The moon outside was thick with blood—full, swollen, casting an eerie crimson hue over the marble floor of the underground sanctum. The walls bled ancient symbols, etched by vampire kings long before the Lords were born. The air was suffocating with incense smoke, magic, and rage.
Mira stood at the center of the circle, her hands bound in blood-soaked velvet, her legs trembling. Runes glowed beneath her bare feet, pulsing with every heartbeat that screamed in her chest. Her breath hitched when she saw them—Kael, Thorne, Lucien, and Aedric—entering the chamber in long cloaks of shadow and fury. Their eyes no longer held hatred—they held fire. And something far worse than anger:
Fear.
"You let him touch you," Kael said, voice cold as the grave.
"I didn't—" Mira's voice cracked. "I don't even know how he—"
Lucien interrupted, eyes burning red. "He marked your lips, Mira. Do you understand what that means? His scent is on you. He's laid claim."
Aedric's fangs peeked through as he growled. "And now we have to cleanse it. Undo it. Or that bastard's bloodline will anchor in you forever."
"I didn't ask for this!" Mira shouted, fighting her bonds. "I didn't let him! I didn't even see—"
"You didn't stop it," Thorne snapped, stepping closer. "And that's enough to put us all in danger."
Kael raised a hand, and the ground beneath her blazed. "Begin the punishment."
"No!" Mira screamed. "Please—just talk to me—!"
But it was too late.
The ritual began with pain.
Blinding, burning, otherworldly pain that coursed through her veins like molten silver. Each Lord circled her slowly, hands outstretched, summoning ancient energy through the sigils. The runes climbed her skin like vines, searing her flesh in markings only the vampire elite knew how to craft.
Kael spoke first, ancient tongue wrapping around her like chains.
"By blood, we cleanse what is defiled."
Aedric followed. "By bond, we restore what is ours."
Thorne stepped forward. "By pain, we remind what belongs."
And Lucien, kneeling beside her trembling form, whispered, "By fire, we own what was threatened."
She screamed, body writhing as black smoke erupted from her lips—the very place Valen had marked. Her knees gave out, but the ritual wouldn't let her fall. It held her there—suspended in agony—until the phantom mark burned away, and Valen's connection was severed.
When it was done, she collapsed.
Lucien crouched beside her, brushing blood-drenched hair from her cheek.
"Next time," he murmured, voice laced with venom, "we won't warn you."
Aedric turned away, cloak sweeping behind him. "Let her remember this pain. It's the only language her blood seems to understand."
Kael paused before the exit, throwing one final look over his shoulder. "We protect what's ours. Even if it means destroying her, piece by piece."
The chamber dimmed. The runes died out.
And Mira… lay still, her skin branded, her body broken—but her soul burning.
Because in that moment, as tears mixed with blood, she didn't feel defeated.
She felt angry.
She had not asked for this fate, this bond, or this war between bloodlines. But if they wanted to treat her like a pawn—
Then she would become their queen.