Chapter 3 — Chapter 3

Althea

The familiar scent of Gran’s healing tea—chamomile and lavender—soothes the air as I sit up in my childhood bedroom, hands trembling while pushing off the covers. The room feels both comforting and foreign after so long away. My old stuffed animals perch on shelves, their glass eyes once friendly, now silent witnesses to how much I’ve changed. The purple walls, etched with my teenage attempts at magical diagrams, recall simpler days when mastering basic spells was my biggest worry.

I press my palm against the wall, feeling the subtle hum of Mom’s protection spells vibrate through the house. Her magical signature—a warm, grounding pulse I’d know anywhere—wraps around me like a blanket. Yet, my heart aches knowing Torin is trapped somewhere shadowed and unreachable. My own magic feels muted now, dimmed by months of captivity, a stark contrast to the familiar strength of family wards. A carved rune on the doorframe glows faintly as I trace it, grounding me in the Blackwood legacy, even as I waver.

My legs shake as I stand, muscle weakness from imprisonment gnawing at me, but I grit my teeth and force a few steps. Somewhere beyond these safe walls, Torin needs me. The same stubborn will that kept me alive now drives me to rebuild my strength, step by shaky step. I clutch a worn stuffed rabbit from the shelf for balance, its faded fur a tether to a safer past, though it can’t shield me from the present.

Voices murmur from downstairs—Mom and Vera in hushed tones, Gran’s sharp interjections cutting through. Their nearness soothes a raw edge inside me after so much isolation, steadying my racing thoughts. But they don’t see the truth. They look at me and see a broken victim clinging to her captor, not the bond Torin and I forged, nor how he risked everything to save me.

A soft knock breaks my thoughts. “Althea, sweetheart?” Mom’s voice filters through the door, gentle but firm. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah, Mom,” I call back, voice rough from slipping in and out of sleep since they brought me home last night. Worry for Torin gnaws at me, but exhaustion has dragged me under.

“I brought your favorite butternut squash soup,” she adds.

I close my eyes, irritation flaring, though I hate feeling this weak, even with them. They’ve hovered since I returned, treating me like I’ll shatter. “Come in,” I sigh, sinking back onto the bed, breathless from the small effort.

Mom enters with a tray piled with food for three, her hands trembling slightly as she sets it down. The crockery rattles, and the sound slices through me—a sharp echo of chains clinking in that cold mansion where I was held. My breath catches, but I force it steady. “You need strength,” she says, easing me onto pillows, hesitating before smoothing my blankets, torn between care and giving me space.

“I’m not hungry,” I snap, regretting the edge instantly.

“You haven’t eaten properly in months,” she frets softly.

“For heaven’s sake, Georgia, give the girl room,” Gran’s voice commands as she appears in the doorway, her presence a force of old magic humming in the air.

Dad follows, his jaw tight. “We need to talk about what happened, Althea. That vampire—”

“His name is Torin,” I cut in, firm. “And he saved my life.”

“That’s trauma speaking,” Dad insists, but a flicker of helplessness crosses his face as his eyes catch the puncture scars on my arm. “These monsters get in your head—”

“Lake,” Gran warns, her tone sharp. “Enough. You’re upsetting her.”

“Mother—” he starts, voice cracking with emotion.

“I’m still matriarch of this family,” Gran cuts him off, power rippling subtly through the room. “This conversation needs a different tone.”

My parents exchange glances, knowing better than to argue with Gran’s authority. The tension lingers, but footsteps on the stairs signal new arrivals. My sister Seraphine enters with a tall blond man I don’t recognize. My magical senses tingle—his energy feels like a vampire’s echo, but not quite. He carries a confident bearing, yet his skin holds a human flush no vampire could mimic.

“Althea,” Seraphine rushes to hug me, glasses perched atop her head. “I’m so sorry we didn’t find you sooner.”

I return the embrace, but my gaze drifts to the stranger, unsettled by his odd presence. Noticing, Seraphine explains, “This is Kael. He rescued me just before we found you. We share a bond—deep, like what you might feel with Torin, though ours cost him his immortality.” Her expression softens as she leans into him, a mirror to my own conflicted heart.

