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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

WILLIAM

Isolde’s gasp of shock and betrayal echoes behind me as I vanish from the clearing, but I don’t look back. I can’t afford to. Not when the hunger burning through my veins demands satisfaction. Blackridge has answers to give, and I intend to extract every single one.

I materialise directly into his office, bypassing the wards and protections he has in place with an ease that makes me… uneasy.

He’s expecting me.

Blackridge looks up from his desk with an icy smile. “William Harrington,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Look at you, all whole again. How does it feel?”

As I advance on him, the runes along my spine burn with power, Isolde’s power, amplifying my every movement. “Good to be coming for you.”

He watches me, his expression unreadable. “And what exactly do you intend to do now that you’re here?”

I slam my hands down on his desk, leaning in until I’m mere inches from his face. His scent fills my nostrils, ancient and cold. Not a vampire, not a mage, nothing I’ve ever encountered before. Not even close. But I already knew that. ”You’re going to tell me what I want to know.”

Blackridge doesn’t flinch. Instead, he smiles, a cold and calculating expression that sends a chill down my rune-infested spine. “Or what, William? You’ll kill me? I’m kind of difficult to get rid of.”

“I have no doubt it’s damn near impossible,” I admit with a low growl. “But I want revenge.”

Blackridge chuckles, a sound like ice cracking. “Revenge? How very pedestrian of you. I thought you were above such base emotions, William.”

“I was,” I say, straightening up but keeping my eyes locked onto his. “But a century of watching, of waiting, gave me plenty of time to rethink my priorities.”

He steeples his fingers, watching me with an intensity that is almost clinical. “And what are your priorities now, William?”

“The truth,” I say. “I want to know why I was killed. Who did it and why?”

Blackridge’s smile fades, replaced by an expression that would terrify me if I weren’t William ‘the Butcher’ Harrington. “You have already figured it out. You were needed now.”

“So, I was killed to tether me to this place. Kind of overkill, don’t you think? Pardon the pun.”

“Not exactly. I needed you to willingly accept what you so readily took from Miss Morvoren.”

“So, you planned this?”

“I couldn’t plan the arrival of Miss Morvoren. But I knew someone at some point would come with the right bloodline.”

“A Sanguinarch. I was apparently the last one.” Revenge has gone out the window right now. I’m actually getting answers that have plagued me for a while, and Blackridge is seemingly giving them up without too much persuasion. I’m not sure if I should be worried about that or grateful.

“Bloodlines lie dormant, species are never truly extinct, Mr Harrington.”

“What do your paymasters really want with Isolde?”

He frowns. “I answer to no one.”

“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “Seems to be you are in cahoots with The Collectors.”

His black eyes narrow. “No. Never. They are an abomination.”

“And you aren’t?”

“A different kind. Being what Miss Morvoren is now, I suspect they will want to add her to their personal living doll display.”

“How does that work?” I ask, academic curiosity winning out over disgust for the moment.

“They will suspend her in a moment of time. She will still be alive, still think, still breathe, but she will be on display for all to see, the only one of her kind.”

“What has that got to do with me?”

“You are her… king, for lack of a better word. Or perhaps, she is your queen. That remains to be seen.”

“That’s why you wanted the runes in me,” I say as the realisation hits me. “This was about me, not her.”

“Always about you, Mr Harrington.”

My skin feels like it wants to crawl off my newly corporeal body, never to return. “So, you think you can get data from me that proves I’m the first Sanguimonarch?”

“Yes.”

“But you needed Isolde’s data first to compare.”

“Still so smart.”

“Even more so. A hundred years is a long time.”

“A long time stuck in stasis, Mr Harrington. Unable to advance your learning.”

“Wrong. All I had was time to critically think, overthink, and learn more from the knowledge I’d already absorbed.”

Blackridge’s eyes gleam with something like appreciation. “I see. Then perhaps you’ve already deduced what happens next in our little drama.”

“You want me to help you stop The Collectors,” I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “You need me and Isolde as a matched set. The only creatures powerful enough.”

“Not just stop them,” Blackridge corrects, rising from his chair without even seeming to stand up. “Eliminate them entirely. They’ve been a thorn in my side for millennia.”

“Millennia?” I repeat, reassessing the creature before me. “What exactly are you, Blackridge?”

He smiles, revealing teeth that are suddenly too sharp, too numerous. “Something older than the words you have to describe me. Something that was here before your kind learnt to manipulate blood, before angels fell, before vampires first thirsted.”

