Page 5 of Blood Freed

Now, I feel an unexpected peace. She made it. After nearly a year of watching her suffer in that cell, of maintaining my cold facade while secretly wanting to free her, she’s finally safe. The Maker’s Bond can rip me apart for my betrayal – I don’t give a fuck.

But what about the voice?

The voice that came out of nowhere, that felt like it was speaking to my soul. That moment when I’d been ready to let the Bond take me, to succumb to Maxwell’s command and the agony of my betrayal…

The Maker’s Bond had torn through my body like molten silver, my muscles seizing as I gripped the steering wheel. Death would have been a mercy compared to defying a maker’s direct command. I’d felt my chest crumpling, my vision dimming at the edges.

But then – her voice. Not spoken aloud, but resonating in my mind with a clarity that cut through everything else.

Soren.

The force of her presence had been staggering. Where the Maker’s Bond was all pain and compulsion, this was…different. Warm. Vital. Like drinking sunlight, if such a thing were possible for a creature like me. Her energy had coursed through me, not healing exactly, but anchoring me to this world when everything else was trying to tear me apart.

For those few precious seconds, I’d felt everything – her fear for me, her gratitude, her…care. The depth of it had shocked me. After centuries of emotional walls and careful distance, the raw honesty of her feelings had stripped away all my defenses.

That connection had given me the strength to keep going, to keep my heart beating despite Maxwell’s command trying to stop it. Just long enough to see her reach safety.

Even now, sitting in this cell with Morgan Shadowmaster’s cold stare boring into me, I can still feel an echo of that moment. The memory of her presence lingers like a whisper in my mind. And as for the Maker’s Bond…now that my defiance is complete, it’s faded. No longer necessary.

Shadowmaster’s voice cuts through my memories. “…and, of course, the Assembly has been notified of your capture.”

My attention snaps back to him. The Blood Assembly? A chill runs down my spine as I catch the slight emphasis he places on certain words, the careful construction of his questions. These aren’t just any interrogation tactics.

“They’re quite interested in speaking with you about your…actions,” the witch continues, his dark eyes studying my reaction. “Particularly regarding the facility uncovered during recent rescue efforts.”

The facility.That’s Lucien’s domain; his “storage facility” for witches whose blood shows promise in taming the Bloodbane.

Do they think that was me? That I had a hand in it?

But you did. For a year.

Guilt floods me.

“Tell me,” Shadowmaster’s voice drops lower, “did Maxwell Kern authorize your position at the facility?”

“What?” I snap, suddenly galvanized into a response. “What does he have to do with this?”

“That remains to be seen.” He eyes me for a moment. “He is your maker, yes?”

How does he know that? The maker lines aren’t exactly secret, but nor are they common knowledge. And certainly not something that a witch should know. Yet here he is, wielding vampire politics like a scalpel, cutting straight to the heart of my betrayal.

“You seem surprised,” Morgan notes, the shadows around him writhing slightly. “Perhaps you thought the witch covens remained ignorant of vampire hierarchies? Of the importance of Makers’ Bonds?”

I keep my face carefully blank, but my mind races. Lucien’s influence is all over this interrogation – and my gut is telling me that this is not going to go well for me.

The stocky witch shifts his weight, hand moving toward what I assume is a concealed weapon. They’re watching my everyreaction, waiting for something. A confession? A slip that would confirm whatever Lucien has told them?

“The Assembly,” I say carefully, “might be interested to know who’s been sharing such detailed information about our internal affairs.”

Shadowmaster’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I imagine they would. Unfortunately, you won’t be speaking with them until we’re done with you.”

The silver burns deeper with each passing moment, but I keep my spine straight, my expression composed. Even when every nerve-ending screams for relief, I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me broken.

“And why would that be?” I keep my voice steady and my expression neutral.

“The Conclave will convene in two days to hear your case,” Shadowmaster announces, his tone carrying a weight of finality. “Until then, you’ll remain here under guard. The charges include kidnapping, forced blood extraction, and conspiracy against the witch covens.”

I start to protest, but he cuts me off with a sharp gesture.

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