“Rescue you?” I swallow hard. “So you were taken.”

She nods. “Not for long. Kael saved me. He was a vampire once, gave it up for me through a rare ritual—one that stripped his power.”

I stare at Kael. “How is that possible?”

“Long story,” Seraphine cuts in. “But Heath was behind it all.”

My breath catches. “Yes! Heath Moonshadow! That bastard! I hope he rots!”

“You knew?” Dad asks, voice tight.

“He was there,” I say, bitterness rising. “He helped them take me, taunted us during captivity.”

Mom gasps, clutching her throat, while Gran and Dad exchange dark looks. “This runs deep,” Gran murmurs.

“Or not,” Dad counters. “He could’ve acted alone.”

“Hah!” I snort. “No chance.”

“Althea’s right,” Seraphine agrees. “Other witches helped him. And Lucien Marlowe orchestrated it.”

“The Conclave claims the High Council found no proof,” Dad says.

“They’re wrong,” I say tightly. “Lucien’s in it up to his neck.”

“You saw him?” Gran’s gaze sharpens.

“More than saw.” I tremble, glancing at the scars on my elbow. “He took my blood himself, those cold hands gripping me on a stone floor I’ll never forget.” The memory surges—his voice, a venomous hiss, promising worse if I fought. I shake it off as Mom reaches for me, her touch grounding.

Dad’s face twists with rage. “Those bastards! When I get my hands on them…”

“Dad, not all vampires are like that,” I interrupt, seeing his conflicted look. I know he’s struggling, just as I am with the man who saved me—the man who touched my soul, who feels like part of me.

“I won’t hear more of this nonsense,” Dad snaps.

“Lake, we’ve discussed this,” Gran interjects, and I feel a sliver of relief knowing she’s at least open to listening.

The door swings open, and Vera strides in, strawberry-blonde hair crackling with energy, emerald eyes flashing. “Althea! You’re awake.” She settles beside me on the bed, touching my shoulder like I’m glass. “How are you?”

“She’s not herself,” Mom says anxiously.

“Still defending that vampire,” Dad bites out.

“Oh, Althea, no!” Vera’s eyes widen, pain raw. “I spent nights scrying for you until my eyes burned. Do you know what that absence did to us? That monster held you for months!”

I open my mouth, but she presses on. “Most vampires are beasts—except Kael, I suppose, since you’re not one anymore,” she adds with an apologetic glance.

“No,” Kael replies quietly. “But I was for over a thousand years. It’s not so simple, Vera.”

Her brow furrows, puzzling it out, while Seraphine mutters, “Lucien Marlowe deserves everything coming to him.”

“The Blood Assembly claims no proof of his involvement,” Gran notes.

“How could they not know?” Seraphine questions, analytical as ever. “Don’t they have rules—hierarchy, territory, feeding laws?”

“They do,” Kael says, voice heavy with centuries. “But Lucien thinks he’s above them. I’ve seen him twist loyalties for ages—he’s a plague on my kind. This won’t be his last move, but not all vampires are like him.” I notice his protective stance near Seraphine, a quiet echo of Torin’s care for me, challenging the prejudice in the room.

Vera shakes her head, voice cracking. “They’re monsters. They stole Althea from us.” My fierce sister looks suddenly fragile, and the weight of their worry crashes over me.

“We’re your family,” she whispers. “We love you. How can you defend any of them after this?”

Her pain tears at me. They never gave up searching. But there’s a truth they miss: you can’t judge a whole race by a few. “Torin’s different,” I say hoarsely, desperation edging my voice. Then I pause. “What exactly happened with Seraphine?”

“Heath tried taking her,” Kael says, expression darkening. “Like he did with you. Lucien needed specific witch bloodlines for experiments—curing the Bloodbane. I know the Maker’s Bond too, what Torin endures. I felt it for centuries with my maker. Defying it is like molten silver in your veins.” I recall Torin’s shudder under Lucien’s voice, the Bond a visible torment.

Mom gasps, but I press on. “Then you know he had no choice until he saved me anyway.”

