Hostage Protocol
title: "Chapter 2" wordCount: 2467
I grabbed my phone off the floor where I'd dropped it, fingers shaking so badly I nearly dropped it again.
The laughter had stopped. The darkness pressed against my windows like something alive, something waiting. My laptop screen cast the only light in the apartment—that impossible photograph of glowing cuneiform still burning on the display.
Twenty-nine days.
I didn't believe in vampires. The data didn't support their existence. Four years of graduate work, three published papers on Mesopotamian burial practices, countless hours in archives and dig sites—none of it had ever suggested the supernatural was anything more than ancient people trying to explain what they didn't understand.
Except Sarah Chen had died seven years ago, drained of blood, researching the same tablet I'd translated yesterday.
My phone buzzed. Text from an unknown number: Basement. Now. Or they will come for you here.
"They who?" I said to the empty apartment.
The lights flickered back on. Everything looked normal—my cluttered desk, the stack of unread journals, the coffee mug I'd forgotten to wash three days ago. But the air felt different. Thicker. Like the moment before a thunderstorm when the pressure drops and your ears pop.
Another text: Asheron is waiting. He will explain. You have five minutes before the others sense where you are.
I looked at the deadbolt on my door. At the windows with their flimsy locks. At my laptop screen where that photograph still glowed with light that shouldn't exist.
The data suggested I was losing my mind.
The data also suggested Sarah Chen had thought she was going crazy right before someone—something—killed her.
I grabbed my keys.
The basement of my building smelled like mildew and the collective bad decisions of twelve apartments' worth of forgotten storage. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in sickly yellow. I'd been down here exactly once, when I moved in, to confirm I didn't want to pay extra for a storage unit.
Now I stood at the bottom of the stairs, copper wire twisted so tight around my wrist it cut off circulation, and tried to remember why coming down here seemed like a better option than calling the police.
Because what would I tell them? That a four-thousand-year-old vampire wanted to make me his blood sacrifice? That I'd received threatening emails from the supernatural? They'd have me in a psych hold before I finished the sentence.
"Dr. Thorne." The voice came from the shadows between storage cages. "Thank you for coming."
Asheron stepped into the light.
He looked different than he had at the museum. Less human. His skin had a quality I couldn't name—not pale, exactly, but as if the light didn't quite know how to interact with it. His eyes were the same dark amber, but now I could see they didn't reflect the fluorescent glare the way they should.
"You sent those texts," I said.
"I did."
"How did you get my number?"
"I have had four thousand years to learn how to find people." He moved closer, each step deliberate. "We do not have much time. The others will have felt the covenant's call when it marked you. They will come."
"The others." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "The ones who want to threaten me? Or the ones who want to kill me?"
"Both." He stopped three feet away. Close enough that I could see he wasn't breathing. His chest didn't rise or fall. "I told you I would give you transparency. I will start with this: I am the oldest vampire in this city. The covenant was created in my name, with my blood, four thousand years ago in Uruk. I was a priest then. I thought I was serving the gods."
"You thought wrong?"
"I was young. Arrogant. I believed immortality was a gift." His face hardened. "I did not understand the price."
The fluorescent lights flickered. Asheron's head snapped toward the stairs.
"They are here," he said. "Faster than I anticipated."
"Who—"
The lights went out.
I heard footsteps on the stairs. Multiple sets. Too light, too quick.
"Stay behind me," Asheron said. His voice had changed—deeper, with an edge that made my hindbrain scream run.
"I don't even know you," I said, but I moved behind him anyway because the alternative was standing alone in the dark with whatever was coming down those stairs.
The emergency exit light cast everything in red. Three figures reached the bottom of the stairs. Two men and a woman, all of them beautiful in that uncanny way that made my eyes want to slide away. The woman wore a designer suit that probably cost more than my car. One of the men had silver rings on every finger. The other looked like he'd stepped out of a Victorian photograph.
"Asheron." The woman smiled. "How predictable. Already trying to claim her for yourself."
"Severin." Asheron didn't move. "This is not your concern."
"Oh, darling, but it is." Severin's smile widened. Her teeth were very white. "The covenant belongs to all of us. You wrote the terms yourself—any vampire of the bloodline may claim the sacrifice. You cannot hoard her like one of your precious artifacts."
