Chapter 6 #4
Dax shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it.
This kind of thing isn’t usually centralized.
I had bio and heat signature readings from both Gav and Vae right until they stepped five feet into the building.
” He blows out a long breath and frowns.
“I sent the Hawk back in after you guys left, and the scans in that specific area of the warehouse were identical to the scans I got last night.”
“So Varenthrall isn’t just working with Severed,” Silas muses. “He’s got a magic-wielder on his payroll, too. Ain’t that just the cherry on a shit sundae.”
“Do we know the two are connected, then?” Caelan asks. “The warehouse and Varenthrall?”
I notice a muscle jumping in his jaw. His body’s coiled tight, and he honestly looks ready to jump out of his seat. Where does he think he’s going to go, back to Varenthrall’s to demand answers?
“They must be,” Gav reasons calmly. “Those were extremely specific pieces of magical interference that acted identically.”
“There’s something else,” My voice cuts through the room. It’s a little too loud. A little unsteady. I wince and reach for the bottle of whiskey.
Gav leans over Caelan and snags it, passing it to me without judgment. I pour myself a large tumbler full and don’t even feel bad about it. Holding the glass in both hands, I focus my eyes on the amber liquid so I don’t have to look at my teammates and packmates for this next part.
“My Curse didn’t go off randomly tonight. I didn’t just… lose my shit.”
Great job, Vaelenor. That’s totally not at all fucking overly-defensive or anything.
“No one thought you did, Vae,” Caelan says in a soothing tone that I kind of hate and kind of love at the same time. “You’ve worked for centuries to wrangle it. No one is questioning your ability to keep control.”
That makes me hesitate, just for a moment. For a single blissful second, I let myself believe him. Let myself believe that my inability to control my Curse isn’t a reflection of my control or my position with the Bloodbound.
And to be fair, I think that he believes what he’s saying is true. I’m getting nothing but care and genuine confidence from him down the Bond.
The problem is, he’s wrong.
My Curse going off out of nowhere tonight proves that I can’t be trusted to be in charge of shit. My instincts don’t work right. There’s something inside of me that makes me detonate like I did tonight over the most stupid shit. It’s straight up deadly.
It’s why I normally sit back and let Dax and Caelan make all the decisions. No matter what, I’ll always be compromised so long as I can’t control this part of me and so long as our enemies can potentially use me as a weapon against my brothers.
Fuck, I could kill them accidentally one day. I could have killed Gav tonight.
Instead of arguing with him, I incline my head in thanks but don’t dare look up from my glass, afraid he’ll see just how fucking much I don’t trust myself.
“I appreciate it, but I need to tell you this next part. It wasn’t the Severed that brought my Curse out.
I smelled something when I got into the warehouse, and the next thing I know…
” I trail off, shaking my head ruefully.
“Regardless, the Severed didn’t set it off.
It was that fucking scent. The scent of magic. ”
Dax stares at me blankly. “Okay, so? That’s good. It confirms that the interference was definitely due to wards.”
I snarl in irritation. This asshole is really going to make me fucking explain this to him.
The one time I need him to use his damn brain for good instead of evil.
“No, Daxen. You’re not—fuck.” I toss back the rest of my drink and slam the tumbler down, motioning to Gav for another. I’m gonna need to get so fucking drunk to relive this shit again.
Gods, Dax could be clueless sometimes.
He couldn’t have just intuited what I needed him to know? Read my mind? Read the Bond? Dreamwalk? I mean, for fucks sake.
“My parents gave me this Curse during a Blood Rite that took years to orchestrate. Not months, years. There’s…
preparation. Rules. Forbidden shit scrawled on bone with blood.
You know, your standard cult bullshit.” I scrub my hands down my face and nod my thanks when Gav passes back my glass three quarters the way full.
“It was full of shit only the members of my House know, and those in charge of the Rite are sworn to silence. There are some creepy stories that my ancestors cut out the tongues of the conclave members so they couldn’t pass on the knowledge to other Houses.
It’s why no other House outside of ours has Marrowblades. ”
Dax scowls. “That, and their families aren’t fucking psychopaths who force kids into walking blade bombs.”
I bark out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. That too.”
The warmth of the whiskey works through my veins, wrapping around me like a soft blanket and numbing me enough to lay out my fucked up childhood trauma.
I wonder if Gav has a couch I can lie on and one of those swinging metronome things just to really set the mood.
“When I was nine, they took me to the ritual site. I was terrified.”
