Chapter 2

The halls of Vesper Hold dripped with elegance and menace in equal measure.

Candles burned low in ancient sconces, casting tall shadows along the marbled floors. Silk tapestries whispered of conquests past—bloodlines vanquished, monarchs dethroned, oaths sworn in ash. The scent of old magic lingered in the air, beneath the colder, cleaner aroma of power.

Luscius Vesper stood at the great stained-glass window of the council chamber, his arms folded behind his back. Below, the crimson river that carved through the mountain valley shimmered like wine under moonlight.

He didn't turn when the chamber doors groaned open.

"You summoned me, Father," he said evenly.

"We summoned you," came the cool, sharp voice of Lady Virella, one of the Seven.

Luscius turned.

The entire High Council was present. Seven lords and ladies, each older than memory, seated around the obsidian table like gods passing judgment. And at the head sat Lord Theron Vesper, his father, face carved from stone, eyes like twin voids.

"There's been an awakening," said Virella, fingers tapping the armrest of her throne. "In the mortal province of Viremoor."

Luscius raised a brow. "A rogue turn?"

"No," said Lord Theron. "A bloodline reawakened."

That got his attention.

"The Sanguine?" he asked.

"They were extinguished," growled Lord Damaris of House Thorn. "Burned to dust two centuries ago."

"Clearly not entirely," Lady Virella said, a hint of annoyance in her smile.

Lord Theron's gaze never left his son. "The girl is young. She doesn't know what she is yet. But if her bloodline stirs, she could become a symbol. A rallying cry. We cannot risk that."

"So you want her killed."

Luscius's voice was flat.

Lady Virella smiled. "We prefer the term... contained."

He stared at the black crest inlaid in the stone table: seven swords encircling a bleeding rose. The mark of the new regime. The regime that had turned the Sanguine name into a myth.

And yet, here they were. Still afraid.

He looked up. "Why me?"

"Because no one knows ghosts like a Vesper," Theron said. "And because you won't ask questions when the time comes."

Luscius gave a cold smile. "You mistake obedience for loyalty, Father."

A tense silence followed.

Then, Virella leaned forward. "You will go to Viremoor. You will find the girl. If she resists... end her quietly."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then deliver her to us," Theron said. "Alive. Unmarked. Silenced."

Luscius nodded once, his expression unreadable. "Understood."

He turned to leave.

But as he reached the doors, Lady Virella called after him, her voice like silk laced with steel.

"She may not know who she is yet, Luscius... but she'll recognize you."

That made him pause.

He looked back, just once.

"Doubtful," he said. "The dead don't remember the living."

Then he disappeared into the corridor beyond, cloak trailing behind him like shadow.

⸻

The road to Viremoor was shrouded in mist.

Luscius stood at the edge of the carriage path, one gloved hand resting on the hilt of his ceremonial blade. He didn't need a weapon, not really—not when he was one. But appearances mattered. Even in a forgotten mortal province like this, where the council's influence was thin and superstition ran thick through the villagers' veins.

His boots crunched over damp gravel as he made his way through the outer edge of the town.

The buildings here were crooked and moss-stained, the wooden signs swinging like gallows ropes in the morning breeze. Windows closed as he passed. Curtains twitched. A child who peered too long at him was yanked back into a doorway by a mother who whispered a prayer to no god he recognized.

Good.

Fear was better than questions.

The fog thickened as he reached the village square. There, an old fountain stood dry and cracked, vines choking its base. A rusted plaque bore the faded crest of a forgotten noble house: a rose, wrapped in barbed vines. Luscius brushed a gloved thumb over the edge of it, frowning.

The Sanguine mark.

Still here. Unbroken.

The council's reach didn't run as deep as it claimed.

He straightened as a presence stirred behind him.

"Been a long time since your kind passed through," said a gravelly voice.

Luscius turned.

An old man leaned against the pillar of the chapel gate, arms folded, eyes sharp despite the years. He wore a leather coat stained by time, and in his belt hung a blade marked with old glyphs.

A hunter.

Not council-trained, but close enough.

"I'm not here for war," Luscius said coolly.

"Pity," the man replied. "Viremoor could use a little cleansing."

Luscius offered a thin smile. "Then you know something's awakened."

The old man's eyes narrowed. "Something? No. Someone. And if you're here, then she's not just another fledgling, is she?"

Luscius didn't answer.

Instead, he handed the man a coin—obsidian rim, stamped with the council's mark.

The hunter turned it over once. "You're not the first they've sent, you know."

"I'm the only one who matters."

"Then you'd better hurry," he said. "Because whatever's stirring in that girl? It's not quiet. It's loud, and old, and angry."

Luscius's eyes glinted. "Good. I don't like quiet enemies."

He stepped past the hunter, heading toward the woods.

Toward her.

⸻

Tatiana stood barefoot in the clearing where the book had appeared.

