Sovereign of Shadows

Episode 7

As Oren steps out of the room, Jasper and Nelron confront him immediately. Their voices rise, and I can hear the heated argument through the thick walls.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Jasper’s brooding voice is laced with concern and disgust. “You let her bite you?”

Oren tries to deflate the situation, but Jasper is relentless. “You don’t understand,” Jasper snaps. “I speak from experience. The addiction to a master vampire’s bite is intense. It can consume you.”

Nelron steps in, his tone calculated and calm. “Oren, I know the price of immense power. The dark paths one might tread to achieve it. Use the connection to help our cause, but be careful. Don’t give in to the temptation. Elara is dangerous, and you must never lower your guard around her.”

Oren sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I removed the chains from her wrists in the heat of the moment,” he confesses. “I can’t and won’t fight the urge to protect her.”

“You what?” Jasper’s voice is filled with incredulity and anger.

“I’ll try to persuade Elara to join our side,” Oren continues, ignoring Jasper’s outburst. “She’s incapable of hurting me now.”

I imagine Nelron’s eyes narrow. “We need to find another way to subdue her. Removing those chains was reckless.”

Jasper’s voice expresses a mix of frustration and worry. “This is a dangerous game, Oren. If you’re not careful, she’ll get under your skin.” When Oren speaks, his resolve is evident. “I understand the risks. But I believe there’s a way to turn this to our advantage. Trust me.”

Oren grumbles something as he walks away, and although I cannot make out his words, I sense his confusion mingling with my own. His footsteps gradually grow quieter until they are nothing more than a faint echo in the distance. The murmur of Nelron and Jasper’s voices continues, even as Oren’s steps fade into silence.

Jasper’s voice is tense, bristling with anger. “I’m constantly catching myself lowering my guard around Elara. It’s as if the addiction to their bite is coming back with a vengeance, and being near her makes it even harder to resist.”

The sorcerer hums thoughtfully. “If it’s too much for you to handle, I can relieve you of your guard duty. We can’t afford to have you compromised.”

Jasper nods, but his expression remains troubled. “It’s not just that. I’m concerned about what’s happening with her. She’s a master vampire in her own right, I keep feeling her presence in my head. Her compulsion is unbelievably strong and I think she is affecting me too.” Nelron’s voice takes on a contemplative tone. “I agree she’s more dangerous than she appears. She might be an asset though, and we should consider how to use that to our advantage. If we play our cards right, she might serve as bait against Mercer.” Their conversation shifts as they discuss the recent raid on Lydia and her witches. The warlock recounts the details with a grim satisfaction. “The witches put up a fierce fight, and we put Oren’s new skills to good use, but we still lost some shifters.”

Jasper’s face tightens. “We had to keep Oren’s involvement with Elara a secret. It’s essential that our enemies don’t know about his bond with her. I would prefer if we could keep her presence a secret even here.”

Nelron continues, “Lydia died fighting, so we didn’t get a chance to extract any information from her. It’s crucial that Elara joins us. I want to find a way to turn her around. Whatever the cost.” I strain to hear the conversation through the thick walls. The voices of Nelron and Jasper are faint but clear enough to make out.

Jasper's voice, laden with frustration, comes through first. “Keeping Elara a secret in the keep is going to be difficult if Oren keeps running off and wrecking everything every time she shows the slightest discomfort. And let’s not forget how he’s been f*****g her like a madman. I’ll never be able to erase those noises from my mind.”

Oren’s deep voice rumbles in response, carrying a note of indignation. “Starving Elara and baiting her with rats in the sunlight makes you no different from the vampires we fight against. You’ve both treated her like an animal.”

Nelron’s voice, now filled with disbelief, cuts through. “What the hell is that you have in your hands, Oren? Is that a f*****g tub?”

Oren’s voice, edged with frustration, comes back sharply. “ I’m helping her take a bath.” He barks at the two men, commanding, “Get water for the tub.”

