Unseen (The Heights, Vol. 1)

by Lauren Stewart

  “When a small amount of your blood is injected into the body of a new dat vitae, it will become more powerful.”

  “So the next one will be even more potent than I am?”

  He nodded. “All of them will be.”

  All of them. Oh, shit. “How many are we talking here?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Her breath caught when she heard Micah’s voice in her head.

  “Get out of here, Addison. Now.”

  She didn’t want Herrick to know she had an angel in her head, so she stopped herself from screaming or running to look for Micah. “I’d love to, but I’m gonna need a ride.” She saw a blur of white further down the line that could’ve been him. “So let me know when you’re ready to go.”

  His laugh was raw, pained. “Your spirit is strong, Vitae. I believe the prophecy will come to pass.”

  “Ugh. Don’t talk to me about that stupid prophecy. The more I hear about it, the more screwed up my life gets.”

  Before she decided what to do or if there was anything she could do, she needed to assess the situation. The hayloft was wide enough to walk the length without tripping over a bale of hay or any of the supers. Unfortunately, she couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the feel of Herrick’s breath on the back of her neck.

  The first being she came to was a were in his wolf form with a silver collar around his neck and a chain attached to the wall. She wondered if the stress made it impossible for him to shift or if this form made him stronger. Next was an absolutely disgusting-looking demon who stood in a very small pentagram made from white granules, undoubtedly salt.

  Both of them had a tube attached to their necks, a needle stuck into their carotids probably. The connection had to be magical or the beings would have ripped them out. These witches weren’t messing around.

  Nasty. “You’re going to bleed them into that pot downstairs.”

  “To create the dat vitae,” Herrick said, “the blood of each race must mix and be taken into our magic.”

  Next in line was a seer who had his knees pulled into his chest and his head buried between them. His arms wrapped around himself, cuffs on both wrists.

  “How do you take blood into magic?” Addison fucking hated these witches.

  “We ingest it during the ritual.”

  “Eww.” She grimaced and gagged but started walking again. “Aren’t you worried about communicable diseases?”

  The seer’s head popped up. “Addison?”

  “Logan!” As she ran forward, Herrick grabbed her, digging his fingers into her arm. “Let me go!”

  “You can’t touch him. I’m giving you a chance none of the others would give you, Addison. Don’t blow it.”

  She glanced at him and then back to her friend. Logan still wore that awful champion outfit, which meant he’d been here since the night of the Treaty fight. ‘I’ll get you out of this,’ she mouthed to him. When he smiled sadly, she had to turn away—his doubt would only strengthen hers.

  She swallowed and moved on, her hands trembling, her stomach twisted, and her teeth biting into her lip to stop herself from crying. What had she been thinking? That she could just talk the witches into doing the right thing? They’d kept Logan chained up for days. They were going to drain their captives’ blood to make something that needed a child’s body to inhabit.

  Crazy doesn’t blend with logic. Power-hungry doesn’t blend with empathy or respect.

  Next in line was the angel. Oh powers, the angel. She didn’t know how Micah was bound, but whatever it was had weakened him terribly. His wings were wilted, stained with blood and dirt, his head hanging low.

  “No more chances,” Herrick said when she took a few steps forward.

  “Leave now, Addison. You don’t want to be party to what will happen.”

  “You need to get out more if you think this is a party, Micah. After I get us out of here, I’ll take you to a good one.”

  It was almost a smile that passed over his face. A sad, painful smile. “And how will you manage that?”

  She had no idea. Release the demon? All she would have to do was break the line a few times and he’d be free. He certainly looked pissed off enough to do serious damage, despite his weakness. Of course, once he was free, he might not be too particular about who he killed.

  “Um…” she thought to Micah. “If I get you free, could you take it from there? Help me fight off the witches?” She’d been living under the assumption that she could kick a witch’s ass for a while now, and even though that had yet to be proven, she was pretty confident about it. But not all of them. Or half of them. Or more than one of them, actually.

