The Source: Moonlight's Heir

Chapter 5

The humming was like a swarm of bees trapped inside a velvet pouch, their buzzing muffled and distorted. It was as if the fabric of the room itself was vibrating with the weight of the voices, each one a distinct and urgent pulse.

The voices I was hearing rattled through the room. It had to be voices, only voices would make sense. I'm unsure of my surroundings but thanks to the voices, I at least knew I wasn't alone.

The relentless ache of pressure against my ears finally subsided as a deep rumble resonated through the air. It was faint, but unmistakable, gradually growing louder and more distinct. With each passing moment, it seemed to pull me further out of the foggy haze that had clouded my mind. Relief washed over me, as I realized that I was going to hopefully make a full recovery from whatever happened with that Duran necklace.

"Nice job, Jordan, or should I call you Blaine around her? Either way, he'll be so proud of you! Are you sure she is the right girl though?" The melodic female voice praised the unknown entity, her shrill voice ringing in the air around me. I willed my eyes to open to no avail, instead opting to listen to their engulfing chatter.

"Thank you, Meredith, but it wouldn't have worked if she wasn't the right one. The problem wasn't in knowing if she was the right one, but rather making sure it did what it was meant to do and not harm her, if she wasn't the right one...I'm not sure I would have been able to handle killing an innocent again..."

"Well, nicely done, either way, dear cousin!" A deep male voice boomed with pride.

As the voices continued to chatter, I struggled to piece together their identities and their intentions. My head was pounding, but the more I focused on their words, the clearer my mind became. Jordan sounded an awful lot like Blaine when he spoke. But with my eyes currently closed, there was no way to tell but through the mystery voice. And my gut said it was Blaine, I was almost one hundred percent certain. But that didn't make sense, this couldn't be my Blaine, could it?

I willed my face to remain blank, as mentally I scrunch my nose and crinkle my eyes.

But the deep voice that was rippling in the air like a reverberation of thunder, it was familiar and it crashed into my core in only the way that Blaine's does. I felt betrayed. If I was fully awake, I would be fighting tears. I was so overwhelmed. Thankfully I was still pretending to be unconscious.

Knowing that Blaine could potentially be in the room with me made my heart skip a beat at the thought of him. It shouldn't have, I should be repulsed by his betrayal. But a small part of me hoped that I was wrong, that my gut was wrong.

I forced my eyes open to look around the room, to find him. It was a large, ornate chamber with high ceilings and marble pillars. The walls were lined with tapestries and paintings, giving off an air of grandeur and wealth. I was on a wooden surface, with a pillow tucked under my head and a blanket draped casually over my body from the hips down. From my position, I spotted three figures standing in front of me. Their backs were turned towards me as they continued to discuss whatever plan they had in motion.

My gaze immediately landed on the figure with the messy brown waves falling just above his ears, Blaine, his tall figure towering over the others. He had always been a commanding presence, but now he seemed even more so with his shoulders squared and his stance serious. His arms folded across his chest, and his hip propped against the table that was cluttered with vials and trinkets.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Blaine, my best friend, and the person I thought I could trust with anything, was standing there with these people who he clearly knew. They were discussing some sort of plan, but I had no idea what it could be about.

The girl beside him must be Meredith, I told myself. She was petite and delicate-looking with long black hair cascading down her back. Her eyes were fixated on Blaine with admiration and something else that I couldn't quite place. It resembled jealousy. It was the way that my step-mother looked at me when my father and I would share a smile. With cold indifference. Longing.