"She is not a sacrifice," Asheron said. "Not yet."
"Excuse me," I said. "I'm standing right here."
All four of them looked at me. The weight of their attention made my skin crawl.
"How delicious," Severin said. "She has spirit. Tell me, sweet thing, has Asheron explained what the covenant actually does? Or has he been feeding you romantic nonsense about ancient rituals and sacred bonds?"
"He hasn't explained anything," I said. "Actually, no one has explained anything. I've gotten cryptic warnings, threatening emails, and a lot of dramatic pronouncements, but zero actual information."
The man with the silver rings laughed. "I like her."
"Marcus, please." Severin waved a hand. "Dr. Thorne, allow me to provide the transparency our dear Asheron seems reluctant to offer. The blood covenant grants its holder immense power—the ability to walk in daylight, immunity to most traditional vampire weaknesses, and dominion over other vampires. Every seven years, the covenant requires renewal. A human must willingly present themselves at the ritual site and offer their blood. In exchange..." She paused. "Well. That is where it gets interesting."
"In exchange for what?"
"Immortality," the Victorian-looking vampire said. His voice was soft, almost gentle. "You become one of us."
My stomach dropped. "Sarah Chen—"
"Refused at the last moment," Severin said. "Tried to break the binding. The covenant does not appreciate rejection. It took her blood anyway, but without the ritual's completion, she simply...died. Messily."
"You killed her."
"The covenant killed her, darling. We merely watched." Severin took a step closer. Asheron moved to block her, but she laughed. "So protective. Tell me, Asheron, have you informed Dr. Thorne that you are the current covenant holder? That you are the one who will drink her blood when she presents herself? That her immortality will be bound to yours for eternity?"
I looked at Asheron's back. The rigid line of his shoulders.
"This is truth?" I said, using his phrase.
He turned his head slightly. Not enough to look at me. "Yes."
"You didn't think that was relevant information?"
"I was building to it."
"Building to—" I stopped. Took a breath. "Let's table that. Right now, I need to know if I'm about to be murdered in my building's basement."
"No one will harm you tonight," Asheron said. "The covenant forbids it. You must come to the ritual willingly, or the binding fails."
"But persuasion is allowed," Marcus said. His silver rings caught the red emergency light. "Incentives. Demonstrations of what immortality could offer."
"Or what mortality will cost," Severin added. "Your colleague Sarah Chen spent her last seven years looking over her shoulder, Dr. Thorne. Knowing we were watching. Knowing that when the covenant called again, she would have to answer or die. She chose death. But she chose it slowly, in fear, researching desperately for an escape that does not exist." She tilted her head. "You could choose differently."
"I could choose to walk out of here and never look back."
"You could try." Severin's smile never wavered. "But the covenant has marked you. You translated the tablet. You spoke the words aloud. The bond is forming whether you accept it or not. In twenty-nine days, you will feel the pull. It will drag you to the ritual site. Your only choice is whether you walk there with dignity or crawl there screaming."
The copper wire around my wrist bit into my skin. I'd twisted it so tight my hand was going numb.
"Why me?" I said. "There are thousands of archaeologists. Hundreds who specialize in Mesopotamian languages. Why did the covenant choose me?"
Silence. The four vampires looked at each other.
"You do not know?" Asheron said slowly.
"Know what?"
"Your bloodline," Severin said. "Oh, this is delicious. She does not know."
"My bloodline is Irish and Polish," I said. "My family tree is extremely well-documented and extremely boring."
"Your mother's line," Asheron said. He was looking at me now, really looking, and something in his expression made my chest tight. "What was her family name before marriage?"
"O'Connor. Why does—"
"And her mother?"
"I don't...Anyway, this isn't relevant—"
"Dr. Thorne." Asheron's voice was very quiet. "What was your grandmother's maiden name?"
The basement felt too small. Too hot. "Khatun. She was adopted. We don't know her birth family."
"Khatun," Asheron repeated. "A Mesopotamian name. A royal name."
"That's...the data suggests that's a coincidence."
