Bleeding Hearts & Red Roses

Bleeding Hearts & Red Roses
The halls of Blackthorne were quiet, the kind of stillness that felt ceremonial, and heavy. Azrael’s heels clicked softly against the polished obsidian tiles as she walked through the torch-lit corridor, flanked by cold, towering walls of carved onyx and ancient banners. The flames from the sconces danced, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out as if to warn her—this night would not end the way it began.

She walked alone.

The message from the guard still rang in her ears: "King Seraphim has requested your presence. Privately. In the Royal Garden."

The words hadn’t been threatening. But they hadn’t been casual either.

Her fingers grazed the ruby that hung from the black choker around her throat—her mother’s. It grounded her. Reminded her of everything she had to be. Everything she had become. And everything she still wasn’t sure she could handle.

She reached the arched door that led to the Royal Gardens. Two silent guards opened it wordlessly. A soft gust of wind caressed her as she stepped into the open air, where moonlight spilled like silver rain across the rose-laden hedges.

The garden was grand—sprawling and immaculate. Thick with the scent of hundreds of roses, all blooming in shades of deep crimson and moonlit ivory. The hedges were trimmed into symbols of the old gods, a quiet homage to a forgotten age. At its center stood a massive marble fountain, water cascading from the mouths of carved serpents. Beyond it, down a white stone path, sat a grand gazebo made of black iron and draped in silk dark red curtains. There, with his back to her, stood Seraphim.

Azrael paused at the path. She took in a quiet breath before approaching.

"Lord Seraphim," she called out gently, her voice careful, respectful but not submissive. “You asked to see me in private.”

Seraphim turned slowly. His long hair shimmered under the moonlight, loose tonight, cascading past his shoulders. His gaze met hers with a faint, unreadable smile.

“You should stop calling me that,” he said as he sat on the curved bench within the gazebo. “We’ve gone beyond formalities, haven’t we?”

Azrael approached warily, unsure whether his tone was teasing or something deeper.

He gestured to the seat beside him.

She sat, careful, straight-backed, aware of the tension in the air. The stillness was sharp.

A long pause passed between them. Seraphim watched her intently, as if studying not just her face but her soul.

Azrael looked away first.

“I assume you didn’t summon me here to admire the roses,” she said, clearing her throat.

“War is coming,” he replied softly.

Azrael arched a brow . “I’m perfectly aware.”

“Are you?” he turned to face her more directly. “I wonder if anyone truly is. Not just of the fact—but the weight of it. What it will cost. What it will demand.”

He paused, the air turning heavier.

“The last Great War nearly ended our kind. Vampires. Lycans. Both. Our numbers fell so low, some of our most ancient lines vanished forever. Castles burned to ash. Cities wiped off the map. The world changed in those years, Azrael. We became desperate. Secretive. Hungry for strength. And when the ashes settled, all we could do was rebuild and pretend we’d learned something.”

His voice had darkened by the end. Bitter with memory.

Azrael was quiet. Listening.

“I remember,” Seraphim continued, “what it felt like to walk through a battlefield of our dead. I remember seeing children with no homes. Brides with no grooms. Families turned to bone in each other’s arms. You weren’t grown yet. You didn’t witness it. But I did.”

Azrael’s throat tightened, her eyes falling to her lap.

“That’s why I spoke with your father. Valerion and I are aligned.”

“Aligned in what?” Azrael asked, her voice low.

Seraphim turned fully toward her. “It’s time.”

She looked at him, brows furrowed.

“For you to ascend,” he said simply.

The words struck her harder than she expected. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She could only stare.

Seraphim chuckled softly. “Why so surprised? Haven’t you been waiting for this your whole life?”

“I…” Azrael blinked, leaning back. “Yes. I have. I just didn’t expect to hear it now.”

“You’ve earned it,” he said. “I watched you fight at the Bloodmoon Ball. I saw the fury in you. The strength. You’re ready.”

Her gaze faltered, softening. “I’ve trained all my life for this moment. Pushed myself past my limits. Bled to prove I was worthy. To him.”

“To your father,” Seraphim said knowingly.

Azrael nodded once. “And now it’s finally happening. I don’t know if I should feel relieved… or terrified.”

“Feel both,” Seraphim said. “That’s the mark of someone truly ready.”

There was a pause again. This one quieter. More intimate.

Seraphim shifted slightly closer. “But I didn’t call you here just to tell you that.”

Azrael looked back at him. “No?”

His gaze turned softer, more intense.

“I’ve lived a long life, Azrael. Long enough to have seen centuries blur together. I’ve had lovers. Dozens. Maybe more. Some I remember. Some I don’t. That’s the curse of immortality. Time makes everything forgettable.”

He leaned forward.

“Except you.”

Azrael blinked, caught off guard.

“What?”

“You,” he repeated. “From the moment I met you, you have plagued my thoughts like a curse I can’t shake. You’ve been in my mind when I try to rest. In my dreams when I seek peace. It’s maddening.”

“Seraphim…”

She meant to protest, to interrupt, but her voice caught in her throat.

He was leaning in before she could move.

And then… he kissed her.