  “Perhaps a few, but we are all weakened.”

  “Just… Let me think on it.” Logically, she knew she wasn’t up to saving anyone. She had no skills to speak of. The best thing she could do was go for help. But just getting to civilization would take hours without a vehicle. She could say she wanted to pick up some solstice snacks, but the witches wouldn’t agree to hold off on their cool bloodletting party, not with all the trouble they’d gone through to kidnap and bring her here. She had to come up with something, the sooner the better for everyone.

  The witch looked none too happy—not a surprising reaction to his peeps chaining him to a wall with the intention of draining all the blood out of him. The mage sat cross-legged on the ground, her eyes closed. It was more likely she was trying to focus her power than meditating.

  The witches’ work was impressive. A lower race capturing and holding a member of every higher race didn’t seem possible.

  Shockingly, it took Addison until then to realize they all wore champion outfits. An old-fashioned looking, leather-accented target unknowingly put on them by their own people. That sucked.

  “So the whole who-let-the-demons-out thing at the celebration was just a distraction, right?” They probably hadn’t grabbed Logan and Micah during the fight because they hadn’t dared to get close enough. “What, Herrick? No excuses or denials or anything?”

  “When you understand why we’re doing this, you’ll thank me. And apologize.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that.”

  The last in the lineup was the vampire. He also was the only one who looked undefeated, his head held high even while his body slumped against the wall.

  “Graham?”

  He glared at her, probably assuming she’d chosen to come instead of being forced like the rest of them. His shirt was stained red and torn, almost as close to his heart as Rhyse’s wound had been. And then one more piece slid into place. Besides Graham, they all were officially designated the strongest of their respective races. “The stronger the blood donor, the stronger the dat vitae, right?”

  “Yes,” Herrick said from just behind her.

  That’s why the stake had missed Rhyse’s heart. The witches intended to start a war, but not by setting the high races against each other. If he hadn’t phased out, if Addison hadn’t found him, Rhyse would’ve been standing right where Graham was. She’d tasted his blood and knew it packed a punch. The witches would’ve used Rhyse’s blood to make more like her.

  When she saw a large crate in the corner, heard the quiet weeping within it, she forgot everything else. Not thinking, because she couldn’t think, she ran forward and pulled on the lock. Through a small hole in the wood, she saw two beautiful, terrified eyes looking up at her.

  “I’ll get you out. It’s going to be okay.”

  Herrick spun her around and slapped her. The blow stung, bringing a different sort of tear to her eyes. The warlock backed away, tripping over his feet while staring in horror at Addison’s mouth. She must have been bleeding.

  “Oops.” Wincing, she wiped her mouth with both hands, trying to smear her blood over as much of her as she could. If he wanted to hit her again, he’d have to touch her.

  Micah called her name. “They are coming.”

  She dug her fingers into the crate, not the lock—she’d never get through metal. Wood splinter
s dug into her hands and the beds of her nails, going deeper into her skin because she didn’t stop. A large chunk of wood splintered, and the whole side of the crate released.

  The child must have been terrified, so Addison was going to have to carry him or her. But she would get them both out and then come back with help for Logan and the others. She shoved the wood to the side, and—

  Nooooo!

  She’d been wrong. The witches weren’t going to kill a child to make another dat vitae.

  They were going to kill five of them.

  Fifty-seven

  Five kids. All of them six or seven years old, huddled together, blinking at the change of light. Addison couldn’t carry five kids. She couldn’t sneak out with five kids.

  “You need to come with me now.” She tried to keep her voice as calm as possible, knowing if she screamed as loudly as she wanted to, she’d terrify them and have the witches on them even faster. “It’s okay. I’m going to take you home.” When she reached for them, her body stopped, frozen. No, no, no, no! She had to get them out. Her mind was screaming for her muscles to move, but they didn’t budge. No message was getting through.

