Chapter Thirteen #2
The sound of Sloane’s name hits me like a spark to dry kindling.
Heat flares low in my chest, sharp and instinctive, and then something answers it.
A shift, a quiet stir that isn’t mine. The steady rhythm I’ve grown used to falters, quickens, as if she’s turning in her sleep upstairs, drifting closer to waking.
Too aware, too alert, even unconscious, she feels the threat closing in.
“So what?” Jet’s voice fractures, his wraith form splitting the sound, so it comes from everywhere at once. “We hand her over? Trade one life for all of ours?”
The words hit hard.
Not logical.
Not strategic.
Heavy in a way that scrapes straight down my spine. The implication slams into me like a blade, casual, calculating, spoken as if her life is a currency to be weighed. Something feral tears loose in my chest, drowning out every other thought.
No one gets to talk about her like that.
No one gets to offer her up.
The temperature in the room drops twenty degrees.
My vampire speed carries me across the space before anyone can blink.
My hand locks around Jet’s throat, lifting him off the ground as his wraith form snaps solid beneath my grip.
My fangs descend fully, my vision flooding to black as every shadow in the room surges toward me, eager, living weapons waiting for the order.
“Say. That. Again.” The words come out layered with darkness, with the evil I was born from.
“Suggest sacrificing her one more time, and I’ll show you what it means to truly die. ”
Jet chokes, his hands clawing at my wrist. He’s not fighting. He is surrendering. “Sorry… Prez, shouldn’t have… said…”
I hold him for three more heartbeats, making my point crystal clear, then release him. He drops to the floor, gasping, then wisely stays down.
“Sloane is off the table.” I turn to face the room, letting them all see the monster I’m barely containing.
“She’s mine. My responsibility. My Blood Witch.
My mate.” The last word carries weight I didn’t intend, but it’s true.
The Heart Bind has made it true. “Anyone who suggests otherwise can leave right now. Walk out that door, and we’ll call it a clean break. No hard feelings.”
No one moves.
No one speaks.
Then Rogue steps forward, and I see the war happening behind his gold eyes. His lycan instincts scream one thing, his loyalty to me demands another.
“Brother,” he says carefully. “I would follow you into hell itself. You know that. We all would.” He gestures to the room, to our family.
“But you’re asking us to potentially die for someone who’s officially been part of this club for less than a day.
Someone who just became what she is. Someone who’s a stranger to most of us. ”
“She’s not a stranger to me.”
“I know.” His expression softens slightly. “I see what she is to you. Feel it rolling off you in waves. But the rest of us? We don’t have that bond. We don’t feel what you feel. All we see is danger coming for our family because you couldn’t let one human die.”
The words sting because they’re not wrong. They’re honest. And Rogue has earned the right to that honesty.
“You’re right,” the admission slips out, and surprise flickers across multiple faces.
“I made a choice that put all of you at risk. I knew the consequences, and I did it anyway.” My gaze sifts to meet Rogue’s.
“But I also know what she’s becoming. Sloane is no longer human.
Do you know what she represents? Blood Witches don’t just appear randomly.
They’re called into being when the balance shifts too far toward darkness.
When evil grows too strong and needs a counterweight. ”
“You saying she is the counterweight?” Oracle’s voice carries the weight of five centuries of wisdom. “That she’s meant to balance us?”
“I’m saying she’s powerful enough to maybe give us a fighting chance against the Coven.” I turn to address the whole room. “But more than that, she’s proof that monsters like us can choose something other than destruction. That we can protect instead of finding prey. Build instead of tear down.”
“Pretty speech, Prez.” Dread’s voice cuts through the moment, while his fear projection starts to leak. The air grows heavy and oppressive. “But it doesn’t change the math. Five Originals against all of us? Those odds are shit.”
“Then we change the odds.” I pull out my phone, the screen cracked from the battle, but it is still functional. “I’ll meet the Coven. On my terms, in my territory, with my rules.”
“That’s suicide,” Hades says flatly.
“Maybe.” I start typing out a message, choosing my words carefully. “But it’s also the only play that keeps the rest of you alive. They want me. They want judgment for my breaking their laws. So, I’ll give them that. But I’m not going alone, and I’m not going meek.”
“What’s the plan?” Hex leans forward, his tactical mind already working through possibilities.
