Firestorm

Author Note: This was fun to write, hope everyone enjoys :)

***

Vampire High council:

Memo

To: Vampire High Council

From: Dracon Family

Re: Expulsion of the Black family from the Vampire High council

Due to recent events, Daemon Black, Christian Black, Leigh Black and Caspian Black shall be raised by their aunty Alisa Grandior until adulthood.

The bloodline shall be stripped of any influence previously held.

Authorised by

Darrius Dracon

*

Micah groaned as she felt the sun on her skin. She was about to beg for more time under the cosy duvet. Then she realised she wasn't among her pack and gave in to the impulse to throw the duvet over her head. Lazying till the sun went down sounded way too appealing.

"Not a morning person then?" Caspian's voice cleared her mind of cobwebs as she pried her eyes open to glare at him. She had instinctively ignored his presence. She couldn't do that. It could be a fatal error, believing the most lethal person in her vicinity was not a threat.

"Looking at me like that won't make me go away." He said casually.

"Ok, I'll bite. What exactly will make you go away?"Spending more time alert was forcing her to wake up, and she groaned loudly before swinging her legs over the side of the bed, ensuring she didn't turn her back to him.

She took in the room in the morning light, which was, thankfully, not blue. "Forget it...why do you honour me with your presence? Rephrase that. Why the freaking heck are you waking me so early." Micah hissed. She was barely functional until she had a meal and some good coffee in her system.

"It's past nine," Caspian looked at his watch, irritation evident in his expression.

Micah glared at him again, which sadly did nothing. She could challenge him; she ran her eyes over his muscular form; she could take him. He didn't have his pretty swords, and Vampires were weaker under the sun. She licked her lips in anticipation.

"Whatever you are thinking, rethink it. I don't have time to play, little wolf." His tone was crisp, but the red in his eyes said he might like the idea of playing with a wolf.

"I'll be down in a minute," She whined, waving Caspian away. He rolled his ice blues eyes but left.

Once alone, she rubbed her eyes and stretched her limbs. She hadn't shifted in a while; the call of the moon as seductive as a sirens song. Most of the predatory species were nocturnal. Micah needed a lot of encouragement to wake up under the sun.

She missed her phone. At least she could set the alarm to wake up; the fact that she had hit the snooze button several times before she finally woke up was beside the point.

Caspian's wake-up call was more embarrassing than anything. Micah walked towards the ensuite bathroom attached to her room and groaned, placing a hand over her image reflected in the mirror. Her bed hair made her look like a lion with a wild mane.

"Forget being a morning person. I look like hell," She spotted a brand new toothbrush and toothpaste and hoped someone had bought her a hairbrush too. She ran her fingers through her knotted hair and hissed when a few strands remained on her fingers. She shed like a damned husky. She pulled the shower curtain back and smiled at the bottles of shampoo and conditioner.

It took two hours before she was decent enough to descend towards the dining room. She had run down the staircase but admired the design of the rail. Gold and silver vines were curling around it. The space was empty when she finally made it. Pulling a chair to sit, she drummed her fingers on the table.

"It's about time." Caspian's spoke from the doorway, leaning his weight against the doorframe.

"Didn't know you were keeping such close tabs on me." She said as Caspian found a chair and claimed it. He was sticking unusually close, which she couldn't determine was comforting or disturbing.

Caspian eyes narrowed but kept his words to himself as a server arrived with an assortment of bread, fruit and yoghurt. It was more lunchtime than breakfast, so Micah appreciated the variety given to her. As she filled her plate to the brim, Daemon walked in; his expression was of apparent disinterest. The temperature suddenly dropped a few degrees. She rubbed the goosebumps that formed on her arms, trying to warm her skin.

"Glad you could finally join us, dear, the way you slept; I was afraid I might need to summon a healer. Was the room not to your liking?" Daemon teased. He had a sharp tongue, the elegant male who used words like blades that made you bleed. She knew that type.

"If you wanted bright smiles and sunshine in the morning, I think you kidnapped that wrong person, but the room is...nice.Thank you."

"Oh, I think Caspian finally did something good for a change." He smiled without humour.

