the right places, wearing a tight black dress that leaves little to the imagination and too much dark makeup, probably designed to mimic her idea of the vampire lifestyle.
A walking cliché, but beautiful, nonetheless.
Her pulse quickens when she sees me. The scent of her arousal fills the air.
“My Lord Nightshade.” She practically purrs my name, using that formal manner her kind likes to adopt around us.
Blood groupie. I’ve seen her before at the Nocturne Lounge. She’s one of the regulars, always hoping to catch a vampire’s attention. Tonight, she’s caught mine, but not for the reasons she thinks.
“Come here.” My voice carries just enough compulsion to make her shiver. She glides toward me, tilting her head to expose her throat. The vein there pulses invitingly.
I pull her close, inhaling her scent. She smells…wrong. Not like sunlight and roses. Not like raw power and defiance. The prickling sensation that keeps nagging me feels like it’s growing.
“My Lord? Are you going to…?” She tilts her head, slanting a look at me, and I realize that I’ve hesitated.
“Wait,” I mutter, annoyed for a reason I can comprehend. My fangs extend, and I bite down. Her skin is smooth, supple; it gives in easily beneath the sharp pressure of my teeth. She groans low in her throat, and for some reason, the sound annoys me, too. But I ignore it, drinking deeply.
Her blood is rich, sweet – everything it should be. But it brings no satisfaction. No pleasure. It’s like drinking water when you’re craving wine. My fangs retract, and I straighten, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Leave.” I push her away more roughly than necessary. She stumbles, confusion and hurt crossing her features.
“But I thought—”
“Now.”
She hurries out, leaving me alone again. I resume my pacing, agitation growing with each step.
This is bullshit.
I’ve never lacked for willing partners, never struggled to find pleasure in human blood. For centuries, I’ve enjoyed both without complication.
But now… Now, all I can think about is the taste of Kara’s lips, the feeling of her against me. I haven’t even tasted her blood, and yet I’m consumed by the thought of it.
This has to stop. I’m too old for this. I don’t pine after witches like some lovesick fledgling.
A knock at my door breaks through my brooding. I catch Darick’s scent before he enters – that peculiar mix of vampire and human that still throws me off.
“You look like hell,” he says, striding in.
I shoot him a look. “The meeting was a disaster.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Darick drops into one of my leather chairs, crossing his ankle over one knee. “Lucien played them perfectly. Made us look like paranoid fools.”
“We’ll find another way.” I resume my pacing, rubbing the back of my neck as if it will erase the strange prickle that won’t go away. “He’s getting bolder. More reckless. It’s only a matter of time before he makes a mistake and exposes himself.”
Darick’s expression darkens. “That’s what troubles me. Every time we think we’ve caught him, his tracks are already covered. The witch holding cells? Wiped clean before we arrived. His warehouses? Empty. Even the magical signatures are scrambled.”
“He has help,” I say. “Someone with considerable power who knows how to mask both vampire and witch traces.”
“Which brings us back to square one.” Darick leans forward, elbows on his knees. “We know he’s behind the abductions, but we can’t prove it. And now half the council thinks we’re either incompetent or making false accusations.”
“Hmm…” I purse my lips, rubbing my neck again. The prickle now feels like a buzzing in my ears. Except…it’s in my head.
“What’s going on?” Darick’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “You’re not yourself lately.”
I pause mid-stride, realizing I’ve been pacing again. Damn. “I’m focused on the task at hand.”
“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “Because you’ve been wearing a path in that rug since I arrived, and I don’t think it’s just about Lucien.”
I shoot him a warning look, but he just smirks. Of course he knows. Darick has an infuriating way of reading people, even ancients like me.
“What happened last night?” he says. “With Kara.”
“Nothing happened.” The words come out too quickly. I turn to pour myself a drink, mainly to avoid his knowing gaze.
“Marcus.” His tone is amused now. “You kissed the woman.”
The crystal decanter clinks against the glass, jangling my nerves. “It was nothing. An error in judgment,” I correct him, then immediately regret acknowledging it at all.
“Ah.” Darick leans back, looking far too pleased with himself. “And that’s why you’re stalking around your penthouse like a lion in a petting zoo? Because it meant nothing?”
I down the scotch in one swallow. It does nothing to dull the memory of her taste, the feel of her. “It was a moment of…heightened emotions. After that fucking fiasco. Nothing more.”
“Of course.” Darick’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Just like how I felt nothing for Rowan at first. Keep telling yourself that.”
“Bullshit, Darick!” I stop short as the buzzing in my head drowns out the sound of my own voice. And then, suddenly, it crystallizes into words, clear as sunlight:
“I swear, if that smug vampire thinks he can just kiss me and walk away…”
I nearly drop my glass. “Kara?”
Darick sits up straighter. “What is it?”
“…and now I’m imagining his voice. Great. Just great. Get it together, Kara.”
“I can hear her,” I say, pressing my fingers to my temple. “In my head. She’s…annoyed with me.”
“What…what the hell is going on?” Kara’s voice echoes in my mind again, this time accompanied by a surge of frustrated energy that makes my skin tingle.
