Chapter 22 #2
As if seeing through his eyes, I catch flashes of his fight. His centuries of combat experience flow through each precise movement as he takes down three vampires in rapid succession. The way he anticipates attacks before they come, turning opponents’ strength against them – it’s breathtaking.
Not that I’d ever admit that out loud.
His power rolls through me, old and controlled. Even in the heat of combat, he maintains iron discipline. I feel his satisfaction as carefully laid plans unfold, troops moving exactly where he predicted. Despite myself, I’m impressed by his tactical mind.
Who am I kidding? It’s not just his mind that I’m impressed by. There’s something about his hands, his arms, the heavy set of his shoulders. His meaty ass.
Holy shit, Kara! Seriously??
I feel him deliver a particularly vicious strike that sends one of Lucien’s guards flying, and I have to shake off the phantom sensation of impact.
This thing between us is getting stronger, seeping through more than just emotions now.
I can almost taste the metallic tang of blood in the air around him.
Focus, damn it.
I force my attention back to our own mission. Gran needs me present here, not lost in Marcus’s battle. Still, I can’t completely shut out his presence thrumming at the edge of my awareness – steady, powerful, and oddly reassuring.
I gesture to the others to keep moving. We have our own fight ahead, and I need to stay sharp. But part of me remains aware of Marcus, his strength flowing through me like a river of steel.
I burst through another set of doors. The art installations that had seemed merely unsettling before are now actively hostile – metal sculptures twisting like living things, their sharp edges seeking flesh. A nearby kinetic piece tears free from its mounting, its spindly arms reaching for us.
“Duck!” I shout as Mom blasts it apart with a surge of power.
We’ve lost sight of Mia and Soren in the confusion. The gallery’s defenses separated us three rooms back, barriers springing up without warning. Rowan and Zephyra took another route, trying to flank whatever’s ahead.
“There!” Mom points to a doorway partially hidden behind a writhing video installation. Gran’s energy pulses strongly from that direction.
I dodge a sculpture that’s transformed into something like a metallic spider, its legs clicking against the marble floor. The magic holding these things together feels corrupted, twisted.
We break through into a circular chamber, and my heart leaps as I take in the sight before me.
“Gran!” I cry out at the familiar figure.
She’s just as I’d seen her in the vision, hunched with exhaustion, her usually pristine white pantsuit torn and streaked with dirt.
Her hair hangs round her face limply, and there’s a dark bruise on her cheek.
But her eyes shine as she sees us, the emerald fire there still alive and burning.
Beside her, Seraphina maintains her regal bearing, although she’s clearly been beaten.
“Kara! Georgia!” Gran gasps our names out. The pair swivel their heads to face us, seated on the floor, bound together back to back. Gran and Seraphina are surrounded by floating orbs of dark energy. They appear unharmed, but their hands are wrapped with shadow chains.
“Oh, Gran, thank God!” I rush forward, battling my way through the wards around them. They’re no match for my angry determination, and within moments, Mom and I have worked their bonds free.
I know that time is not on our side, but I can’t help myself; I lean in and wrap my arms around my grandmother, holding her close.
“You’re okay. You’re okay!” I inhale her scent, which is still warm and sweet despite what she’s been through.
“Yes, I am, darling,” she says against my cheek. Mom is helping Seraphina to her feet. Our High Priestess rubs her wrists and stretches stiff limbs.
“We’d better get going, love,” Mom says.
I reach for Gran’s hand, ready to lead her out, but she shakes her head sharply.
“Let’s get you out of here,” I say. I can feel the others drawing closer, but I know Lucien’s men are closing in, too.
“Wait,” she stops me. “We can’t leave yet. Poppy—”
“Are you kidding me? We need to get out of here now!” The defenses are still activating around us, the walls themselves seeming to pulse with malevolent energy.
“You don’t understand,” Gran insists. “We can’t leave her.”
Mom steps up beside me, her magic ready. “Evelyn, please. This place is becoming unstable.”
“No.” Gran’s voice is firm despite her bonds. “I won’t leave without her. You have no idea what’s really at stake.”
The floor trembles beneath us as more security measures activate. We’re running out of time, but Gran’s expression tells me she won’t budge on this.
And then it happens…I feel him before I see him – a creeping malevolent presence that makes my skin prickle. The darkness around us deepens, shadows writhing along the walls. The temperature plummets, my breath forming clouds in the suddenly frigid air.
“He’s coming,” I whisper, my voice tight with fear. The defenses we fought through were nothing compared to this overwhelming power rolling toward us. It feels old, impossibly old, and twisted by unthinkable evil.
Mom grabs Gran’s arm. “Evelyn, we have to go. Now.”
But Gran still won’t move, her eyes fixed on something we can’t see. “Poppy,” she insists again.
Footsteps echo through the gallery, measured and unhurried. He knows he has us trapped. The sound of expensive shoes on marble grows closer, accompanied by the lighter steps of his guards.
My magic feels pathetically weak in comparison to the force approaching us. I know without a doubt that we’re no match for him. I’ve never felt anything like this – it’s like standing at the edge of an abyss, knowing you’re about to fall.
My heart thunders. We’re trapped, outmatched, and out of options. Even if the others managed to find us, they’d never be able to go up against Marlowe. None of us can. Mia already died at his hand once. And if he has others with him…
This is it. We’re done.