Chapter 45 Battle Of The Black Seal I
Maya walked into the room with her head slightly bowed, shoulders tense in the way Ruben always carried his irritation. The illusion sat perfectly on her skin, down to the faint scar along his jaw and the restless flicker of magic that always surrounded him.
Damon was pacing. But he wasn't doing it calmly or thoughtfully. He was furious and Maya could see it in his eyes.
“You are telling me,” Damon snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut stone, “that one of our most dangerous assets vanished from a warded cell with a suppression manacle and not a single one of you can explain how.”
Sloane stood rigidly before him, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight the muscle in her cheek twitched. “I am telling you that she exploited something we did not anticipate.”
“That is not an explanation,” Damon shot back. “That is an excuse.”
Sloane inhaled sharply, clearly restraining herself. “With all due respect, my lord, Maya was trained for infiltration and extraction. She knows this place better than most of us. If anyone could find a weakness, it would be her.”
“And that is precisely why she should never have been allowed to hesitate,” Damon said coldly. “The moment her loyalty wavered, she became a liability.”
Sloane opened her mouth to respond, then stopped when she noticed Ruben standing near the doorway.
“You,” she barked. “I thought I ordered you to search the entire perimeter.”
Maya’s pulse spiked.
She cleared her throat, adjusting her stance to mirror Ruben’s familiar impatience. “The search is ongoing,” she said, keeping her voice clipped. “Lower levels, outer corridors, and air shafts are being swept as we speak. No signs of breach yet.”
Sloane narrowed her eyes. “And you decided to report that now.”
Maya shrugged slightly. “You wanted updates.”
Before Sloane could press further, Damon raised a hand. “Enough,” he said. “Arguing will not retrieve her.”
He turned toward Sloane again. “Where is Nina.”
“At the infirmary,” Sloane replied. “Minor concussion. She will recover.”
Damon’s lips thinned. “Another complication.”
“She was not expecting Maya to overpower her,” Sloane added quietly.
“No,” Damon said. “None of you were.”
The room fell into a tense silence.
Finally, Damon exhaled sharply. “We proceed as planned,” he said. “Double the guards. Seal the inner chambers. If Maya is still within these walls, she will make a move soon.”
“And if she reaches the catalyst,” Sloane asked.
“She won’t,” Damon replied with certainty. “Fernanda does not know enough to act.”
Maya’s fingers twitched at her side.
Damon turned toward the door. “Come. There is nothing more to discuss here.” Theybegan to file out.
Maya forced herself to move with them, every step screaming against her instincts. As she turned, her eyes flicked back to the desk one last time.
And there it was.
Her emerald pendant.
Lying carelessly at the edge of Damon’s desk, catching the light like a quiet heartbeat.
Her breath caught.
The others stepped into the corridor ahead, their voices already drifting away. Maya slowed, pretending to adjust her glove, then doubled back just enough.
Her hand closed around the pendant.
The moment her fingers touched the cool stone, power surged through her like a returning limb. She had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping. The emerald pulsed warmly against her palm, familiar and alive.
She slipped it beneath her collar just as she stepped out of the office.
No one noticed. Neither Damon nor Sloane and she was thankful to the moon goddess for that.
Levi snarled under his breath as metal scraped against stone.
One chain hung uselessly at his side now, snapped where it met the wall. His right arm trembled violently, muscles screaming in protest. The effort had sent fresh agony ripping through his back, the wound reopening as blood trickled down his spine.
“Damn it,” he hissed.
He leaned forward, panting, sweat pouring down his face. The wards in the cage hummed relentlessly, pressing down on him like an invisible weight. No healing. No frost. No strength beyond what his body could muster on its own.
He laughed weakly. “Such a mediocre place to die,” he muttered.
Then his thoughts drifted back to the witch.
Maya.
Seeing her again had been like a spark to dry tinder. He had not realized how much hope he had lost until she stood there, whispering his name like she still believed he mattered.
“She’s trouble,” he murmured. “Beautiful, dangerous trouble.”
And clearly in deep shit with the order.
He shifted again, grunting as pain flared. If he stayed here much longer, he would bleed out. Chain or no chain.
“I’m not dying in a cage,” Levi growled. Not when Maya was still out there doing heavens knows what.
Fernanda paced the length of the room, barefoot steps echoing softly against the stone.
Where is she?
She stopped, clasping her hands together, then forced herself to unclench them. Her mind would not rest. Every shadow made her turn. Every sound made her heart leap.
Maya said she would come back.
Maya always came back.
Unless she didn’t.
Fernanda swallowed hard and pressed a hand to her chest. The pressure there had been growing steadily, a strange warmth that pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.
Is this what it feels like, she wondered, when destiny starts pulling.
She stopped near the window, staring out at the darkened sky beyond the wards. Somewhere out there, Sebastian was coming for her. She knew that as surely as she knew her own name.
Sebastian never stopped.
The thought made her chest ache.
He was probably furious by now. Breaking treaties. Ignoring counsel. Marching armies where armies had no business being.
She sighed.
“You never listen,” she whispered. “Not when it comes to me.”
He had always been like that. Fierce. Protective. Too willing to become the monster everyone already believed him to be if it meant keeping her safe.
And she had run from that.
Fernanda lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, her hands trembling slightly. “I wish you always didn't have to make things so difficult,” she murmured.
The march toward Vosnos was silent. Too silent. Sebastian rode at the front, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed ahead. The wind tugged at his cloak, carrying the scent of stone and storm.
Anderson urged his horse forward until he was riding beside him. “You know,” he said lightly, “this would be much more dramatic if we had thunder.”
Sebastian did not look at him. “I am not in the mood.”
Anderson sighed. “Fair enough.”
They rode in silence for a moment before Anderson spoke again. “You need to be diplomatic once more, Sebastian. For your sake.”
Sebastian let out a humorless laugh. “I am done being diplomatic.”
Anderson tilted his head. “That attitude is precisely why Fernanda ran.”
Sebastian’s grip tightened on the reins. “Choose your next words carefully.”
“I am not asking you to smile at them,” Anderson said calmly. “I am asking you not to burn the world down in the process.”
Sebastian finally looked at him, eyes blazing. “They kidnapped my wife,” he snapped. “Right in front of me. You want me to wine and dine with those fuckers.”
“No,” Anderson replied. “I want you to remember why she ran in the first place.”
Sebastian looked away.
“I am bringing her home,” he said quietly. “Whatever it takes.”
A sudden explosion of dark energy tore through the air.
The ground shook violently as shadow slammed into the rear of the army, sending soldiers and mounts scattering. Sebastian snapped his head upward just in time to see another sphere of darkness hurtling toward them from the sky.
Then another. And another. Hundreds.
“Shadow wielders!” a Lycan soldier shouted. “Brace yourselves!”
Sebastian drew his blade, frost crawling instantly along its edge.
“So be it,” he muttered gruffly.
The war they were marching to had came to meet them halfway.