The air in the dimly lit chamber was thick with unease. Candles flickered in their sconces, casting elongated shadows across the high, arched ceilings. The scent of smoldering incense and drying herbs filled the space, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood—Azrael’s blood.
She lay upon the grand, canopied bed, her once-radiant form reduced to something frail and unrecognizable. Her skin, pale as death, had lost its luster. Dark bruises marred her slender arms, and her lips were cracked and nearly colorless. Her once-sharp, golden eyes were sunken beneath shadowed lids, flickering open only in moments of tortured consciousness before slipping back into the abyss of pain.
Every noble and high-ranking official had been dismissed, save for a handful of key figures. The tension in the room was suffocating, the silence thick enough to strangle.
King Valerion stood at the foot of the bed, his crimson eyes dark with barely contained fury. His brother, Avalon, stood beside him, his expression more tempered but equally grave. On Azrael’s left, Raphael remained rigid, his fists clenched at his sides, his sharp features carved with worry he would never admit aloud.
A gust of wind howled through the chamber as the great double doors swung open, and the witches entered.
Ten of them.
Draped in flowing black robes adorned with silver embroidery, their movements were fluid, almost inhumanly graceful. They carried an air of reverence and quiet power, the scent of ancient magic clinging to their skin. At the forefront was High Priestess Lilith, the leader of the witches, wife of Avalon and mother to Eva.
She was a vision of dark elegance, her long midnight-blue hair cascading over her shoulders, shimmered under the candlelight. Though her features bore the ageless beauty of a powerful witch, her eyes carried the weight of centuries. She met Valerion’s gaze without hesitation, a silent understanding passing between them—one forged through blood ties and necessity.
“Lilith,” Valerion acknowledged, his voice a low growl. “I assume Avalon has informed you of the situation.”
Lilith’s sharp eyes fell upon Azrael’s barely breathing form, her lips pressing into a thin line. “He has,” she murmured, stepping forward. “But seeing her now… the severity of this is far worse than I anticipated.”
At Azrael’s bedside, Eva knelt, clutching her cousin’s limp hand. Her hands trembled slightly, though she kept her voice steady. “She’s getting weaker…” she murmured. “It wasn’t this bad earlier. Mother, what’s happening to her?”
She extended a hand, hovering it above Azrael’s body without touching, her fingers twitching slightly as she murmured an incantation. A soft glow illuminated her palm, and the moment it did, she flinched, her entire body stiffening as though she had been burned.
Eva’s breath hitched. “What is it?”
Lilith withdrew her hand slowly, flexing her fingers as though regaining sensation. She turned to the witches behind her, murmuring in their secret tongue, before exhaling sharply.
“I know this is the mark of a Lycan Alpha,” she finally said. “But this… this is no ordinary claim.”
Murmurs rose from the gathered witches. Valerion’s jaw tightened.
“What do you mean?” Raphael demanded. “Explain.”
Lilith’s silver eyes gleamed under the candlelight. “Normally, a werewolf’s mark on a vampire would fade. It would heal. The flesh would reject it, just as it does with any foreign curse.” Her gaze darkened. “But this mark has not healed. It remains because it is anchored to something far stronger than mere dominance.”
Everyone is silent as they process what the High Priestess just said.
Then, Valerion spoke, his voice eerily controlled. “Is it harming her?”
Lilith hesitated. “Hopefully… not permanently.”
“Hopefully?” Raphael bit out, his patience razor-thin.
Lilith turned her gaze to him. “If this is what I think it is, then removing the mark could kill her.”
A sharp, suffocating silence followed.
Raphael’s fists clenched. “What do you think it is?”
Lilith sighed. “A mate bond.”
The words fell like a hammer upon the room.
The reaction was immediate.
Raphael’s golden eyes widened before narrowing into slits of pure rage. Eva’s lips parted, her expression stricken. Avalon exhaled sharply, glancing at Valerion, whose face remained eerily blank—too blank.
But then, the air in the room shifted, and Valerion’s aura of power darkened.
***CRACK!***
A marble pillar at the far end of the room fractured, splitting from the sheer force of his fury.
“A mate bond?!” His voice was dangerously quiet, yet it carried the weight of a storm about to break. “You’re telling me that my daughter—my heir—is bound to that mongrel by fate?”
Lilith inclined her head solemnly. “That is what I believe.”
Raphael’s entire body tensed, his hands shaking with barely contained rage. “Then break it.”
