Page 6 of Blood Freed

“Mia’s testimony will be required, of course.”

My carefully maintained composure cracks at her name. “Is she…?” The words catch in my throat. “Is she alright?”

Something flickers in Shadowmaster’s eyes – surprise, perhaps, at this display of genuine concern. For a moment, the shadows around him go still.

“She’s recovering,” he says finally, his tone more measured. “The healers are tending to her.”

Relief floods through me, followed immediately by a sharp pang of worry. I want to ask more, need to know if she’s truly safe, if she’s told them about my role in her escape. But I can’t afford to show more vulnerability than I already have.

I raise my chin and meet Shadowmaster’s gaze steadily, forcing my features back into their careful mask of indifference.

“Good,” I say.

“I’ll leave you to think about your past behavior,” he says coldly. “And maybe what your future might hold.” With that, he turns on his heel. The door closes behind him with a heavy thud. The wards pulse once, strongly, before settling back into their steady hum.

Alone again, I let my head fall back against the wall. Every movement sends fresh waves of pain from the silver restraints, but physical discomfort is the least of my concerns right now. Morgan’s words echo in my mind – two days until the Conclave convenes. Two days to face whatever justice the witches deem appropriate for my “crimes.”

So ironic. For centuries, I’ve navigated vampire politics with careful precision, maintaining a delicate balance of power and influence. Now, here I sit, caught between vampire law and witch justice, all because I couldn’t watch one woman suffer any longer.

Mia.

Her name fills my thoughts, drowning out the pain of the restraints, the lingering effects of the Bond, even the uncertainty of my fate. I remember the fierce determination in her eyes as we planned her escape, the way she refused to let fear paralyze her when everything was at stake.

If I close my eyes, I can still feel that moment of connection when her presence flooded my mind, anchoring me against the Maker’s Bond’s attempt to destroy me. No one has ever reached me like that.

The Conclave can pass whatever judgment they see fit. They can believe whatever version of events Lucien has fed them. But given the choice again – knowing it would lead me here, to this cell, facing execution – I would still help her escape.

The silver burns, but not as much as the thought of never seeing her again.

3

Chapter 3

Mia

The familiar scent ofGran’s healing tea wafts through my childhood bedroom, chamomile and lavender touching the air with their sweet, soothing scent. My hands shake as I pull the covers from me and sit.

The room feels both comforting and strange after my long absence. My old stuffed animals still perch on shelves, watching over me with glass eyes that once felt so friendly. Now they seem like silent witnesses to how much has changed. The purple walls, covered in my teenage attempts at magical diagrams, remind me of simpler times when my biggest worry was mastering basic spells.

I press my palm against the wall, feeling the subtle vibration of protection spells surrounding the house. Mom’s work – I’d recognize her magical signature anywhere. The familiar pulse offamily magic wraps around me like a warm blanket, yet my heart aches knowing Soren is locked away somewhere cold and dark.

My legs wobble as I stand, but I grit my teeth and force myself to take a few steps. The muscle weakness from months of captivity frustrates me, but I refuse to let it stop me. Somewhere beyond these safe walls, Soren needs me. The same determination that kept me alive during my imprisonment now drives me to regain my strength.

Voices drift up from downstairs – Mom and Kara discussing something in low tones, Gran’s occasional authoritative comments cutting through. The sound of their presence soothes some raw edge inside me. After so long in isolation, just knowing they’re near helps steady my racing thoughts.

But they don’t understand. They see only what they want to see – a traumatized victim defending her captor. They don’t feel the truth of what Soren and I shared, don’t know how he risked everything to save me.

A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. “Mia, sweetheart?” Mom’s voice carries through the door, gentle but insistent. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah, I am, Mom,” I call back. I’ve slipped in and out of sleep since they brought me home last night. As much as I’m worried about Soren, exhaustion has overwhelmed me.

“I brought you some soup – your favorite butternut squash,” Mom adds.

I close my eyes, fighting the surge of irritation. They’ve been hovering since I got back, treating me like I might shatter. “Come in,” I say, turning back to sink onto my bed. The small exertion has left me breathless.

Mom enters, carrying a tray loaded with enough food for three people. Her hands tremble slightly as she sets it down. Crockery rattles. “You need to build your strength.”

“I’m not hungry.” I immediately regret the harshness of my tone.

---