I move my hands to my thighs and fist them under the table so the guys won’t see them shaking. Talking about shit makes me feel weak enough as it is.
“We went down a dark stairwell that was so cold there was frost on the walls. I was with my mother. She held my hand the entire time, and I didn’t question anything.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, realizing yet again how incredibly fucked up this sounds and how incredibly naive I’d been. Looking back, I can’t believe I never saw any signs of what was coming.
“They brought me to a large, circular room. The stench of dead vegetation and dirt was everywhere. Someone—I think it was my Father, but they had a hood covering their face—strapped me down on a stone altar—”
Silas lets out a low whistle. “Fates, Vae. That’s a total blackout on the Cult Ritual bingo card. You hit every fucking square except the goat sacrifice.”
“Get real,” I reply flatly. “If someone had handed me a fucking goat back then, I’d have assumed we were making cheese. It was the 16th century, I was nine, and like most kids, I had the critical thinking skills of a possum.”
Silas leans forward, interest sparking in his eyes. “Alright, so how’d you go from Oh look, a goat! to Climb up on the Creepy Sacrificial Altar and Tell Santa What you Want for Christmas?”
Part of me wants to punch Silas in the mouth, but another part of me is overwhelmed with gratitude for his chaotic bullshit. My emotions are all over the place tonight.
Totally. Well. Adjusted.
I shoot him a shaky smile and finish the story. “I don’t remember much of it. It was long. I’m pretty sure I fell asleep a few times. And it was freezing cold. So cold that the blood they used to paint runes on my chest felt hot.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath somewhere in the room, but I don’t look to see who it is.
“Then the chanting started. There was a stench of sulfur. I thought someone had lit a match. Then the sulfur was replaced with the scent of lavender.” My hands reach for my whiskey glass, needing something to hold on to.
“After the lavender was the scent of ozone. Just this electric smell so thick in the air, I thought I could taste it. I remember thinking that if I inhaled any more, it would crawl into my brain and never leave.”
I glance up and meet Dax’s gaze with the most serious expression I can muster.
“That’s what I smelled tonight, as soon as I walked through the warehouse door.
It’s been hundreds of years, but I’ll never forget it.
My Alpha recognized it first. My instincts—the Alpha inside of me—flared.
It wanted… I don’t know. It was like it woke up and stretched for the first time.
Which sounds ridiculous but…” I shrug. “Then my Curse reacted to the threat.”
“Hold on. You said your Alpha instincts?”
When he speaks, my gaze snaps to Caelan.
He’s gone unnervingly still, whiskey glass hovering mid-air like someone hit pause before he could take a drink.
His hand flexes around the glass before he places it down carefully and focuses all his attention on me.
“Was your Alpha telling you to attack, or protect?”
Something in the way he asks that question makes me narrow my eyes in suspicion. I take a moment to think despite already knowing the answer.
What the hell is going on with him? He’s barely spoken this entire meeting, and now he looks… anxious?
“Protect,” I draw the word out slowly. “My Alpha wanted me to find whatever the threat was and eradicate it. My damn fangs dropped. Why?”
Caelan and Dax share a weighted look, and centuries of being a Bonded pack make it easy for me to grasp what’s going on.
These assholes are hiding something.
“Why do you ask Caelan?” I demand. I know I sound suspicious, but damn.
They’re hiding something from me. My own packmates.
I try to tell myself I’m overreacting. That I shouldn’t care if they’re not telling me something—it’s not like we have to share every fucking detail of everything with each other.
Tonight, though, I’m on edge. I already feel incapable of handling big decisions and like I’m a walking liability to my team and pack. My Curse going off has me drowning in self-loathing and second-guessing every thought that pops into my head.
Maybe they’re not telling me whatever they’re hiding because they don’t think I can handle it. Maybe they think I’ll go off again.
It’s easier just to follow their lead than take a gamble on my own feelings and wind up accidentally killing someone closest to me.
It’s not cowardly, it’s fucking survival.
Finally, Caelan groans softly and looks at me, his eyes full of resignation.
“Because, the way you felt tonight is the same way my Alpha responded when I was at the Varenthrall estate—and saw his Omega daughter for the first time.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from his. The room goes completely still right before a wall of pissed-off Alpha pheromones so thick it makes me gag explodes from across the table.
I snap my attention to Daxen. His face is set in a scowl so deep it sends a shiver down my spine. Slowly, so slowly it seems unnatural, he leans forward and closes the distance between his seat and Caelan’s. His voice is deep and full of rage when he snarls at our packmate.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
Oh, shit.