She'd returned after nightfall, drawn by the same pull she couldn't explain. The sigil on the book's cover still glowed faintly, as if feeding off her presence. She hadn't dared open it again.

Not yet.

Her body still felt wrong. Electric. As if every vein now hummed with a song she didn't understand. She could feel the forest breathing around her, the life within it calling to her. Even the trees seemed to bend slightly toward her presence.

She was part of this world now. No longer human. But not quite vampire, either.

What am I becoming?

The question pulsed with each heartbeat.

A rustle behind her.

She turned.

The clearing was empty.

Yet her senses screamed—not alone.

Someone was watching her.

She could feel his presence, heavy and ancient, like the silence before a storm.

She didn't see him.

But he saw her.

Luscius stood hidden among the trees, one hand resting on a low branch, eyes narrowed as he watched the girl in the moonlight.

So this was the lost heir. The last Sanguine.

She didn't look like a threat. Slender. Pale. Her hair tumbled loose around her shoulders like dark silk, and her face—there was something familiar about it. Not just her features, but the way she held herself. Regal without knowing. Dangerous without meaning.

And her blood...

It sang.

Even from here, he could feel it. Like a song only his kind could hear.

She was untrained. Undisciplined. But her aura was already stronger than most fledglings twice her age. That terrified the council.

Luscius didn't move.

He needed to be sure.

He watched her touch the book again. Watched the red glow intensify.

And then, for a heartbeat, she turned her head.

Looked straight at him.

Her eyes—those strange crimson-ringed eyes—locked onto his.

And in them, he saw something he hadn't expected.

Recognition.

Not fear.

Not confusion.

Recognition.

As if, somewhere in the buried echoes of her past, she already knew who he was.

Luscius stepped back into the shadows.

This mission had just become far more complicated.

⸻

Tatiana didn't move.

Her eyes remained locked on the trees, heart pounding not with fear—but with certainty. Someone was there. Someone ancient. Cold. Watching her as if he knew everything she didn't.

But now she saw only wind and leaves.

Still, the forest felt different. Not just alive, but aware. It whispered to her in the hush between raindrops. A name tried to rise on her tongue, something just out of reach.

She whispered to the shadows, "Who are you?"

Silence answered.

She clenched her fists and turned back to the book—but this time, the pages fluttered on their own.

Tatiana staggered back.

The tome opened to the center, revealing an inked drawing—faded but striking. A man stood wrapped in a long black coat, silver-trimmed, with a sigil at his throat: the crescent of House Vesper.

His face was mostly in shadow... except for the eyes.

Tatiana's breath caught.

She had just seen those eyes.

She brushed her fingers over the page, a strange tremor racing up her spine. A name appeared beneath the illustration in blood-colored ink:

Luscius Vesper, The Crimson Heir. Enforcer of the Council. Scourge of the Last Bloodlines.

She whispered the name aloud. It tasted like smoke and snow.

That was when the wind shifted.

A rustle.

A voice.

"You're not supposed to know my name."

Tatiana turned sharply, fangs bared.

Luscius stood at the tree line, barely a silhouette—but every part of him radiated presence. Power. Control. His coat moved like liquid shadow, and his face was obscured beneath the hood—except for his eyes, which glowed faintly in the dim.

"I saw you," she said, fists at her sides. "You were watching me."

"I was sent to watch you."

"By who?"

He tilted his head slightly. "By the ones who fear what you are."

Tatiana's heartbeat kicked harder.

"And what am I?"

"A lie," he said simply. "Wrapped in prophecy. Wearing your mother's eyes."

That stopped her cold.

Her voice dropped. "You knew her."

He didn't deny it.

"She was braver than most," Luscius said. "But she believed blood could be buried. Hidden. Erased."

"She was right," Tatiana said, pulse rising. "It worked. I didn't know what I was."

"Until now," he said quietly. "And now they know."

Tatiana looked down at the book. The sigil. The words. The truth that had unraveled her world in hours.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked.

Luscius stepped forward slowly, until the silver trim of his coat caught the moonlight.

"No," he said. "Not yet."

"Why not?"

He studied her.

"Because you haven't made your choice."

Her eyes narrowed. "What choice?"

"To run," he said, voice low and edged with warning. "Or to rise."

The forest was utterly silent. Even the wind had gone still.

She looked at him—this stranger cloaked in danger and memory—and felt the pulse of something that was neither fear nor recognition.

Destiny.

Luscius turned away.

"Be careful who you trust, Sanguine," he said. "You still have time to vanish. The others who come after me won't be so... polite."

"Why are you being polite?" she demanded.

His answer came quiet and sharp.

"Because I owe your mother a debt."

He vanished into the night before she could ask more.

Tatiana stood trembling beneath the trees, clutching a book she didn't understand, her name echoing like a curse in the wind.

The last Sanguine. The awakened heir. The girl who should not exist.

And now... the hunted.