Bloodbound Heir

Ayla Roth had never believed in ghosts—not until the night her grandmother died and left her a mansion that shouldn't exist.She stood at the rusting gates of Ebon Hollow, rain dripping from the edge of her hood, staring at the towering silhouette carved from stone and shadows. The place had been wiped from city records, tucked behind miles of forgotten forest and fog. And yet, somehow, it bore her name now. The last Roth.The key had come in a black envelope with no stamp, sealed with crimson wax bearing a crest she didn’t recognize: a wolf pierced through the heart by a sword.She shouldn’t have come.She knew that from the moment the front door creaked open on its own.But curiosity? It had always been her worst habit.~~~~~The inside of the mansion smelled like dust, roses, and something older—like old paper and memory. Her boots echoed through the marble foyer. Paintings lined the walls: all somber eyes, pale skin, faces that felt too real. One of them looked like her. Too much

The floorboards trembled.Not like a storm. Not like thunder.This was alive.Alya’s breath caught as the groaning sound rose again—ancient, deliberate. Like something beneath the mansion had heard them.Lucien was already moving.“Stay close,” he snapped, grabbing her wrist and yanking her toward the hallway.Alya didn’t argue.The hallway stretched unnaturally long now, the shadows crawling along the walls like they had claws. The air was colder. Denser. Each step felt like it pulled her deeper into something not meant for the living.“I thought the wraith was the worst part,” she muttered.Lucien didn’t look back. “That wasn’t the worst. That was the warning.”They stopped at a narrow stone stairwell hidden behind a tapestry. Alya hadn't even noticed it before.Lucien stared at it like it was poison. “It was sealed. She sealed it.”“She? My grandmother?”His silence was answer enough.He pressed a hand to the stone. A pulse surged from the ring on Alya’s finger—warm this time. Eage

The silence didn’t last.It never does.One breath. That’s all Alya had before the ground beneath the altar shivered—not from power, but from footsteps.She turned sharply, heart slamming against her ribs.Lucien’s sword was in his hand before she could blink. “We’re not alone.”They weren’t.From the shadows beyond the broken altar, figures emerged—hooded, cloaked in ash and dust, their eyes burning gold beneath the veil of their hoods. Not vampires. Not human. Something older.Lucien cursed under his breath. “The Ardent Order.”Alya tensed. “What is that?”“They were supposed to be dead.”The lead figure stepped forward. A woman. Tall. Regal. Her voice was sharp and smooth like poisoned glass.“The King is gone. And in his place… something worse has risen.”Her eyes landed on Alya. Not hate. Not awe.Hunger.“You broke the chain,” she said. “You took the bloodthrone. You are the Herald now.”Alya’s voice was raw. “I didn’t take anything. I ended it.”“No, child.” The woman’s smile w

Alya had started sleepwalking.Not every night.Just the ones where the moon hung too red and the ring on her finger burned too cold.She’d wake on the edge of the forest, barefoot and shivering, hands stained with dirt she didn’t remember touching. Once, Lucien found her standing by the well behind the house, murmuring words in a language neither of them recognized—until he did.It was Old Tongue. Royal vampire dialect.Dead for centuries.He never told her she was speaking it.Just wrapped a cloak around her shoulders and said, “Come back to me.”And she always did.---But it wasn’t just the sleepwalking.It was the way the memories crept in now, like ink bleeding through old parchment.Her grandmother’s death. The key. The mansion. The ring. The King.They had all been doorways, pieces of a puzzle she hadn't known she was solving.But now… now she remembered things she’d never lived.The scent of blood-soaked roses.The taste of iron wine from a silver cup.A name she had once ans

The shadows came fast—limbs that weren’t entirely solid, snarling mouths with too many teeth. Creatures not born of flesh, but of memory and curse. Guardians of the sword. Bound to destroy any who touched it… unless the heir proved herself worthy.Alya didn’t hesitate.The blade in her hand felt like fire and starlight, like vengeance wrapped in steel. As one of the beasts lunged, she pivoted on instinct, the sword arcing through the air with a scream of power. The thing shattered mid-leap—splintering into black smoke.Lucien had drawn his own blades, back pressed to hers.“This isn’t a test,” he growled, parrying another creature’s strike. “This is punishment.”“For what?” she shouted, slashing through another shadow that howled in a forgotten language.“For surviving,” he answered darkly.The chamber trembled around them. Runes on the walls flared, reacting to the blood now dripping from Lucien’s arm.The shadows weren’t retreating. They were circling.Alya felt the pull deep in her