CHAPTER 7: Drain

Stepping through the heavy oak doors was like walking into a vacuum. The air was still, filtered, and scented with dried lavender and beeswax. It was the smell of things that had been dead for a long time and were being kept pretty for display.

After the assault of sensory input at Ironwood. The mud, the blood, the rain, the overwhelming scent of Guilermo, the silence here was deafening. It pressed against my eardrums.

I walked down the main corridor, my boots leaving faint, muddy prints on the polished marble. I knew I would be reprimanded for it later. I didn’t care. My left hand was throbbing in time with my pulse, the makeshift bandage Guilermo had applied hidden beneath my sleeve, but the ache in my bones went deeper than the cut.

I needed to sleep. I needed to curl up in my small, drafty apartment and sleep for a week.

"The Elder is waiting for you in the Solarium."

The voice came from the shadows. A novice witch, young and pale, stood by the staircase. She didn’t look at my face; she looked at the floor, clutching a stack of books to her chest.

"I just got back," I said, my voice rasping. "I haven't even changed."

"He said immediately," she whispered, and then scurried away as if my mere presence was contagious.

I closed my eyes for a second, leaning my forehead against the cool plaster of the wall. Immediately. Of course.

I dragged myself toward the Solarium.

The room was glass-walled, designed to catch the sun, but under the gray Oakhaven sky, it felt like an operating theater. The light was flat and white, exposing every flaw.

Elder Sibal Peralez was sitting at a small iron table, sipping tea from a delicate porcelain cup. He looked immaculate. His silver hair was brushed back, his suit was pressed, and his hands those long, smooth hands were resting on a leather-bound ledger.

He didn't look up as I entered.

"You’re tracking mud on my floor, Lilura."

" The wards are sealed," I said, skipping the pleasantries. I stayed near the door, hugging my coat around me. "The rift is closed. The contract is fulfilled."

Sibal set the cup down. Clink.

He turned slowly in his chair. His eyes, a pale, watery gray, swept over me. They lingered on my muddy boots, my tangled hair, and finally, the way I was cradling my left arm against my stomach.

"You look appalling," he noted. "Did the wolves drag you behind a truck?"

"I had to use blood magic," I said, my voice tight. "The Aetheric Oil was destroyed. I used my own vitality as the binding agent."

Sibal’s eyebrows rose slightly. Not in concern, but in mild surprise. "Resourceful. Dangerous, but resourceful. And the wolves? Did they appreciate your sacrifice?"

"They tolerate me," I said. "As you predicted."

"Good." He stood up and walked toward me. "Attachment to that species is a disease. It makes one... irrational."

He stopped in front of me. He smelled of nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was unnerving.

"Well," he said, holding out a hand. "Let’s see the damage."

I thought he meant my hand. I started to pull my arm out of my coat.

"Not that," he scoffed, waving a dismissive hand at my injury. "I don't care about your cuts, Lilura. Healing is your department. I meant your reserves."

My stomach dropped.

"Elder," I started, stepping back. "I’m empty. I told you, I used blood magic. The casting at the ridge took everything I had. I need rest to regenerate."

Sibal tutted, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. "You always underestimate your capacity, my dear. That’s why you’re a vessel, and I am an Elder. You don't know what you’re capable of until you’re squeezed."

He stepped closer, invading my personal space. The air temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Besides," he murmured, his voice silky. "You’ve been soaking in that raw, chaotic energy of the forest for twenty-four hours. I can feel it on you. It’s sticking to your aura like grease. We need to… clean that off."

"Please," I whispered. It was a humiliating sound. "Not today. I’m dizzy. If you draw from me now, I might pass out."

"Then try not to fall on the furniture."

He reached out and placed his hand on the side of my neck.

His touch was freezing.

It wasn't just cold; it was the absence of heat. It was a void.

I gasped, my body instinctively trying to recoil, but he gripped my shoulder with his other hand, holding me in place.

"Stand still," he commanded.

The pull began instantly.

When I had accidentally touched Guilermo, the sensation had been a spark—a hot, violent, electric exchange. It had felt like too much life.

This was the opposite.