"There are no coincidences with the covenant," Severin said. "It calls to blood, sweet thing. Ancient blood. The blood of those who witnessed its creation." She laughed, delighted. "You are not random. You are a descendant of the original priestess who helped Asheron create the covenant four thousand years ago. Her line has been lost for centuries. We thought it ended. But here you are."
The fluorescent lights came back on, harsh and sudden.
I blinked against the glare. When my vision cleared, Severin and the others were gone. Only Asheron remained, standing very still, watching me with an expression I couldn't read.
"Is that true?" I said.
"I do not know. But if it is..." He stopped. Started again. "The covenant was created with three bloodlines. Mine. The priestess who bound the ritual. And the sacrifice who gave the first blood. If you carry the priestess's line, then you are not just a candidate. You are the key to ending this."
"Ending it how?"
"The covenant can only be broken by the three bloodlines acting in concert. I have searched for the priestess's descendants for two thousand years. I thought the line was extinct."
My phone buzzed. I pulled it out with numb fingers.
Unknown number. A photograph. My grandmother's grave in Chicago, fresh flowers laid on the headstone. And a message: We know where everyone you love is buried. Choose wisely.
"They are threatening you," Asheron said.
"Yeah, I got that." My voice sounded distant to my own ears. "Actually, I'm getting pretty tired of being threatened."
"I can protect you."
"Why would you? If I'm the key to ending the covenant, and you're the current holder, then I'm your enemy."
"No." He said it with absolute certainty. "I have held this power for four thousand years. I have watched it corrupt every vampire who claimed it. I have seen what it costs. If you can end this, I will help you. This is truth."
"And if I can't?"
He didn't answer.
The basement door at the top of the stairs opened. Footsteps, human this time, heavy and quick. A man's voice called down: "Hello? Building maintenance. Someone reported the lights out."
Asheron moved toward the shadows between storage cages. "Meet me tomorrow night. The museum, after closing. I will show you the rest of the tablet—the pieces they did not put on display. The pieces that explain how to break the covenant."
"Why not now?"
"Because Severin is still watching. And because you need time to decide if you trust me." He paused at the edge of the light. "I know what I am asking. I know what I am. But I am offering you the only chance you have to survive this."
"How do I know you're not lying?"
"You do not. But in twenty-nine days, you will stand at that ritual site. The only question is whether you will stand there with knowledge and choice, or with nothing but fear."
He disappeared into the shadows.
The maintenance man reached the bottom of the stairs, flashlight sweeping the basement. "You okay down here, miss?"
"Fine," I said. "Just...checking my storage unit."
He looked at me like I was crazy—standing in the middle of the basement with no storage cage in sight, copper wire cutting into my wrist, probably pale as a corpse.
Fair assessment, actually.
I walked past him, up the stairs, back to my apartment. Locked the door. Put a chair under the handle for good measure. Sat down at my laptop.
The photograph of the glowing tablet was gone. In its place, a new email. No sender, no subject.
I opened it.
A video file, timestamp from seven years ago. I clicked play.
Sarah Chen's face filled the screen. She looked exhausted, terrified. Behind her, I could see an apartment—not hers, somewhere she was hiding.
"If you're watching this," she said, "then you're the next candidate. I'm sorry. I tried to break the covenant. I thought I found a way. But I was wrong, and now..." She stopped. Took a trembling breath she forced out. "They're coming. I can feel it. The pull is too strong. I'm going to the ritual site tonight. I'm going to refuse. Maybe that will be enough. Maybe—"
The video cut to static.
Then a new image loaded. Sarah Chen's body, drained and broken, in what looked like an ancient temple chamber. And standing over her, watching her die, was Asheron.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Did you enjoy the video, Dr. Thorne?" Severin's voice, warm and amused. "Asheron claims he wants to end the covenant. But he was there when Sarah died. He watched. He did nothing. Ask yourself: if he truly wanted to save her, why didn't he?"
The line went dead.
I stared at the frozen image on my screen. Asheron's face, expressionless, as Sarah Chen bled out at his feet.
My apartment door handle turned.
I hadn't heard footsteps in the hallway. Hadn't heard anyone approach.
The handle turned again, testing the lock.
Then a voice, soft and cold, speaking in Akkadian: "The blood remembers. The covenant calls. Open the door, daughter of the priestess. We have so much to discuss."
The wood around the deadbolt began to splinter.