Without thinking, I respond through the connection.
“You tell me.”
A sharp spike of surprise floods through the link.
“Marcus?!”
“Quiet!” I say out loud.
“What?” Darick blinks at me.
“I’m not talking to you,” I snap, spinning around as if I’ll see her stepping out from the shadows.
Maybe I will. Or maybe this is my imagination.
“Marcus Nightshade? Why can I hear you?”
“I don’t fucking know!” I’m still speaking aloud.
“For fuck’s sake, Marcus, what the hell is going on with you?” Darick is glaring at me.
“It’s not… I don’t…” I lick my lips. “I’m speaking to…” How do I say this without sounding deranged?
“How is this happening?” It’s Kara again. “What’s going on?”
“I have no fucking idea!” My fists bunch, frustration and consternation warring within me.
“Marcus, are you going to answer me?” Darick is losing patience.
“I’m speaking to Kara Blackwood, goddammit!” I spit the words, feeling like a fool as I say them.
“You’re speaking to…?” Darick’s expression shifts from confusion to understanding, then to something that looks disturbingly like amusement. “Ohhhh… By the gods,” he breathes. “It’s a blood match.”
“That’s impossible,” I snap, even as Kara’s presence fills my mind with a warmth I can’t ignore. “We haven’t shared blood.”
“Neither had Rowan and I, at first,” Darick says, leaning back in his seat and looking so damned smug I want to strike him. “Sometimes the connection forms before the blood exchange. It’s rare, but…” He gestures at my obvious discomfort. “The signs are unmistakable.”
“Get out of my head!” Kara’s mental voice bristles with indignation.
“Believe me, I’m not doing this on purpose.”
My response earns another burst of surprised frustration from her end of the connection.
“Bastard!”
Suddenly, the buzzing goes silent as quickly as it had started. I sway slightly, then turn and drop into the closest seat.
“Fuck.” I scrub my hand over my face.
“A blood match isn’t just about feeding,” Darick says, leaning forward. “It binds two souls together. The blood is just a catalyst.”
“But I don’t have the Bloodbane,” I growl, but even as I say it, I remember how that groupie’s blood tasted like ash in my mouth. How nothing satisfies me anymore. Not since I met her. The world’s most infuriating witch.
Darick’s eyes narrow. “The signs are there, Marcus. The intense attraction – don’t try to deny it; I’ve seen how you look at her. The overwhelming need to protect, even when it goes against logic. And now this mind connection?”
“It could be something else. Some witch trick—”
“Your power resonates with hers,” he cuts me off. “I felt it at the council meeting. When she got angry, your power responded. It’s like…” He pauses, searching for words. “Like two strings vibrating at the same frequency.”
I grip my glass tighter, remembering that electric surge when we kissed. How our powers had tangled together, creating something new and terrifying and exhilarating.
“The Bloodbane manifests differently for everyone,” Darick continues. “For me, it was a slow build. But for some, it hits all at once. The connection, the cravings, the way your strength starts to align with theirs…”
“I’m over five hundred years old,” I protest. “If I was going to develop it—”
“Age doesn’t matter. If anything, being older makes the connection stronger.” Darick’s voice softens. “Fighting it only makes it worse. Trust me on this.”
The ghost of Kara’s presence still hangs in my mind, a warmth I can’t shake. I remember how my power had surged protectively when Lucien looked at her, how everything in me had screamed to keep her safe.
“Shit,” I mutter, dropping my head into my hands.
Get it together, man.
I rise from my chair, unable to stay still. “This is ridiculous. Blood matches are rare. Practically impossible. And now, for so many of us to find them within such a short space of time… No. I don’t believe it.”
But even as I say it, memories flood back. The way her scent had remained with me long after she’d left. How I’d tracked her movements at the council meeting without meaning to.
“Fuck!” I slam my glass down on the table.
That girl tonight – her blood should have been perfect. Young, healthy, willing. The kind I’ve enjoyed countless times over centuries. But it had tasted wrong. Empty.
But to develop this so suddenly. I swear I was fine just days ago. I know I enjoyed feeding. The girls…
“I can’t have the Bloodbane.” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. “Do you understand what this would mean? Half the council already questions my judgment about Lucien. If they find out…”
The Bloodbane is seen as a weakness among our kind.
A vulnerability that can be exploited. Vampires with the condition are often removed from positions of power – for their own protection, they claim.
But we all know the truth. A vampire who can only feed from witches?
Who forms an unbreakable bond with their natural enemy?
They’re not trusted to lead.
Darick is eyeing me with growing concern. “Goddammit, you’ve just taken my seat on Clan Sanguis. This couldn’t have happened at a worse fucking time.”
“Would there ever be a good time, Drake?” I snap.
I think of the sneers, the whispered conversations, the political maneuvering that would follow if this got out.
Centuries of carefully built influence and respect gone in an instant.
And Lucien…he would use this to destroy everything I’ve worked for.
“I won’t accept this,” I growl, wishing I sounded more convincing. I straighten my shoulders, my voice dropping an octave when I continue speaking. “I don’t have the Bloodbane. And Kara Blackwood is not my fucking match.”