Caspian lifted a piece of fruit from the table and casually bit into it; It took a minute before he smiled predatorily in return, "Careful Daemon." a gentle warning but a warning nonetheless.

Micah shifted uncomfortably in her seat, tension thick in the air. As quickly as the pressure built, it dissipated, both males contented with eating.

Micah licked the last bit of yoghurt from her lips, felt the heat of Caspian's stare. Well, one point for pure physical attraction. "So. I am supposed to be visiting the arena today. Do I get at least a brief on what the place is?" She looked to Daemon, hopeful but realistic. This family had a communication problem; they refused to communicate, even to each other.

"You need to be ready at 9 pm; dress casually," Deamon announced.

"Is that all I am going to get...not a morsel more, huh?" Micah pouted. She reached her limit with all the secrecy, had completed the blood summons the previous night. It would only take a few days for the Seraph to respond, hopefully, sooner than later.

"I suppose I still don't have an invite?" Caspian commented with a sigh of irritation.

"No, dear cousin," Daemon looked at Caspian, lifting his brow before continuing his meal.

**

She had chosen a pair of faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt. Deamon didn't comment on her choice of clothing, which meant he honestly did not care about what she wore. She was ready to shift at a moments notice, not that she wanted to lose the jeans. They were her favourite pair.

The arena was beneath a club similar to Diablo, the same strange aura clinging to the foundations of the place. Fighting, and in particular cage fighting, was a common practice among the different species. She glanced at the crowd, practically feeling their bloodlust as the two males danced in the ring in a vicious fight for dominance.

Deamon had led her towards a staircase, and she followed silently behind, taking in the simplistic yet elegant design of the arena. The seats provided were cushioned and expensive. The row closest to the ring was at the ground level, the other rows slightly elevated to avoid any obstruction from the action in the cage.

Taint, the sense of corruption that the Seraph could feel like a sixth sense, was dense around the cage. Micah could feel it so ingrained around her, her stomach knotted. The more entrenched the taint was within a person, the harder it was to pull them from the abyss of madness.

"I thought we were getting front-row seats." The seats were close enough to feel the air shift directions as the fighters move at incredible speed within the cage.

He continued walking up the staircase."I prefer watching from the control booth," Deamon said as he entered a room with glass windows overlooking the cage from above. Micah looked at the crowd as cheers rang out.

"Bloodthirsty batch you have down there," One of the males that fought, a bear shifter, rammed his shoulder into his smaller opponent. She couldn't tell what species the other fighter belonged, but he was fast.

"Cage fighting is a lucrative business; we get all sorts that feed of the energy in the air. It's addictive."

You had to fight to earn your place in the world, and shifters challenged each other for rank to find out where they belonged in the hierarchy. To challenge was as natural as breathing to many different species if not all.

Micah watched the violence of the fight below and knew that this wasn't natural.

The smaller fighter had leaner muscles, able to move quickly to avoid the Bears blows. Their movements were slight erratic; they didn't calculate their moves, just reacted on instinct. "They aren't normal."

"They were walking a thin line between sanity and turning rogue...The fights are more intense." Deamon replied, confirming Micah's suspicion. Rogues were more violent, their pain trash-hold a lot higher than most. They didn't care for self-preservation.

"There are lines you don't cross; the violence pushes them further." It was pure abused; those close to turning were vulnerable, Seen as innocent to the Seraph, who did everything in their power to heal away the madness.

She turned to Deamon, who had his attention drawn to the fight below. His eyes were focused in concentration as the battle turned more deadly, the atmosphere heavy.

"Wait, what the hell are you doing?!" Micah shrieked as she realised that energy radiated from Deamon affected the fighters below them. They grew more desperate, more deadly.

"My family has a talent for pulling out certain emotions to the surface. An inherited trait."

Her blood turned cold with realisation, and she remembers a certain vampire that acted out of character. Deamon turned to study her as if he was reacting to her emotions.

There were secrets Caspian was keeping, and she had just discovered one of them.

"So you amp the bloodlust enough to push the rogues to the edge and watch as the crowd feeds off the violence." She spat out in disgust.

