“What’d you do, Sloan?” Even as Raoul playfully asked the question, he tensed, preparing to get between two brawling werewolves if there was need. Waves of anger rolled off Conall, and Raoul remembered a time, not so long ago, that he and Sloan had had to cage Conall. Except now, there was no cage, and his backup was the focus of the alpha’s rage.
“Conall, I don’t think—” Sloan began, only to be cut off by Conall’s snarl.
“I said CHANGE!” Buttons popped and fell against the wooden floor as Conall pulled at his shirt.
“Conall.” Zahira stood in the doorway, the voice of reason inside the madness threatening to erupt. Her eyes were only for Conall. She moved forward quickly, and knelt beside Vivienne, touching a hand to her head.
The unconscious female groaned, whimpering as she twisted back and forth.
Upon seeing the strain on his mate’s face, Conall turned back to Sloan, intent on finishing what he’d started, when Zahira called out, “Help me, Conall.” When he returned his gaze to Zahira, she lifted an impatient brow at him. “I would imagine it’s not comfortable on the floor.”
With a glare to Sloan that said clearly ‘this is not over’, he marched over to Vivienne and gently scooped her into his arms. He positioned her comfortably against his chest and headed for the stairs. Zahira was the only one to follow him.
***
“Help him.”
Over the past days, Maximilian Cronin had tried everything in his power to do exactly what he was asking of the warlock, to help his son. He’d gone through numerous reversal spells, had tried a resurrection spell, and had even gone as far as to bring a human, hoping to entice Max to take his soul. Nothing worked. His body had grown tired, frail almost, with the amount of exertion he’d used as he attempted to bring Max out of this state. He refused to think of his son as dead. He was not breathing, but his heart beat had returned minutes after he’d cast that bedamned spell on himself, and though faint, his heartbeat was still there. He needed him back. Yes, he wanted his memories so that he could find the two girls, but Max was his heir. He’d been bred meticulously to maximize the reach of his power. Maximilian had trained his son personally. He would not sit idly by and let him slip away.
Kyros, the warlock to whom Maximilian had spoken, took a restricted step forward, the silver chains along his feet rattling. His pale blue body was dirty with the filth of weeks without a proper bath, and he smelled. Still, he walked proudly, his back straight, his head high.
“He is dead,” Kyros responded blandly, turning his swirling silver gaze on the Grand Wizard who’d imprisoned him.
“He is not dead. Help him and you’ll have your freedom.” Maximilian watched as a white brow lifted, and a smirk appeared on Kyros’s lips. Had he not needed his help, he would have had him beaten for that.
Kyros was one of two pure-breed warlocks he’d captured to add to his laboratory. The rest, almost a handful more, were all half-breeds. What he couldn’t accomplish through spells, he’d hoped to do through science. So far, he hadn’t found any cure for mortality. He’d tried splicing the genetics of various immortals, to no avail, but he had found other uses for the warlocks. Even Max’s mother, a hybrid he’d captured, had served the purpose of bearing his heir.
“It cannot be done, my lord,” Kyros spat, moving closer to inspect the body of the man lying across the slim hospital bed. “If he’s not dead yet, he’s surely dying.”
Kyros turned and began heading for the door. Maximilian barely resisted the urge to strangle him. Despite his imprisonment, almost for six months now, Kyros still acted every bit as arrogant as he had the first time he’d been captured and brought to the lab.
“He is one of yours,” Maximilian said, grinding his teeth at that thought. Max wasn’t one of them; he was a witch whose genes happened to have traces of warlock.
The warlock stopped, and turned his head, fixing Maximilian with a stare that was by far too all-encompassing. Kyros moved back over to the bed, and placed his pale blue hand against Max’s heart. He drew in a deep breath, and stilled.
Minutes trickled by before he lifted his hand and said, “There are no guarantees, but I know of a way to help warlocks in such conditions.”
“Do it.”
“I will need my powers at their fullest,” Kyros said slowly, looking over his shoulder to where Maximilian hovered. The Grand Wizard reluctantly nodded. Kyros was always kept weakened, as were most of the warlocks, because of the threat they could be when at their best. Still, Maximilian would deal with that later, after his son was alive.