My magic flickers with warning, sensing danger that transcends anything I’ve encountered.

“The Collectors are a perversion,” Blackridge continues, circling his desk to stand in front of me. “They believe power should be hoarded, preserved in their living grimoires and dolls. I believe power should evolve.” His gaze locks with mine. “You and Isolde are the next evolution.”

“So, you manipulated us. You orchestrated my death to create your perfect weapon against them.”

“Not orchestrated. Anticipated,” Blackridge corrects. “Your death was inevitable the moment you discovered what you were. The Collectors would have found you eventually. I merely saved you from their clutches.”

“Saved me,” I mutter bitterly. The runes along my spine grow hot with energy, Isolde’s power mingling with mine in a dangerous cocktail. “And what makes you think I’ll help you now? After a century of isolation? What makes you think Isolde will do anything to help you?”

“She is a student here; she is in a place of sanctuary because of me. Her parents knew this was the best place for her. Near me. They can’t protect her.

Because you want what I want, Mr Harrington.

The destruction of those who would cage creatures like you and your queen.

The freedom to explore your power without constraints.

And finally, because the alternative is that Isolde becomes their prized possession while they make you watch and then do the same to you. ”

The thought of Isolde suspended in time, a living doll for The Collectors to display, makes my blood boil. “I should kill you where you stand.”

“You could try,” Blackridge says with a thin smile. “Many have. But I think we both know you’re more pragmatic than that.”

He’s right, damn him. A century of ghostly existence has taught me patience, if nothing else. But I never was one for doing what creatures expected me to. Without a second thought, I coil my magic and throw an orb at him that would kill a lesser creature.

The orb hits Blackridge squarely in the chest, a direct hit that should have ripped him apart at the molecular level. Instead, it simply absorbs into him, like water into sand. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Are you quite finished?” he asks mildly, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his immaculate suit.

Fury and frustration coil within me. I can feel the runes burning along my spine, feeding on my emotions, transmitting data back to whatever monitoring system Blackridge has in place. The irony isn’t lost on me. I’m free of death only to find myself still chained.

“No,” I state and fire off orb after orb of magic that rips his office apart but leaves him completely unscathed. I know I’m provoking him. Part of me wants him to retaliate, and when he does…

“Fuck!” I roar as he turns my magic against me and sends me careening through the air, slamming into the stone wall with bone-crushing force. Pain erupts across my body, a feeling I’d almost forgotten after a century without physical sensation.

“Satisfied?” Blackridge asks.

I’m on my feet in under a second. “Not even close.”

“You’re wasting valuable time, William. The Collectors will have felt the power surge from your resurrection. They’re coming.”

I straighten, rolling my shoulders as the gaping chest wound where my magic hit me heals. “Let them.”

“Your arrogance is showing,” Blackridge snaps. “They’re coming for her as well as you.”

The reminder settles in my gut like a lead weight. Isolde. I left her in the clearing, vulnerable and unprotected. Well, not entirely unprotected. CJ and Cassiel are with her.

“When?” I demand.

“We’ve already been over this. Soon. Days at most.” Blackridge moves back behind his desk, annoyingly calm. “You need to prepare her. The power she wields is still raw, unrefined. She needs control.”

“And you think I’m the one to teach her that?” I laugh. “I was called ‘The Butcher’ for a reason.”

“Precisely why you’re perfect,” Blackridge counters. “You understand the darkness that comes with this power. You’ve walked the edge and fallen over it. You can guide her where others would fail.”

The taste of Isolde is still on my lips, her blood still warming my veins. She gave me life again, and I repaid her by vanishing without a word. The guilt twists inside me, unfamiliar, unexpected and sharp.

“Fine,” I say finally. “I’ll teach her what she needs to know. But not for you. For her.”

“Your motivations are irrelevant as long as the outcome serves all our interests,” Blackridge says, waving a hand dismissively. The shattered furniture and destroyed books reassemble themselves around us. “Just remember, William—the runes in your spine may give you life, but you are not alive.”

His words hurt. I had forgotten that minor detail. If he chooses to rip them out or simply deactivate them remotely, I’m back to being a ghost. “You have me over a barrel,” I grit out.

“Think of it as a short leash,” he says with a smile.

My jaw clenches. “Noted.”

“Good. Dismissed.” He waves his hand, and I’m shunted through time and space to land in the clearing again as Isolde, CJ, and Cassiel are walking away. She spins to me, fury on her face, and I fall completely, irrevocably in love with her.