Azrael froze in place, her breath caught in her throat. The voice that had called her name was unmistakable. Slowly, she turned, her golden eyes locking onto the piercing golden gaze of her twin brother, Raphael.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was thick, an unspoken challenge lingering in the air. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows across Raphael’s face, his expression unreadable but his gaze sharp as he studied her.
"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with suspicion. His eyes traveled down her body, taking in her attire. "Dressed like that?"
Azrael crossed her arms, tilting her chin up defiantly. "Since when do my whereabouts concern you?"
Raphael let out a chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "So I shouldn't care about my younger sister?"
Her lips curled into a sneer. "Enough with that bullshit, Raphael. And never call me your younger sister. We are twins."
"I'm ten minutes older," he reminded her smugly.
Azrael scoffed. "And that’s supposed to matter? Tell me, in those ten minutes, what knowledge did you gather? Did you learn to walk? Speak? Conquer a kingdom?"
Raphael opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
Azrael let out a short laugh. "That’s what I thought."
She turned to leave, feeling the weight of his gaze still on her, but just as she was about to step forward, his voice cut through the silence.
"If you set a foot out of that door, I'll tell Father you're leaving without informing him."
Her jaw clenched, her fists tightening at her sides. Slowly, she turned back to him, frustration flashing across her face. "What do you want, Raphael?"
"I want to know where you're going."
Azrael sighed heavily. She weighed her options for a few seconds before stepping closer. Lowering her voice, she murmured, "I'm going to see Draven."
Raphael's expression didn't shift much, but there was a barely noticeable furrow in his brow. He stared at her intently, his silence dragging out for longer than she expected.
Then, abruptly, he turned on his heel. "I'm telling him."
Azrael lunged forward, grabbing his arm before he could take another step. He turned sharply to remove her grip, but she was faster—using her speed, she rammed him into the nearest stone wall, her forearm pressing against his chest.
"Listen to me, you asshole," she growled, eyes burning with frustration. "The attack during the ball—it wasn’t ordered by Draven. The lycan packs didn’t unite to ambush us, according to his letter. Think back to that night, Raphael. Think about the Lycans that attacked us. Do you remember their eyes?"
Raphael’s brows knitted together. He exhaled through his nose, recalling the night in question. His memory flashed to the vicious creatures they had fought, the eerie darkness that had consumed their irises.
"They were completely black. As black as night. That was not normal!" Azrael emphasized, her grip on him tightening momentarily.
“Back off, Azrael.” Raphael clenched his jaw. “Or I'll make you.”
She exhaled harshly but released him, stepping back. “Draven was ambushed too.”
Raphael’s head immediately snapped towards her. She let the words settle in before continuing. "Draven mentioned that his pack was ambushed that same night. And guess who the attackers were?"
Raphael remained silent, waiting.
"Vampires," Azrael said. "Vampires from different kingdoms. Including House Blackthorne."
His eyes widened slightly. "What?!"
Azrael nodded. "Their weapons had sigils of House Blackthorne imprinted on them."
She could see the gears shifting in his mind, the pieces clicking into place. "Can't you see? Someone is clearly instigating this. They orchestrated attacks on both sides, pushing us into war."
Raphael's expression darkened, realization dawning on him like a storm brewing on the horizon.
"Exactly," Azrael said. "That’s why I need to meet Draven. We have to figure this out before it’s too late."
She stepped away from him and turned toward the exit, ready to leave him behind.
But before she could take another step, his hand wrapped around her wrist.
Azrael sighed in exasperation and turned to meet his gaze. His crimson eyes were calculating, thoughtful. He seemed to be battling something internally, but at last, he made up his mind.
"I am coming with you," he said firmly.
Azrael stared at him for a long moment before a slow, knowing smirk spread across her lips.
"Then let’s move before someone else catches us."
A shadow lingered in the dimly lit corridor, pressed against the cold stone wall. Eva's breath was shallow, her fingers gripping the fabric of her gown as she strained to listen. The air was thick with tension, and every heartbeat felt like it echoed through the empty hallway.
She had followed Azrael out of sheer instinct, suspecting that something was amiss. But she hadn’t expected this.
"Azrael is going to see Draven?"
The words barely left her lips, her voice no louder than a whisper. Her brows furrowed, mind racing. This wasn’t just some reckless decision—Azrael had planned this. Prepared for it. And Raphael… he chose to go with her.
Eva’s pulse quickened.
***This is dangerous.***
***This is treason.***
She pressed her back harder against the stone, inhaling deeply to steady herself.
***Should I tell someone?***
***Should I follow them?*** Her lips parted slightly, as if to voice her thoughts, but no words came.
Instead, she remained frozen in place, eyes locked on the darkened corridor where the twins had disappeared.
***What the hell is Azrael thinking?***