Page 7 of A Touch of Madness

Before I can speak again, Dorian strides toward us, his expression carved from stone, his movements unhurried yet purposeful. One hand rests within his pocket, the other hanging loosely at his side—a posture deceptively casual, masking the gravity of his presence.

“Thanks for meeting me. We need to talk. Now,” he intones, his voice the low rumble of distant thunder.

He leads us beyond a pair of iron doors into a private lounge, its walls intimate and oppressive. Midnight-blue chairs encircle a solitary table, a decanter of crimson wine resting at its center like a sacrificial offering. Candlelight dances upon its surface, casting flickering shadows that writhe like restless spirits.

Dorian doesn’t wait for us to settle. “They’re gone,” he says, the words clipped, his tone taut with restrained fury.

Sylvie’s brow furrows. “What’s gone?”

“The blood reserves,” Dorian replies, and the weight of his revelation drops like an iron shroud.

The breath I take feels sharp, like a blade drawn across my ribs. Dorian continues, his usual composure fraying at the edges. “The packs we’ve relied upon to stave off chaos—they’ve been taken. All of them. Vanished.”

Sylvie’s confusion deepens. “The blood packs... they’re for vampires who don’t feed from humans, right?”

I nod, my gaze steady upon her. “They are a compromise. A lifeline. For those among us who choose restraint, they offer sustenance without sin. Some walk a path of balance—human veins for indulgence, packs for practicality. Others abstain entirely from feeding directly. But this theft...” My voice falters briefly, a storm of unease roiling within me. “It is no small matter. This could unmake all we have built.”

“Why not replenish the supply? Can’t the donors provide more?”

Dorian exhales sharply, his frustration palpable. “The process is not so simple. Blood cannot be drawn without consequence. Humans must recover, their health safeguarded. To replace what was stolen will take weeks, if not longer. And in the meantime...”

His pacing quickens, each step heavy with foreboding. “Ravenous vampires make poor decisions. Without the packs, restraint crumbles. And with it, so does the fragile peace we cling to.”

I step forward, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “The city would quickly descend into madness,” I say quietly, the truth of it settling like ash.

Sylvie’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and incisive. “Who would do this? It isn’t like a theft would go unnoticed.”

Dorian’s gaze darkens. “It was no accident. Someone planned this. And I believe we both know who.”

“The Society,” I say, the name a bitter curse upon my tongue.

Dorian nods slowly, his jaw tightening. “Who else would gain from inciting chaos? Turning us into the monsters they fear. Unleashing the darkness we keep buried, barely contained. They couldn’t get Sylvie to take part in their ritual, so they are going to hit us where it hurts in the meantime. Can’t kill us? Why not make us our own downfall? It has Solstice written all over it.”

I glance at Sylvie. Her delicate fingers toy with the hem of her sleeve, a small, unconscious gesture of unease. Her lips are a pale line, pressed firm as her mind works to unravel what’s just been said.

“There’s more,” Dorian adds, his voice quieter now, as if the weight of his next words has stolen the air from his lungs. He drags a hand over his mouth, hesitating. “I’ve heard whispers of betrayal among our own. Staff meeting with outsiders. Accepting bribes.”

“From the Society?” My voice is measured, but there’s a razor edge to it, cutting through the room like a blade.

“Most likely.” Dorian exhales sharply. “If the Society’s pulling strings, it’s their poison seeping into everything. They starve us, pit us against one another, and call it justice. But we have to be certain. If they’re involved, we’ll find the evidence. No one else stands to gain from this… no one hates us more.”

Sylvie speaks then, her voice soft but steady. “Can you read their thoughts? Whoever’s hiding something?”

Her question sparks a sudden, visceral ache in me, a longing to silence her questions with a kiss, to press my lips against her unknowing, beautiful mouth. She doesn’t yet understand what she’s asking—what she’s asking of me.

“Our staff,” I say, my voice cool and distant, “are all vampires. If there’s one thing we excel at, it’s guarding our thoughts. Even from our own kind.”

And then, as if to challenge every certainty we’ve built, the air shifts. A crackling energy arcs through the room like lightning, sharp and sudden. Dorian and I turn to find its source: Sylvie.

She sits unnaturally still, her hands trembling as a faint shimmer surrounds her, an aura of power rippling outward in invisible waves.

“I can find out who it was,” she says tightly, her voice strained but resolute.

Dorian arches a skeptical brow. “How?”

Her gaze meets his, unflinching. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I can feel it—the moment you mentioned betrayal, something surged inside me. Like I could… pull the truth out of the air.”

Before either of us can respond, she closes her eyes and effectively silences us. A breath shudders through her as the room begins to dim, the candlelight flickering weakly against the thickening shadows. She’s finding herself, I realize, her instincts guiding her where her mind cannot.

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