Broken Compass:Supernatural Prison Story 1(28)

In the distance was a castle. Made of dark grey stone, the center structure was squat and square, with two towering round pillar-style wings on either side. Everything looked fortified, built to withstand a battle.

And a battle was what they were going to get. I strode closer, trying to discern a weakness or entry point. I needed to get in there. Mischa was inside.

Noticing something on one of the round towers, I forewent the main entrance and instead ducked along the left side and started to climb. The castle had clearly been built with the help of magic, but had a roughhewn design which gave me plenty of decent handholds. The window I was aiming for was about halfway up, a good fifty yards high.

I scaled the side in minutes and pulled myself to the edge of the huge arched opening. There was no glass or protective covering over it, which gave me easy access into the castle.

Diving inside, I was up and scanning around the tower room I'd landed in. Took no time to tell that this was an alcove connecting to a hall. I started along the landing, following the path which circled around to reach a twirling, stone staircase.

Relying heavily on the tugging connection to Mischa in my chest, I started to descend. With each step the pull was stronger, until everything inside of me wanted to run, to claim, to find what was mine and to protect her. I needed to protect her. It was ingrained into my very psyche.

Generally, I thought of myself as an easygoing sort of vampire. As attributes of my race went, mine were very mild. I could go a long time without blood and was less cold and clinical. Vampires were able to strongly compartmentalize their emotions, making them lethal killing machines. Machine was an apt way to describe them, actually, but I'd always been different. I felt strongly. I cared too much. I loved my pack with a ferocity that scared me at times, and I would die for them in a heartbeat. I'd always thought the love I'd had for them was the strongest emotion I could feel. Now I knew better. Now I knew what true, uncompromising, unconditional love was, my love for an unborn child, and in part for the woman who carried our baby.

The scent of my brother and Louis lingered behind me, but I ignored this to focus solely on what lay ahead. What did Kristoff need all this space for? How long had he even had this place? His history was shady. He was never one to let others know of his past, always afraid someone would discover a weakness there.

Giselda was no better. I didn't know her well. Beside tussles between her and Jessa, she'd never been on my radar. I heard the rumors though, and saw the way she was at Stratford gatherings. She was more often than not found on her back, her sexual appetites more reminiscent of vampires than magic users, but I had never felt any reason to go near her. Her blood never smelled right to me.   





 

The further I descended, the darker it grew. There were no windows or openings, just solid stone twirling deeper into the earth. A faint tinge of copper was assailing my senses; blood had been shed recently. It was not that close, but I was particularly attuned to the scent. I hurried my steps as the tugging was practically yanking me down the narrow staircase.

Rounding a corner I was hit hard with a wall of magic, similar in design to Stratford's securities. It had Kristoff's magical essence all over it.

Louis pushed past me. None of us spoke. The tension was high as he ran both hands across the slightly shimmering barrier. I had to force myself not to move. My body was straining to fight, to charge, but I could not waste energy on fruitless endeavors. Thankfully I didn't have to. It took Louis about eighteen seconds, a few muttered spells, and one curse, but he eventually smashed through the barrier. The magic shattered, tinkling around us in shards.

"Should have upped his game," Louis murmured as we stepped forward. "He took my magical design for Stratford and simply tweaked it in a few places. Worst case of fan fiction I've ever seen."

I almost cracked a smile at that. Kristoff, who was many years older than Louis, would not be pleased to hear such a statement. Not only had Louis bested him in attaining sorcerer level, but had also been the youngest before Tyson to rule the magic-users' seat on the supernatural council. Now he'd reduced Kristoff to nothing more than a fanboy.

Fitting.

As we stepped across the barrier threshold, all three of us ground to a halt at the stink of death and dark magic. That faint blood I'd been scenting was strong now, overwhelming even, and there was another oily scent that I was having trouble placing.

"Lunarti oil," Louis growled, and took off. I was right behind him, Braxton at my side.

