For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
The ballroom, once filled with music and quiet murmurs of intrigue, now felt suspended in time. Dozens of wide-eyed vampires stood frozen, their pale faces stark with shock. Raphael’s face twisted in pure disbelief. Eva’s lips parted, stunned beyond words. The Lycans, already on edge from being in enemy territory, stiffened as every noble in the room turned their gaze upon Draven.
And then, all at once—chaos erupted.
Gasps turned to shouts.
Wine glasses shattered against marble floors.
Azrael barely registered the weight above her before it was suddenly gone. Draven was wrenched away from her by an unseen force, his body lifted and hurled backward with bone-crushing force.
The impact was thunderous. Draven slammed into a massive stone pillar, the crack echoing through the ballroom as web-like fractures spread across its surface. A deep, guttural snarl tore from his throat as he staggered forward, shaking off the debris, his vision snapping to the one who dared to attack him.
Valerion.
The Vampire King stood at the base of his throne, hand still raised from where he had thrown Draven across the room with nothing but sheer power. His crimson eyes burned like hellfire, his expression a perfect mask of fury.
**"You dare,"** Valerion hissed, his voice layered with something dark, something ancient. **"You dare lay claim to my daughter?!"**
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Shadows gathered around the Vampire King, thickening, coiling like living entities waiting to strike.
Draven growled, his chest heaving, instincts roaring for him to retaliate. But before he could make a move, a blur of movement caught his eye—Azrael.
She was still on the floor, propped up on her elbows, her fingers brushing over the raw, searing mark on her neck. Her golden eyes were blown wide, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps.
Slowly, she raised her hand, and when she pulled it away, she saw it—blood. Her blood.
Draven’s mark.
And then, everything clicked.
She hadn’t just fallen. She hadn’t just collided with him.
Draven had marked her.
Right here. In the heart of the vampire court. Before her father. Before everyone.
Her stomach twisted violently.
"You bastard," she breathed.
Draven barely heard her, too caught up in his own realization. His lips parted, his breathing ragged. What had he done?
The Lycans reacted first.
Cyrus, moving faster than most could track, was already at Draven’s side, his stance tense, protective. The rest of the Lycan warriors followed suit, immediately forming a defensive wall between their Alpha and the dozens of enraged vampires that were slowly closing in on them.
"Shit," Cyrus muttered under his breath, eyes darting between Valerion and Draven. "That was probably the worst thing you could've done."
Eryx, standing just behind him, scoffed, though there was an edge of tension in his voice. "No shit, Cyrus. Did you see Valerion’s face? I think he’s about to kill all of us.”
Draven wasn’t listening. His focus was locked on Azrael, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her fingers still ghosting over his claim. The mate bond pulsed between them, a raw, unshakable connection, but instead of drawing her closer, she shoved it away, fury igniting in her gaze.
"You marked me," she said, as if she couldn’t quite believe the words leaving her mouth. Then, louder, sharper, "You marked me!"
Draven took a step toward her. "Azrael—"
"Don’t you dare say my name!"
She shot up to her feet so fast she nearly stumbled, but her fury held her steady.
Valerion's command rang through the chamber like a death sentence. **"Kill them!”**
Everything exploded at once.
The vampire guards lunged, shadows twisting around them, their fangs bared, claws slicing through the air. The Lycans didn’t hesitate. Bones cracked, flesh stretched, and within seconds, they shifted—hulking forms of fur and raw muscle, eyes glowing like embers as they roared in challenge.
The clash was immediate and violent.
A Lycan tore into a vampire mid-lunge, sending it crashing through a banquet table in a shower of splintered wood and overturned goblets. Another vampire lashed out with shadow tendrils, ensnaring one of the wolves, but before it could tighten its hold, Eryx barreled into the vampire, tackling it to the ground.
Cyrus ducked under a swipe of razor-sharp claws, countering with a brutal punch to the vampire’s jaw, sending it staggering. He didn’t stop—he whirled around, kicking another in the chest, sending it flying across the ballroom.
Eryx, now fully shifted, his jet-black fur bristling, let out a snarl as a vampire attempted to sink its fangs into his shoulder. He grabbed it mid-air and slammed it down so hard the marble cracked beneath it. He pounced, claws raking through its chest before launching himself toward another target.
Faster than the human eye could track, Valerion’s hand sliced through the air, commanding an invisible force that sent Draven hurtling backward with bone-crushing power. Draven slammed into the marble floor, the impact cracking the stone beneath him. The force of it made the chandeliers tremble, candle flames flickering wildly.
Draven was barely on his feet when Valerion was on him again.
The Vampire King moved with terrifying speed, his fist colliding with Draven’s jaw, snapping his head to the side. Draven barely had time to register the hit before Valerion struck again—a ruthless kick to his ribs that sent him crashing into a stone pillar.
Draven growled low in his throat, rage building. His instincts screamed at him to shift, but he forced himself to hold back. He had fought countless enemies before, but this was different. Valerion wasn’t just powerful—he was something beyond that.
Valerion didn’t relent. He thrust his hand forward, and an invisible force wrapped around Draven’s throat, lifting him off the ground.
Valerion’s eyes burned like molten rubies. The pressure around Draven’s throat tightened, a crushing force strangling the air from his lungs.
Draven’s vision blurred, his pulse hammering against his skull. His body screamed for release, and this time, he didn’t fight it.
A deep, primal growl rumbled from his chest. His bones snapped, his muscles expanded, and in an instant, the man was gone—replaced by the monstrous form of a Lycan Alpha.
Draven lunged.
Valerion barely dodged as Draven’s claws slashed through the air, the sheer force of the swing splitting the stone pillar behind him in half. The Vampire King countered, his speed a blur, but Draven met him head-on. He caught Valerion mid-strike, sinking his claws into his side and throwing him across the ballroom.
For the first time, Valerion stumbled.
The entire room seemed to pause.
Draven bared his fangs. “Not so untouchable now, are you?”
Valerion’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before his lips curled. Then, with unnatural ease, he stood, his wounds already healing, his rage colder than before.
The battle was far from over.