Page 39 of Tainted Souls
“Seraph!” General Lee’s voice rings through my haze. “Status report!”
Medical personnel rush around me, checking for injuries, but I wave them aside. Pushing myself to a sitting position, I take in the cramped interior of the rescue helicopter.
I want to cry.
“They’re all dead.” My voice cracks. “The Ravens came out of nowhere.”
The general lowers his head, a moment of silence filling the space. “We’ll send a recovery team first thing in the morning.”
I nod, leaning back against the cold metal wall as exhaustion washes over me. Adrenaline fades, leaving behind an all-consuming weariness and the bitter taste of failure.
I close my eyes, seeing the courageous faces of the slayers who died tonight, including the ones I once called comrades.Rest in peace, Mira and Henry.
I want to tell the general that they should just let me get taken.
Yet I say nothing, already knowing what his answer would be.
In this world, survival often trumps morality. And I’m a valuable asset for mankind. With both me and my brother on the other side, they might not stand a chance at all. I can’t help but wonder, however, whether the end justifies such brutal means.
We touch down on the rooftop landing pad of Penn City’s medical center. The moment the rotors stop spinning, paramedics rush forward, collecting the case with blood vials from another helicopter that landed moments before.
“Come on,” General Lee says, helping me to my feet. “Let’s go see Maxim.”
The transition ward is a flurry of activity when we arrive. Doctors and nurses move with practiced urgency, administering the invaluable blood to each victim.
I find Max’s room, hovering in the doorway as a doctor carefully injects the obsidian liquid into his IV line. The effect is immediate. Max’s body, which had been twitching with the pain of incomplete transition, goes still. The dark veins beneath his skin pulse once, twice, then begin to fade. His breathing steadies, then deepens, until it’s so faint you barely notice it’s there.
Unlike humans, vampires don’t need oxygen to function, but they may still go through the motions, the familiar rise and fall of their chest often remaining as a ghost of human habit.
“The transition seems to be completing properly,” the doctor says, relieved.
I step closer, watching as color returns to Max’s face. His expression smooths out, the lines of agony disappearing. He looks peaceful now, almost serene.
“How long until he wakes up?” I ask.
“Hard to say,” the doctor responds, checking his vitals. “Could be hours, could be days. The body needs time to adjust to the changes.”
I nod, settling into the chair beside his bed. Despite the violence, his death, and my near-capture, I feel a sense of cautious solace.
Max will live. Not as the human he was, but he will live.
The general appears in the doorway. “Seraph, we need to debrief.”
“Can it wait?” I ask, not taking my eyes off Max.
“I’m afraid not.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “We need to understand exactly what happened out there.”
With reluctance, I squeeze Max’s hand before following the general out.
In the hallway, he stops, lowering his voice. “The tracker in your arm went offline during the ambush.” Suspicion edges his words. “Did they remove it?”
I look down at my arm, the place where it was injected not showing a single scratch. “No, they didn’t. It must have malfunctioned.”
In Mythcrest, you never really know if it’s them or the land messing with technology. The deeper you go, the more signals get scrambled and electronics short out. There’s no logic to it. You just have to hope luck is on your side.
He studies my face intently, searching for deception. “And the Ravens? Why were they there?”
“Still no idea,” I admit. “They killed the slayers, broke my restraints, then let me go when reinforcements arrived. They were trying to take me, that much is sure.”
