Chapter 4 Crimson Spire
Lyra's POV
Winter Solstice night.
The white dress they sent fits perfectly. I stare at myself in our cracked bathroom mirror and wonder how long they've been watching me to get the measurements right.
You look beautiful. Stella stands in the doorway, eyes red.
Hey. I turn and pull her into a hug. Mrs. Chen will be here soon. You'll be safe.
I don't care about safe. Her voice cracks. I care about you coming home.
I will.
You can't promise that. She pulls back. Sarah's sister went to one of these. She came back different.
I'm not Sarah's sister. I grip her shoulders. I'm tougher than I look. Three years of this city's garbage taught me how to survive.
Mrs. Chen arrives at seven, pressing a small silver cross into my palm. Just in case, child.
I don't tell her vampires laugh at crosses. But I pocket it anyway.
The bus to the Veil District is silent. Twenty donors in white dresses and suits, all staring at nothing. A girl my age chews her nails bloody.
First time? she asks when she catches me watching.
Yeah.
Third for me. Her laugh sounds broken. Don't make eye contact. Don't speak unless spoken to. And stay away from the upper levels.
Why?
That's where the ancient ones are. The really dangerous ones. She looks away. The ones who don't pretend we're anything but food.
Three black cars pull up before I can ask more. We file in like livestock.
The drive is silent except for one boy's quiet sobbing.
Then I see it.
The Crimson Spire rises from the city like a blade, black glass and ancient stone twisted into impossible architecture. Thousands of candles flicker in the windows, making the whole tower glow like it's burning from within.
Welcome, a vampire guard says, showing too many teeth. The Council awaits.
We're herded through marble halls lined with portraits of dead vampires. Their painted eyes follow us.
Music drifts from somewhere ahead. Haunting. Beautiful. The kind that makes your chest ache.
The guard opens massive doors.
The ballroom steals my breath.
Crystal chandeliers hang above black marble floors. Thousands of candles float in mid-air, defying physics. And everywhere, vampires. Beautiful and terrible in silk and diamonds, moving with inhuman grace.
Scattered among them like white flowers in a dark garden are the donors.
A vampire woman in blood-red silk feeds from a donor's neck while discussing art. The donor's eyes are glazed. Empty.
Near the windows, a male vampire drinks from a crying boy. Nobody notices. Nobody cares.
This isn't a celebration.
It's a feeding frenzy dressed in designer clothes.
Lyra?
I freeze.
That voice. I know that voice.
Vivienne Ashcroft stands there in a sapphire dress that costs more than my yearly rent. Diamonds glitter at her throat. Her blonde hair is perfect. She looks nothing like the girl who used to be my best friend.
Surprised? She steps closer, heels clicking on marble. Behind her, a tall vampire follows. I certainly was when I saw your name on the donor list.
Vivienne. My voice comes out flat. What are you doing here?
I live here now. Well, close enough. She holds up her left hand. The engagement ring could blind someone. Lord Corbin Ashcroft and I are getting married in spring. I'm going to be vampire nobility.
The vampire Lord, Corbin smiles like a shark.
Congratulations, I manage.
Are you, though? Her smile sharpens. Congratulating me? Or jealous that I escaped while you're still selling blood like common trash?
Heat floods my face. I did what I had to for Stella
Always Stella. She spits the name like poison. You know what? Everyone at university pitied you. 'Poor Lyra, sacrificing everything for her dying sister.' It was pathetic.
Rage burns through my chest. Don't
What? Tell the truth? She leans closer. I'm glad your life fell apart. You always acted so noble. But look at you now. A used-up donor in a borrowed dress.
Lord Corbin laughs. She does look rather desperate, doesn't she?
Other vampires are watching now. Listening. Enjoying the entertainment.
My nails dig into my palms. Excuse me.
Run along, Lyra! Vivienne calls after me. Try not to get drained dry!
Her laughter follows me as I push through the crowd.
I run.
Down the first corridor I find, desperately searching for anywhere to hide. But every door is locked. Every hallway looks the same.
Then I hear it.
A voice speaking in a language I don't understand. The words sound like silk and storms, ancient and powerful.
It comes from behind a door marked with strange symbols. The door is cracked open. Through the gap, crimson light flickers.
Every instinct screams to run.
But something about that voice pulls at me. Makes my blood warm. Makes something deep inside respond.
