A Shield of Glass (A Shade of Vampire #49)(11)

Draven took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his sand-colored hair. He came back to the table and sat next to me, his knee gently brushing against mine.

“No, you’re right,” he replied, flipping through the pages of an old, leather-bound spell tome. “We had spells for pretty much everything in the old days. I’m finding it hard to believe not a single Druid has thought of concealing Oracles before. There must be something in here, somewhere…”

I quietly watched him as he resumed a frantic search for such a spell, skimming page after page with relentless dedication. His desire to protect my brother and best friends was truly overwhelming at times. The thought of it made my heart swell as I resumed my own search for something, anything, regarding the young Druids.

Our situation was nowhere near improving. It was getting worse in many ways. But like Jovi and the others said, we had each other to rely on, and we were going to do everything we could to pull through. We’d give it everything we had.

The Daughters had caused nothing but trouble. Viola and Phoenix were stuck in the middle, bound by love and primordial necessity. They didn’t deserve this.

In fact, I concluded, the Daughters didn’t deserve Viola. She was too good, too sweet, and far too innocent to be their sister. I hoped we’d find a way to get her back. Not just for her sake, but for Phoenix’s too. I couldn’t even fathom the pain he was dealing with in her absence.





Vita





I peeled my eyes open as the sun hit my face. For a moment, I thought I was in my bed, back at the mansion, my body sunk into the soft mattress. But my throat felt sore, as if a thousand needles had been jammed down there, and my temples throbbed.

One by one, my circumstances crashed back into me, reminding me that I was stuck in a chamber in Azazel’s castle. That I was a prisoner with obsidian cuffs hanging heavily from my wrists. I blinked several times, trying to make sense of my surroundings despite the pulsating headache. It was all there, in smooth and shiny black with gold details and iron bars on the window – the lavish décor of my prison. The cuffs were there, the charcoal crystal cool against my skin.

I sat up, trying to figure out why I felt so horrible. Then the image of Kyana morphing into a snake and slithering out of her cage in the downstairs dungeons came back to me. Damion had found me there just as I was about to conceal the little golden key that could set my fae abilities free.

He had choked me.

He had hit me, and everything had gone dark.

“That asshole,” I muttered between gritted teeth as I shot out of bed, eager to bang on the door until I saw Damion again so I could give him a piece of my mind.

Just as I reached for the door, my right leg was jerked back by something hard and cold. I lost my balance and fell flat on my face. Groaning from the pain, I rolled onto my back and sat up to find a heavy black iron shackle linked to the bedframe via an equally large and heavy chain.

“What the…” I managed to gasp before I realized what was going on. They’d shackled me to the damn bed.

I was angry. I was fuming.

The only thing that could comfort me was the knowledge that Bijarki would come for me soon, and we’d both be far away from this wretched place before Azazel could even send his Destroyers to get us.

I grunted and choked back a couple of bitter tears. It was still horribly inconvenient, and my throbbing head wasn’t helping either. I got up and moved toward the nightstand, where a pitcher of fresh water had been left for me. I gulped half of it down, letting it overflow and pour over my linen dress, cooling me off a little.

I thought about reaching out to Aida and telling her what had happened, so I sat on the bed, looking to relax myself into a state in which I could connect with her via our private Oracle channel.

After my second exhalation, the double doors opened with a loud clang. My heart stopped and my blood froze as Azazel walked into my chamber, followed closely by Damion. Hate, fear, and anger made my stomach curl into a tiny ball, and I struggled to keep myself under control.

Punishment was highly likely, given what I’d done. On the other hand, I really wanted to reach out and dig Damion’s eyes out. My throat still burned, and my skin was tender where his fingers had dug in the night before.

I held my breath, watching Azazel stop by the foot of my bed, his serpent tail twitching.

“My dearest Vita,” he said in a somber tone, “are you not looked after here? Are you not treated like a princess? I’ve given you the comfort and assurances you requested. So why, I ask, did you have to go and make such a mess downstairs?”

“Giving me comfort by keeping me locked in my room? Treating me like a princess by keeping me imprisoned in this hellhole? Really?” I shot back, unyielding.

I’d thought I’d be paralyzed in his presence, but all I felt was a colossal amount of rage, which was becoming harder to control. I once again thought to myself that it might have something to do with my fire fae abilities being locked in my body. After all, fire can only stay put for so long, and mine yearned to be let out, to consume everything in its path—starting with the two Destroyers standing in front of me.

“Let’s get something straight here, little miss,” Azazel hissed, clearly out of patience. “I’ve agreed to hold off on the torture and glass sphere experience—you’re welcome, by the way!—in exchange for your cooperation. I’ve received no visions from you, only news that you helped one of the prisoners escape. I should put an end to this right now and resign you to the same fate as Abrille, yet here I am, offering you one last chance to redeem yourself.”