Master

Chapter 43

Lincoln's P.O.V

Alexander comes to my side, bowing swiftly before she lets her eyes raise to mine, "everyone is ready."

"Good," I commend while I quickly survey the others. 

Under the dark of night, dressed in black-fitted clothes, it was almost a challenge to pick them out from the shadows we'd trained them to blend into.

"They should be back any minute now," I whisper and she nods before returning to her post as silently as she'd come.

Crouched in my own perch within the dark, I look down at the small makeshift camping grounds that Diablos' men had set up in this broken valley. 

We'd made quick work of surrounding them and cutting off every and any routes for escape they might think to take. Every corner was accounted for, every gap closed and manned by one of my own.

It had been one of our furthest scouts who'd alerted us of this group. 

They were travelling with haste to one of Diablos' strongholds with a group of newborns they'd turned to bolster his numbers. The scout had only caught them since they'd stopped, giving her enough time to report it to us.

They probably would've been to safety by now if they weren't forced to move slower because of said newborns who had no clue how to use their speed in unfamiliar terrain. 

Their inexperience delayed their journey back, giving us just enough time to intercept.

At the sound of ruffling leaves, I clench my fist, forcing all of my present clan to still completely.

I don't breathe, don't move a muscle as I listen. The rustling comes again, this time closer.

It was either the wind or another person, I ready myself in case it was the latter.

Wequie breaks from the greenery below us and soon Malcolm appears at his side. When they look up in my direction and give the signal, I jump down from my perch and release my hold on the rest of the order.

(A/N - an order refers to a group of trained vampires)

"They're only thirty-six of them," Wequie reports, being sure to keep his voice in a barely-there whisper, "thirty-seven if we missed one."

"We didn't," Malcolm promises, his grey eyes like a touch of moonlight in all this darkness.

The cloudy night sky was blocking off the moon's shine and casting the entire clearing in a makeshift murk. It was why presumably why the group had chosen this spot to rest in.
The lack of light made it impossible to see them if you weren't looking for them and near impossible to hear them, lack of hearts and all.

If it weren't for our scout, they probably would've made it back unscathed.

"There carry twenty-four newborn," Wequie continues, "but they..." he hesitates.

"What is it?" When Wequie looks to Malcolm for help, my frown deepens, "tell me."

"None are chained or bound," Malcolm fills in for him, his tightening features matching his stormy eyes, "they were close together and moved only a little, but they could move."

I can't hide my grimace as I turn away from them with a clear understanding of their hesitancy now.

Everyone had warned me about this beforehand, they had warned against us going at all with the presumption that these newborns would be lost to us, even if we were able to save them.

It would be foolish and naive to assume that they'd even want to go with us, that their minds hadn't already been filled with lies about who was good and who was bad in this war.