Vengeance of a Queen: The Resurrection of Queens, Book 2
Vengeance of a Queen: Chapter 24

When I blink my eyes open, I have a moment of panic, thinking I’ve gone blind. Everything is just as dark with my eyes open as it was with them closed. I gently rub them and try again. Nothing. Not at first anyway.

A minute goes by. Then another.

A small shaft of light appears on the floor as a door creaks open somewhere above me.

Okay. Not blind. Just in the dark somewhere.

That’s when the memories hit. Liv! I surge upright and forward, only to slam into thick, heavy metal bars. I groan and lightly prod my nose. Thankfully it isn’t bleeding, so I didn’t break it. I run my hands along the cell I’m in. That’s exactly what I’m in. A fucking cell.

Liv? Kitten, can you hear me? Silence echoes back.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to force myself to remain calm. What’s the last thing I remember?

Getting stabbed in the damn back. My hands fly to my chest and my back, but my wounds have been completely healed. Why the fuck would those assholes heal me? I assume Malick and his little mage friend took me right after stabbing me, considering I had been the one with my hands around the…weapon.

Fuck!

Where is it? Son of a bitch!

Okay…Okay. So what do I know?

I had been pretty badly wounded right after I touched the weapon. I remember everything around me going black. Now, I am without the weapon and my wounds have been healed, but I can’t access my bond with Olivia. I try nudging my bond with Caleb, only to replace that one silent as well.

It’s like when Ayla went missing. Okay. We were only able to pinpoint her location after she took down a shield.

But—I snap my fingers—if I know Connor as well as I think I do, they won’t try to look for my magical signature. They’ll have already realized I can’t be tracked through any of the bonds, which means they’ll use something stronger to replace me.

I gaze up at the ceiling, despite the fact I can’t see it. Assuming those douche canoes—thank you, Ayla, for the colorful cursing—didn’t move the weapon to a different location, they’ll be trying to track that in the hopes of also replaceing me. I just need to replace a way to confirm the weapon is here and see if I can boost that signal.

The door opens wider, and the sound of slow, steady steps reaches me. Light floods the area, and I curse as I blink the pain from my eyes. Give a guy a warning.

“Witch,” Malick hisses as he steps in front of my cell. He doesn’t look too hot. His face is far paler than a vampire’s, and he has black smudges under his eyes. What the fuck?

“What the hell do you want, demon?” I try to catalog every feature. There’s something happening to him, and if it’s this drastic, I’m not sure I want to know what it is.

His eyes dart around my cell as though he expects someone else to be in here with me. That freaks me out enough that I do a quick scan too. There’s no one else here, nothing. What the hell is wrong with the archdemon? Malick leans against the cell door, his knuckles white from how hard he’s grasping the bars.

“They’re going to try to turn you into a sleeper cell,” the demon mumbles. I lean in just to make sure I’m hearing him correctly. “I’m going to give you a single window to contact your mate and tell her where you are. One single window. If you miss it, that’s on you.”

“Why the fuck would you help me?” My eyes narrow on the demon. I don’t trust this asshole as far as I can throw him.

A grin spreads across his face. “You can’t. I’ll admit that much. But I’m only free for short bursts now. I want to take Wrath out just as much as you do. He played me, and I don’t like being made into a fool.”

My head whips back. Wrath has been controlling him? I try to remember what Ayla told us about her time with Malick. He seemed to be under the impression he would be helping Lucifer, which we now knew wasn’t the case.

“Your window will come when the mage leads you upstairs.” Malick snaps his fingers in front of my face, drawing my attention back to him. “Do you understand?”

I nod. “Yes. What about you?”

He scoffs. “Don’t pretend you care, witch.” With that, he’s gone.

I spend some time pacing my cell before I finally slide to the floor. My mind is still reeling from my encounter with Malick. He’s been controlled by Wrath…is still being controlled by Wrath. I should start keeping bloody notes.

The door opens again, and a lower-level demon stands in front of my cell. “It’s almost time.” He unlocks the cell and holds the door open. Standing slowly, I assess the demon’s threat level. Do I risk hinging the chance of escape on Malick? Who seems completely unhinged? Or do I attempt to get myself out of this mess? Can I even escape? I’m no queen, and my powers are nonexistent right now.

Bloody cock sucking twat.

My feet seem to move on their own, past the demon, and up the stairs. Looks like I’m winging it then. Right. Once I get to the top of the staircase, the demon scuttles past me, leading me to a plain wooden door. I take in the hall around me. It’s stone, possibly limestone based on the color, and old. It’s a historic building. Old family home perhaps? Inhaling deeply, I attempt to gather more information.

My sense of smell isn’t as strong as a shifter’s, but it’s better than a human’s. I pick up a faint whiff of the ocean as salty, briny air rushes through a window nearby. I also smell the musk of old books coming from the door in front of me—a library or an office perhaps. Unfortunately, however, I don’t pick up any scents that give me even the tiniest clue as to where I am.

The demon nudges the door open but doesn’t enter the room beyond. Instead, he gestures for me to continue in alone. I lock gazes with the demon, silently telling this asshole he’s on my hit list.

