Valerion’s gaze flickered to the fresh mark on Azrael’s neck. His fingers twitched, a phantom of control slipping through his grasp.
Azrael’s jaw tightened, knowing where this conversation was heading.
“You do realize what you’ve done?” Valerion continued, stepping closer. “Not just to her, but to yourself?”
Draven didn’t flinch. “I’ve only claimed what’s mine.”
Valerion’s lip curled slightly, though it was hard to tell whether it was amusement or disgust. "Yours?" he echoed, stepping forward. "Do you truly believe claiming her makes you fit to stand at her side? You’re the Alpha of a race that has hated us for centuries. Your pack will never accept this. Do you know what they will do to you, Draven?"
Draven squared his shoulders, unyielding. "I do. And I’ll deal with it. Azrael is my mate. We are destined for each other and nothing—no one will be able to change that.”
Valerion’s expression darkened, but his voice remained controlled. “Your pack won’t see it that way. They’ll see you as weak. As a traitor. And my court? They will come for me and my heirs. The council will call for her execution, and I will be dethroned.” His eyes flickered toward Azrael before snapping back to Draven. “If this gets out, we will both be dead before the next moonrise.”
The words landed like a blade. For all his strength, for all his power, Valerion was admitting that even he had limits. That if Azrael became a liability, even he might not be able to save her.
Draven’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Because deep down, he knew it was true.
The room was thick with tension, the weight of reality pressing down on all three of them.
Then, Draven exhaled slowly. “For now, we have a common enemy—those who would see us destroyed for this.”
Valerion’s gaze sharpened. “Are you suggesting a truce?”
Draven inclined his head slightly. “Temporary.” His gaze flickered toward Azrael again. “For her sake.”
Valerion studied him for a long moment, searching for weakness, for hesitation. He found none.
"You would risk your entire species for her?"
Draven’s voice was steady, unwavering. "Without hesitation.”
Draven hated this—hated Valerion and hated everything the vampire king represented. But he wasn’t a fool. He knew what was at stake.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, slowly, Valerion extended his hand.
A long, unbearable silence stretched between them.
Then Draven reached out. He stared at the outstretched hand. Everything in him screamed to refuse—to never bow, never submit—but this wasn’t submission. This was survival. For her.
Their hands clasped—firm, tense and unyielding. A silent agreement between two sworn enemies who, for the first time, shared a cause.
Neither of them broke eye contact. The handshake lasted a second too long, as if both men were silently measuring the other.
Then they let go.
Azrael, watching the entire exchange, felt a chill run down her spine.
This was not peace.
This was survival. Not just for her but for her father, her twin brother and for Draven. Her soulmate.
As soon as Draven was gone, Valerion turned to Azrael, his expression unreadable once more.
“You must cut ties with him.”
Azrael’s breath caught. “What?”
His voice was low and cold. “This bond will destroy you, Azrael.”
Her golden eyes burned. “You want me to just pretend like this never happened? You want me to walk away from him?”
Valerion turned to face her fully. "It’s the only way."
Azrael shook her head. "You’re asking me to lie to myself—"
**"I’m asking you to survive!"** Valerion snapped. His voice rang through the tent like a whip. **“If you think the court is the only thing you should be worried of if this gets out, then think again! The Lycans won't accept this!”**
**“I don’t care what they accept!”** Azrael fought back
Valerion stepped closer, his tone dropping to something almost dangerous. “Just like they didn’t accept your mother?”
At the mention of her mother, something inside Azrael stilled. The air in the tent shifted, the tension thickening in a way that made the walls feel smaller. Her breath faltered and the heat in her veins turned ice-cold.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quieter now.
Valerion sighed, as if what he was about to say physically pained him. He turned, slowly walking to a chair, and sank into it.
“As you know,” he said quietly, “your mother’s death was what sparked The Great War.”
Azrael’s throat was dry. “Yes. She was killed in a Lycan attack.”
Valerion nodded, almost to himself. “Yes.” A pause. Then, softly, “But do you know why?”
Her brows furrowed. “Because she was the Queen?”
Valerion let out a bitter laugh. “No Azrael, that's not why.”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “I’ve kept this a secret for so long.”
A strange, sinking feeling settled in Azrael’s stomach.
“What is it?” she asked, stepping closer. “What secret?”
Valerion didn’t answer immediately. He gazed past her, staring at something only he could see.
Then finally, he spoke.
“The reason they went after your mother.”
Azrael took another step forward, her fingers gripping the armrest of his chair. She knelt, searching his eyes for the truth.
“Father,” she whispered. “Tell me. What is it?”
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Valerion hesitated. Then finally—
“Seraphina was mated to a Lycan.”