“Heath’s captured,” Seraphine adds. “He’s silent, but I think Lucien promised him power—a leadership role once he controlled both vampires and witches. He ranted about sacrifices for the greater good.”

“It’s deeper,” Kael says. “Lucien’s sowing discord, weakening both sides. Abductions were just part. He’s turned his own clan against each other, making them desperate for his extreme plans. I’ve heard he’s behind attacks like the Starlight Vigil—vampires killed by their own, framed as witch strikes. My team tried to stop it, but the Elders demanded proof. Lucien keeps his hands clean.”

Nausea twists in me. I’d glimpsed his schemes in captivity, but not the full web until now. Torin, caught in the middle, bound by a chain he couldn’t break—until he did, for me. “Lucien forced Torin through the Maker’s Bond,” I say, anger trembling in my voice. “It’s like being shackled from the inside.”

“That doesn’t excuse—” Dad starts, but Gran raises a hand.

“Lake,” she says, hard as iron. “Your daughter’s endured more than we can grasp. Let’s listen instead of assuming.”

Dad’s jaw clenches, but he falls silent under her gaze. Gran turns to me, her smile gentle. “Tell us what happened, darling.”

I twist the blanket, memories rising. “It was after a Coven meeting. I was walking to my car when they grabbed me—vampires and witches.” Mom gasps, and I meet her eyes. “I fought, but dark magic suppressed mine. I woke in a facility—an old mansion outside, but inside, sterile and cold. The stone floor bit into my bare feet, unyielding.” I swallow, gripping the stuffed rabbit tighter. “Torin was there from the start, silent mostly. But Heath… he taunted us, reveled in our pain.”

“Bastard,” Seraphine spits, venom in her tone.

“Lucien ordered daily blood extractions,” I continue, touching my scars. “He oversaw them sometimes, brutal alongside his guards. I collapsed eventually. That’s when Torin took over the facility. He spaced out extractions, gave us recovery time. I saw his face contort in pain as he defied orders for us.”

“How many others were there?” Gran asks, eyes sharp.

“Many. I didn’t see everyone, but I bonded with Sabine and Jemma. We tried escaping once, failed. After, they put me in Torin’s quarters for closer watch.” Heat rises to my cheeks, avoiding Gran’s knowing look. “When I heard they targeted Seraphine next, I couldn’t let it happen. Torin helped plan another escape, contacting Dr. Chen to reach you. He knew the Bond could kill him for disobeying, but he didn’t care—just wanted me safe.”

Silence falls as I finish. Sunlight shifts across the room, my soup long cold. “I’m not brainwashed,” I say quietly to Seraphine, almost a whisper. “I don’t have damn Stockholm Syndrome. Believe me.”

“The Conclave must hear this,” Gran declares. “All of it, including Torin’s role.”

“They won’t listen,” Vera warns. “They’re too rigid.”

“Then we make them,” Gran counters. “The Blackwoods still hold sway. And Kael, I’ve heard Torin’s trial looms soon—days, not weeks. We’ve no time to waste.” The urgency tightens my chest—a ticking clock I can’t ignore.

“My second-in-command, Theron Nightshade, now leads my clan,” Kael offers. “He’s trustworthy, can rally allies in the Blood Assembly.”

“Another vampire?” Vera scoffs, but Kael’s jaw tightens only slightly, staying calm.

“I need to see Torin,” I insist, pushing myself straighter. “To ensure he’s alright and tell them the truth.”

“Absolutely not,” Dad snaps, but Gran silences him with a look.

“Althea’s in control of her mind, Lake,” she says, then turns to me. “You’ll have your chance, darling. We’ll face the Conclave together, as a family.” She takes my hand, her grip firm. “We’ll find him.”

Tension eases subtly. We’re still divided, but Gran’s words bind us—Blackwoods face challenges united. Mom and Dad clasp hands briefly, a small gesture of resolve despite their doubts.

“I don’t like it,” Dad mutters, “but I trust you, Mother.”

“Good.” Gran stands. “It’s settled. We save Torin.”

Relief washes over me. Maybe the Conclave will see reason. I just have to make them understand. I pray I can.