Blood Freed (Vampire-Cursed #4)

8. Chapter 8

8

Chapter 8

Mia

I sit cross-legged on my childhood bed, watching dust motes dance in the twilight streaming through my old lace curtains.

My collection of crystals still lines the windowsill, catching the fading light. The bookshelf holds my old spellbooks, their spines worn from countless study sessions. Yet after a year away, these once-comforting objects feel like artifacts from someone else’s life.

The soft scent of healing herbs lingers in the air – chamomile and lavender from Mom’s earlier treatments. It’s combined with something richer, more aromatic. Something’s cooking. My mouth waters. I’m hungry. My body still aches, but strength slowly returns with each passing hour.

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing into a meditative rhythm. But all I can think about is that desperate kiss through the barrier, the surge of power when our lips met. The memory burns through me, makes my heart race.

“ Soren ,” I whisper, reaching for that warm thread of connection between us, the presence at the edges of my consciousness, like sunlight on closed eyelids.

It doesn’t take long before I feel it. Him.

I sigh.

“Oh God, Soren,” I breathe the words beneath my breath. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”

“Mia…” His voice in my head brings tears to my eyes.

I sit up straighter. “It’s you!”

“Yes.” He says nothing else.

“Are…are you okay?” I’m feeling worried.

“I’m fine, Mia.” He doesn’t sound fine.

And that leaves me feeling hollow. “Soren, don’t give up. I’m going to—”

“Stop.” There’s an edge to that voice now.

Stop? What does he mean “stop”?

“They can’t keep you. I’m going to get you out.” I’m growing more determined with every minute that passes. Especially after seeing him in that cell. After feeling the connection. After feeling his lips.

There’s a pause before I sense him again. “No. Leave me. This isn’t your business, Mia.”

“How can you say that? Of course it’s my business. After all we’ve been through…” I whisper, putting my hand to my chest.

“It’s over. I’ve cleared my conscience. It’s done.”

My heart constricts. He’s cleared his conscience?

“Is that what it was about? All…all of it?” I remember his hands on my skin, his mouth exploring me, tasting me. “I don’t believe that, Soren.”

“Believe it.” There’s another pause, and then, “Goodbye, Mia.”

“No!” I blurt, jumping to my feet. The abrupt move makes me sway on my still-unsteady legs. “No, Soren. This isn’t goodbye. I can help you.”

There’s no response.

I push deeper, searching for that familiar touch of his mind against mine. For a moment, I catch a flicker of something – longing and fear tangled together, the ghost of his fingers on my skin.

Then nothing.

A wall slams down, cold and impenetrable. I press against it, frustration building as I encounter only silence. The sudden emptiness where his presence should be creates a physical ache in my chest.

He’s shutting me out.

But why?

“Don’t do this,” I choke, though I know he can’t hear me now. “Please, Soren.”

But the wall remains, and the rejection stings like ice against my skin.

I press the heels of my palms to my eyes until stars form behind my eyelids. I’m here, home, after a year of fear and uncertainty locked in a cage, and now I’m sitting here, shattered because I’ve lost my connection with the man who kept me there.

What’s wrong with you?

It’s what Dad would ask. Mom, too. Probably Kara. But it’s a question I don’t have an answer to because nothing feels wrong about being with Soren. The strange relationship we’d forged over the past months might look dysfunctional to some – okay, probably to everyone – but for me, it feels more like home than this place does right now.

That’s so messed up, Mia.

“Oh God,” I groan, rubbing my face with both hands. I don’t know what’s worse. Feeling like there’s something seriously wrong with me or the sense of desolation at not being able to connect with him.

Center yourself.

I pull in a breath, remembering what I’d been trying to do. I resume my steady breathing, my hands resting on my knees, straightening my posture. If I can’t connect with him, maybe I can connect with the healing forces around me. Maybe I can strengthen myself for what I need to do.

Save him.

“Mia?” The door creaks open, and I sense Mom before I see her, that familiar mix of flowers and herbs that follows her everywhere. My eyes stay closed, maintaining the meditation stance even as her worried energy fills the room.

“Mia, sweetheart. I brought you some tea.”

