Page 9 of Blood Match
“Barely,” says Arabella. “And it’s only a temporary measure – there needs to be a constant supply, which is unsustainable without cooperation from the blood source. We have to look deeper.”
“That’s why I say we should be more proactive,” says Valmont. “We need access to more regular sources, as well as the ability to test compatibility.”
Someone nearby laughs drily. “That’s never going to happen.”
“Unless we don’t give them an option,” Victor says cryptically.
“You mean take from them? But we can’t do that.” Selene Nightshade is looking in my direction as she speaks, and I stiffen until I realize she’s looking at the man behind me. Marcus’s sister is as shrewd as he is. Their maker had been strategic in her choice of young ones. Clan Vesper has thrived under Selene’s direction.
Anger ripples through the assembly. “Why not? We are vampires!” someone snarls. “We shouldn’t be at the mercy of witches!”
I want to laugh. I want to snarl. Instead, I sit, outwardly calm while my mind races. How long can I keep this secret? How long before my own clan realizes their leader is compromised?
“We’re wasting time.” The voice that interrupts is cold, calculating. The others grow silent. I shift my gaze to the source.
Lucien Marlowe.
Even after several lifetimes, the sight of him still sets my teeth on edge. His lean frame seems to absorb the shadows around him as he looks about the table, commanding attention without raising his voice.
“My esteemed colleagues,” Lucien drawls, his pale gray eyes glittering. “Why do we tiptoe around the obvious solution?”
I tense. Whatever Lucien’s about to propose, I know it won’t bode well for anyone but him.
“We’ve tried diplomacy,” he continues. “We’ve tried coexistence. And where has it gotten us? Watching our own waste away while witches hoard the very thing that could save us.”
Hoarding? It’s their own damned blood, for fuck’s sake!
A murmur of agreement ripples through the room, surprising me. I had no idea there was such a strong contingent who supported this idea. I fight to keep my expression neutral, even as I feel Marcus’s presence behind me grow more rigid.
Lucien’s lips curl into a cold smile. “I say we take what is rightfully ours. We are the superior species. Why should we beg for scraps when we can simply…take what we want? Everything we want?”
The room erupts once more. Some rise in support, others in outrage. I remain still, even as my mind races. Lucien’s proposal is dangerous, outrageous – and tempting to those driven by fear.
And I could be one of them.
Never.
“I don’t think we should be reckless.” My own voice startles me. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Half a dozen pairs of eyes swivel toward me.
“You think what I’m proposing is reckless?” Lucien’s eyes meet mine across the room, a challenge gleaming in their depths.
“Don’t you?” I raise an eyebrow. “What you’re suggesting is a war on the witches.”
“I wouldn’t call it war,” Lucien smirks. “We’d simply take what we need.”
“By force?”
“By any means necessary.”
“I’d say that means war.” I sit back in my seat, forcing myself to relax. While I’ve never had any great love for the covens, I don’t see the benefit of unnecessary bloodshed.
“If they simply give us what we need, nobody needs to get hurt. If they resist, well…” He splays his hands. “Then they’d be asking for it, wouldn’t they?”
I lock eyes with Lucien, feeling generations of animosity crackling between us. “You’re proposing we throw away centuries of careful balance for what? A power grab?”
Lucien’s lip curls. “Balance? Is that what you call cowering in the shadows, Drake? I call it weakness. Cowardice.”
“Careful, Marlowe,” I growl, jutting my chin forward. “There’s a difference between caution and cowardice.”