Page 3 of Blood Freed

Dammit!

I have to get control over this.

Desperation claws at my throat as I watch understanding drain from their faces. Even Marina, who I’ve known since childhood, looks at me with that same pitying expression. My hands shake as I make one final attempt to reach them.

“Listen to my words,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Feel my magic. You all know me – you know I’m telling the truth. Soren chose to defy his maker, chose to help me escape. That bond is killing him right now while we stand here arguing! How can we call ourselves protectors of life if we let someone die who risked everything to save one of our own?”

My magic flares yet again, and for a moment, I see doubt flicker across Marina’s face. But then her expression smooths, and she reaches for me with both hands.

“Of course, dear one. You’ve been so brave.”

Something in her tone makes me step back. The cool brush of her water magic feels different now – more focused, more purposeful. My eyes widen as I recognize the pattern she’s weaving.

“No! Marina, don’t—”

But it’s too late. Her magic wraps around me like a tide, soothing and inexorable. My limbs grow heavy as the magical sedative takes hold.

The world blurs at the edges as Marina’s magic seeps into my bones. My legs give out, and someone catches me – Dad, I think, from the familiar scent of sage and cedar.

“Soren,” I try to say, but my tongue feels thick and clumsy. The night sky wheels overhead as they lift me, car doors slamming in the distance.

My thoughts scatter, leaving me reeling. I fight to hold onto consciousness, desperate to make them understand. But Marina’s spell pulls me under, gentle yet relentless as the tide.

And then something happens. Not Marina’s magic. Something else.

Soren’s face fills my mind; it isn’t the controlled mask he showed others, but those rare moments when his guard dropped. The way his eyes softened when he thought I wasn’t looking. The tremor in his voice when he told me to run.

Oh, God, Soren. I’m sorry.I’m so sorry I left you there.

Something brushes against my consciousness – foreign yet achingly familiar. For a heartbeat, I feel a flash of pain that isn’t mine, taste blood I haven’t spilled. A whisper echoes through my mind:

Mia…

It’s him! As if he’s in my head…I know that it’s him!

Then Marina’s spell pulls me under completely, and I feel darkness take me.

2

Chapter 2

Soren

Pain blazes through mywrists and ankles. Silver. The burn of enchanted restraints sears into my flesh.

My eyes adjust to the earthy walls of this cell. Not so different from the ones in our vampire hold, though the witches favor a more natural approach. Their wards pulse with a soft, steady hum – a sound that would be almost soothing if it wasn’t designed to contain creatures like me.

The sharp, astringent scent of binding herbs fills my nostrils – sage, blackthorn, and something else I can’t quite identify. They’ve spared no expense in ensuring I stay put. A ghost of a smile crosses my lips despite the pain. The irony isn’t lost on me – I finally succeeded in freeing Mia from her prison, only to end up in one myself.

I shift slightly, testing the restraints. The silver chains rattle against the metal frame of the bunk I’m on, sending fresh waves of agony through my body. The Maker’s Bond still tears at me from within, Maxwell’s last command fighting against my betrayal. The only consolation is that the intensity of it has diminished to a tolerable level. But between that and these chains, I’m not going anywhere.

The soft hum of the wards increases slightly, responding to my movement. They’ve crafted this cell specifically to hold supernatural beings – I can feel the magic pressing against my skin like a physical weight.

The cell door opens with a soft creak. Three witches enter, their movements deliberate and cautious. The one in front catches my attention immediately – tall and lean, with dark eyes that seem to pierce right through me. His dark hair brushes the collar of his long black jacket, which flows around him like living shadows.

The other two flank him – a stocky man with close-cropped brown hair and a woman whose silver-streaked black hair is pulled back in a severe bun. Their faces are masks of careful neutrality, but their stances betray their wariness.

Something about the leader sets my teeth on edge. It’s not just the natural tension between our kinds or my current predicament. There’s a heaviness to his presence that makes the air feel thick, like trying to breathe underwater. The wards in the cell pulse stronger, responding to his proximity.

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