The door swings open, and Oren strides in, effortlessly carrying a large, circular wooden tub as if it weighs nothing. Jasper’s surprise is evident, even from a distance. His voice lowers, grumbling. “I’ve seen cruelty firsthand, Oren. I know what it’s like to suffer under Mercer’s regime, and I can assure you, what I did doesn’t even come close.” Oren’s presence looms over the room as he places the tub down with a thud. Oren speaks, but I barely register his words. My mind is reeling with the information I just overheard. Lydia is dead. I hope she suffered. Now, the remaining witches will have no other choice but to find shelter with Mercer. Lydia might have been important to him, but sacrifices had to be made. Two birds with one stone. Lydia was loyal to him, and my guess that she would jump at the opportunity to eliminate the vampire hunters or die trying was correct. Mercer lost a Bride, and I lost a competitor. How many more of his wretched Brides can I get the hunters to take off the board?

Oren’s face suddenly fills my vision. “Did you hear anything I said?” he asks, his tone sharp with irritation. I shake my head, trying to focus. Oren sighs, exasperated. “A thank you wouldn’t go amiss.”

He continues, explaining that he will convince Nelron to get me better accommodations, but I will need to help their cause further. I give no answer.

The warlock enters the room, his presence commanding and severe. Jasper stays outside, his demeanor dark and contemplative.

Nelron’s eyes narrow as he takes in Oren’s actions suspiciously. He walks to the tub and, with a swift motion, conjures water into it. “If you try anything, or hurt Oren further,” Nelron warns, his voice a dangerous whisper, “I will cause you far worse suffering than the sunlight or the silver chains ever could.” He turns to leave, but stops at the door. Without turning back, he says, “I will find a less painful but more powerful way to subdue Elara. Oren, be careful.” With that, he exits the room, leaving Oren and me alone once more.

I slip into the tub, and a sharp gasp escapes my lips as the icy water bites into my skin. "Dammit, Nelron," I curse colorfully, my breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. Oren chuckles from his perch on the bed. "Nelron never misses a chance to be an asshole," he comments, his voice a rumbling amusement. I glare at him, though there’s no real malice in it. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Or are you determined to become my creepy shadow?” Oren leans forward slightly, his expression serious. “I was hoping we could have a civil conversation. Get to know each other better, for a start.”

I raise an eyebrow but decide to play along. “Sure, why not? After all, you’ve already seen almost all I have to offer.” I settle into the tub, the freezing water making me shiver, but I refuse to show weakness. Oren nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “I figured it might help if we understood each other better. You know, beyond the snarling and threats.” I smirk, running my hands through my hair, wetting it thoroughly. “Well, I’m a vampire. Probably very old. I can form familiar bonds, as you’ve obviously experienced firsthand.” I wink at him, playful but with an edge. “I wonder if I can form more.” Oren growls low but I continue. “My memories are returning slowly. I must have spent a lot of time buried in that coffin. I have no clue who I was before your friends woke me up in such a gentlemanly manner.” Oren watches me intently, his expression unreadable.

“You don’t strike me as someone who’s just bloodthirsty and nonchalant, Elara. I can feel your emotions through the bond. There’s more to you.”

I deflect with a teasing smile. “Whatever you say, Kittycat.” I splash some water over my shoulders, scrubbing away the grime and the smell of death clinging to my skin. The sensation is almost foreign after so long, but it’s a welcome one. Oren doesn’t rise to the bait. “It’s true. You’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”

I shrug, nonchalant. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just really good at pretending.” The water swirls around me, dirt and blood and who knows what else is washing away. “I promise not to bite,” I add playfully, though there’s a hint of seriousness beneath my tone.

The night envelops us, the shadows in the room shifting as the moon moves across the sky. I continue to bathe, feeling slightly more human – or at least less like a buried relic. Oren’s presence is a constant, his eyes never leaving me, watching with an intensity that’s both unnerving and comforting.

