Nightfall had descended upon Valaem, cloaking the land in an eerie stillness. In a secluded clearing deep within the forest, two tents stood beside a flickering campfire, casting long shadows against the trees. Draven sat on a fallen log, his forearms resting on his knees, gaze locked onto the flames. The fire crackled softly, sending embers swirling into the cool night air.
Cyrus stood a few paces away, arms crossed. His patience, already thin, was wearing even further. He exhaled sharply through his nose before speaking.
"Are you sure she's coming?"
Draven didn't move. "I know she's coming," he said simply, his voice low but certain. "I can feel it."
Cyrus huffed. "She should be here by now."
As if on cue, the distant sound of hooves echoed through the trees. Both men instantly tensed. Draven was immediately on his feet, eyes snapping toward the darkness. The rhythmic thudding grew louder, the unmistakable approach of a rider slicing through the silence.
A shadowed figure on horseback emerged from the tree line, moving toward the firelight.
Draven's eyes softened. "She's here."
Then another figure emerged behind her.
Draven and Cyrus exchanged glances. Draven's brows furrowed, and Cyrus cocked an eyebrow. They exchanged wary looks as Azrael and her unexpected companion rode into camp. Azrael reined in her horse first and dismounted swiftly. Without hesitation, she strode toward Draven and wrapped her arms around him tightly.
Draven didn’t hesitate to return the embrace, his arms securing her against him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent. His wolf rumbled in satisfaction at the reunion, at the feel of their mate finally in his grasp again.
Azrael pulled away just enough to meet his gaze, her golden eyes flickering with an emotion neither of them had spoken aloud yet. The firelight made them glow.
"I've missed you," she murmured.
Draven’s fingers curled around her waist. "I missed you even more." Then he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that started slow, tender, but quickly deepened as need overtook them.
Raphael dismounted behind them, his expression darkening. His gaze landed on Cyrus, and his lip curled in distaste.
"You," Raphael said, voice dripping with irritation.
Cyrus smirked. "Pleasure to see you again, your royal douchebag."
Raphael’s glare sharpened, his jaw tightening. He stalked past Cyrus deliberately, bumping into him with his shoulder. Cyrus chuckled but let him pass, his amusement evident.
Draven finally pulled back from Azrael and turned to Raphael, eyes narrowing slightly. "I never would have guessed your brother of all people would come with you."
Azrael sighed. "I never would have guessed either."
Raphael crossed his arms. "Since we're all here now, let’s get to the point." His tone was clipped, but there was no mistaking the tension in his voice. "We need to discuss what’s really happening. The war that’s brewing... The manipulations. Someone is pulling the strings from the shadows, and we need to find out who.”
Draven nodded. Without another word, he turned and entered his tent. Moments later, he emerged with something wrapped in thick cloth. He approached Azrael and Raphael, unfolding the fabric to reveal what lay inside.
A severed vampire head.
Azrael barely reacted, but Raphael’s eyes widened slightly as he studied the decayed features. The head's lifeless eyes were pitch black, darker than night.
"This was one of the vampires that ambushed my pack the night of your ball," Draven stated.
Azrael stepped closer, examining the head carefully before turning to Raphael. "Look at the eyes.”
Raphael’s gaze darkened as he took a closer look. "They’re completely black. Just like the Lycans that attacked the castle that night.”
Azrael’s lips parted slightly. Without hesitation, she extended a clawed fingertip and carefully pierced one of the eyes.
A dark mist seeped out from the wound, curling into the air like living smoke. A heavy silence settled over the group as she pulled her hand back.
Azrael and Raphael stiffened. They exchanged a glance, their silent understanding clear.
Cyrus, who had been observing, finally spoke. "What the hell is that?"
Azrael’s voice was cold with realization. "Dark magic.”
Draven’s frown deepened. "What?"
Azrael turned to him, her golden eyes sharp. "Vampires don’t have this ability. This is witchcraft.”
Cyrus blinked. "Witchcraft? That doesn’t make any sense. Vampires and witches have been allies for centuries before The Great War. Why would one of them want to start another war?
Raphael’s expression was unreadable as he spoke. "The number of Lycans that attacked Blackthorne that night wasn’t small. They were obviously being controlled. That kind of mass control... requires immense power."
Draven’s face darkened. "The vampires that ambushed my pack that night were just as many. We’re dealing with someone incredibly powerful."
Azrael nodded. "Draven, some of the Lycans that attacked Blackthorne were from your pack. When you return, find out if any of your people have been missing since before the attack.”
Draven nodded. "And you?"
She gestured between herself and Raphael. "We’ll do the same. We’ll check for missing vampires... and speak with the High Priestess. If a witch is behind this, she’ll know something."
With their plan set, the tension in the air lessened, but it did not disappear entirely.
Draven turned to Azrael, nodding toward his tent. "You should rest."
She inclined her head slightly and followed him. Just as they were about to step inside, Raphael's voice rang out.
"Where am I supposed to sleep?"
All eyes turned to him. He gestured at the two tents, a frown pulling at his lips.
Draven smirked. "You can share with Cyrus."
"Absolutely not," Raphael spat instantly.
Azrael sighed. "Then sleep outside."
Raphael scowled but, after a long pause, muttered something under his breath and stomped toward the second tent. Cyrus grinned triumphantly as Raphael disappeared inside.
Draven let out a chuckle, shaking his head. Azrael rolled her eyes but said nothing as they stepped into their tent.
Unseen by any of them, perched high in the trees, a raven watched, its beady black eyes gleaming in the firelight.
It was watching.
Then, with a sudden rustle of wings, it took flight, disappearing into the night.