Chapter 141

I sat on my bed, my gaze locked onto Icarus, but my mind felt adrift unmoored by fear and confusion. His restless, storm-dark eyes burned with frustration, his jaw tense with unspoken regret. I knew him well enough to guess what he was thinking. He must have cursed the day he chose to lead the legions in this war. He should have been with the Royal Army, fighting degenerates and the self-proclaimed New King. Instead, he was here, tangled in a conflict that offered no honor, no glory only blood and uncertainty.

"Do you think EH could be someone from my father’s pack?" I asked, inhaling deeply as if steadying myself for the answer.

Icarus sighed, the sound heavy with reluctant acknowledgment. "We can’t ignore that possibility." He knew, as well as I did, that even entertaining the thought would only deepen my resentment toward my own lineage.

"But as far as I know, no one in the pack is capable of something like this," I reasoned. My knowledge of the pack’s current state was limited, but I knew my father. He would never allow someone with that level of strength to remain unchecked. Anyone who could threaten his reign would have been dealt with long ago.

Icarus hesitated before speaking. "Have you considered that it might be your father?"

I scoffed, waving off the suggestion before it could take root in my mind. "Don’t be ridiculous. EH’s notes suggest some kind of... intimacy with Selene. Just the thought of my father in that picture makes me want to vomit."

Icarus grimaced, offering a lopsided, awkward smile. "Yeah, fair point. But... setting that aside, you have to admit he does fit in other ways."

"Don’t even go there," I warned, my glare sharp enough to cut.

Still, something didn’t add up. "And what about the degenerates?" I pressed. "How could a werewolf create an army of them?"

Icarus had more experience in these matters than I did, but even he looked troubled by the question. This kind of army—it wasn’t something a wolf could create.

"I know," he admitted, his voice edged with frustration. "There has to be a powerful commoner behind this. Someone biting people just to turn them, locking them away, starving them until their bloodlust reaches its peak—then unleashing them on the battlefield."

I nodded slowly. "That would make sense... But do you really think a commoner, no matter how strong, could challenge Hadrian? A noble. A pure-blooded vampire?" I smirked wryly, doubting it.

Icarus exhaled, shaking his head. "No. No chance. EH isn’t a commoner. But maybe... maybe he has one working for him, creating the army in his stead."

It was maddening. We had nothing. No real leads. No true understanding of who EH was. But we both knew—whoever he was, he was close.

"I got another note from him," I admitted, my voice tight. I pulled the crumpled paper from my pocket and handed it to Icarus.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath as he scanned the message. His expression darkened before his gaze lifted to meet mine. "This guy is obsessed with you."

"No kidding," I said with a hollow chuckle. "He sent me a black rose too. I don’t know what his game is, but it’s seriously creeping me out."

Icarus rose to his feet, his hand finding my shoulder. "Don’t worry, Thalassa. The plan stays the same. I’ll have someone watching over you. If we’re lucky, we’ll catch the bastard leaving these notes. If we’re not, at least we’ll keep him away from you."

I forced a smile, pretending his words offered some kind of comfort. But inside, I felt like I was unraveling, barely holding myself together. Drawing a slow breath, I steadied my expression and met his eyes.

"There’s one more thing you need to know," I murmured. I swallowed hard before continuing. "EH obviously has a spy inside the Blue Moon Pack. But I don’t think it was the spy who left this note on my pillow."

Icarus leaned in slightly, processing my words. "What do you mean?"

I shifted uneasily, my fingers gripping the bedsheets. "Lately, my senses have been sharper. I can distinguish scents, auras… things I never noticed before." I hesitated before adding, "When I walked into my room, I felt something—something overwhelming. It was a power unlike anything I’ve sensed before. Stronger than Kenzo. Stronger than Hadrian. It was... terrifying. And I don’t believe a mere spy could possess an aura like that."

Icarus’s expression darkened further. He understood. This wasn’t just dangerous—it was spiraling into something far worse than either of us had anticipated.

"I will keep you safe, Thalassa," he vowed, his voice steady.

I scoffed, shaking my head. "You realize how weird that sounds, right? Considering we’re marching into war at dawn?" I smirked, masking my unease with bravado. "Besides, I can handle myself. Just make sure someone’s watching, in case this lunatic decides to appear right in front of me."

Icarus returned my smirk, but his eyes betrayed his unease. We both wore masks, feigning confidence we didn’t truly feel. It was the only way to keep moving forward.

Once he left, I knew I needed a distraction—something to keep me from spiraling. I grabbed my laptop and pulled it open, deciding to do some research. If there was some psychotic outcast lurking among the noble vampire families, I was going to find them. It was a long shot, but at this point, I was willing to take any lead I could get.

