Blood Wars (The Bloodborn Series Book 2)

by Iris Walker

  After endless dirt trails, they came up on House Nero, a short, squat, but massive castle. It was made out of reddish-brown slabs of stone, each one taller than her and wider than a queen-sized bed. That was what you got to play with if all your builders were vampires. They approached the castle and banked to the right, observing that the guard posts were mostly empty. Those that did watch mistook them for a normal perimeter search.

  Anger boiled inside of her at the thought of the guard house, as horrific as it was, and what may lay inside of the castle. Lawless vampires, sicked on whoever was unfortunate enough to be caught in the scuffle. They made it around to the back of the stronghold and muscled their way in through a service door that had been propped open with a wood block, sand dusting the cool stone floors.

  “What’d I tell you,” Lucidia hummed, entering the dark passage.

  Darian had slipped the rope off and now walked beside her, peering down the passageway. “It’s empty. For a little further,” he murmured.

  She nodded, calling on the memories that were getting more and more familiar to her mind. They snaked around the back corners, heading for the large staircase that plummeted into the earth like a drill, leading down to the dungeons and hidden passageways.

  They moved quickly and quietly, dodging the half-assed strongblood guards, who really just lumbered around the hallways with bored expressions stuck on their faces.

  “Here,” Lucidia said, eyeing the stone door. She planted her hands on it and shoved, causing a few specks to crumble against the ground, but barely budging it. Darian gave a coy smile, which irritated her to the max. Lucidia narrowed her eyes, calling on the magic imbued in her body, her arms glowing a fiendish red as she punched the door with a single fist, sending it against the back wall hard enough to shake the foundation.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “So much for being quiet…”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she hummed, striding down the dark staircase.

  The air was thick, as she remembered it from Darian’s mental transplant, but it was entirely dark, especially as they entered the long channels, cold and deep into the earth. She relied on muscle memory to take the turns, Darian keeping pace with her. Nobody had followed them. Nobody had even noticed they were there.

  Despite the safety that offered, it made her even more angry at Fausta and Cain’s destruction. They’d blazed in, without a plan or proper resources to claim a stronghold, and as a result, went on a killing spree either to contain the escape or just to fuck around. Both options were enraging.

  They turned down another corridor, coming closer and closer, until they broke into the octagonal chamber, dizzying with its doors and passageways. Second on the right, Lucidia recalled. Darian moved forward, going first, which was fine by her. They slipped into the dark passage, and the familiar smell of magic crackled along Lucidia’s skin. God, I hate casters, she thought bitterly, hearing the sickening liquid blood spread through the door’s channels.

  Robin

  Charlemagne readied his toolset, all neatly laid out on a silver tray that he’d rolled between them. He pulled a chair over and sat, leaning back with a big sigh. “Just how we imagined it, big sister. Project Robin, the aftermath of our attack on House Demonte… all coming to an end in this room. Quite poetic, wouldn’t you say?”

  Robin’s eyebrows pulled together.

  Calliope’s sunken face twisted into a sneer. “You lying rat,” she hissed. “You betrayed me to him!”

  “Yes,” Charlemagne replied sharply. “Of course I did. And can you blame me? You were to be the first caster to ever procreate and I was to be what? In his eyes, I was a glorified babysitter. And then, you were speaking out against his wishes, and making us look like fools. No, you did this to yourself. You have no respect for his vision.”

  Calliope drew in a trembling breath, like a dragon rearing back to shower its prey in flames. “His vision! He came to me with promises of innovation. Of gaining an advantage over those that would destroy us. He misled all of us, Charlemagne, and clearly, you were the most vulnerable to such persuasions.”

  An acidic laugh came from him and he shook his head, brandishing his finger for emphasis. “No. See, you’re mistaken in the assumption that I’ve been misled. I knew his aims from the beginning. He trusted me to keep you accountable to our mission, and our people.”

