The grand ballroom, once a scene of opulence and power, now lay in ruin. Blood pooled across the marble floors, glistening under the dim torchlight. The bodies had been cleared, but the scent of death still clung to the air. Nobles whispered among themselves as they made their way out, their once-pristine gowns now tainted with the remnants of battle. The surviving guests, shaken and pale, dispersed into the night, each returning to their respective strongholds, their minds heavy with what had transpired.
Seraphim stood near the grand entrance, his long black cloak barely disturbed by the cold night breeze. The carriage awaiting him was as grand as the man himself—crafted from obsidian and silver, pulled by four midnight-black steeds with crimson eyes. House Blackthorne, ever the gracious hosts, stood around him, seeing him off.
Valerion faced the king of House Blackthorne, his crimson gaze unreadable. “This was not just an attack,” Valerion said, his voice deep, unwavering. “It was a declaration. The Lycans have made their move.”
Seraphim nodded, his golden eyes sharp. “And we must answer it.” He tilted his head slightly, surveying the destruction around him before turning back to Valerion. “We both know this will not be the last strike.”
Valerion’s expression remained impassive, but his grip on his cane tightened. “He will regret it.”
Seraphim took a slow step forward. “This is bigger than just House Duskborne and House Blackthorne. We must send word to the other vampire kingdoms. The Lycans will not stop at this. They will unite, and when they do, they will come for all of us.”
Valerion exhaled, his gaze shifting to the night sky. “Agreed. War is coming. And we must be ready.”
Standing a short distance away, Azrael listened intently. Eva, always by her side, leaned in slightly and whispered, “The last time all the rulers of the vampire kingdoms gathered was at the start of the Great War.”
A chill ran down Azrael’s spine. The Great War—the war that reshaped the balance of power, that had nearly brought extinction to both vampires and lycans centuries ago. The mere thought of a new war of that scale sent unease curling in her stomach.
Seraphim’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Azrael.”
She turned to him as he stepped closer, his sharp gaze appraising her. “You were extraordinary tonight,” he said, his voice laced with admiration. “I underestimated you.” He tilted his head, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “You beheaded a Lycan with your bare hands. That kind of power will only grow when you undergo the Blood Ascension.”
She remained silent, her golden eyes watching him carefully.
Seraphim’s smirk widened as he reached for her hand. His fingers were cold, yet his touch was deliberate. He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss against her knuckles. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you again, Princess Azrael.” His voice was smooth, almost teasing, before he finally turned and stepped into his carriage.
The Blackthorne guards shut the grand doors, and the horses took off, pulling the dark carriage into the night.
Azrael clenched her jaw as she watched him leave.
Eva leaned in. “He likes you.”
Azrael scoffed. “I don’t care.”
Eva chuckled. “That’s what makes it even better.”
—
The chamber was dimly lit, the glow of the candelabras casting long shadows against the black stone walls. Valerion sat in his grand chair, his fingers idly tracing the silver designs on the armrest. He did not look up as the doors opened and both Azrael and Raphael walked in.
“You summoned us, Father,” Raphael said as they both took their seats.
Valerion’s crimson eyes flickered between his children. “The attack at the ball was a collaborative strike,” he said. “Multiple Lycan packs were involved, including Draven’s.”
Azrael stiffened. “But why? Why would Draven plan an attack on us for absolutely no reason?” Her mind raced as she leaned forward. “The two of you agreed to a truce in Valaem. I don’t see why he would—” She hesitated, then her voice dropped slightly. “Especially when I’m his mate.”
The words left her lips before she could think better of them.
Raphael scoffed, arms crossed. “And you still believe that means something to him?” He gestured sharply. “Lycans from his pack were present in the attack.”
“That doesn’t mean he ordered it,” Azrael snapped. “They could have acted without his knowledge.”
Raphael let out a dry chuckle. “You’ve gone soft.” His gold eyes locked onto hers, filled with disdain. “You actually trust the dog.”
Azrael’s gaze darkened, her fingers twitching against the armrest. “Say that again. I dare you.”
Raphael smirked, as if daring her to attack.
**“ENOUGH!”** Valerion’s voice boomed through the chamber. The force of it sent a pulse through the air, rattling the candles in their holders. “Both of you, get out.”
Raphael immediately stood, his jaw tight as he stormed toward the door, leaving without another word.
Azrael rose as well, turning to leave when her father’s voice cut through the silence.
“Azrael.”
She paused.
Valerion’s gaze was unreadable. And then, in a voice laced with quiet intent, he said,
“Draven wrote you a letter.”