With a few keystrokes, I entered the access code Varen had given me and logged into the Thorne family's private archives.

Time to dig.

The archive was vast—a sprawling digital collection filled with books, articles, and diaries documenting the histories of noble and semi-noble vampire families. I had no idea where to begin, so I picked a name I already knew. The Vexleys.

A family that had loathed the Kesslers for generations. A family deeply entangled with werewolf packs. A family wiped out by Hadrian... with my help.

If even one of them had survived, they would surely despise Hadrian with every fiber of their being. But Warden Dorian Vexley had only sons—five of them. No daughters. And all five were dead.

His wife had died nearly a century ago, and there were no records of any surviving members. I sighed, frustrated at another dead end, and decided to approach things differently. Instead of focusing on family names, I turned my attention to the initials.

Could EH be someone from a noble bloodline?

"H... Maybe the Patel family?" I murmured to myself.

They were supposed to be neutral, but I couldn’t dismiss the possibility of another arrogant vampire like Vikram lurking among them. I sifted through endless pages of meaningless details, growing more irritated by the minute. The only name matching the initials was Ekagrah Harshad, who later took on the surname Patel. Count Yash Patel’s great-grandfather. A vampire who had died nearly a thousand years ago.

Frustration clawed at me. I was ready to shut my laptop, abandon this fruitless search, and pretend I had never even started. But then—a glimmer of something.

A different tab caught my eye. It wasn’t a collection of old newspaper clippings as I had assumed, but a database of official noble family announcements.

Following my earlier instinct, I typed "Vexley" into the search bar.

Most of it was mundane, boring history. But then—something interesting.

Warden Dorian Vexley had a younger sister.

Amery Vexley.

The name alone wouldn’t have meant much, but apparently, she had been involved in a scandal so severe it led to her disinheritance. The announcement didn’t specify what she had done, but it had been enough to get her cast out of the House of Vexley—erased from their legacy.

After that, she disappeared.

It didn’t bring me any closer to EH’s identity, but it was at least something different—something intriguing. For a fleeting moment, I felt like I was reading a gossip column instead of digging through old records. But the distraction was brief.

"Enough, Thalassa," I muttered to myself. "You’re wasting time."

Shutting my laptop, I forced myself to lie down.

I had hoped to find something useful, something that would help me grasp who EH really was. Instead, I felt even more helpless than before. But at least exhaustion dulled my frustration. It was enough to drag myself to bed and collapse into sleep.

At 4 AM, I woke with a renewed sense of determination.

I couldn’t afford to be consumed by my restlessness. I had a battle to fight—a battle against the one person who had made my life a living hell. My father.

A quick shower, a hastily eaten sandwich from Grandma Acacia, and I was ready.

Outside, the war machines of our time lined the mansion grounds—rows upon rows of identical black vans, each assigned to a group of ten. There had to be at least a hundred of them. Maybe more.

"Impressive, isn’t it?"

A familiar chuckle sounded behind me, and I turned to find Ian, dressed in military boots, khaki pants, and a black T-shirt beneath his jacket. His grin was bright, easy—so at odds with the tension thick in the air.

"You’re coming too?" I asked, unable to help the small smile tugging at my lips.

"Of course," he snorted. "I’ll be your driver, like always."

He swung the door open with a theatrical gesture, and I climbed in, followed closely by the rest of my group. For a fleeting second, Leif’s warm presence made me feel lighter.

Then Bopha walked in.

Her scoffing glare ignited my blood in an instant.

As she took the seat behind me, she kicked my backrest—deliberately.

I turned around, jaw tight, fists clenched, barely restraining myself.

"Oops." She covered her mouth with feigned innocence, blinking at me in mock apology. "My bad."

A murmur spread through the van, half-suppressed gasps and soft muttering. I took a slow, deep breath.

"How’s your jaw, Bopha?" I asked, a razor-edged smirk forming. "Still sore?"

She cleared her throat. "A little..."

"Good," I said smoothly. "Let me know if you’d like a reminder. I’d be happy to oblige."

The van went silent for a beat. Then—laughter. Quiet, but unmistakable. I wasn’t the only one with little patience for Bopha.

Movement at the door caught my eye, and I looked up to find Kenzo watching me. His expression was unreadable, but there was something knowing in his gaze.

I narrowed my eyes in warning.

He merely chuckled. Then, without a word, he shut the van door and took the front passenger seat.

Satisfied, I leaned back, my smirk lingering.

Maybe just maybe this group wouldn’t be so bad after all.