The great hall of the Vampire Palace had never felt so cold.
The chandeliers above flickered low with blue fire, casting eerie shadows across the black marble floor. A silence hung in the air like a warning, thick with tension and blood. The Council had gathered—twelve ancient vampires in dark robes, their faces half-hidden beneath hoods stitched with symbols older than time.
Seated at the center of the high throne dais were the four Lords—Kael, Aedric, Thorne, and Lucien. Behind them, the hall's towering stained-glass windows shimmered with depictions of war, power, and legacy.
The Queen, Lysaria, stood just to the side of the Council throne, her crimson gown flowing like liquid wrath. King Aldric was seated next to the elders, his golden eyes unmoving, locked in thought.
A young vampire captain kneeled before them, trembling.
"My Lords… My King… This morning, we discovered thirty-two of our soldiers. All dead. Torn. Drained to the bone. Their bodies were… shredded."
Thorne leaned forward. "You're sure it wasn't werewolves?"
"No, Lord Thorne," the captain's voice cracked. "There were no claw marks. Only… fangs. And not just ordinary ones."
Kael's voice was a thunderclap. "Then speak it clearly, soldier."
The vampire flinched, bowing lower. "They were done by royal fangs. Your kind."
The hall broke into whispers. The Council murmured amongst themselves, tension rising.
Lucien's jaw twitched. "You dare accuse us?"
"No, Lord Lucien. I swear on my blood, it wasn't you. It was someone else… But he bore the mark of House Nocturne."
Silence.
Aedric rose slowly from his throne. His voice was calm, but deadly. "House Nocturne was destroyed centuries ago."
"Yes… But one of its bloodline survived," Lysaria finally said, her voice chilling. "Valen Nocturne."
The name spread like wildfire.
A Council elder growled, "He has returned?"
Another hissed, "You said he would not come back."
King Aldric's eyes narrowed. "We underestimated him. Again."
Mira, standing at the side of the room beneath the balcony, felt a chill race down her spine. She was not meant to be here. Yet the Queen had summoned her to "watch and understand her place."
She gripped the railing, her heartbeat wild.
Kael stood, voice like a storm. "He's not only returned. He's tasting blood. Testing his strength. Testing us."
Lysaria met the Lords' eyes. "You are bound to Mira. All four of you. That bond makes her powerful—but it also makes her vulnerable. If Valen marks her too…"
"He won't," Aedric growled.
"You can't stop him," the Queen snapped. "You four couldn't stop him before. Don't let pride blind you again."
Lucien clenched his fists. "Let him come. This time, we'll bury him properly."
Mira couldn't breathe. Her lips still burned from the phantom mark she'd received in the night. Her dreams… the whisper… Valen.
He's killing to provoke them, she thought. To draw them out. To start something bigger.
And she knew one thing deep inside her bones:
Valen wasn't coming for vengeance.
He was coming for her.
And the Lords were not prepared for what that would cost.