I don’t respond. Maybe if I stay still enough, they’ll leave me alone with my thoughts. With this aching emptiness where Soren’s presence should be.

God, Mia. When did you turn into such a bitch?

“Georgia, let her rest,” Dad’s voice comes from the doorway, but his footsteps enter the room anyway.

“She needs to drink something,” Mom insists. The ceramic mug clinks as she sets it on my bedside table. “Mia, please. You’re still recovering. You need your strength.”

I feel their gazes on me. The air thickens with their concern; I can almost feel it against my skin.

“She’s doing something…probably involving him,” Dad mutters, voice tight with barely contained anger. “Look at her posture – that’s not rest, that’s magical meditation.”

Mom’s sharp intake of breath cuts through the room. “Mia, stop this. You’re only hurting yourself.”

I open my eyes then, meeting their worried faces. Mom stands closest, her hands twisted in the hem of her shirt – a nervous habit she’s had as long as I can remember. Dad looms by the door, arms crossed, jaw clenched in that way that means he’s holding back words he thinks will upset me.

“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice comes out hoarse, betraying me. “The tea can wait.”

“No, it can’t.” Mom picks up the mug again, holding it out like a peace offering. “And this…this obsession with him needs to stop. He kept you prisoner for a year, Mia.”

“He saved me,” I snap, the words bursting out before I can stop them. “Why do I have to keep repeating this?”

“Don’t speak to your mother that away, Mia,” my father warns. “We know it’s been hard for you, but you have to know that we suffered too.”

My mother’s eyes have misted over, and now I feel like shit.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to unclench my jaw. “I’m sorry. You’re right – I shouldn’t snap. I know you were worried.” I shift on the bed, making space. “Sit with me?”

Mom perches beside me, the mattress dipping slightly. Her hand finds mine, warm and familiar. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Really?”

“Tired.” I accept the mug of tea from her other hand. “But stronger than yesterday.”

“Are you having any pain?” Dad’s stance softens slightly, though he remains by the door. “The healers said there might be lingering effects from the magical restraints.”

“Just some general soreness. Like muscle aches.” I sip the tea, letting its warmth spread through me. “Nothing serious.”

“And…emotionally?” Mom squeezes my hand. “You’ve been through so much.”

I stare into my mug, watching the herbs swirl. “I’m processing. It’s…complicated.”

“Complicated because of him,” Dad mutters, tension creeping back into his voice.

Before I can respond, Gran appears in the doorway. She takes in the scene – Dad’s rigid posture, Mom’s hovering, my careful neutrality – with those sharp green eyes that miss nothing.

“Lake,” she addresses Dad, “perhaps we could give Mia some space to drink her tea?” Her tone is gentle but carries that unmistakable note of authority that even Dad rarely challenges.

Dad opens his mouth as if to protest, then closes it. “Of course, Mother.” He glances at me, conflict clear on his face. “We just want to protect you, Mia.”

“I know, Dad.” I try to smile, though it feels strained. “I know.”

He observes me for a moment, as if he wants to say something more, then turns and follows Gran down the hall.

“Are you feeling up to some dinner?” Mom asks. “I can bring a tray up.”

I smile. It’s easier this time. “How about I come down and join you at the table?” I suggest. “I’ve been locked up in little rooms for far too long.” I wrinkle my nose as I look around.

“Oh! Darling!” Mom’s hand flies to her mouth. “It never even occurred to me that—”

I touch her arm. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m fine. I’ll meet you down there in ten.”

“Perfect timing. Dad’s got a chicken in to roast. It’s nearly ready.” Mom stands, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll see you down there.” She pinches her lips together, then adds, “I’m so glad to have you home safe, darling. We all are. The past year has been…” She stops. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

“Me too, Mom.” I put my hand over hers on my shoulder. “I’ll be right down.”

Ugh, I feel awful. All they want to do is welcome me home, and I keep ranting about saving the man they can only see as a monster. I’m not being fair to them.

I’ll have to handle this with more sensitivity. And focus my efforts on those who are more open to it. Gran, for sure. And Rowan. I’m going to need all the help I can get if I’m going to get him out of there.

. Because I don’t care how hard he tries to lock me out, to deny this thing between us…I’m going to reach him.