  “By enslaving the vampire race!” she shrieked. “In what world do you think that will end well for us? The other races already despise us for our power and isolation. It will end with blood and flame, and all that in the pursuit of an energy source that none of us will be able to wield because of Xerxes’s own paranoia!”

  “You’re wrong. And unfortunately, now you’re unnecessary.”

  Calliope’s brow creased, the unnatural silver skin shimmering in the low light. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s been another conception,” he said with a sliver of a smile.

  Calliope shook her head in confusion and despair.

  Robin’s heart sunk as she realized what he was saying. “You’re making another one… of me?”

  Charlemagne turned his dark eyes onto her. “Yes. Glad you’re keeping up.”

  “It’ll be years until they’ll be ready,” Robin contested, setting her jaw. “And even then, there’s no comet to supercharge the spell.”

  “We won’t need a comet,” he corrected. “We have you, and we have these.”

  Charlemagne selected a strange teardrop shaped vial from the table and held it up to the light. It looked like an alien space rock, shining like pure opal, with veins of orange running through. As it moved, Robin felt the sharp sizzle of magic against her skin, in the air all around her.

  “You finished it?” Calliope gasped. “How. I-”

  “Destroyed the records?” he teased in a patronizing tone. “You think I trusted you with the only copies? How quaint. No, dear sister. I had my little helper make copies in case that exact situation arose.”

  “The mole,” Calliope hissed, narrowing her eyes.

  “Yes, I’m sure you put two and two together; after all, you’re disillusioned, not stupid. I can’t wait until you learn who it is… I want to see the exact look on your face.”

  Anger radiated off the caster as she fumed in her invisible prison, onyx eyes trained on Charlemagne.

  “Who was with you?” Charlemagne asked, toying with the words, drawing them out. “The whole time, through it all, who was by your side?”

  A look of understanding and horror flickered across Calliope’s face, and she shook her head. “I… I don’t…”

  “None other than your protégé, the one I presented to you. Your beloved daughter…” his eyes flicked to Robin, and a sardonic smile curled on his lips. “Well, your beloved almost-daughter.”

  “Liar!” Calliope shrieked, pounding against the magical prison cell. At each spot where her fists slammed into the invisible boundary, a purple shockwave appeared in the air.

  Charlemagne studied her face with a triumphant sneer. “Do you think she was inducted into the Caster’s Hollow on merit alone? Come now, she’s good, but not that good. You knew she had help, you just didn’t know it came from me.”

  “You monster,” she seethed.

  “It wasn’t just me,” he said, feigning offense. “Xerxes masterminded the effort. He’s got a gift for utilizing caster capital properly. He knows exactly how to get people to do exactly what he wants, and that’s why he’s going to win, and we’re all going to be better off for it. He’s going to bring us into a new age, just as we set out to. Unfortunately, only one of the Dragomir line has enough courage to assist in the effort. Don’t worry. After we dispose of you, I’ll make sure our legacy is not tarnished by your weakness. After all, I was the one that finished your design, and I’m the one that’s going to use your little darling here to work out all the bugs.”

  Anger surged in Robin’s chest, hot and destructive, and her eyes flickered between the vial and Charlemagne’s infuriating f
ace. “What is it?” she hissed.

  His eyebrow arched. “What is it? This, Robin, is you.”

  She scowled deeply, glaring at him. “You’re crazier than you seem.”

  “No, no,” he laughed. “You are a conduit for vampiric energy. You’re a rechargeable battery of unlimited potential. These,” he said, holding up the vial, “are actual batteries. Vessels capable of harnessing the energy that you’re drawn towards.”

  Her eyebrows pulled together, and he waved a dismissive hand at her. “Oh, you poor mortal-born. It’s not your fault. How about a demonstration?”

  Icy fear clawed inside of her as she watched Charlemagne leave, walking up the stairs with an arrogant gait.

  Her eyes swiveled to Calliope, stuck in the prison, pleading for forgiveness. “Robin, I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Save it,” Robin hissed. “I don’t want to hear any more lies from you.”