  “Let me go!” she screamed to witches she couldn’t see because she couldn’t turn around because they controlled her body. Again. “Run! Please, go!” The children were as unmoving as she was, holding each other, staring at the supers who were too weak to use their glamour. Before today, these kids only had nightmares and dreams about things like them.

  “The spell won’t last,” an elder witch said. “Tie her up next to the vampire.”

  Hands lifted Addison’s frozen body and carried her towards the wall. “No! You can’t do this!”

  “Stop,” the witch yelled. “What’s that?” Addison couldn’t turn to see what everyone was looking at. “I told you we couldn’t trust her. She’s been living among them for twenty years.” The witch came to her, holding out the pen that must have fallen out of Addison’s bra while she fought to free the children. “What were you planning to do with this, Vitae?”

  Fuck. “Don’t do this. You can’t do this to them.”

  At exactly that moment, the crate was slammed shut, and the children trapped inside whimpered, too afraid to even cry.

  “Let them go. Please,” she begged. “They’re just children. Human children.”

  Herrick looked at her nervously as the cuff closed around her wrist. “In a few years, they’ll be ready for you to lead them, Addison. Just as the prophecy says you will. Once it’s done, you’ll understand.”

  “Understand that you’re child murderers? I don’t want to understand that. Use me. I don’t need anyone else. I don’t even know how to lead, so they won’t do me any good.”

  “Quiet,” the old witch said, looking towards the crate, one hand holding Addison’s lame attempt at a weapon and her other clutching an amulet she wore around her neck. When their whimpers stopped, the only sound left was Addison’s pleas for her to stop.

  The entire crate lifted off the ground and went over the edge of the loft, lowering to the barn floor, near the cauldron that would soon be filled with the blood of each race. Addison couldn’t do anything but watch it disappear.

  “Let’s ready ourselves for the Black Sun,” the witch grumbled.

  “You’ll understand soon, Addison,” Herrick mumbled before following the others downstairs.

  “I’ll never understand this.” A minute later, Addison’s body became hers again. She tugged on the chain that attached her to the wall, putting all her weight against it before giving up and trying to work her hand out of the cuff. Maybe if she still had the pen, she’d get lucky and be able to pick the cuff’s lock. Sure, because her luck seemed to be so great lately.

  “Fuck!” The only people Addison had helped by coming here were the witches. But it couldn’t end like this. She paced inasmuch as the chain allowed, eventually ending up near Graham. “Come here.”

  “What do you want, Vitae?”

  “You know. How?” Not that it really mattered now.

  “Besides watching my king, an angel, and a seer argue over who should remove your bloody dress after the demon fight, I have spent the last few days listening to the insane ranting of lower beings as they prepare for the coming of a race long extinct. So yes, I know. Because I’m not stupid. And also because I have excellent hearing. So what do you want?”

  She didn’t blame him for not trusting her. “Well…can you come over here a little so I don’t have to shout?” She held up her arm and shook the chain. “What could I possibly do to you like this?”

  After a moment, he approached, his free hand pressing against the wound in his chest. The chains provided enough slack for them to touch and, though she couldn’t actually free him, she might be able to rip the tube out of his neck and fuck up the witches’ plan.

  But the children would die anyway.

  He shook his head as soon as she reached for the tubing. “The connection is magical. Your power doesn’t work on plastic, does it?”

  “I don’t think so.” Of course, if she could somehow get one of those attached to her neck, then they might have something. “Does Rhyse check his voicemail?”

  “What?” he snapped.

  “I left him a message, telling him where this place is…roughly. But if he doesn’t check…”

  Graham’s expression softened from a captive predator to a tired yet suspicious one. “Until I saw the way he was with you at the celebration, I would’ve said no. If he knows you’re missing, perhaps he will.”

  “Well, by now he definitely knows I’m not where I’m supposed to be and since he calls me constantly, he probably has his phone now. So all we have to do is stall them until he gets here.”

