LOGINRhiannon's POVThe alternate exit route would have been beautiful if it hadn't been trying to kill us.A passage carved through the mountain's heart—old, pre-vampire, the work of the same monks who'd built the service tunnel. It led from the servants' stair down through the bedrock and out onto the western face. Nyx had found it in the Archives, a footnote in a footnote, and marked it as a last resort.Last resort.The words felt accurate.Because running this route meant passing through the warded section.The section Sera had described in the planning sessions with the particular flat calm of someone conveying information they didn't want to convey. The wards here are Primordial. Designed to recognise vampire blood and respond to everything else with lethal force. Anyone who enters without Malachar's blood seal—She hadn't finished the sentence. She hadn't needed to.We reached the ward boundary at the passage's midpoint. I felt it before I saw it—a pressure change, a density in the
Rhiannon's POVThe alarm didn't sound like an alarm.It sounded like the building exhaling—a deep resonant groan that moved through the stone floors, up through the soles of my boots and into my bones. Then the torches changed colour. Orange became blue-white. Cold light that threw no warmth.The fortress was awake."Faster," Nyx said, which from her meant we are in genuine danger of dying in this corridor.The third junction was sixty feet ahead. The tapestry was visible—faded blue and silver, two wolves hunting beneath a full moon. Behind it, according to a woman who had spent six hundred years memorising the architecture of this place and had just spent three seconds deciding we were worth helping: a stair.We covered the sixty feet in seconds.Marcus hit the tapestry first, dragged it aside. Stone wall. Smooth. No door."There's no door," he said."There's always a door," Nyx said, pressing both palms flat against the stone. Her golden eyes unfocused. "Give me ten seconds.""We do
Rhiannon's POVWe made it forty feet down the eastern corridor before she stepped out of the shadow between two torch brackets and the air temperature dropped four degrees.She didn't walk. She manifested. One moment the corridor was empty; the next she was simply present, the way cold is present when a window opens.Six hundred years old.I knew her from Nyx's account and from the particular quality of the silence she created—the silence of something that has outlasted so many opponents it has stopped tracking individual faces. She was tall, lean in the architectural way of very ancient vampires, dressed in dark armour that moved like cloth and stopped blades like iron. Her hair was white and straight and fell past her shoulders.She looked at our group with the patient attention of a collector examining new acquisitions.Then her eyes found me."A half-powered Chimera," she said. Her voice carried harmonics below the words, like speech over deep water. "How disappointing.""You'd be
Rhiannon's POVThe room was warm.That was the first thing I registered—warmth, and the smell of wood polish and old books and something herbal burning low in a brazier in the corner. Not a cell. Not darkness and damp stone and iron.A room.Books stacked on a small table. A blanket folded with geometric precision on the end of a narrow bed. A wooden toy horse on the windowsill—carved, painted, placed where the moonlight would find it.Malachar had kept his word.The knowledge landed somewhere complicated in my chest, because there was a part of me that had needed him to be simple. Needed him to be only monster. And he wasn't, and it made everything harder.Soren was in the corner.Not asleep. He never slept easily in strange places—I'd known that since he was three months old and we'd spent a night in a rogue's abandoned camp, him wide-eyed and watchful until dawn. He was sitting with his back to the wall, knees drawn up, the small wooden sword I'd given him on his fourth birthday gr
Rhiannon's POVThe third floor smelled like old stone and something colder. Something that had nothing to do with temperature.We moved in single file through the eastern corridor, torchlight throwing orange shadows that leaned away from us as we passed, as if even fire wanted distance. Nyx led. Then Sera, her violet light extinguished now—too visible, too bright. Then Marcus, still moving carefully around ribs that ached with every step. Then me.Darius behind me. Close enough that I could feel the bond humming between us like a wire pulled tight.Third floor. Eastern wing. End of the corridor.Caelum's words. I held them like a compass.The door came into view before I expected it—solid oak reinforced with iron bands, two torches flanking it in stone brackets. And in front of it, two guards.They were young. Young for Bloodletters meant centuries instead of millennia, but I felt the difference immediately. Less of that ancient pressure, less of that wrongness that made the air itsel
Rhiannon's PovSilver mist where I'd been standing. His strike passed through it — I felt the displaced air of it moving through me like cold water and then gone.I pulled myself back together behind him.He was already turning. Tracking the movement without sight, with something older and more patient than sight. I was moving when he turned — every strike placed where it needed to be, nothing wasted, claws finding the gap between armor plates across his back.Deep.He made no sound. One step forward was all he gave — just one — and I understood from the way he took it that very few opponents had ever earned that much.Underneath the fight, at the edge of my awareness, the bond hummed with Darius holding position at the bottom of the stairs. Steady. Trusting. A warmth that had nothing to do with the cold corridor and everything to do with two people who had found their way back to each other. It settled something in me that the fight itself couldn't reach."You're fighting like three
Darius's POVWithin an hour of meeting my son, the gathering had grown from whispers to a roar.I stood on the packhouse steps, watching warriors flood the grounds. Forty. Fifty. More coming every minute. Some I recognized—loyal fighters who'd served under my father. Others were younger, angrier, t
Rhiannon's POVDarius was already waiting at the training grounds when we arrived, sitting on the grass.Marcus and Sera flanked us, hands ready on weapons. I'd chosen neutral territory deliberately—not his packhouse, not my camp. Somewhere I could leave at any moment.He looked like he'd barely sl
Rhiannon's POVDawn came with blood on the horizon.I'd left Soren with Sera. Told him to stay in the tent. Promised I'd return after the challenge.He'd nodded. Said nothing. But his eyes had been too wide, his breathing too shallow.I should have stayed with him.But I'd needed intelligence. Need
Darius's POVI shouldn't have been there.I knew it was wrong. Knew Rhiannon would be furious.But I couldn't stay away.The camp was quiet past midnight. I moved through shadows, using every stealth technique I'd learned. The tent wards shimmered but didn't activate—basic protections that recogniz