How the hell did Kristoff get Lunarti oil? It had been banned for at least a hundred years, ever since the last supernatural war. During the war it had been popular due to its ability to kill slowly, the ultimate weapon of slow-death torture. Supes would fill magical weapons with it and then shoot them out across the opposing side. One drop was enough to kill within a week.

It was expensive and extremely hard to brew. You needed to be a level five sorcerer, minimum, and you had to be demon-touched, fluent in dark arts. I had never known anyone to successfully brew it. The few who tried were either dead or in one of the prisons.

As we dashed rapidly along the lengthy hallway, I caught glimpses of a large circular room, dark stone covered with a few tattered tapestries. The blood and oil was so strong now, and my heart was pounding far too fast. I refused to think about what might have happened in this room, what I might find when I finally stepped out of the hallway. The tugging in my chest felt extremely physical now. I doubt I could have stopped running even if I wanted to.

As Mischa's scent wrapped around me, the roar building inside of me ripped free. Louis was at my side. He wore tense lines across his face, which was more than a little concerning. If he was worried …

A figure stepped into the open door, and the manic grin on his face did nothing to calm the fury within me. Louis stopped me a second before I was about to smash into him.

"No," he said. "He's demon-touched. Don't strike at him, you'll be fueling his power."

My chest was heaving as I stared down the slimy magic user. He had changed a lot since I'd seen him last. He was frail now, his body bent and withered. His skin was grey and haggard, and I was pretty sure more than a few teeth were missing. His dark hair that used to be wild and thick was now thin and matted. Barely a few strands covered his crown.

"The evil you house within is starting to reflect on the outside, wizard," I said, softly and without inflection. I would never let him see the pain and panic tearing at my insides. He wanted my suffering. It was what we were here for.

The manic grin disappeared and his face screwed up he blasted out at me with magic. "I'm a sorcerer!" he screamed.

I dived to the side, narrowly avoiding a blast of whatever darkness was spiraling from his fingertips. My grip remained strong on the staff. I knew very little about it. Would it work against a demon-touched? It wasn't supposed to be built on demon energy, but it had been housed in their realm for many millennia. Who knew where its loyalty lay now.

The moment Kristoff's darkness died away, I was back on my feet and charging. I couldn't directly attack him. To touch a demon-touched allowed them to siphon off some of your energy, allowed the demon to taste your soul, and then you would forever be on their radar. Demons were rare, mostly utilized by magic users who went completely dark. If they were strong enough, they controlled the demon. If they weren't, the demon controlled them. If the demon managed to free itself from the host, it would have a short time to find another, or cause mass destruction before it was drawn back to the land between.   





 

Kristoff must have wanted his revenge badly, because he'd cursed his life irreparably by merging with the darkness. He was forever lost. No redemption.

Not that he'd be around long enough to worry about redemption.

He didn't move as I went directly for him, side-stepping at the last moment and swinging the staff in a wraparound movement. I urged it to expand to its full size again, needing the extra distance.

Heeding my call, it shot out to six feet in length. I jabbed it at Kristoff's shoulder, knowing I only needed to connect for a second to gain control  –  providing demon-touched were not immune to such magic.

Just as the staff was about to make contact, the sorcerer flashed away, disappearing and reappearing across the room.

"Well, that's a new trick," Louis said, his right brow lifted comically. "Demons are an underrated bunch. They've got a bad rep, you know, with all their evil murder and such. Such a shame no one ever talks about all that untapped potential."

Braxton snorted. "Yeah, if we make it out of here alive, we should definitely take a stand against demon discrimination."

Louis grinned and clapped his hands together, forming a wall of magic between us and Kristoff. The sorcerer's flash across the room to escape my staff had given us an opening. He was now trapped against the rounded wall.

Now that he had enough space, Braxton wasted no time. He stripped off his clothes and let the shifter magic burst from him. "Dragons are immune to demon taint," he said, before allowing the change to wash over him.

My eyes flicked across to Kristoff. He was slamming his body against Louis' wall, doing everything possible to break through. He started scratching away at it, looking like a manic rabid dog, foaming at the mouth and everything.