Page 9 of Blood

I don’t know if we’re prisoners or groomsmen in a bachelor party.

The prison we’re in isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before. Hell, I’m not even sure if you can call it a prison—unless jail cells in Mount Olympus mean something completely different than they do back on Earth.

Leather couches dominate the spacious room and surround an entertainment center, complete with a flat-screen TV, video game consoles, and surround-sound speakers. A counter lines the far wall, and on it rests a variety of snacks—popcorn, chips, pretzels, and even a freezer with tubs of ice cream. The black coloring of the furniture contrasts greatly with the monochromatic gray walls and white carpeting.

Is this...a man cave?

Zeus’s man cave?

Despite the opulence of the room, no one dares to touch anything. None of us have even sat on the couches, as if we all fear that the squeaky leather will burn our asses. Not that it would. I already studied it for any foreign chemicals.

The television has stayed off, the gaming consoles are unplugged, and the food table has remained ignored. Instead, the group of us sit in various positions around the room, not talking, not even looking at each other.

We’re no longer directly controlled by Zeus, but we’re still very much under his thrall, the rune etched onto our skin all too evident of that.

He used us to hurt Violet.

Now, she’s missing—who the fuck knows where Alex took her.

And Mason is...

I refuse to think that word, choosing to look at it from an analytical perspective.

In the monster world, death doesn’t always mean what you think it does. It can have a lot of connotations and meanings, and not all of them are crystal clear. What does “death” mean for Mason?

I think of my most recent experiment—separating Balor’s soul from Jack and Hux’s body, then placing said soul inside a new body.

Can I do that for Mason?

It will be difficult if I don’t have a tangible soul to see and touch...but not impossible. Perhaps I can find a way to pluck it out of the veil and—

“We need to stop sitting around like goddamn humans and come up with a plan.” The strident proclamation, unsurprisingly, comes from Dimitri, who only woke up a few hours ago. He’s still slightly pale, his white hair wildly disheveled, but the coherence and ice in his blue eyes are impossible to miss. He may be recovering from his kidnapping and consequent escape, but he’s not down for the count.

Not even close.

Palpable, raw energy radiates directly underneath his skin. The feel of it has the hairs on my arms standing on end. Dimitri has a way of spearing you with one eloquent look and demanding your complete and irrevocable compliance. He doesn’t merely request your attention—he commands it.

The headmaster slides a hand over his button-down white shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles.

“What do you suppose we do?” Vin’s voice is hoarse and rife with some unnamed emotion.

Grief, I think, but I’m not sure if I’ve ever truly experienced that sensation myself. I miss Mason—I know I do—but is what I’m feeling grief? Or is it merely sadness?

Is there even a difference?

“We need to find a way to my precious treasure!” Hux interrupts, jumping to his feet and balling his hands into fists. The scar slicing through his cheek looks particularly menacing today. Perhaps it’s because his lips are twisted into a terrible scowl.

Dimitri gives Hux a cold look.

“Obviously,” he drawls, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “But we need to devise a plan on how to do that.”

“The room is warded,” Barret murmurs softly from where he’s sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Cal against the far wall. Green magic dances around his dark skin as he closes his eyes. “Yes, I definitely feel the magic. It’s everywhere.” His eyes snap open. “We won’t be able to leave by any traditional means.”

“So, the room is warded against us using any magic.” Cal straightens imperceptibly, his red wings ruffling. The dark veins interwoven throughout remind me of smudged ink blots. They seem to have become thicker in the time we’ve been apart from Violet. His pink hair, normally meticulously groomed, is in complete disarray, the strands poking in all directions. “But can we use brute force?”

“Maybe if we can get one of the guards to open the door, we’ll be able to fight him off,” Barret muses, scratching at the stubble along his jaw. It’s beginning to turn into a full-on beard.

“Are you an idiot?”

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