Page 13 of Blood Caged

I shoot him a sharp look. “No, we’re not. But unnecessary cruelty serves no one. Make sure she has proper bedding.”

“As you wish, sir,” Grayson replies, his tone neutral.

I take one last look around the cell, my jaw clenching. This is necessary, I tell myself. We’re not here to torture her, just to contain her. It’s for everyone’s safety. Including hers.

I turn to Grayson. “I want to be notified the moment she arrives. I’ll oversee her placement personally. And remember, she is not to be harmed, do you understand me?”

“Of course, sir.” He gives a terse nod. “I will reinforce this with the team.”

“Good.” With that, I turn on my heel and retrace my steps to the operations room, taking my place in front of the rows of blinking consoles.

Soren

I’m still there three hours later when Grayson strides into the room.

“We have her, sir.” He points at the screen, where a pair of vampires are carrying an unmoving figure into the cell. It’s an unnecessary gesture. I’ve barely taken my eyes off it for the entire time I’ve been waiting here.

“Good,” I say curtly. As I watch, the vampires leave, the door slamming shut behind them. The figure remains still on the bed, where they’ve left her. It’s hard to make out much from the way that she’s lying, but, to be honest, she doesn’t give the impression of being powerful or evil. Just a woman, really. Long, auburn hair is splayed over her face, obscuring her features.

“How long will she be out.” I turn to look at Grayson.

He shrugs. “No telling. Heath says he subdued her with enough magic to take down an army. Could be hours. Days, even.”

My eyes narrow on the screen where the woman has just sat up. “Or maybe now,” I say drily.

“Shit,” Grayson says abruptly, which is the first sign of alarm I’ve ever seen from the stoic military man. He’s clearly not one of the ancients. Probably turned recently. During one of the world wars, if I were to hazard a guess.

I watch as the woman gets up off the bed and starts exploring her surroundings. And again, I’m struck by the fact that she looks nothing like my idea of a powerful witch. That mane of tawny red hair swirls around her shoulders as she grows increasingly agitated. Her features appear finely sculpted, from what I can see when she’s not spinning and prowling about.Suddenly, she lunges for the jug on the table and smashes it onto the floor.

By Blood!

I watch in alarm as she picks up a shard of the broken jug, closing her hand around it. Blood drips from her fist. She dips her fingertip into it and begins tracing patterns on her arm. She frowns darkly as she examines the markings, then drops to the floor, making more marks there.

What the fuck?

The sight of her blood has my fangs distending in a way that disturbs me. I’ve lived too long to be a slave to my base instincts. But more importantly, what she’s doing is…

Blood magic.

That’s forbidden. I may not know a lot about witches, but I know that much. Maxwell was right. She’s powerful. And from the looks of it, quite happy to use forbidden spells.

But after a few minutes of poring over the spot where she’s marking the floor, her shoulders slump. She stands, her shoulders straightening, as if she’s bolstering herself.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” she yells suddenly. “Let me out of here!” She spins toward the door, pummelling it with her fist. “You can’t keep me here! Do you have any idea who I am?” She hits the door again. “I’m Mia Blackwood, and when my family finds out about this, you’ll wish you’d never been born!”

I fold my arms over my chest, watching her silently.

Mia Blackwood.

It’s hardly the kind of name you’d expect for an evil sorceress. But then again, I just saw her practicing one of the arcane arts, so clearly, these things are deceiving.

She’s silent for a moment, and then, “Cowards!” she yells. “Face me, you bastards!” She kicks the door, makes a low sound of pain, then spins and leans her back against it. She slides downuntil she’s sitting on the floor. “Please. Someone… anyone…” she whimpers.

I grit my teeth, reminding myself that she’ll probably use every ploy in the book. And as if to prove me right, she surges to her feet again, spinning around. She stops and stares directly up into the lens of the camera. And for the first time, I get a good look at her.

She’s beautiful.

She has the fair, porcelain complexion that many redheads are blessed with. Pert nose, high cheekbones, a wide forehead over arched auburn brows. Her lips are pink and pouting, although their softness is offset by the stubborn set of her jaw. But it’s her eyes that get me. Vivid green, bright as emeralds in the sun. And they’re staring right at me as she shouts at the camera. For a moment, I’m tempted to step away from the console.