Page 84 of Tainted Souls
They’ve been thorough.
The tracker in my arm pulses steadily, a subtle reminder that I’m not completely alone. Redmoore will be looking for me. If the device is still functioning this far below ground, they’ll find me. Eventually.
All I need to do is stay alive until then.
“Sleeping beauty is awake,” a smooth voice drawls from afar. “I was beginning to think Dmitri had hit you too hard.”
I jerk my head up to see Cain lounging on an ornate chair across the chamber, watching me with predacious amusement.
The gardenia burns seem to have completely vanished, leaving him unnervingly pristine. He’s changed into a loosely fitted white shirt the exact hue of his hair, its soft fabric billowing at the sleeves and cinched at the wrists with silver clasps that gleam like relics. The collar hangs open just enough to offer a glimpse of his sculpted chest—intentional, no doubt—lending him an effortless air of nobility and allure.
His trousers are impeccably fitted, his polished black boots clicking softly against the stone floor with each shift of his posture. Every detail of his attire speaks of the type of elegance that is centuries out of date, almost archaic. And every move he makes speaks of a performance, as if he believes himself a god.
Down here in this shadowed sanctum, he probably is.
“Where am I?” My voice comes out in a hoarse rasp, my throat still tender from his grip.
“My humble abode,” Cain gestures grandly to the stone chamber around us. “Well, one of many. Do you like it?”
I do not comment.
“Did you keep your word?” I demand with desperation. “Did Lexa and the others get away safely?”
“Indeed I have,” he says, rising from his seat and approaching me with unhurried steps. “As promised, what survivors remained were released. Whether they survived the journey back is beyond my concern.” His lips curve into a wicked smile. “The unseasoned can be so volatile.”
Relief washes through me, though I’m careful not to show it.
Lexa is resourceful. If anyone could get themselves and the others to safety, it’s her.
“You said you want my daywalking ability,” I recall, pulling at my restraints. The cuffs bite deeper, sending a warning flare of pain up my arms. “That’s impossible. It’s part of my nature; it can’t be transferred. If it could, every vampire would have tried draining me by now.”
He crouches before me, his face uncomfortably close. “As tempting as that sounds, no draining is required.” His eyes gleam with something between hunger and fascination. “Though I’ve heard dhampir blood is extraordinarily delicious. I might just have to try.”
He traces a finger along my jaw, his touch cold and invasive. I jerk my head to the side, disgust curling in my gut. He chuckles, amused by the reaction.
“So full of fire,” he murmurs, his hand still not retreating. He moves it to my throat. There’s no pressure—just a still, possessive touch, a quiet reminder of his strength. “This will be fun.”
“How?” I ask, louder than I intended. “How will you do it?”
He stands, beginning to pace the chamber with theatrical flair, his hands slicing through the air like a performer takingthe stage. “With a touch of magic and the sacred connection of a soulbond.” His tone is thick with mockery, clearly finding nothing sacred about it.
I’ve heard of soulbonds before, formed when vampires bear a child together. Unlike our sterile peers, born vampires—Whiteshades—like my mother can give birth, but only once in their immortal lifetime. When this happens, a mark appears in the form of a tattoo, inked not by needle but by magic. Through it, intense emotions may bleed across, instincts sharpen, and vulnerabilities echo. Because my father was human, he never received a mark, but he told my brother and me that my mother did—she was able to sense all of his strongest feelings, from joy to suffering. Nothing in his heart was ever hidden from her.
Soulbonds are therefore regarded as a hallowed link within vampire society, even by those who have never experienced one firsthand.
It’s likely also why vampires rarely choose human partners, if at all. Losing your soulmate means you’ll be left all alone, widowed, with no chance of ever forming a new bond again.
Vampires are immortal, everlasting, while all humans inevitably die.
“You’re forgetting something,” I say, shifting to blunt the pressure on my bound wrists. “Bonding requires mutual consent. You can’t just force it.”
A fond memory resurfaces.
“Born vampires, like my mother, choose when to form the bond that allows conception,”I told Max, my head resting on his chest as he gently ran his fingers through my hair. “It’s not automatic like with humans.”
“Natural birth control?” Max joked, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare shoulder.
“I know, right? No accidental pregnancies.”