“You’ll wait in here. Everything is spelled, so don’t fucking touch.” He shoves me across the threshold and slams the door behind me.

I was right about the room being an office. There’s a large fireplace to my left, so huge I could probably stand up in it just fine. There are no logs, and the stone there has been scrubbed until it shines. There’s a small window with wooden shutters opposite me, otherwise the wall is blank. A large bookshelf takes up the space to my right. It’s filled with old, leather-bound books and parchment scrolls. Too bad everything’s been spelled in here. I’d go poking around otherwise.

A massive chandelier hangs above me, emitting just enough light to see. This whole space feels very medieval, which has me rolling my eyes. Of course the bad guy would have a medieval office in a stone fortress of some sort. I sigh internally, how cliché.

I look closer at the bookshelf. Something seems off about it. I step nearer, being careful not to touch it in any way. One panel isn’t level with the rest. Odd. Staring, I try to figure out why the hell a single panel, about eye level, wouldn’t be even with the rest of the shelves around it. If it were a door, it would make sense if the entire shelf would be off.

“I am well aware of the timeline, Lord Wrath.” I freeze. The mage’s voice floats into the room. It’s so quiet that for a moment, I think I imagined it.

“I don’t think you truly are, dear. One of the seals has already been broken.” The voice that answers is new. It’s masculine, deep, and filled with violence. Isn’t Wrath supposed to be sealed in Hell? How the hell is he here with the mage?

“I am aware, my lord. It is easier to contact you with a conduit now. Does this mean your siblings are awake?”

“Indeed. I have not been able to contact them all, but I will. The plan is changing.”

“Changing?”

“We still have need of the Fates. Your role has not changed.”

“My lord,” the mage butts in, “they are searching for the Óirian weapons. They found one right before I intervened. That is why I called you.”

There’s silence for a moment. That silence is so loaded with the threat of death it has the hairs all over my body standing on end. That mage, and the rest of us, are very lucky Wrath is trapped in Hell.

“Do they have the location of the others?”

Others? Connor said there was only one more. I try to lean closer to the bookshelf to hear better.

“They are aware of one more.”

“After you have dealt with their witch, you are to intercept them at all costs, am I understood?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I cannot maintain the tether for much longer. What of Malick?”

“He is…difficult, my lord. He does not wish to be part of our plans, and forcing his compliance with magic takes quite a bit of energy. He fights it.”

“Understood. Dispose of him. I have another I can use. I will send you to wake him after you have procured the other weapon.”

“Understood, my lord.”

I take several careful steps back, but the mage doesn’t come from the bookshelf, he comes from the fireplace. He still has the hood covering his face, and based on the conversation I overheard, he’s still using magic to hide his voice as well. We study each other for a moment before the mage moves to lean against the desk that takes up the center of the room.

“Malcolm, you have talents you haven’t told your friends about.” He tsks. “That’s not very nice. Keeping secrets from your friends. From your mate.”

I stiffen. Before I can respond, I feel a tug against my mate bond.

Kitten! I try to blast as much of my magic down the bond as I can before it’s shut down again. Frustrated, I run my hair through my hair and try to think of a way to respond to the mage. This person knows me…knows us. But how?

“I have a special ability just like any other witch.” I shrug, playing it off. “All of us have one thing that’s unique about us. Mine isn’t all that fascinating.”

The mage chuckles and shakes his head. “See, that’s where I beg to differ.” He straightens and moves to circle me. I keep pace so I never give him my back. “Wouldn’t you say a witch who can control blood is very fascinating? Especially in a community that includes, say, vampires?”

My fists clench at my sides as I remain silent. I’m not going to give this asshole anything to work off of. Caleb and Connor are the only two who know about that ability. Much like some of the other more “dangerous” bloodlines, my family has been hunted for centuries because of our abilities. We could drain a vampire of all their blood in seconds—or any living thing for that matter. If it has blood, we can use it, and not just to pull it from the body. We make excellent assassins. No one questions a blood clot.

“I plan to use your gift against you. I’m a mimic, you see.” Fuck. That’s one of the rarest forms of magic. That means this motherfucker can copy any form of magic he comes into contact with. All he would have to do is touch me. Sure, it runs out after a while, but the amount of damage he could do before then is unthinkable.

I start moving in an attempt to keep several feet between us. I need to get out of here. If Olivia didn’t hear me, couldn’t pinpoint my magic…he can use my blood magic against me. He could spell me to do anything at any time with access to my blood. I have to keep him distracted and pray I can figure something out if Olivia doesn’t start attacking soon.

“Mimicry is an extremely rare ability.” I keep my voice low and calm. “How have you remained hidden from the Council?”

“The Council is a joke,” he spits. “A pathetic attempt to control the uncontrollable. There are far more of us hidden than those who reside in your ranks.”

I have no doubt about that. Ayla alone has proven that to us.

A demon bursts into the door. “Sir, we’re under attack.”

A wave of rage sweeps through the room before the mage steps toward the door. “Keep him here.”