"Violence is a part of our nature; we use it, we can abuse it, and some even consume it as you would breakfast." He smirked without any amusement—Red colouring his eyes.

"Maybe, but using rogues who are mentally unstable in a Seraph governed territory was a deadly game."

"They haven't taken an interest in my dealings before; I don't expect them to start now," His voice was firm. Micah knew the reason for that, not that she was about to spill secrets that weren't hers to tell.

Micah glared at Deamon. "I know you didn't bring me here to watch." She hissed, letting some of her anger slip into her words.

"There are two subsets to the Seraph, but little is know about their ability. The Seraphs were labelled ruthless killers. To the point where the other species had joined hands to erase their existence." It was an error in judgement.

Micah snorted, "Well, that turned out fantastic. The number of rogues increased, and the death toll kept rising till some big shot finally realised that the Seraph maintained the balance, and without them, it was a bloodbath." Deamon nodded in agreement. It was now history, but 15 years ago, it was the reason she became an orphan.

"The Seraph never offer up information freely," His focus returned to the fighters below as the Bear shifter slowed, his movements sluggish.

"Information has power. None of the species that shared this planet is free with information." Giving up too much led to vulnerabilities exposed for exploitation.

"That is all good and well, my dear, but my point is that the Seraph are rare, a half breed rarer. A fighter with your background adding to our roaster would draw in just the right crowd."

Micah growled; it was unnatural to follow orders from anyone besides her Alpha, and she didn't like the idea of facing off against an opponent that was so close to turning rogue, but maybe if she got closer, she could try something. Anything to ease the suffering. It was a need as great as her need to shift and run under the moonlight.

"Fine, I'll head down." She said as the Bear in the ring landed heavily on the mat; stayed down for a few seconds before battling to get to his feet, his legs bucketed beneath him before he collapsed again. The leaner fighter, Micah, finally recognised as human, walked towards his opponent before the referee launched in front of him, growling a warning. Vampire, dominant and probably as trained as the fighters in the ring. The human-made a good choice by stepping back.

Deamon led her back down to the cage, passing through the dense crowd. She received a few looks that made her shiver. She was petite by any standards, with gentle curves and lean muscles, hair knotted in a messy bun at the back of her head. Most would look at her and dismiss her as non-threatening; that was precisely the reaction she expected and counted on.

Deamon unlocked the cage door and waited for her to enter, handing her a mouth guard; she climbed in and walked towards the centre before assessing the space she was to fight in. She paused as the crowd parted again, and a male approached the cage; he wore a pair of baggy jeans and nothing else. Eyes cast down, but he scented the air, and she knew he was a shifter. The way he moved pointed at him being a cat. What kind of cat, she didn't bother finding out.

Micah paced back and forth, her adrenaline pumping. Her eyes flecked amber as her senses spread, hyper-aware. She knew her opponent was assessing her as well.

He entered the cage, stalked forward. Micah leapt, aimed a punch at the cat's jaw. He dodged, the blow grazing his cheek, stumbling back but recovered enough to kick out. She tried to move away, took the impact of his kick to the side of her gut and hissed as pain erupted through her, swearing when she heard the crack. She dropped hard, twisted and kicked his shin to bring him to the ground with a hard thud. The cat reached for her, trying to wrap his arms around her neck. Micah punched him repeatedly, throwing her body into the hits. She could feel the blood coat the knuckles, her chest tightened.

The cat managed to launch forward, catching her jaw. She rolled away from her opponent's grasp. Her lip split, her side aching as she was sure he had cracked her rib. She was holding back, and it had cost her.

The cat moved slowly; luckily, he wasn't any better off than her, his nose a bloody mess, twisted unnaturally, broken.

Micah ignored her pain, used her legs to propelled her, catching hold of his arm, held him immobilised in an armbar, locking her legs and maintained her grip as her muscles strained. He tried to pull away from her grasp. It took every ounce of physical strength, her muscles aching from exertion.

She started chanting, her palms heating with power, light-emitting from her hands. The cat screamed.

A white-wings primary talent lay in healing physical wounds; that didn't mean they were incapable of healing mental wounds as long as the person wasn't too far gone.

