Chapter 7
Daxen
Idon’t simply enjoy being in control. I need it to survive.
I need to understand how things—people, situations, history, science—work, and how the pieces fit together. I need to know how to fix them when they don’t.
Which is why the magical signatures at Varenthrall’s Estate and the warehouse have me already on edge.
Wards like that shouldn’t exist. At least, they shouldn’t exist outside a handful of very old vampire bloodlines, and the ones that do exist certainly shouldn’t be strong enough to fry my gear, let alone cause it to glitch out. Twice.
Only a select few vampires have figured out how to utilize whatever part of our DNA makes us different from humans and wolven, and turn it into a tactical advantage. They use blood rituals to channel it into things like scrying, basic healing, cloaking, and making wards.
I’ve always understood the basics of it, but I made a point to study it thoroughly once I met Vae during Bloodbound training and discovered we were a pack. I taught myself the fundamentals and built my knowledge from there, one piece at a time.
If my packmate was going to be forced to deal with a curse attached to his very being, I was sure as fuck going to understand exactly how it worked.
The issue is, Blood Rites aren’t something you can Google. They’re closely guarded. Hoarded like secrets in a dying man’s mouth.
To be fair, as morbid as it sounds, that’s exactly what they are—secrets passed down from generation to generation, with absolutely no clue as to where they originated.
The way Blood Rituals and Blood Rites work comes down to science, if you stretch the definition of the word. It’s a biological response triggered by genetic markers. Anomalies in the DNA that activate or can be manipulated under an extreme or specific set of circumstances.
Magic isn’t some sparkly divine gift given to us by the gods. It’s nothing more than code.
And just like technology, to learn how to use that code, you need to have the key.
There are only about a dozen vampires who can create wards. So that means the vampire responsible for these latest wards is either someone we’re already aware of who’s seriously overhauled and upgraded their abilities, or it’s someone new with previously undiscovered abilities.
If it’s the latter, it means the human asshole might already be three steps ahead, and I can’t stand it when prey have the advantage.
Caelan still isn’t talking to me after our disagreement last night. Even now, he sits across the table with his arms crossed, jaw clenched, and eyes trained on the wall like he’s trying to burn a hole into the stone with his stare.
I can practically feel the hostility radiating off of him. Centuries together, and this asshole is going to give me the Fatesdamned silent treatment because I dared to question the eight-thousand unexplained issues surrounding some random Omega.
Now, on top of it, he’s admitting that his Alpha wants to protect her, and I’m not allowed to ask for an explanation? The whole situation is so unlike him it’s genuinely alarming, and yet somehow he can’t even see how strange he’s acting.
“Explain to me what happened to you during recon last night.” All of Gavran’s attention is fixed on Caelan.
“I was under the impression it was uneventful. Checking the entry and exit points, no real high-quality tech or alarms outside of the structure you found. Now you’re telling us that your Alpha instincts went out of control when you saw the human Omega. ”
I’ve been on the receiving end of the hard gaze Gav is aiming at Caelan, and part of me regrets calling my brother out in the middle of a meeting. The other part is seething after discovering that he downplayed his reaction to the female last night.
Why? He’s never done anything like that before. Not even close.
I knew something was off the moment he muted me during recon. That was the first red flag. He either didn’t know or didn’t care that my systems literally told me when I was muted, but I shrugged it off. I let him keep his secrets and didn’t pry.
I assumed already that he was looking into whatever the hell was going on with the girl while I was muted. Caelan’s usually great about keeping up a mental block, allowing barely a trickle through during missions, but I kept getting flashes of emotion the entire time he was there.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was causing those cracks in his armor. The girl rattled the hell out of him.
The fact that she’s a full-on digital ghost, something that’s fucking unheard of in this day and age, irritates me more than I care to admit. I spent twelve hours combing through every database, network, and corner of the black web I could, searching for a single godsdamned trace of her existence.
I didn’t find anything. Nothing.
Still, I decided not to push him on the subject.
I thought, ‘Hell, who am I to call him out if he finds some random human woman attractive? It isn’t like he bit her,’ so I mentally flagged it as ‘Hot Girl makes Caelan Twitchy,’ and told myself to move on, outside of making a mental note to take a night off and hit up a bar or something.
