Chapter 7: The Blood Oath
The car had been silent, a sleek black capsule gliding through the neon-washed streets. Frankenstein drove with a single-minded focus, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Lex watched the city blur past, the warmth of the shower and his salve on her ankle a stark contrast to the cold dread settling in her stomach. He hadn’t spoken since they’d left her apartment, but his hand had found hers, gripping it with an almost painful intensity.
They stopped before a nondescript townhouse in a district of old money and older secrets. The air felt heavier here, the sounds of the city muted as if swallowed by the very brickwork.
He led her inside, through a dim foyer and down a corridor lined with portraits whose eyes seemed to track their progress. The door at the end was a massive slab of dark wood. Frankenstein paused, his jaw tight. “My Master is not like other men,” he said, the words low and deliberate. “He will see truths you may wish to hide. Answer him directly. Do not lie.”
He opened the door.
The study was a cave of knowledge and shadow. Countless candles flickered in sconces and on every available surface, their light dancing across leather-bound spines and cascades of parchment. The smell was profound—beeswax, old paper, dried ink, and beneath it all, a cold, clean scent like stone after rain. A fire crackled in a vast marble hearth, its light unable to reach the room’s high corners.
In a high-backed chair that was more throne than furniture, Cadis Etrama Di Raizel sat perfectly still.
Lex’s military training screamed at her to assess the threat. He was slender, clad in dark, simple clothing, his black hair falling around a face of impossible, ageless beauty. But his eyes—they were a deep, profound red, and they held a weight that made the air in her lungs feel thin. He wasn’t looking at her; he was perceiving her, seeing the shape of her skeleton, the pulse in her throat, the ghost of every scar.
Frankenstein moved forward immediately, dropping to one knee a few paces from the chair, head bowed. “Master.”
“You are agitated, Frankenstein.” The voice was soft, melodic, and seemed to come from everywhere at once. It held no censure, only observation.
“There was an incident. An attack on Alexandra. It was… professional.”
Raizel’s gaze shifted to Lex. It was like being pinned by a beam of cold light. She forced herself to stand straight, to meet that bloody gaze, even as every instinct told her to look away.
“Come closer,” Raizel said.
She walked forward, her boots silent on the thick rug. She stopped beside Frankenstein, acutely aware of him kneeling, a posture of submission she had never seen from him. It felt wrong.
Raizel’s eyes traveled over her, lingering on her healed ankle, her bound arm, finally settling on her face. “You bear the marks of violence, past and recent. And you bear the mark of my servant.” His gaze flicked to the barely-visible scratches on Frankenstein’s neck, just above his collar. “He has claimed you.”
“I’ve claimed him right back,” Lex said, the words out before she could temper them.
A profound silence followed, broken only by the pop of the fire. Frankenstein didn’t move, but she felt the tension coil in him like a spring.
Slowly, Raizel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The movement was fluid, predatory. “Your spirit is unwounded. That is rare.” He looked at Frankenstein. “You believe the attack is connected to our affairs?”
“The methodology suggests discipline beyond street crime. They targeted her to reach me. Or to send a message.” Frankenstein’s voice was tight. “I will exterminate the source.”
“You are compromised.” Raizel stated it as fact.
“I am invested.”
“That is the compromise.” Raizel’s eyes returned to Lex. “Humanity is a fragile candle. It gutters in the slightest wind of our world. Your death would be a certainty. Your suffering, a tool. What do you offer to this dynamic besides vulnerability?”
Lex felt the old, familiar shame heat her skin—the scars on her ribs tightening, the ghost of her ex-husband’s laughter in her ears. Unworthy. She saw Frankenstein’s hand flex against his thigh.
Then a different fire ignited in her gut. Defiance.
She took a half-step forward, into the candlelight that danced over her shaved sides and sharp cheekbones. “I offer a thirty-yard head start.”
Raizel went very still.
“Sir,” she continued, her voice clear in the hushed room. “With all due respect to your… ancient and terrifying everything, I’m not a damsel. I’m a deterrent. Those goons yesterday? They walked away with broken bones and a story about the five-foot-two blonde who put them through a wall. Frankenstein isn’t here to protect a weakling. He’s here because I’m the one person in this city who sees what he is and isn’t stupid enough to run. I stand with him. Not behind him.”
The silence that followed was a living thing. Frankenstein slowly lifted his head. He was staring at her, his blue eyes wide, a storm of shock and something else—a raw, blazing pride.
Raizel leaned back in his chair. A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips. It did not reach his eyes. “Is that so?” He shifted his gaze to Frankenstein. “You kneel in deference, yet you have brought a queen who does not know how to bow.”
“Master, I—” Frankenstein began.
Raizel raised a single, pale hand, silencing him. His smile remained. “The bridge you spoke of building. It appears she has fortified her end with sheer insolence.” He looked back at Lex, the amusement fading into something more contemplative, more calculating. “Very well. Your worth is not in your fragility, but in your fire. That, at least, is a currency our kind understand.”
He stood. He was taller than he seemed seated. “The attack will be investigated. You, Alexandra Ryder, will be part of that investigation. You will see the nature of the wind that threatens to gutter your candle.” He walked to a shelf, pulling down a cracked leather tome. “Frankenstein, you will train her. Not to be protected. To protect what is yours.”
Frankenstein rose to his feet in one smooth motion. “Yes, Master.”
Raizel opened the book, his attention seemingly absorbed. “Begin tonight. The scent of hired violence is still fresh. Track it. Both of you.”
It was a dismissal. Frankenstein gave a short bow, then took Lex’s arm, guiding her swiftly from the study. The heavy door clicked shut behind them, muffling the candlelight and the presence within.
In the dark corridor, Frankenstein pushed her gently against the wall, his body crowding hers. His hands framed her face. In the gloom, his eyes glittered.
“A thirty-yard head start?” he whispered, his voice husky with disbelief and awe.
“Seemed accurate,” she breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs.
He kissed her, hard and fast. “You magnificent, impossible woman.” He rested his forehead against hers. “He was testing you. To see if you would break, or beg, or hide behind me.”
“What did he see?”
“He saw the same thing I see.” Frankenstein pulled back, taking her hand. His grip was sure, an anchor. “A ally. Now,” he said, his demeanor shifting back into that focused, lethal efficiency. “We have a trail to hunt. And you have a great deal to learn about the dark.”
As they walked back into the night, Lex glanced once more at the townhouse. In a high window, she could have sworn she saw a flicker of crimson light, watching them go. A silent, ancient approval. She turned her face to the wind, toward the hunt, and felt no fear.