“So, Oren,” I say, breaking the silence, “why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself? Since we’re getting to know each other and all.” He pauses, as if considering how much to reveal. “I’m a lion, obviously. And a damn good one. I’ve been fighting against Mercer and his kind for a long time. I’ve lost people I care about to them. It’s personal.” I nod, understanding more than he probably realizes. “Loss can drive you to do crazy things,” I say softly, thinking of my own past, shrouded in the fog of lost memories. Oren’s eyes soften just a fraction. “Yeah, it can.” He stands up, stretching slightly. He moves to stand behind me, and suspicion curls in my chest. “What are you up to now?” I ask, wary. He chuckles softly. “Relax. Although I am a threat on most days, I only want to help you wash your hair. I can smell that you missed some spots.” His voice is gentle, but the words carry an edge. His rough fingers run through my hair, massaging my scalp with a firmness that is a far cry from Mercer’s long, luxurious touch. I close my eyes, allowing myself to enjoy the sensation anyway.

“Why are you being so kind?” I ask, my voice tinged with curiosity and doubt.

Oren’s hands pause for a moment. “Blame it on the bond. I’ve accepted that the familiar bond between us is irreversible. It would be very uncomfortable to spend eternity hating you, especially knowing the benefits.”

I know exactly what he means. The passion we shared earlier flashes through my mind, and I can’t help but wonder how Mercer will react. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I wish again for a vision of him to guide me. For now, though, I’m content to let Oren take care of me, even if just for a little while. Trying to steer the conversation into more useful waters, I ask, “Tell me about Nelron.” Oren’s fingers resume their task, untangling knots and washing away the grime. “Nelron? Are you trying to break my heart already? I’m a very jealous man.”

I smirk, appreciating the playfulness in his tone. “I’m serious, Oren. What’s his story?” Oren sighs, his fingers still working through my hair. “Nelron is complicated. He’s been through a lot, seen more than most. He’s fiercely protective of his own, but he has a darker side. He’s a master of strategy and deception, always thinking three steps ahead. But he’s also haunted by his past.”

As Oren helps me out of the tub and wraps me in a towel, I’m still curious about the warlock. “What about Nelron’s powers?” I ask, trying to piece together the bits of information I’ve heard. “I know it’s unusual, but I don’t remember why.” Oren’s expression becomes more serious, and he leans against the bed, looking thoughtful. “Nelron’s powers come from a unique lineage,” he begins. “He’s an offspring of a demon and a witch. His mother’s coven, which was enthralled to Mercer, tried to sacrifice him when he was old enough. But Nelron made a pact with the demon instead.” I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “A pact with a demon?” Oren nods. “Yes. In exchange for his soul, he gained unparalleled magical abilities. He can perform both awe-inspiring feats and terrifying destruction. After that, he founded our guild and made it his mission to recruit an opposing front to Mercer.”

I absorb this information, trying to reconcile it with the man I’ve met. “So, he’s a product of dark forces?” Oren shrugs slightly. “Pretty much. His powers are immense, but his motivations are driven by a desire to rid the world of Mercer. That’s why he’s so formidable, and why he’s dedicated himself to the cause.”

I ponder this, realizing that understanding Nelron could be crucial to my plans. “And Jasper?” I ask, hoping to gather more information.

“Jasper was a thrall to Mercer for a long time. He’s got scars that run deep, both physical and emotional. He’s wary, always on edge. It’s why he reacted so strongly to you earlier. He’s afraid of falling back into old patterns.”

“I remember thralls from my past,” I say, letting my frustration show. “They joined our coven willingly, eager to serve vampires for the promise of eternal life and power.”

Oren’s face hardens, and he shakes his head. “Thralls are slaves,” he counters sharply. “They’re brainwashed to obey their vampire masters. If a vampire is strong enough, their bite becomes addictive. Most thralls never get turned, or by the time they do, they’re so broken they become little more than feeders, mindless monsters.”

