DimitriLancly and I did the only thing left to do.We tore through the manor like death incarnate, methodical and without pause, slaughtering every last Strigoi that remained inside. There were no cries for mercy. No time for second chances. These creatures weren’t kin. They were bastard fledglings—products of stolen venom, born in darkness without purpose, without honor. Knowing where they came from, what they were, this wasn’t just justice.It was cleansing.One by one, we cut them down. Most barely knew how to fight. They lunged like feral animals, high on borrowed power and blind to what true strength looked like. Their bodies burned beneath our blades, their screams echoing through the rot-stained corridors. It wasn’t a fight—it was a purge.And it had to be done.Because the longer they lived, the deeper Vincent's corruption would take root.As we moved room by room, the silence that followed us was deafening. A stillness not of peace, but of absence. An absence of lineage. Of
Dimitri“What about the Strigoi in this house?” Lancly asked, his voice edged with cold contempt. “Why didn’t they inform us?”I turned my gaze back to Lukeman. The question had been circling in my mind like a vulture. The attack on us was unthinkable. Reckless. Suicidal.Everyone in our bloodline knew what it meant to strike at a lord. It wasn’t just a crime—it was a potential death sentence. The siring lines ran deep. A blow to a lord could collapse entire branches of the clan. It was why Volodymir—our progenitor—was forced into slumber rather than death. Killing him would have taken us all.But the ones in this house had attacked without pause, without fear.That meant one of two things: either they were not informed of who we were… or they didn’t belong to us at all.“This house,” I said, stepping forward. “Where are the original Strigoi who lived here before? The ones we sired?”Lukeman hesitated, but not for long. The answer was already written in the guilt rotting behind his ey
DimitriI waited, watching Lukeman wrestle with whatever scraps of courage he had left. The chains groaned softly as he shifted, silver sizzling against his flesh, smoke rising in ghostly tendrils.Then it came—quiet, defeated.“Everywhere,” he rasped. “He has places everywhere.”His voice cracked like dry bone.“And no,” he added, “the humans aren’t willing. Most don’t even know what’s being done to them.”My jaw tightened.That was a violation of the sacred accords—the bloodbound laws that kept our kind from descending into chaos. We were forbidden to feed or turn without consent—unless the human’s lineage was under protection and offered by the family head. This wasn’t just betrayal. It was blasphemy.No wonder he’d feared Brian overhearing it.I stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Why is he administering the venom?”Lukeman’s head dropped. He shook it slowly, a man already buried by guilt.“I don’t know,” he whispered. “But one thing I do know—Lady Martina knows he is alive. They hav
DimitriI studied Lukeman in silence.He was unraveling fast—sweat slicked his brow despite the cold, his breaths sharp and panicked. But panic wasn’t enough. I needed truth, not fear. And fear had a way of distorting everything.I stepped in closer, gaze cutting straight through him.“Vincent didn’t kill Brian just because he overheard a conversation about mass-producing Strigoi venom. That alone wouldn’t warrant a death that brutal. And if you’re about to say it was to protect his identity—don’t. Brian wouldn’t have recognized him. The Pierces joined the fold five centuries ago. Vincent’s name hasn’t touched a single lesson in generations.”I let the silence stretch, let the weight of what I was implying drop like a stone in water.“So tell me—what did Vincent think Brian heard? What was so dangerous, so damning, that it couldn’t be allowed to exist in the mind of a tribute rejecter?”Lukeman looked like he might lose control of his bowels then and there.Good. That meant the truth
DimitriLukeman tugged violently at the chains, the silver eating into his flesh, smoke rising in thin wisps from the contact. Panic clung to him like sweat, thick and suffocating. He was unraveling—exactly as he should. He had fought not out of defiance, but desperation. Now the fear poured out of him in waves. The weight of what he’d done, and what he knew, was pressing down fast.I could see it in his eyes.He wasn’t just afraid of dying.He was afraid of what came next. Nothingness.I folded my arms, letting the silence wrap tightly around us. The night air was cold, and in the east, a thin line of grey touched the horizon.“I’m listening,” I said, my voice calm, measured.He nodded quickly, throat bobbing. “The day Brian came to speak to me about canceling his covenant... he walked into a conversation he was never supposed to hear.”My brows drew together. “And who were you speaking to?”Lukeman’s eyes shot to mine. Whatever composure he had left vanished.“Please… Lord Dimitri…
DimitriThe first one lunged, fangs bared, claws slicing through the air like razors.I moved faster.Steel met sinew as I twisted mid-step and caught him by the throat. A snarl broke across his face, but it died in an instant. My fingers crushed his windpipe like brittle glass. I yanked hard, lifting his body overhead, and then…Crack.His spine snapped as I slammed him down the stairs, leaving a blood-slick trail across the stone. He didn’t get back up.The others didn’t hesitate.They surged from the shadows like feral things, eyes burning red, mouths foaming with bloodlust. Their pride blinded them. They thought sheer numbers could tip the scales.Fools.Lancly moved beside me, a blur of cold efficiency. He ducked a strike, pirouetted beneath a flying claw, and drove his fist through a Strigoi’s chest. His hand burst out the other side, gripping a still-beating heart. He dropped the corpse like garbage, unfazed.We didn’t just fight. We unleashed.Another charged, teeth gnashing,