Page 44 of Veiled Yearning

She takes a deep breath and puffs it out. “Right.” A tiny muscle in her jaw twitches. “Let’s do this, then.”

The first part of our journey couldn’t have gone more smoothly. Thanks to Lucas, the illusion of a steady flurry of snow followed us all the way from Manchester to Albany. Our shields held, no other vampires came near, and the traffic was even surprisingly light.

Chiara was almost vibrating with nerves, but she held it together admirably.

And when we got close to the run-down house we use to hold captive Custodians, and Frederick offered Chiara another chance to back out, she answered firmly, “No. I’m doing this. It’s too important not to.”

Now we’re in the basement, a heavily reinforced area incongruous to the appearance of the rest of the house. Upstairs is all peeling wallpaper and faded paint and heavy blinds thick with dust. Downstairs is modern—steel walls, inches thick, twenty-four-seven security, dozens of alarms, ultra-secure cells with complicated locks. At any sign of an impending escape, the entire basement seals up and the only way to leave is through biometric access.

When we first brought Knight here to see it, he was shocked. He had this idea that being vampires, we’d have drafty jail cells and skeleton keys and torture devices. Frederick laughed at Knight’s expression, chuckling, “Just because we’re old, it doesn’t mean everything we use is. For some things, modern is better.”

I told Chiara about the basement before we came, so she wouldn’t be surprised. I thought she’d feel more comfortable knowing exactly what she was coming into, given how scared she is about all of this. She still looked a little startled by everything, and leaned in to whisper, “You explained it, but I was expecting something… smaller. The cells are so big.”

The basement has a total of six cells, each one enclosed by layers of reinforced steel. They’re fairly spacious and comfortable, considering their purpose. Each prisoner has a bed, a couch, table and chair, a small shelf stocked with a selection of books, and even a semi-enclosed bathroom.

We discovered over the years that treating our captives with humanity seemed to make them more agreeable, and at times, more willing to give us valuable information. It’s not our goal to torture them, not unless it’s a matter of life or death.

Chiara sweeps her gaze across the row of cells, pausing for a moment on each one of them. Four of the cells are in use, and all the men inside stare at her with open curiosity. She moves closer to me, pressing into my side.

“Do they know?” she whispers. “Why I’m here?”

“No. They don’t even know who you are.” Larkin pitches his voice low as he answers her.

Still whispering, Chiara asks, “Who is it? Who am I trying this on?” She’s full-on shaking now, her hand jumping inside mine. Even her voice is trembling, and her eyes are so wide, white shows all around the brown.

“The one on the far left,” Frederick jerks his chin in that direction. “He has the ability to manipulate wind. In battles, he harnessed it into tornadoes that would fling his opponents away from him.”

There’s silence, before Chiara says softly, “Oh. That’s… Okay. It’s good to know what to expect. When I have the energy inside me.”

“Are you ready?” Larkin positions himself so he’s on Chiara’s other side, shielding her. More gentle than I’ve ever heard him, he tells her, “You won’t have to go near him. And we’ll be right beside you the entire time. I promise, we will not let him hurt you.”

As we walk towards the cell, she mumbles, “I’m not worried about that.”

The Custodian we’ve chosen eyes us warily, no doubt alarmed by our sudden arrival. To someone in captivity, the sight of eight powerful vampires—myself, Frederick, Larkin, Knight, Lucas, Nylah, Sam, and Chiara—is unlikely to mean good news.

A weak gust of wind pushes at us, but it stops abruptly after Nylah snaps, “Don’t try it. Or I’ll take away all the books.”

The Custodian flinches, casting a quick glance over at the stack of books piled high beside his bed. Shoulders sagging, he gives a quick nod and mutters, “Fine. Just don’t take them.”

Chiara is staring at the man with this unreadable expression, but her fingers are like a vise around mine. Quietly, she asks, “What’s your name?”

His gaze jumps to hers, and he scowls at her. “Why?”

Larkin frowns. “You don’t need to know—”

“Yes.” Her voice firms. “I do.”

“It’s Elias.” Nylah turns to Chiara. “And he nearly killed several of my friends.” Her features go hard and angry. “Not Sentinels, just people minding their own business. They had nothing to do with the Custodians.”

“It was an order,” the Custodian retorts. “And you don’t follow orders from”—he jerks his chin towards Larkin—“him?”

“Enough.” Frederick’s voice is a whip cracking. “We’re here for a reason. Let’s get on with it.”

Chiara draws in a shuddering breath, and she slowly lets go of my hand. She pulls a smooth stone from her pocket and cups it in her palm. Her eyes flicker toward mine, uncertain and scared. A tiny tremor ripples through her body.

Part of me wants to end this right now, but I force myself to stay silent.

Then she sets her jaw, swallows hard, and focuses on the Custodian.

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