  “I have no lies! I never lied to you.”

  Robin scoffed, acid in the air.

  “I told you that you would be a weapon, that much was true,” Calliope pleaded. “We all thought there would be a war between us and the vampires. But it was a smokescreen, a falsehood that Xerxes manufactured. When I discovered the truth of what he was attempting, I destroyed all my records and fled, waiting for you to wake and reach out to me.”

  Robin gave the caster nothing but silence, as she glared straight ahead into the dusty brick wall. There was nobody to trust, no side to take, except her own. As the fear and desperation built inside of her, surging like an electrical storm behind her ribcage, she clung to the things that reminded her of happiness, of life. Of something more than this malicious game, where she was a pawn being hunted and used to advance one team or defend another. Where she was a person, with hopes and dreams and wants. She thought of Reykon, her whole body aching to be wrapped in his arms one more time.

  “Robin, please, look at me!” Calliope begged.

  Robin stared ahead, willing herself to remember the spray of the ocean on her face, the wind in her long blond hair, and the deep, vibrant sunset.

  Lucidia

  The vault was not what she expected it to be.

  It was a box, with a taller ceiling than the passages they’d come through, about the size of a bedroom (and not a vampire master’s bedroom, either). She was thinking more along the lines of a massive treasure horde, something the mythical dragons would have been curled up in, glinting with jewels and shining golden coins heaped in piles. Instead, it was like the abandoned attic of an antique store. Cobwebs and dust lined the room, which held dull artifacts of various shapes, sizes, and cultural origins. Lucidia could barely see, but Darian struck his nail against the side of the wall and sparked a torch, casting an eerie orange glow on everything. She inspected the room now that there was some light. Elongated shadows climbed on the walls, dancing as the flame flickered, illuminating the near centimeter of dust clinging to the top of the items.

  “So there’s a magical spell to seal this creepy toy chest, but not one to keep it clean?” she muttered, bringing her fingertip up to a dangling cobweb and watching as the two sides fluttered down through the air.

  Darian’s cold hand gripped her arm, his voice like slate. “It is imperative that you do not touch anything in this room.”

  Her eyebrow quirked up, and she glanced around again. “Seriously?”

  His burning red eyes drilled into hers, showing no sign of humor.

  Lucidia straightened up and nodded. “Loud and clear.”

  Darian released her and stepped through the carefully carved pathway, further into the room. Lucidia followed, keeping her arms crossed to ward off any accidental brushes, you know, just in case.

  They came to the end of the room and the pathway opened up to a small alcove devoid of any artifacts, just smooth, dust-coated stone floor. Nestled in the corner was a dusty mirror, oval and long, with metal design work curling around it. An icy fear set into her gut and she eyed the mirror suspiciously. There was something deeply wrong about it, but Lucidia couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

  Darian inspected it, looking up and down the sides and peering into the glass for an absurdly long time before turning back to her.

  “You studied Greek mythology, yes?” he murmured, pulling something out of the pocket of his cloak.

  Lucidia thought back to her torturous years in school, studying books and listening to the elder strongbloods give drawling lectures. “Yes, along with poetry and calligraphy and piano, because some ancient vampire decided that it was necessary for warrior guardians to learn about all that crap.”

  Darian smiled, laughing softly. “You never enjoyed your studies, did you?”

  “Not those studies. I’m a hands-on learner.”

  “Well, I trust you paid enough attention to learn about the three Fates.”

  “Yeah,” Lucidia muttered. “Wrinkly, old triplets that manage the thread of human destiny.”

  “That is how Homer portrayed them, yes, but the myth lacks much of the true sisters.”

  Lucidia’s eyebrows crunched together. “Wait… true sisters?”

  “Yes,” Darian said in a grave tone.

  “It’s not a myth?” she clarified.

  “Not entirely. But the real beings are much more dangerous than the poem depicts them to be.”

  “How?”