  As if on a really unlucky cue, the witches started chanting.

  “It’s not dusk yet! Don’t these kinds of things happen at dusk?”

  “The Black Sun will strength them enough to create the dat vitae, Addison.”

  Fuckers. “Sorry, Micah. Pretend you didn’t hear that. How long do we have?”

  “They will bleed all of us into the vessel, drink from it, and then ready the children for the ceremony.” And by ‘ready,’ he probably meant murder. “When the eclipse is full, they will implant the dat vitae souls into the children’s bodies.”

  “They’re starting,” Graham said.

  The tubes were already filled with blood, so it was impossible to know if that blood was moving. The chanting grew louder, like a terrible killer-Karaoke rendition of some old bible hymn. It was now or don’t bother. She needed to use the only weapon she had to save the kids and make sure those witches got what they deserved.

  “Graham,” she called. “You might not die from the blood loss, but they’re not going to let you walk away from this.”

  He stared at her doubtfully. “Did you tell me that to keep my spirits up, Vitae? Because it didn’t work.”

  “If the witches pull this off, they’ll take over the Heights and lots of beings will die.”

  “Another wonderful pep talk. You should put these on tape and sell them.”

  “I know it’s a rotten thing to ask, but will you…bite me?”

  “That would—” It didn’t take him long to figure out the cost-versus-benefit graph.

  “I know. It sucks no matter what.” Even in a best-case scenario, Graham would lose his power. Worst-case scenario? He’d lose his power right after murdering Addison in a bout of uncontrollable vitae-induced violence.

  More important was what would happen regardless: Graham’s bite would put her blood into his before it went into the witches’ brew. Then the bitches would all get a sip of their own making. But it had to be now, while the witches were too busy singing off-key to notice.

  “Tell me what to do,” he said calmly.

  She held up a finger. “Micah,” she called silently. “Can you get into one of their minds and tell me the moment before they start drinking the blood?”

  “Of course,”
Micah said. “The blood in the cauldron must be deep enough for them all to submerge their hands into—”

  “Didn’t want to know that, thanks.” Then she turned to Graham. “Take it from my neck. You get more faster there, right?”

  “Yes, however I will have a violent reaction to your blood, won’t I? Therefore, you might just avoid death if I take from your wrist.”

  Oh, shit. He wasn’t going to have time to close the wound. Not once he’d tasted her. So, she was going to bleed out even in the best-case scenario. Cool. But the chance she would die if they tried was still less than the chance those kids would if she didn’t do anything.

  “No,” she said solemnly. “Enough of it has to go through you, or it won’t work on all of them. Take it from my neck.”

  He paused for a moment, then nodded. “I will try to close the wound, Addison.”

  “That’d be great, thanks. Just…make it fast ’cause my blood packs a mean punch. And try to do it quietly so they don’t notice.” She closed her mouth to talk to Micah. “Can you do that sighing thing in Graham’s head? To keep him calm and quiet?”

  “I am quite weak, but I will try.”

  “Lower your shield, Graham. Make it easier on everybody.” Hopefully the tranquilizing effects of Micah’s sigh could keep Graham from freaking out too badly.

  She tilted her head away from him, exposing her neck. She felt ashamed, as if she was about to cheat on Rhyse by allowing Graham to do something she and Rhyse would never share.

  But honestly—not even close to her biggest problem right now. Or potentially ever again.

  He stretched towards her until his lips brushed her neck, and then groaned. “I haven’t fed for a few days. It’s…”

  “Tempting, got it. Just hang on a little longer.”

  “And you belong to my king.” He spoke without taking his mouth off her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “If there was any other way…”

  “I serve my king. Therefore, I serve his queen.”

  She ignored his comment and focused on trying not to die. When Micah said, “Now!” she said, “Do it.” Graham slid his fangs into her, and she gasped at the intimacy. The sensation of him pulling her inside, using her. Oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-boy.