“I challenge them to a Convocation.” The words make several brothers suck in sharp breaths. “Ancient vampire law. When an Original is accused of crimes against the Coven, they can demand a formal hearing. Evidence presented… defense offered… the whole thing.”
“That law hasn’t been invoked in five hundred years,” Oracle breathes out. “Not since—”
“Since Vlad tried to expose vampires to humanity and got erased for it. I know.”
“But the law still stands. And the Coven prides itself on following its own rules, twisted as they are.”
“Even if they agree to a Convocation…” Reyna says slowly, her warrior mind seeing the flaw. “You still have to present a defense. How do you defend breaking the Law of Silence? The evidence is everywhere.”
“I don’t defend it.” I pocket my phone and move to the center of the room. “I argue that the law itself is outdated. Hiding forever isn’t sustainable. Viktor forced my hand by breaking the law first, and I simply responded to contain the damage.”
“Will that work?” Seraphine asks, her siren’s intuition picking up the doubt I’m trying to hide.
“Probably not.” I meet her eyes. “But it buys us time and a chance to prepare, to train Sloane, to shore up our defenses and make alliances. I can also argue she’s no longer human, so in a roundabout way, no law was broken.”
“Except she was human until you changed her, and we’re also giving them time to gather more forces and crush us completely,” Scorch mutters.
“That too.” I don’t sugarcoat it. “This is a gamble… a huge one, but it’s the best option we have.”
Silence settles again as everyone processes my words. I see them weighing the risks, calculating the odds, trying to decide if following me down this path is worth their lives.
Then Dread stands. His fear projection surges outward, and suddenly the room fills with terror. Not the vague unease he usually projects, this is targeted and specific. Each person sees their deepest fear manifest in the shadows.
In each vision, their family is gone—the club is destroyed, and everyone they care about is dead or scattered.
“Stop.” I don’t raise my voice, but the command carries power. “Dread, that’s enough.”
The fear projection cuts off, and everyone gasps, shaking off the lingering effects. Several look angry at being subjected to his Dreadfield, but Dread’s expression is apologetic.
“Had to do it, Prez.” His voice is rough with emotion. “Had to show them what we’re really fighting for. It’s not about laws or territory or even survival…” He looks around at the assembled brothers and women. “It’s about them. About us. About not losing the only family most of us have ever known.”
Understanding ripples through the room.
Because he’s right.
This isn’t a motorcycle club in the traditional sense. We’re not just brothers who ride together and do business. We’re supernatural beings who found refuge with each other, who built something that lets us be both monster and man, who created a space where we don’t have to hide what we are.
We’re family in the truest sense.
And families don’t abandon each other when things get hard.
“I’m in.” Rogue steps forward first, his lycan loyalty overriding his tactical concerns. “Whatever you need, Prez. You’ve got my claws.”
“My fire.” Scorch moves to stand beside him.
“My magic.” Hex doesn’t look up from his screens, but his commitment is clear.
“My bones.” Hades joins them.
One by one, they step forward. Oracle, Grizz, Ronan. Jet is still rubbing his throat, but loyal nonetheless. The women add their voices, Eden’s death sense, Seraphine’s song, Reyna’s storm.
My family.
My club.
Choosing to stand with me, even knowing the odds.
“Thank you.” The words feel inadequate, but they’re all I have.
“We’ve got seven days to prepare. Hex, I need everything you can dig up on Convocation protocols.
Oracle, talk to your contacts in the phoenix clans, see if anyone remembers the last one.
Hades, reach out to the necromancer network.
Someone might have insight into the Coven’s current power structure. ”
“On it,” they chorus.
“Rogue, Scorch, start combat training rotations. Everyone needs to be sharp. Reyna, you’re on defensive strategy.
I want this clubhouse turned into a goddamn fortress.
” I continue delegating, falling into the rhythm of leadership that’s kept us alive for decades.
“Ronan, use your luck-bending to scout locations. If things go south, we’ll need escape routes that even probability can’t predict. ”
“Grizz, shore up the structure. Everything Reyna’s wards are going on needs to be reinforced.
” I turn to the women. “Eden, I need your death sense on full alert. The moment you feel the Coven approaching, I want to know. Seraphine, start working on combat harmonics… if we fight, your song could be the edge we need.”
They nod, already moving to their tasks.