  “The Fates do not control human destiny, as much as they love to believe that. No, they are ambient watchers, and they can glimpse the future of all beings that carry the force of life within them.”

  “That sounds like it would have been great to know about before all this war stuff happened,” she pointed out.

  Another laugh sounded out from Darian as he wrapped twine around the object in his hand. “Yes, except that the Fates cannot be trusted under any circumstances. They lie. It is entertaining to them, to attempt control over that which they are enslaved to.”

  “If they lie, what use are they to us?” Lucidia asked.

  Darian ticked his head to the side in a gesture of deliberation. “We are out of options, and even their lies can be useful, during desperate times.”

  “This seems risky…” she scowled.

  “It is. But equally as risky as charging ahead with no knowledge about what is to come.”

  “Lack of information is better than misinformation,” she muttered.

  “Maybe so,” Darian conceded. “But I believe the Fates will be truthful with us.”

  “Out of the goodness of their shriveled-up hearts?”

  “No. Because I know exactly how to threaten them.”

  Lucidia raised an eyebrow, watching as Darian stepped towards the mirror and gestured for her to follow. She closed the distance between them.

  “Take this,” he said, handing her something that resembled a voodoo doll, made out of twigs.

  Lucidia inspected it, feeling something sticky on her hands and seeing that it was dark red blood. She grimaced in disgust, making a noise of distaste in the back of her throat.

  “Oh, come on, Lucidia. A bit of blood never hurt anybody,” he said lightly.

  She narrowed her eyes, shooting him an irritated glare. “What is it?”

  “Something you must hold onto, no matter what happens. It cannot leave contact with your flesh,” he said.

  How cryptic, she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Got it.”

  “When we enter,” he continued, eyes piercing hers, “you will stand behind me. You will not make eye contact with her, and you will not, under any circumstances, listen to anything she tries to say to you.”

  Lucidia’s jaw tensed and she nodded, clutching the strange doll that looked like a chew toy made for Cerberus.

  Darian turned to the chilling mirror and put his hand on it, causing the surface to ripple out like water and dissolve, showing a dark cavern with a sinister blue glow.

  Reykon

  “Chadwick?” Reykon asked, his eyebrows knitting together as he looked
at the caster he thought he’d never see again.

  “In the flesh!” he beamed.

  Reykon surveyed him, tall and wiry, with short brown hair and eyes that always looked a little too long at the things they weren’t supposed to look at. In fact, that was the reason Reykon thought he’d never see the caster again. Reykon disobeyed the rules and failed to report illicit behavior not once, not twice, but three times for the rebellious caster. When Chadwick had disappeared a few years earlier, Reykon had assumed he’d been discovered and executed by Magnus or one of the other master vampires.

  The illicit behavior?

  Not being able to keep it in his pants.

  Pureblood humans were born from families that had pledged loyalty to vampire masters, and served them for generation after generation, mingling with the other pureblood families and building alliances through arranged marriages. It was all very pre-French-revolution aristocracy, but they took it quite seriously.

  Chadwick had been a caster-in-training (the equivalent of an unpaid intern, doled out from the guild to different vampires) sent to work at House Demonte, under the tutelage of Astra Selino, their actual guild caster. But Reykon had seriously questioned how he’d even made it into Caster’s Hollow in the first place, on account of the fact that he was so different than the other uptight magic-pushers. Reykon had asked him about it one time, and the young caster’s response was simply that he’d been made by the right parents at the right time, whatever that meant.

  Reykon attributed his ‘important’ upbringing to be the reason for his outlandish behavior.

  Purebloods belonged to the vampire families. More so than strongbloods, and more so than blood slaves. Pureblood families willingly volunteered to pledge allegiance to certain vampires, and for that, they were seen as a part of the family itself. In other words, they were off limits.

  To everybody.

  While purebloods had the worst reputation in the entire paranormal world for being rule-breakers and partygoers, there were still some lines that most people were smart enough not to cross. First rule: you do not sleep with a pureblood, under any circumstances.