Chapter 9

“Vincent!”

Lilith cried, a flash of vicious triumph cutting through her manufactured terror.

“She slaughtered my attendants! She’s betrayed your trust, violated the sanctity of your house! By the ancient laws, a Lord must deliver the Final Death to such a traitor himself!”

The Final Death.

I looked into Vincent’s crimson eyes, waiting for the sentence I thought I’d already received.

His finger whitened on the trigger of the rune-etched pistol.

The storm in his gaze was more complex now—not just rage, but a churning conflict, and beneath it, a profound, soul-deep exhaustion that even immortality couldn’t hide.

Time stretched, thin and silent.

Then, slowly, he spoke. Each word was a stone dropped into a still pool.

“Marcus.”

Marcus materialized from the shadows behind him. “My Lord.”

“Take her,” Vincent’s gun remained leveled at my forehead, but his words carved a different fate. “To the boundary wards. Cast her out.”

Lilith’s theatrical sobs hitched. She stared at Vincent, disbelief etching lines into her perfect composure. “Vincent… you can’t simply… the law demands…”

Vincent ignored her. His eyes, burning with a cold fire, were still locked on me, as if memorizing the ruin he had made.

“Sever the blood-lineage recognition from the clan archives,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a deadly monotone. The orders came rapid-fire, each one stripping away a layer of my existence in his world. “Freeze all assets held in her name. Erase her signature from the household sigils. I want no trace of her scent, her name, or her image within my territories.”

He paused, the weight of the final pronouncement settling over the moonlit garden.

“Declare it to the allied clans : from this moment, Elena Rossi is Blood-Sworn. An oath-breaker. Any who shelter her, any who offer her succor, will be considered in breach of covenant with me.”

Blood-Sworn. It was a sentence of absolute isolation in a world where such bonds were life itself.

He hadn’t just exiled me. He had made me poison to any power that feared his wrath. Then he discarded me from his world like a vessel that had served its purpose and cracked.

It was a fate colder than ash.

The last strength bled from my hand. The silver dagger slipped from my numb fingers, clattering softly on the stone path.

Lilith’s glare held nothing but pure, undiluted hatred now.

I felt nothing. An emptiness vaster than the night sky had opened where my heart used to be.

Marcus stepped forward, his grip impersonal and firm on my arm.

Two vampire guards swiftly disarmed me of smaller, hidden blades. They hauled me with a chilling efficiency, across the manicured lawns, past the silent, sparkling fountains, toward the massive, wrought-iron main gates shimmering with dormant boundary wards.

At the threshold, where his power ended and the mundane world began, they released me with a slight push.

I stumbled onto the cold, ordinary asphalt of the public road outside. Behind me, I heard the low hum as the magical wards reactivated, and the great gates began their slow, silent swing shut, sealing away the world of night and blood forever.

I laughed, a dry, hollow sound. Then a fit of coughing wracked me, bringing up coppery warmth to my lips.

A black sedan, sleek and silent, pulled up beside me.

The rear door opened. A man with the sharp eyes and steady bearing of my father’s most trusted mortal operatives nodded to me.

“Miss Rossi. Your passage is ready.”

Inside, on the leather seat, lay a slender briefcase. I opened it. A new passport, driver’s license, credit cards. All pristine.

The photo was mine. The name: Isabella Fiore.

Place of Birth: Florence, Italy.

A place full of sunshine, where no vampire lives.

“This as well,” the driver said, handing me a sleek, unmarked phone.

I took it. Then, from my pocket, I drew my old phone—the one with encryption spells woven into its circuitry by Vincent’s own technomancers.

The screen glowed. The first contact, starred and pinned, was simply: VINCENT.

Next to it, a small emoji of a dark red droplet—a morbid joke I’d added years ago.

My finger scrolled down.

Marcus. Dr. Aris. The head of security. The keeper of the blood vaults… Every name a thread in the tapestry of my last decade, woven with loyalty, service, and shared secrets.

My face was a placid lake. I began to delete.

One by one.

Photos of shadowed halls and moonlit gardens.

Encrypted messages detailing patrol schedules and threat assessments.

Logs of calls that always connected, no matter the hour.

Gone.

Finally, only “VINCENT” remained. I pressed and held. The confirmation prompt appeared.

Delete this contact?

My finger hovered for a heartbeat suspended between ten years past and a future yet unnamed.

Then I pressed OK.

The contact vanished. The screen went dark.

Leonardo da Vinci Airport, Rome. Private Departure Lounge.

My father sat across from me, a cup of espresso untouched before him. He slid a boarding pass across the polished table.

“The plane is ready,” he said, his voice gravelly with unspoken emotion.

“So am I,” I replied, my own voice steady.

From the inner pocket of my coat, I took out the Starlight Pendant.

The obsidian teardrop was smeared with my dried blood, the tiny diamond chip dulled by grime. It had once represented a promise of forever in the dark.

I looked at it. At the shattered chain, at the blood-crusted stone that had witnessed my final betrayal.

Then I stood, walked to the discreet waste receptacle in the corner of the luxurious lounge, and uncurled my fingers.

It fell without a sound, swallowed by the clean, white liner.

It felt like burying a ghost.

I slid on a pair of large sunglasses, turning my face toward the sunlit gate and the world beyond.

“I’m ready, Papa.”

I took my father’s offered arm, and together we walked toward the gate, toward the morning light.

Behind me, the cold dark city run by vampires, with all its hidden shadows and older, deeper secrets, faded from view. A chapter of ghosts. It held nothing for me anymore.

Elena Rossi was dead to that world.

And I was walking, steadily, away from her grave.