This felt like a drain in the bottom of a bathtub being opened. I felt the energy being sucked out of my core, pulled up through my chest, and channeled into his cold palm. It was a sickening, vertigo-inducing sensation.

My vision blurred. The edges of the room went dark.

"That’s it," Sibal whispered, his eyes closing in ecstasy as he fed on the scraps of power I had left. "There is so much chaos in you today. So much… heat."

He was tasting Guilermo on me. He was draining the residual charge the Alpha had left on my skin, the static that had been driving me crazy.

My knees buckled.

Sibal didn't catch me. He just tightened his grip on my neck, holding me up like a ragdoll while my legs gave out. I hung there, gasping for air, feeling my heart stutter in my chest.

"Stop," I choked out. "Sibal, stop."

He ignored me. He squeezed harder, wringing the towel dry.

I felt the darkness rushing in. The runic markings on my skin flared weakly, a dying purple light, and then extinguished. I was hollow. I was a shell.

Finally, he released me.

I hit the floor hard. My shoulder slammed into the marble, sending a jolt of pain through my injured hand. I lay there, panting, the cold of the stone seeping into my cheek. I couldn't move. My limbs felt like lead.

Above me, Sibal took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders. His skin looked flushed, healthy. The lines around his eyes seemed to have smoothed out.

"Delicious," he murmured. He adjusted his cuffs, looking down at me with a detached curiosity. "You really are quite durable, Lilura. Most of the lower caste would be comatose by now."

He stepped over me, walking back to his desk.

"Take the rest of the day off," he said benevolently. "Go home. Eat something sugary. You look pale."

I lay on the floor for a long time after he turned his back.

I watched a dust mote floating in the stagnant air. I focused on it. Just that one speck of dust. If I focused on the dust, I didn't have to focus on the humiliation burning in my gut.

I was twenty-five years old. I was a powerful witch in my own right. I could seal tectonic rifts. I could brew poisons that could kill a man in seconds.

But here, in this house, I was nothing. I was a battery. I was a convenience store for magic that Sibal could rob whenever he felt a little low.

And the worst part? I let him.

Because without the Coven, I was a rogue. And rogues were hunted by everyone—wolves, humans, and other witches. This violation was the tax I paid for existing.

Slowly, agonizingly, I pushed myself up.

My arms shook so hard they almost collapsed under my weight. I dragged myself to my feet, using the wall for support.

Sibal was writing in his ledger again. He didn't look up as I limped toward the door.

"Oh, Lilura?"

I stopped, my hand on the doorknob.

"The Alpha sent a message while you were indisposed on the floor," Sibal said casually. "He wants a follow-up meeting tomorrow. To 'inspect the integrity of the work.'"

He chuckled dryly. "Wolves. They always need to mark their territory twice. Make sure you’re presentable. We don't want him thinking we’re mistreating our staff."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. If I opened my mouth, I would scream.

I opened the door and stumbled out into the hallway.

I walked blindly toward the exit, my vision tunneling. I needed air. I needed to get away from the smell of lavender and preservation.

I burst out of the Coven House and into the street. The rain had started again, a light, freezing drizzle. I didn't button my coat. I let the cold wetness hit my face, grounding me.

I walked two blocks to a small park bench and collapsed.

I looked at my hands. They were trembling uncontrollably. My skin looked gray, translucent.

Ibbie’s words from earlier that morning echoed in my head. 

I wrapped my arms around myself, rocking slightly.

I was empty. Completely, utterly empty.

But then, a strange sensation flickered in my chest.

It was faint, like a phantom limb. A ghost of a feeling.

Deep inside the hollow space Sibal had left, there was a tiny, stubborn hum. It wasn't my magic. It felt… heavier. 

It was the echo of Guilermo’s static.

Sibal had tried to drain it, but he hadn't gotten it all. A tiny spark of the Alpha’s chaotic energy had snagged on my soul like a burr.

It should have felt invasive. It should have felt like contamination.

But as I sat there in the rain, shivering and alone, that tiny, foreign spark was the only thing keeping me warm.

And I hated how much I wanted to go back to the fire to get more.