Page 3 of Blood Secret

They didn’t give me the chance to answer before they left, all four of them. A set of clothing waited for me, folded on a chair in the corner. The only piece of furniture in my cell aside from the wooden slab which served as a bed.

I’d wondered in the past why we had to live such monastic lives. Not that I was ever one for luxury, but an actual bed with pillows and a soft blanket would’ve been welcome.

I ran a hand over the stubble which covered my cheeks and chin, then through the dark hair which hadn’t grown or even changed to gray in the hundred years I’d been asleep. The same as always.

The same as I was the night I ceased being human and became something else. Something hungry and vicious and brutal. The lust had calmed over time, and I could control it when I needed to, but the underlying hunger never went away.

Once dressed in what they’d left me—a simple pair of pants, a thin, cotton shirt, and thick-soled shoes, which I knew would be most of my meager wardrobe—I followed the long, narrow tunnel through The Fold, past the many cells containing my fellow Nightwardens. T

hey were sleeping off their last assignments, waiting for the time they awoke to the taste of a witch’s blood on their lips. There were so many, enough to be sure the High Sorceresses would be well-served throughout our millennium of slavery.

I used to imagine freeing all of us, of putting an end to the insanity that was our existence. Even if it meant dying—which it certainly would—wasn’t it preferable to our conscripted service as bodyguards to witches?

The large, comfortable chambers which the High Council used while spending time among those of us in The Fold sat at the end of the tunnel, and a fire burned there.

I could see the warm, glowing light shining through the open doorway. The only open door in the place—every other door was sealed shut with magic. Just like the fire was magic and the eternal youth and beauty of the High Council was magic.

Nothing about them was real—them or any witches. I reminded myself of that as I stepped into the room. I couldn’t let Isobel lull me into a false sense of camaraderie, no matter how kind she seemed. We weren’t going to be friends.

The four of them sat around a wooden table, drinking what looked like wine.

My tongue darted over my lips before I could stop myself. I hated looking desperate, but I needed to feed. Watching them drink only made me want to drink, even though it wasn’t wine I wanted.

“Ah, you’re ready.” Esme waved to a chair, offering me a seat. I refused, choosing to stand with my hands clasped behind my back. It was better not to get comfortable, because I would certainly not be comfortable in my assignment.

Serena looked mildly amused by my reaction. Well, she could afford to be amused, sitting in comfort the way she was.

The high-backed chairs with their velvet cushions in the same color blue as the Council’s robes. The thick rug beneath my feet, a rug I sank into with every step.

I would’ve bet my next feeding that the wine was an excellent vintage. Another point about witches: their inability to exist without the best of everything at their fingertips.

I supposed I would’ve magicked up an excellent wine or a warm fire if I had the ability, too.

“Isobel is the new High Sorceress of the Willow Flame Coven,” Serena explained with a warm smile in my charge’s direction.

I frowned. “The name isn’t familiar to me.”

“It wouldn’t be,” she replied. “They’re a new coven, only recently decreed an official branch of our sisterhood. They came to our attention several years back, when we received word of a group of witches descended from those of us who left either the Crescent Moon or Cascade Circle Covens for one reason or another. Dissent, banishment, things of that sort. The current members wished to be acknowledged as a real, legitimate branch, entitled to all the honors and benefits of the other two. After much deliberation,” she said, eyeing up her fellow Council members, “we decided to include them in our larger family.”

It hadn’t been an easy decision, I noted.

Maeve’s mouth was set in a hard line while Serena recounted. Clearly, she wasn’t in favor of the ruling.

So, that was why Isobel seemed so frightened and unsure. It made all the sense in the world. As an outlier for so many years, she wasn’t accustomed to the traditions of the other covens. Their use of Nightwardens to guard the High Sorceresses against sorcerers and other threats.

It must have come as some surprise, the introduction to The Fold and the rituals necessary. Especially imprinting, which was the most intimate bond two creatures could experience. Nothing to be taken lightly.

“However,” Serena continued, “it’s not Isobel you will be guarding.”

It was like the bottom dropping out of my world. Just when I thought I had figured things out.

“What do you mean? How is that possible? She woke me.”

“Yes, because the person you’ll guard doesn’t have the ability to wake a Nightwarden. Her blood lacks the magical qualities which set us apart—though she does share Isobel’s genes.”

I looked at the gentle, dark-haired witch. “She’s a relation of yours.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. My daughter.” There was a quiver in her voice when she announced it.

---