Page 6 of Blood Caged

I feel it then – the oppressive weight of the maker’s bond pressing down on me. My muscles lock, every instinct screaming to obey. A tightness grips my chest, squeezing the breath from my lungs. My ears buzz with the force of Maxwell’s command, drowning out all other sounds.

“Maxwell,” I grit out, fighting against the compulsion. “Don’t do this.”

But the pressure only intensifies. My body trembles with the effort of resisting, sweat beading on my forehead. The room spins, reality blurring at the edges as the bond demands my submission.

“I’m sorry, Soren,” Maxwell’s voice lowers, thick with regret. “I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice.”

Through the haze of compulsion, I keep my focus on Maxwell’s face. What I see there gives me pause. His expression is twisted with pain, mirroring my own internal struggle. This isn’t the cold, calculating maker I’ve known for centuries. Something’s wrong.

He hates this as much as I do.

The realization hits me with sudden clarity. What’s really going on?

I force myself to take a deep breath. Maxwell’s face swims in my vision, distorted by the pressure building behind my eyes. But I can’t let this go. Not without answers.

“Why, Maxwell?” I grit out, each word a battle. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Maxwell turns away, unable to meet my gaze. “I’m in a situation, Soren,” he says quietly. “A dangerous one. I can’t say more, but I need you to trust me.”

The bond pulses again, threatening to overwhelm me. But that hint of vulnerability in Maxwell’s voice gives me the strength to push back. I’ve known this vampire for centuries. He’s many things, but he’s never been one to show weakness.

I look at him then, reallylookat him. The set of his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes – it’s all wrong. This isn’t the confident, commanding maker I’ve known for half a millennium.

He’s afraid.

Whatever this is, it’s serious. Deadly serious.

“Maxwell,” I manage. “What kind of trouble are you in?”

He shakes his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “The kind I can’t talk about, son. Not if I want to keep us alive. Just know that this witch represents something important…and dangerous…to all of us.”

All of us.

The implication hits me, then. My maker is not easily intimidated; this has to go much deeper. Maxwell isn’t just protecting himself. Whatever danger he’s in, it extends to others. To his entire bloodline, perhaps all of our kind.

I close my eyes. The maker’s bond still thrums insistently, but now I understand. This isn’t about politics or old feuds. This is survival.

I clench my jaw, buckling against the overwhelming urge to submit. Every fiber of my being rebels against what Maxwell is asking. Kidnapping a witch? It goes against everything I believe in, everything I’ve worked toward for centuries. The tension in my body is almost unbearable as I struggle with the maker’s bond and my own moral compass.

“And this witch…” I trail off as I catch my breath. Now that I’m not fighting it, the bond is less constricting. “What’s so special about her?”

“She’s powerful, Soren. Her magic is deadly. Don’t think for a second that she will hesitate to use it. She…she’s evil.”

I mull over this for a while. There is good and bad within every species. God knows that my kind has more than its share. Stands to reason that the witches have evil among them, too. I’ve heardof the dark magic practitioners. Those who’ve let power go to their heads. If she’s among them, we may be doing her kind a favor.

“Why me?” I ask my final question.

“Because you’re the best of my line, son.” Maxwell’s expression softens. “I know I can trust you. Even without the bond, I know you’ll do what’s right. And considering your history—”

“Let’s not go there,” I stop him short.

“Of course. But you must know it has relevance.”

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. The weight of five hundred years settles on my shoulders. Loyalty, duty, morality – they all war within me. But in the end, there’s only one choice I can make.

“Alright,” I say. “I’ll do it.” I open my eyes, fixing Maxwell with a hard stare. “But I want answers, Maxwell. Soon.”

The relief that washes over Maxwell’s face is unmistakable. He reaches out, squeezing my shoulder. “Thank you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I promise, when I can, I’ll explain everything. But for now, my command is that you obey me and those who I represent.”

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