The process of healing felt like placing your hand into a blender for the tainted. It ripped open wounds and made you bleed. If you survived, you regained some sembled of sanity.

The cat continued to scream, scratching at her hold, claws digging into her flesh; she grimaced but held firm. Power flowed through her, emptying her reserves till she had nothing but fumed left. The cat quietened, and she thanked the Gods; she was able to heal him. Once he slumped in her grip, she released her hold.

The cheers were still deafening as she left the cage to rejoined Deamon, cradling her side as she wiped the blood from her lip. To his credit, Deamon didn't react to the sight of her blood.

"Are you unable to heal?"'

She needed to heal, "I have nothing left," Micha hissed in response. She hated being vulnerable in front of anyone.

Deamon smiled, "I have never seen Nevan scream in pain before." Referring to her feline opponent.

"Well, being forced to feel every ounce of pain you have inflicted both physical and mentally on others will do that to you. It's a lot less painful when a black wing performs the trail, but much more for vicious."

"Black wings, the so-called Death Angles, the sub-variant of the Seraph that is nearly extinct. What a shame, your value would have been much higher if you were black-winged." Deamon looked genuinely disappointed. He was a fool to believe that a white wing was any less deadly than their counterpart. To heal was the natural inclination of any Seraph, but if required, they could kill; and they did so with expertise.

Micah didn't share her thoughts on the matter; Caspian, the only thing on her mind.

**

She found him in the lounge, sitting beside the fireplace, and she had to admit, the room had a sense of calm to it. A bookshelf lined one of the walls, but Micah frown when she couldn't find any sign of a tv. The red leather couches look comfortable enough, and flickering flames were also strangely comforting.

"Caspian," She called to gain his attention. He turned, his face illuminated by the flames.

"You're hurt," He commented, striding towards her, making her step back. Micah's breath caught in her throat. The buttons on his shirt were open, the vest within fitted against the firm planes of his chest.

"Well, cage fighting tend to be accompanied by a few injuries." Her eyes were sliding lower. A blush crept up her neck as she forced her eyes to the floor.

"But you're a healer." He reached out his hand to brush against her bruised jaw. She slapped his hand away.

He growled a soft warning.

"Don't. I am not up for your brand of bullshit right now." She took a quick look at her exit points, preparing to flee if needed.

The conner of Caspian's lips curls, and he moved back, gestured for her to continue with a lift of his brow.

"Deamon showed me something interesting, to be honest...I have heard rumours about your bloodline, and I just had it confirmed." All dominants held gifts that made them a significant threat. Micah had survived as a stray for years because she avoided such threats; she went against her nature by confronting him.

"What rumours have you heard then." Caspian teased, seeming to enjoy her discomfort.

"Dammit, Caspian! can you drive a vampire into a bloodlust state?" She needed to know if he had intentionally caused harm to an innocent.

"It seems you already have the answers."

"Do you people even have a limit that your won't cross. Caspian, you caused an innocent to be in danger. Turnings are supposed to be suctioned by the vampire high council." Two bodies governed every individual. One council comprised of the representative of each species, the regional councils, the other comprised of the most dominant of each species, the high councils.

The high councils held the authority of an entire species, but the regional councils had control over a specific territory. Both needed to work together to maintain peace.

"It was an isolated incident. I just wanted to test your abilities." He ran a hand through his ebony hair, cocking his head to the side. He found nothing wrong with his actions, no matter the brutality.

She felt the rage melt away, her breath coming a little easier. "Stop it!" Micha snapped; now that she knew about his ability, he seemed free to use it on her without hesitation.

"Your anger is unfounded. It was a simple means to an end. I have taken responsibility for the fledgeling." As if that was enough. She knew it was unfair to hold him to a higher standard because he was her destined mate. Dominants live in a darker reality, used whatever they had to climb to the top. "Me using my gifts are the same as you are using your teeth and claws. Would you have me cut my claws, Micah? Would that appease you?"

She growled, refused to answer, "Your actions disgust me."

"Is disgust the only emotion you feel towards me because...," He moved into her personal space, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from him.

"I don't think disgust is the feeling I sense...there is a more sensual emotion you seem to emit for me more often than anything else."