I shouldn't.
I know I shouldn't.
My hand pushes the door open anyway.
The chamber beyond is circular, carved from black stone. Hundreds of red candles line the walls, their flames perfectly still. At the center sits an obsidian altar holding a silver chalice that glows with its own light.
And standing before it, shirtless with silver scars tracing his chest, is the most beautiful man I've ever seen.
Silver-white hair. Mercury eyes closed in concentration. His voice continues the ancient chant, each word heavy with power.
Lord Kaelen Nightshade.
The Winter Prince.
And I just interrupted something sacred.
You shouldn't be here. His eyes remain closed, but he knows.
I'm sorry, got lost I’ll leave
You can't. His eyes snap open. Mercury irises glow in candlelight, fixing on me with intensity that pins me in place. You've entered the ritual chamber. You've already disrupted the magic.
The temperature drops. I can see my breath.
I didn't mean
LEAVE. NOW.
The command comes with power that should send me running.
Instead, I stumble forward.
My foot catches on my dress. I reach out desperately
My hand slams onto the altar's edge.
Sharp obsidian cuts deep.
No Kaelen breathes.
I watch, frozen, as three drops of blood fall from my palm.
They land in the silver chalice.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
For one heartbeat, nothing.
Then the world explodes.
Crimson light erupts from the chalice. Heat sears across my collarbone burning, branding, like molten iron pressed into skin.
I scream.
Magic wraps around me like chains. I feel it changing something fundamental. Rewriting something in my blood.
Kaelen screams too.
When the light fades, I'm on my knees. Gasping. My collarbone burns.
Burned into my skin is a mark intricate thorns and roses intertwined with a crescent moon. It glows faintly red, pulsing with my heartbeat.
Across the chamber, Kaelen clutches his bare chest. When he looks at me, his mercury eyes are wide with something I've never seen on a vampire's face.
Terror.
What did you do? His voice shakes. What did you DO?
I don't know I’m sorry
Your blood touched the chalice! He's on his feet, moving with inhuman speed. Fangs fully extended. Do you have any idea what you've done?
I scramble backward until I hit the wall. Please, didn't mean
He stops inches away. Up close, he's even more terrifying. More beautiful. More dangerous.
The marking ritual is sacred, he says, voice dropping to a deadly whisper. Forbidden to humans for eight hundred years. And it cannot be undone.
He reaches toward my collarbone but doesn't touch.
In twelve days, on Christmas Day, this mark will fully mature. I'll either have to claim you completing, the transformation, making you immortal or, reject you.
Then reject me. My voice barely works. Remove it
There isn't a way. His jaw clenches. If I reject you, the incomplete bond will tear you apart from the inside. You'll die. Slowly. Painfully.
Ice floods my veins. I'll die?
Eventually. Over hours. His voice goes clinical. Detached. But claiming you would be worse. Vampire law forbids human consorts for royal bloodlines. The Council would execute us both.
Through the shock, anger flares. So I'm dead either way? Because I stumbled into the wrong room?
Yes.
That's not fair
Fair? His laugh is bitter. Nothing about this is fair. You're a clumsy human who just destroyed eight hundred years of careful survival.
Footsteps echo outside. Multiple sets. Moving fast.
Kaelen's expression shifts to cold calculation. The Council. They felt the ritual's completion.
What do we
Hide that mark. He grabs my shoulders, grip like iron. When they ask, you got lost. You touched nothing. We never spoke. Understand?
But
Do you understand?
Through the strange connection now humming between us, I feel his genuine fear.
Not for himself.
For me.
Yes.
He releases me and steps back, putting distance between us. His face becomes a mask of ice just as the door slams open.
Councilor Thaddeus Blackwater enters with five other vampires, obsidian cane tapping against stone.
Lord Nightshade. His voice is smooth, eyes sharp. We detected unauthorized magic. Care to explain?
Kaelen sounds bored. A minor disruption. A blood donor wandered in. I was escorting her out.
Thaddeus's gaze shifts to me. And who is this?
Nobody, Kaelen says coldly. A registered donor. Nothing more.
I see. Thaddeus moves closer. What's your name, child?
Lyra. My voice shakes. Lyra Thorne.
The name hangs in the air.
Something flickers in Thaddeus's ancient eyes.
Recognition.
Thorne, he repeats slowly. How... interesting.