Let him pick up a beta and work off whatever pent-up testosterone is sending him sideways.
I’d do it, too. Even though I hate bars with the power of a thousand suns. They’re always so fucking dirty.
Seriously, would it kill the bartenders to use Clorox wipes between patrons?
It doesn’t matter. I’m scrapping that idea anyway, because needing to get laid is quite obviously not the root of his problem. Shit is getting a little too chaotic, and I fucking hate chaos.
The more out-of-character Caelan got last night, the more I pushed back at him. Called him out.
And I was right, if the way he shut down is any indication.
All day, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that there’s something more happening.
Did he block more emotion from me through the Bond than I initially thought?
Now we’re back in the War Room, and Caelan just dropped a bomb proving I’m right to be concerned about his shifty attitude. Gav’s right—he needs to tell us what the hell happened with that Omega.
To be fair, though—
“Her name is Idril.”
The words fly out without my permission. Before anything else stupid escapes, I snap my mouth shut so fast my teeth nearly take off a piece of my tongue.
Fates, why did I say that? It’s like something took over my vocal cords. Why do I care what the Omega’s name is?
The damage is done, though. Everyone’s attention homes in on me, various expressions of confusion, amusement, and shock painting their faces.
Caelan stares especially hard. I swear I can physically feel his eyes narrow in suspicion. I ignore them and determinedly stare at my laptop screen, pretending to scroll through scrambled readings like my life depends on it.
There’s nothing else to be done. Avoidance is the best and only plan of action here.
“Idril?” Silas perks up at the new information. A smirk stretches across his face, and I know whatever he says next will make me want to punch him.
“That sounds like a prescription medication. Like— ‘If you’re suffering from the inability to nest properly and your whines sound like a car engine backfiring, speak to your Doctor about Idril today!’”
For a moment, I indulge myself in imagining what it would feel like to pick up my laptop and beat Silas over the head with it.
Chaos is my personal hell, and Silas is its reigning, caffeinated, feral king.
Now that his pack—Ford and Evander—have been in Chicago for a grand total of fourteen hours, the younger Alpha is reaching peak crisis mode.
He’s about to hit what I like to refer to as his Decline Phase.
It’s a special window of time where he becomes progressively more needy and annoying, like a toddler who’s been away from his parents for too long and needs attention to survive.
He’s only going to get more chaotic from here, I just know it.
Leveling Silas with a hard glare, I choose to take the high road rather than indulge in his attention-seeking behavior.
“Yes, well. Not everyone’s parents have common sense. Look at who her father is.” I wave a hand dismissively, hoping they’ll all move on. Vae’s eyes are narrowed on me, his mouth pursed to the side.
I know that look. It’s the little smug smirk he always wears when he thinks he’s caught someone in a lie. Like Silas, I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Turns out, I don’t need to react to either of them, because Caelan has enough of a reaction for both of us.
“Shut the fuck up, Silas.” Caelan snarls like a wolf protecting its cubs. Silas, for the first time in history, actually looks startled, his already pale skin draining of color.
He recoils, and his eyes widen comically.
“S-sure, man. Sorry. It’s a pretty name.
Seriously. Super pretty. I was thinking of getting a cat.
Maybe I’ll name it Idril. You know… because it’s so…
pretty,” he finishes his tirade awkwardly, shrinking down under Caelan’s glare until he’s damn near falling out of his seat.
Caelan’s body is tense, a cold glint in his eye. I watch, baffled, as he purposefully unclenches his muscles and rolls his shoulders back. Then, he gives Silas a clipped nod to shut him up, and now he’s the one refusing to look anyone in the eyes.
What. The. Fuck.
“I didn’t realize who she was at first,” Caelan continues, softening his tone. “Just saw a silhouette that didn’t match any profiles we had.”
He launches a recap of what happened, the same one he gave last night, reiterating how I couldn’t find any trace of the girl online.
“Well?” Gav asks, attention swinging to me. “Did you eventually find anything?”
I stretch my legs out under the table and cross my arms.
“Not shit,” I tell him flatly. “And I’ll be real honest with you, it’s raising every red flag I’ve got.” I eye my brother purposely, and am slightly mollified when he cringes.