Page 64 of Blood Caged
“Heath, please!” I cry out, hoping that I might appeal to his better nature. “We went to the same school together. We have history.”
“That’s irrelevant,” he snaps. “You could have made things so much easier for yourself if you’d just kept your stupid nose clean.” He shakes his head. “But what can you expect from a Blackwood? You people need to be taken down a rung or two.”
He slams the door shut behind him and locks it. And we’re left in the dark, waiting to face the consequences of what we’ve done.
22
Chapter 22
Soren
By Blood, what wasshe thinking? It’s a question I’ve asked myself a dozen times since I received the news.
For fuck’s sake, Mia!
But then again, am I really that surprised? If I were in her shoes, I’d be trying to get out, too. There’s just too much fire in her to remain caged up indefinitely. And it’s starting to feel like that’s Lucien’s plan. He’s given no indication that there is any end to this assignment. For all I know, he could expect me to oversee this facility until all of these witches die of old age. Unless he kills them first.
The thought makes my teeth grind.
The bare walls of the facility blur past me as I stride through the corridors. I’m heading to the ancient cellblock, where Heath – the sick fuck – decided to lock them.
I reach the dungeon, my jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. The musty air hits me like a wall, thick with the scent of fear and despair. Lucien and Heath are already there, waiting for me with matching smirks that make my skin crawl.
“Well, well,” Lucien drawls, his voice dripping with false pleasantry. “Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence. I hope we didn’t interrupt your beauty sleep, Soren.”
I bite back the retort that springs to my lips. Now’s not the time for petty squabbles. “We need to address the witches,” I say, keeping my voice level. “What’s our next move?”
Heath snorts. “Next move? They tried to escape. I say we make an example of them.”
The casual cruelty in his tone makes my stomach turn. I won’t let that happen to Mia. To any of them.
Lucien regards me with cold amusement. “You seem awfully concerned about their welfare, Soren. Getting soft in your old age?”
I meet his gaze steadily. “I’m concerned about the efficiency of our operation. Torturing them won’t get us more blood.”
“Perhaps not,” Lucien concedes, “but it might ensure they don’t try this little stunt again.”
I shake my head. “We need to talk to them. Find out how they managed it, plug the holes in our security. Punishment without information is just wasted effort.”
Lucien considers this for a moment, then nods. “Very well. Let’s see what our little witches have to say for themselves.”
As we move toward the cells, I steel myself for what’s to come. I know I’ll have to be careful, to walk a razor’s edge between appearing loyal to our cause and protecting Mia as much as I can. But I’m determined to find a way through this mess, no matter what it takes.
I enter the dungeon, the damp chill seeping into my bones despite my vampiric nature. The smell of mold and decayassaults my senses, mixing with the acrid tang of terror emanating from the cells. Lucien and Heath flank me, their eagerness for cruelty tangible in the stale air.
As we approach the cell holding Mia and her accomplices, my chest tightens. The sight that greets me is worse than I imagined. The three witches are chained to the back wall. Their clothes are torn and dirty, a far cry from the clean attire I’d ensured they had in their previous quarters.
Mia’s eyes meet mine, and the fire I’ve come to admire still burns there, though dimmed by exhaustion and fear. Her auburn hair is tangled and matted, her skin pale and drawn. Beside her, one of the witches cradles an arm that appears to be injured, while the other trembles uncontrollably, her eyes darting between us like a cornered animal.
The cell itself is a relic from a bygone era of cruelty. Stone walls weep with moisture, and rusted chains hang from iron rings embedded in the rock. A single, bare bulb casts harsh shadows across their faces, emphasizing the hollows of their cheeks and the dark circles under their eyes.
I struggle to maintain my composure, to not betray the horror and guilt churning in my gut. This is my fault. I should have seen this coming, should have done more to prevent it.
Lucien steps forward, his lips curled in a cruel smile. “Well, well,” he purrs, “I hope you’re enjoying your new accommodations. Perhaps this will teach you the folly of trying to escape.”
Mia lifts her chin defiantly, though I can see the effort it costs her. “We’re not your pets,” she spits, her voice hoarse but still strong. “You can’t keep us here forever.”
Her comment sparks something in me because I’ve been getting the sinking feeling that that’s exactly what Lucien has in mind. There’s been no indication of my role here being anything but permanent. It doesn’t bode well for her.