Lilith turned to him, her expression grave. “I can try. But if I am correct… if she is rejecting the mate bond, then she is essentially fighting against fate itself. Her suffering is not caused by the mark alone, but by her own suppression of the bond. If we attempt to sever it completely…” She hesitated. “It could be fatal.”
Valerion’s patience snapped. “Do it.”
Lilith gave him a patient look. “I will do everything in my power, but this magic is older than even I am. We are walking a dangerous path, Valerion.”
Eva looked away, her frustration mounting. “Azrael doesn’t deserve this.”
Lilith didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she turned to the witches who had gathered in the room, then to Avalon—her husband.
“Are you certain you should do this?” Avalon asked, his voice low. He reached for her, his fingers brushing against hers.
Lilith turned to him fully, her expression softening in a way it never did for anyone else. “Would you have me do nothing?”
Avalon’s jaw tightened. He exhaled sharply, reluctantly stepping back. “No.”
Lilith offered him a fleeting smile before returning to the matter at hand. She turned to Valerion. “We will begin immediately.”
The witches moved swiftly, their practiced hands working with silent precision. They drew ancient symbols onto the cold stone floor using ground gemstones and silver powder. Their whispers intertwined, forming a quiet, rhythmic chant.
Then, the air shifted.
A deep, resonating hum filled the room, making the very walls tremble. The flames of the candles flickered and turned blue, their glow casting an eerie luminescence over the chamber.
Lilith reached into the pouch at her waist, removing three glistening gemstones—one the color of blood, another a brilliant sapphire, and the last a shimmering white. She placed them on Azrael’s body: one against her forehead, another over her chest, and the final stone just above her navel.
Her fingers hovered over Azrael’s marked neck. A surge of power crackled at her fingertips.
Lilith closed her eyes and began the invocation.
“Oh Goddess of Magic, with power over the sun and the moon, oh great one, we call on your power—Aurora.”
The temperature plummeted. The flames in the room shrank, as though something ancient had heard the call and was listening.
The witches joined hands in a circle around Azrael. Their voices rose in unison:
***“YV-ANA IK’LAMARA DAR’KHAN.”***
The chant grew in volume, echoing off the chamber walls. The wind howled, rattling the windows. The markings on the floor began to glow, the symbols pulsing like a heartbeat.
Azrael convulsed violently.
A horrific scream ripped from her throat, her body arching off the bed.
Eva instinctively moved toward her, but Raphael grabbed her wrist, holding her back. “Don’t interfere,” he said grimly.
Lilith stepped forward, her hand hovering over the mark. The moment her fingers touched Azrael’s neck—
A shockwave erupted.
The windows shattered. The air rippled with sheer, unforgiving force. The flames exploded, consuming the circle of symbols in raging blue fire.
Azrael screamed. Her body levitated, her limbs trembling as though something inside her was breaking apart.
Lilith pressed forward, her power surging. The witches around her screamed as their bodies were lifted off the ground, their magic colliding with the force resisting them.
The walls split. A deep, growling force filled the chamber—something ancient, something alive.
Then—
**BOOM!**
A final, deafening shockwave sent everyone flying.
Lilith crashed into Avalon’s waiting arms, her breath leaving her in a harsh gasp. Raphael shielded Eva as debris rained down.
The flames died. The symbols vanished. The air settled.
And Azrael collapsed onto the bed, unconscious.
The mark… remained.
The entire room went silent.
Then—Azrael convulsed again, blood pouring from her mouth.
Eva screamed. “It didn’t work! She’s getting worse!”
Valerion turned on Lilith, his voice thunderous. **“DO SOMETHING!”**
Lilith met his gaze. Her face was pale, her power drained. And when she spoke, her voice held a quiet finality.
“I can’t.”
Valerion froze. “What?”
Lilith turned to the gathered witches. “This is beyond our knowledge and power. Azrael is bound to the Lycan Alpha by fate itself. Nothing can change that.”
**“THAT IS ABSOLUTE NONSENSE!”** Valerion roared, his voice shaking the room.
Raphael stepped forward, “Father, you need to calm down.”
**“DO NOT TELL ME TO CALM DOWN RAPHAEL!”**
Raphael immediately bowed his head in silence.
Valerion turned back to the witches, “So you just expect me to stand here,” he said, his voice filled with rage, “And watch my daughter suffer in pain until she **DIES?!**”
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Lilith breaks the silence.
“In order to end Princess Azrael's pain and save her life, there's only one solution.”
All eyes were on Lilith now, waiting for her to continue.
Then, she spoke the words that would change everything.
“The princess has to mate with the Lycan Alpha.”