Oren’s expression grows grim. “Jasper spent fifteen years enthralled with Mercer. He was kept like cattle—r***d, bled, and abused.” I nod, absorbing the information. “Sounds like you all have your own demons to fight.” Oren’s eyes soften as he looks at me. “We do. And now, it seems, we’re all tangled up in each other’s battles.”

As the first rays of the sun start to filter into the room, I shift uncomfortably. My skin feels like it's being pricked by tiny needles, and the light sears at my senses. I glance at Oren, my expression a mix of frustration and pleading. “Can you do something about the window?” I ask, my voice tight with urgency. Oren looks around the room, his gaze settling on his discarded armor. With a few decisive steps, he grabs his silver chest plate and wedges it into the window frame. “This won’t solve the problem entirely,” he says, his tone pragmatic, “but it will keep most of the sunlight out.”

I nod in gratitude. Wrapped only in a towel, I look at him, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Will you stay with me?” I hope he will not.

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “I can’t. I need to report to the alpha of my pride and get some rest myself.” He gathers the rest of his discarded armor, his movements purposeful and efficient. As he leans in to plant a soft kiss on my forehead, I feel a jolt of surprise. My instinct is to cringe at the unexpected tenderness, but I quickly school my features into neutrality, hoping he doesn’t notice.

Oren gives me a final, assessing look. “Get some rest,” he says softly. “I’ll see you later.” With that, he exits the room, finally leaving me alone.

I lay down on the bed, my towel tangled around me. The dim light filtering through the makeshift barrier of Oren’s silver chest plate offers only a hint of comfort from the oppressive daylight. As the sun’s rays filter in, their weight presses down on me, making my bones ache with the heaviness of the day. I sink into a restless sleep, my vampire nature pulling me into an unnatural slumber. My dreams unfold in a place both familiar and foreign, a realm of thick, dark liquid that envelops my feet. The crimson stains that spread across my alabaster skin from the blood add a haunting contrast against the shadows of my surroundings. The darkness is absolute, save for a faint red glow that emanates from the ankle-deep blood, casting eerie reflections. The room seems to stretch endlessly in every direction, cold and unyielding. My voice echoes as I call out, but the sound is swallowed by the oppressive darkness, leaving me with only the faint, unsettling sound of my own footsteps splashing through the blood. I feel lost, my sense of direction rendered useless in the void. The darkness around me starts to shift and swirl, gathering at the edges of my vision. It behaves like smoke, coiling and taking on a more defined shape just out of my reach.

The swirling tendrils of darkness coalesce, gradually forming into a figure that I find both hauntingly familiar and terrifyingly beautiful. As the shadows retreat, they reveal Mercer, tall and commanding, standing with an air of unshakable authority. His presence is accentuated by the dark coat that drapes elegantly over his shoulders, each movement emphasizing his effortless grace and superiority. Mercer's silver hair, long and immaculately styled, flows like liquid metal, adding a touch of opulence to his already sophisticated appearance. His eyes, a striking and vivid red, pierce through the darkness with an intensity that feels almost physical, making my heart pound in my chest. They contrast sharply with the rest of his ethereal features, drawing my gaze irresistibly. His lean frame and refined posture radiate a timeless power, an almost otherworldly elegance that underscores his formidable nature. Despite the beauty of his form, there is a cold, unwavering authority in his demeanor. The only hint of his true feelings is betrayed by his mouth, set in a tight, controlled line that conveys the depth of his wrath and displeasure. I stand amidst the thick, dark blood, the shadows swirling around me, as Mercer’s figure seems to dominate the space. His commanding presence and the silent fury emanating from him create an oppressive atmosphere, filling the space with a palpable tension. The contrast between his composed, elegant exterior and the underlying anger he exudes leaves me feeling both mesmerized and fearful, my mind weaving a complex web of dread and fascination.

