Chapter 8 The coincidence that was never one

The driver did not ask questions. Every vampire knew the symptoms of a Vorago.

Reaching into the refrigerated console, he yanked out a silver pouch of blood and shoved it towards Mina. With trembling fingers, she tore open the seal and pressed it into Malakai's hands.

The need to drink obliterated any sense of dignity.

The liquid vanished down his throat in desperate gulps.

It tasted like synthetic sludge. It coated his tongue, but the burning in his veins refused to recede. His system absorbed the nutrients, yet the hunger in his marrow did not even blink.

It wanted the werewolf.

Malakai tossed the empty pouch aside.

"Another."

"Who is she?" Mina asked, handing him a second pouch. She stared at him as though a monster had taken her brother's place.

"I do not know."

"What do you mean, you do not know? A Vorago does not just happen, Malakai."

Confessing that his Blood Host belonged to the werewolves would be a suicidal admission.

He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, allowing the violent shaking to subside into a dull tremor. The pain had eased with the blood, but the thirst lingered.

"Who is she?" Mina asked again.

"I said, I don't know."

"You do know you could die if you don't mark her in time, right?"

"There is no her. I am perfectly fine!" he shouted.

She exhaled sharply and looked away, but Malakai caught her staring at him twice more as the journey continued.

Soon, the estate gates came into view.

The massive iron gates swung open, revealing the looming fortress beyond.

The car stopped. Malakai stepped out, his muscles still trembling.

"He is inside the Council Chamber," Mina whispered, grabbing his sleeve before he could walk away. "Do not do anything stupid, Malakai. He is beyond furious."

"I have heard. Stop singing it in my ear."

"I mean it. If there is anything I can help you with, tell me now." Her voice softened with genuine concern.

"You cannot help with this one."

He pulled away from her and climbed the stairs.

The doors of the Council Chamber loomed at the end of the corridor.

Before he could reach for the handles, a hand clapped onto his shoulder.

Malakai spun around. The tension in his spine eased fractionally.

Lord Maric stood behind him, his tailored coat immaculate. Ever since his mother's death, his uncle had been the only person in the estate who looked at him like a nephew instead of a liability.

"Uncle Maric," Malakai breathed.

"Your father is in a foul mood," Maric said quietly. "He practically froze the chamber. What happened in Norway?"

"A long story. One he will likely kill me for."

Maric's eyes softened with familiar warmth. He squeezed Malakai's shoulder.

"You are blood, Malakai. I will not let him lay a hand on you. We will face him together."

He pushed the doors open.

They crossed into the main chamber. The air inside felt like a sealed vacuum. A thin layer of frost crept across the edges of the table.

His father, Lord Alaric, stood at the head of it, surrounded by five high-ranking Council members.

Alaric's eyes snapped towards him. The usual calculating grey was gone, replaced by a deep, lethal crimson.

"Leave us," Alaric commanded. His voice carried the clinical tone of an executioner.

"My Lord," one elder objected. "We have not concluded the treaty—"

"Get out!" Alaric roared.

The elders scrambled towards the exit. As the last one hurried past, Maric gently closed the thick doors, leaving the three of them alone.

In a blur of motion, Malakai's father vanished.

He reappeared inches from Malakai's face, his hand closing around his throat. His fingers felt like iron clamps as he slammed Malakai backwards into a wooden chair. The wood cracked beneath the impact.

"You fool," Alaric hissed. "You did not just kill one of our own. You killed a vampire heir. Do you have any idea what I have had to do to keep his father from finding out?"

"He was hurting her," Malakai choked out.

"A human girl you were using to pass the time!" Alaric laughed bitterly. "You risked our entire dynasty for a snack."

He hurled Malakai across the room.

Malakai flew backwards, his back colliding with the table. The wood cracked again before he crashed to the floor. His lungs seemed to collapse. Before he could push himself up, his father's boot slammed into his ribs, pinning him down.

"Alaric, enough!" Uncle Maric shouted.

His uncle rushed forward, shoving both hands against his father's chest.

"Are you trying to kill the boy? He is your son!"

"He is a liability," Alaric spat, stepping back and allowing Malakai to gasp for air. "He murdered the Russian heir."

"And you have covered it up," Maric countered smoothly.

He knelt beside Malakai and helped him sit up.

"The boy's mother is dead, Alaric. Give him some rest. We are family."

"It's not everyone in this family that drains a Volkov heir in a nightclub," Alaric replied coldly.

"No," Maric agreed. "It's not everyone, and it's not his fault. Grief did. And grief is something you have never once given him room to feel."

Alaric straightened his coat.

"The rumours are already starting. He cannot stay in this estate. If the Council suspects anything, they will hand him over to the Russians to avoid a war."

"Then we hide him in plain sight," Maric said calmly.

He looked up at Alaric, then towards Malakai.

"Send him to Thornewood Academy."

Lord Alaric froze.

"The mixed school?"

"I am not going," Malakai rasped, coughing a speck of blood onto the floor. "I am not sharing a roof with those mutts."

"And who said you have a choice here? I am simply trying to save your life," his uncle cut in before he turned towards Alaric again.

"Listen to me. My own son attends Thornewood and is doing exceptionally well. The school's protective walls and neutral ground are exactly what we need to hide Malakai from Nikolai Volkov. It is the perfect place to lay low."

"And if Nikolai finds him there anyway?" Alaric asked.

"Then he finds him behind a witch's ward instead of behind your front gate. Which of those wars would you rather explain to the Council?"

Alaric stared at his brother.

For a long moment, the only sound was the rain lashing against the windows.

"Fine," Lord Alaric decreed.

He looked down at Malakai with utter disdain.

"You start Monday. Consider this your mother's last gift to you."

"Is that right?" Malakai spat, pushing himself onto his knees. "You speak of her as if you care, yet you allowed her to be butchered by werewolves. Now you send me into a school filled with those same beasts, and you call that protection?"

"You have been a disappointment since the day she died," his father hissed. "A stain on the Voss name."

"Then end it," Malakai challenged, looking up through a haze of pain. "Send me to join her."

Alaric looked down at him. For a split second, Malakai saw a flash of pity reserved for a dying dog.

"No. Death is too easy. Your mother escaped, but you? You have to live with the ruin you have made."

Malakai remained on the floor, the words echoing inside his skull.

His mother Escaped?