“What about Sloane?” Hex asks. “She’s powerful, but untrained. Seven days isn’t enough time to—”
“I’m here.” The words come from the stairs.
Everyone turns, and Sloane stands there, wearing one of my shirts that hangs to her mid-thigh. Her hair is tousled from sleep, her feet bare, but her eyes, those molten crimson-gold eyes, burn with determination that makes my chest tighten.
Her resolve hits me like a steady force, unyielding. Fear rides beneath it, sharp and real, but it doesn’t lead—fury does. A fierce, defiant refusal to be the reason my family bleeds for her.
“You should be resting,” I say, but there’s no real force behind it.
“I’ve rested enough.” She descends the stairs with a grace she didn’t have before the transformation.
Every movement is fluid, powerful, and controlled.
“I heard everything. The threats, the danger…. all of it.” She reaches the bottom and faces the assembled club.
“This is my fault. Viktor attacked because of me. The Coven is coming because of me. So, I’m going to do something about it. ”
“Sloane—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“No.” Her voice carries that layered quality now, human and something else harmonizing together.
“I’m not hiding while you all risk your lives.
I’m not the damsel who needs protecting.
” Her hands clench into fists, and a crimson-gold light pulses beneath her skin.
“I’m a Blood Witch. Whatever the hell that means.
So, someone needs to teach me how to use it. ”
Silence filters through the room, then Oracle laughs. It’s a sound like crackling flames, warm and approving. “I like her, Crave. She’s got fire.”
“Literally,” Scorch adds with a smirk.
“I’ll help train her.” Hades steps forward, his necromancer’s calm radiating assurance. “Blood magic and death magic share roots. I can teach her the fundamentals.”
“I can work with her on control,” Oracle offers. “My phoenix fire and her Bloodfire might have a similar resonance.”
“Combat training.” Reyna moves to stand with them. “If she’s going into a fight, she needs to know how to move, how to think tactically.”
One by one, they volunteer. Offering their expertise, their time, their knowledge. Not because they have to, but because they want to. Because Sloane just proved she’s not going to hide behind me or use them as shields.
She’s going to fight.
Pride swells in my chest, mixing with fear and an overwhelming possessiveness that the Heart Bind amplifies.
“Thank you,” Sloane says to them all. The sincerity lands hard, followed by a resolve that refuses to bend. But it’s the undercurrent that cuts deepest, the tremor of terror she doesn’t voice, the fear that strength alone won’t be enough to save anyone.
I cross to her in three strides and pull her against my chest. Her warmth seeps into my cold skin, and the bond flares between us, settling something primal.
“You don’t have to do this,” I murmur against her hair, low enough that only she hears. “I can find another way. I’ll keep you safe.”
“I know.” She pulls back to look at me, and those eyes, God, those eyes, they see straight through to the monster I am. “But I don’t want safe. I want us. I want this family you’ve built. And I’m willing to fight for it.”
The Heart Bind pulses, and I know with absolute certainty her choice is made freely, to stand with us.
With me.
Against whatever comes.
“Seven days,” I say loud enough for everyone to hear.
“We train. We prepare. We make ourselves into something the Coven has never seen before.” I look around at my family, at these monsters who chose to be more.
“And when they come for judgment, we show them exactly what the Eternal Sins MC is made of.”
“Blood and fire,” Rogue growls.
“Fire and blood,” Scorch echoes.
“Eternal Sins first,” they all chorus. “Eternal till death… and after.”
The words are our creed, our promise, our bond.
And for the first time since Nyx’s message arrived, I feel something other than dread.
I feel hope.
Dangerous, fragile, probably foolish hope.
Because I’ve got my club behind me, a Blood Witch at my side, and seven days to prepare for a war that will determine whether we survive or burn.
I pull Sloane closer, my mouth brushing her temple, and send her a promise where words reach her mind. Telepathy between us is another connection that comes with the Heart Bind.
‘If I die, you burn them all down. Every last one.’
Her fierce response comes back instantly.
‘I won’t have to because you’re not dying. We’re surviving this together. Or not at all.’
The certainty in those words settles something deep in my core.
She’s right.
We’re in this together now.
Blood Witch and Original.
Mates bound by magic and choice.
And Heaven help anyone who tries to tear us apart.
Because they’ll have to go through both of us.
And the entire Eternal Sins MC.
Good-fucking-luck.