Mercer moves with an unsettling grace, his movements so swift and silent that they seem to blur. His voice, deep and velvety, reverberates through the boundless darkness, each word dripping with an almost tangible menace. The resonance of his tone slices through the disorienting gloom, each syllable perfectly enunciated with an eerie, supernatural smoothness that invades the core of my being.

"What have you done?" he intones, his voice rich and foreboding.

In an instant, his hand is around my throat, his grip merciless and unyielding. The world tilts, my vision swimming as I struggle to grasp what is happening. His ethereal beauty is shattered, his features contorted into a snarl of unrestrained fury. I open my mouth to respond, but no sound emerges, my throat closing up as if under his command. My body goes slack, a dead weight in his grip. With a swift, almost casual motion, Mercer releases me, sending me crashing on my knees with a sickening splash into the crimson liquid.

He steps back, his clothes untouched by the sanguine mess around us, a stark contrast to the chaos of the scene. His head shakes slowly, the gesture imbued with a mixture of disbelief and profound disappointment.

"What have you done?" His voice shifts, now laced with a deep, haunting disbelief that echoes through the vast, cold expanse. The sheer weight of his words hangs heavily in the air, a chilling reminder of the gravity of the situation.

The darkness ripples like liquid, and the oppressive scene shifts seamlessly. Mercer now sits in an opulent room, a luxurious haven adorned with plush velvet and rich, dark wood. The space is lit by the soft, flickering light of candles held by motionless thralls, their vacant eyes reflecting the dim glow of the room. The air is heavy with an eerie stillness, broken only by the muted, rhythmic dripping of blood.

“Come here,” Mercer commands, his voice a velvet-edged whip cutting through the tranquil ambiance.

My vision narrows to focus solely on him, the rest of the room dissolving into a haze of indistinct shadows. I move towards him, my body obeying his command with a mechanical precision.

“Sit,” he orders, the word simple yet laden with authority.

I slouch next to him, my movements sluggish, as though the blood clinging to my white silk dress is weighing me down. The once-pristine fabric is now stained and sullied, the hem dragging through the crimson pool that surrounded me. Absentmindedly, he runs his fingers through my hair, each stroke sending shivers down my spine. His touch is surprisingly tender, the sharp edge of his anger replaced with a gentleness that is almost unsettling. With a smooth, practiced motion, Mercer pulls my head into his lap. The contrast between the opulent softness of the plush sofa and his cold touch is stark. My legs align with the curve of my body as I stare up at him, my gaze caught by the enigmatic intensity of his eyes. Mercer continues to caress my hair, his expression distant and contemplative, lost in his own thoughts. The tender movement of his fingers through my hair is a jarring juxtaposition to the violent scene that led us here.

Mercer’s voice slices through the quiet with an abruptness that jolts me, causing my heart to race and my breath to catch. “Forgive my previous outburst, my love. I fear I just miss you terribly,” he murmurs, his tone unexpectedly gentle, softer than the velvet beneath me. I flinch as he tenderly cups my face, his thumb grazing my lower lip while his other hand remains entangled in my hair. The touch is both soothing and intimate, contrasting sharply with the harshness of his earlier anger.

“Your actions led to the demise of Lyria,” he continues, his voice a whisper that carries a weight of disappointment. His fingers grip my hair tightly for a moment, drawing a gasp from me. “Jealousy is an ugly thing, not fitting for you.” His eyes, usually cold and distant, now flash with a storm of emotions. “I understand that you feel neglected,” he says, his tone soft but firm. “But you should not degrade yourself with something barely more than an animal.” His gaze hardens as he refers to Oren, and his eyes become intense, the command in his voice unmistakable. “Never let that thing touch you.”

“You are my most cherished treasure,” he declares, his voice laden with a sadness that pierces through me. “You are breaking my heart again.” I try to form words, to explain that everything I did was for him, to protest my innocence and my loyalty. But the words refuse to come, stifled by the pressure of his touch and the heaviness of his presence.

