Page 39 of Blood Caged

I clear my throat, drawing everyone’s attention. The room falls silent, all eyes on me.

“Listen up,” I say, my voice cutting through the tension. “There are going to be some changes around here.” I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. A few uneasy glances are exchanged, but no one dares to speak.

“First,” I continue, “we’re improving the living quarters for the witches. They’re not animals, and we won’t treat them as such. I want better beds, proper sanitation, and some semblance of comfort. Make it happen.”

Grayson nods, jotting down notes. Heath’s face darkens, but he remains silent.

“Second, we’re reducing the frequency of blood drawing. From now on, it’s every second day, not daily. Their bodies need time to recover, and we’re not going to bleed them dry.”

This elicits a few murmurs of surprise. I silence them with a sharp look.

“Third, and this is crucial – increased rest and recovery time for the captives. That means proper meals, time outside their cells, and medical check-ups to ensure they’re healthy.”

I scan the room, meeting each pair of eyes. “These changes are non-negotiable. Anyone who has a problem with this can take it up with me directly. Understood?”

A chorus of “Yes, sir” echoes through the room. Heath’s voice is noticeably absent.

Grayson steps forward, his brow furrowed. “Sir, I understand the need for better conditions, but what about security? Won’t giving them more freedom increase the risk of escape attempts?”

I nod, acknowledging his concern. “A valid point, Grayson. We’ll need to adjust our protocols, but remember: a content prisoner is less likely to attempt escape. We’ll implement new security measures to counterbalance the increased freedom.”

Elena speaks up next. Her voice is tinged with worry. “But Lord Daire, what about our quotas? Lucien’s been clear about the amount of blood he expects. If we reduce the frequency of extraction, how will we meet those demands?”

I turn to face her, my expression resolute. “I’m glad you brought that up, Elena. The truth is, our current methods are unsustainable. We’re pushing the witches to their limits, and it’s counterproductive.”

I pause, making sure I have everyone’s attention before continuing. “Think of it this way – if we treat the witches better, allow their bodies time to recover between extractions, we’ll actually increase our overall yield. Healthier witches mean stronger, more potent blood. Quality over quantity.”

I can see the gears turning in their minds as they process this information. Some nod in understanding, while others still look skeptical.

“Look,” I say, my voice softening slightly, “I know this is a significant change. But trust me when I say it’s necessary for our long-term operations. We need these witches alive and relatively healthy. Dead witches produce no blood at all.” I stifle a shudder as I say it. Lucien all but admitted that he has no qualms about bleeding these people dry, how he doesn’t care if they don’t survive. I don’t even want to think about where the bodies are buried.

I lock eyes with Heath, his challenge hanging in the air. The room goes silent, tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Is there a problem, Heath?” I ask, my voice dangerously low.

He smirks, crossing his arms. “Just wondering when the great Soren Daire got so…soft.”

I take a step toward him, my fangs itching to descend. “Soft? I’d think you, of all people, would be pleased to see an improvement in the lives of your brethren.”

Heath’s eyes narrow. “They’re a means to an end, nothing more. There’s no sense in getting attached to them. They’re not pets.”

“You’re right,” I growl, “they’re not pets. They’re human beings, and they will be treated as such.”

A cruel laugh escapes Heath’s lips. “Well, well. I never thought I’d see the day that a vampire aspired to be more than a monster.”

In a flash, I’m inches from his face, my voice a low, menacing whisper. “Don’t push your luck, witch. You’re on thin ice as it is.”

Heath doesn’t back down, his violet eyes blazing with defiance. “Am I? And here I thought I was an invaluable asset to your little operation.”

“Assets can become liabilities,” I snarl. “Don’t forget your place here.” But as I say the words, I can’t help but wonder exactly what place this witch has in our ranks. Lucien Marlowe has never hidden his contempt for witches, and here we are, working with one. Probably more, if my guess is on point. Heath certainly isn’t in this alone. He has fellow conspirators.

But to what end?

“So, if you’re done with this little update, can we go?” he asks me now. His insolence sets my teeth on edge, but I don’t rise to the bait. This isn’t the time to lose control. I’ve dealt with far worse than an arrogant witch over the centuries.

Ignoring him, I turn my attention back to the others. “Let me make something abundantly clear to everyone in this room.” I sweep my gaze across the assembled team, letting my eyes linger on each face. “These new rules aren’t up for debate. They’re not suggestions. They’re orders coming directly from me.” I lock eyes with Heath, my gaze cold and unyielding. “And for those who might be tempted to disregard them, let me emphasize: there will be consequences.”

I step back, addressing the entire room once more. “I don’t make idle threats. There will be no more abuse of our charges. And this applies to everyone from the highest ranks to the lowest.” I set my jaw at the thought of the guard who’d been at Mia’s side when I found her unconscious on the floor. The female had certainly been responsible for her fall.

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