“Hush, my love, there is no need to ruin this moment with lies,” he soothes, his thumb moving back and forth on my lip, a gesture that is both affectionate and possessive. “Kill them and return to me,” he commands, his words echoing in my mind as I am jolted awake, sitting up in my room with a start. I blink rapidly, disoriented, and find Nelron watching me intently from the doorway. The smell of sulfur and smoke fills my nose.

Nelron surveys me with a sharp, scrutinizing gaze. His curly hair frames his face in a tousled yet purposeful manner, highlighting his features. His brown eyes are cold and calculating, their intensity underscored by thick, well-groomed eyebrows. His slightly aquiline nose adds to the severity of his visage, while his full lips are set in a determined expression. Clad in dark, utilitarian attire, he exudes an air of mystery and danger, his presence commanding and formidable. A flicker of blue flames dances along his fingertips, casting an eerie glow that hints at his readiness to defend himself if necessary. The flames cast shifting shadows on the walls, accentuating the tension in the room. I sigh, trying to regain my composure and mask the lingering unease from the vision. My voice comes out sharper than intended. “What?”

Nelron strides into the room with a purposeful gait, his movements exuding a confidence that contrasts with the dark circles under his eyes. He perches himself on the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed but alert. My sudden self-consciousness about only being covered by a towel is unavoidable.

Attempting to cloak my apprehension with bravado, I snap, “You look like shit.”

Nelron’s expression remains impassive as he responds. “You’ve proven to be cooperative, but trust must be earned. I spent the night working on an enchantment for this pendant.” He produces a necklace, holding it up for me to see. The pendant is an intricate piece, its design both elegant and menacing. The central stone is a deep, iridescent blue, encased in a filigree of some metal that coils like delicate vines. Tiny runes are etched into the metalwork, glowing faintly with a cold, blue light. The chain is fine but strong, suggesting a blend of beauty and practicality. The pendant exudes a subtle yet undeniable aura of power, its enchantment palpable even from a distance.

I eye the necklace with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. “What’s this?” I ask, my tone laced with incredulity. Nelron’s gaze remains steely as he holds the necklace up. “It’s a replacement for the chains, but it won’t cause you pain. It grants me control over you if you decide to turn against us. Once it’s on, you won’t be able to remove it.” I raise an eyebrow, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why would I willingly agree to something like that?”

The warlock’s expression is cold, his voice practical and unyielding. “I’m offering you relative freedom in exchange. I plan to dismantle Mercer’s operations from within, and I need someone who can provide inside information and assist me. Your cooperation is crucial.” His words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of his intentions. The pendant, with its intricate design and subtle glow, seems to pulse with a promise of control and manipulation.

I narrow my eyes at the pendant, my suspicion deepening. “What exactly does this necklace do?” I demand. Nelron’s expression remains cold, his voice clinical. “The necklace is dormant until activated. It’s imbued with demonic power. Once activated, it will have a similar effect to your master’s powers: total control over you. The necklace requires a spell to activate.” Fear flashes through me, though I try to mask it. “So, every bastard who learns the incantation will have power over me?”

Nelron raises his left hand, indicating a small ring on his pinky finger with a similar stone to the one on the pendant. “It also needs one of these rings for the spell to work. I’ve made only three of them, one for each of us.” The implication sinks in, and I feel a mix of relief and resentment. Only three people would hold that kind of power over me, but it also means my autonomy is still severely compromised.

“Well, that’s comforting,” I say with a sarcastic edge, trying to mask my unease with bravado. His gaze remains unflinching, his demeanor cold and calculating. “Your cooperation is essential. Think of this as a means to an end. Help us bring down Mercer, and you may find more freedom than you’ve ever known.” His words hang in the air, a promise and a threat intertwined.