The Syndicate's Eyes

The morning sun in Vane House didn’t bring warmth; it only highlighted the dust motes dancing in the cold, vaulted ceilings. I had spent the night in a bedroom that felt more like a museum exhibit—velvet hangings, antique furniture, and a bed large enough for four people, though I had huddled on the very edge of it, clutching my silver dagger until my knuckles turned white.

A soft knock at the door startled me. A maid entered, her eyes downcast. She looked human, but there was a strange, iridescent shimmer to her skin that suggested otherwise.

"The Don is waiting for you in the conservatory," she whispered, laying out a dress that looked like it had been woven from liquid midnight. "You are to be ready in ten minutes. The Council arrives at sunset."

"The Council?" I asked, sitting up.

"The heads of the five factions," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. "They come to see if the Shadow-King has truly taken a human mate. Or if he has simply bought a new toy."

She vanished before I could ask more. I dressed in the midnight silk, the fabric feeling like a second skin. It was beautiful, expensive, and a clear signal: I was no longer a Vance. I was a Vane property.

I found Dante in the conservatory, a massive glass structure filled with black roses and twisted, silver-leafed trees. He was standing with his back to me, staring out at the churning gray ocean. He had traded his suit jacket for a silk shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle.

"You're late," he said without turning.

"I was busy contemplating my life choices," I retorted, walking toward him but keeping a safe five-foot distance. "Tell me about this Council. My father mentioned factions, but he never said they were… like you."

Dante turned. In the daylight, his silver eyes were even more piercing. "Oakhaven is divided into five territories. The Vanes rule the Shadows. Then there are the Valerii—the sirens of the docks. The Volkovs—the shifters who run the industrial district. The Alchemists of the West, and the humans of the South, who are lead by your father’s pathetic excuses for 'nobility'."

He stepped closer, his presence expanding until the room felt small. "Tonight, they come to judge you. They think I am weak for marrying a human. They think I have traded my power for a bloodline. You must prove them wrong."

"How? I'm a Scribe, Dante. I read history. I don't breathe fire or shift into a wolf."

"You will use the only weapon you have," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous silk. "Your defiance. If you show them an ounce of fear, the Volkovs will have your throat before the appetizers are served."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, iron key. He tossed it onto a stone table between us. "Pick it up."

I hesitated, then touched the cold metal.

Static.

The world blurred. I saw Dante standing in this very room, years younger. He was surrounded by four shadows—monstrous, hulking shapes with red eyes. They were laughing as they held him down. One of them pressed a brand against his shoulder. I felt the heat, the searing agony, the betrayal. Dante didn't scream. He just stared at them with those silver eyes, promising death.

I gasped, dropping the key. My hand was stinging as if I’d touched a live coal. I looked at Dante, my breath coming in short bursts. "They branded you. Your own Council."

Dante’s expression darkened. The shadows beneath the black roses began to writhe. "They tried to break the monster before he could grow teeth. They failed. That key opens the vault in the basement. Inside is the Scribe’s Ledger—a book your ancestors started and mine stole. I need you to read it. I need to know where the Shadow-Heart is hidden."

"And if I find it?"

"Then I become untouchable. And you," he stepped so close I could feel the unnatural chill of his skin, "you get to live."

The day passed in a blur of lessons. Dante was a brutal teacher. He taught me the names of the Council members, their weaknesses, and exactly how to stand so I looked like a Queen rather than a captive.

But as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and bloody reds, the first of the black cars began to roll up the cliffside drive.

The dining hall was lit by a thousand flickering candles. The table was a slab of obsidian, set with silver that looked sharp enough to draw blood.

I stood at the head of the stairs, my hand resting on the stone railing. Dante stood beside me, his hand hovering just an inch from the small of my back—a gesture of protection that he couldn't actually complete.

"Smile, Elara," he whispered, his breath ghosting against my ear. "The wolves are hungry."

We descended the stairs. The four guests were already seated. To the left sat Viktor Volkov, a man whose suit seemed too small for his massive, scarred frame. His eyes were a predator’s yellow. Next to him was Ligeia Valerii, a woman of haunting beauty with hair the color of sea foam and a smile that looked like a row of hooks.

"So," Viktor growled, his voice like grinding stones. "This is the little human who cost you half the southern ports, Vane. She looks… fragile."

"Fragility is an illusion, Viktor," Dante said, taking his seat at the head of the table. I sat to his right, feeling the weight of four supernatural gazes boring into me. "The finest glass can still cut you to the bone."

Ligeia leaned forward, her eyes tracking the pulse in my neck. "She smells of old ink and terror. Tell me, little Scribe, can you see the way we all die just by touching our wine glasses? Or is your gift as limited as your lifespan?"

I felt a surge of cold anger. These weren't just mobsters; they were nightmares in silk ties. I reached out and picked up my silver fork, feeling the history of the metal—the hands that had polished it, the mouths it had fed, the secrets whispered over it.

"I see enough," I said, my voice projecting with a strength I didn't know I had. I looked Ligeia straight in her iridescent eyes. "I see that this silver was mined from a grave. And I see that the woman sitting across from me is deathly afraid of the dark. Is that why you keep so many candles lit, Ligeia? To hide the fact that the sea wants to take you back?"

The room went deathly silent. Ligeia’s smile vanished, her pupils slitting like a cat's. Viktor let out a bark of laughter that sounded like a dog’s snarl.

Beside me, I felt the air shift. Dante was leaning back, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

But the victory was short-lived. The heavy oak doors of the dining hall slammed open.

A man entered, covered in blood. He wasn't one of the Council. He was a guard from the lower levels.

"My Lord," the guard gasped, collapsing to his knees. "The vault. The wards have been breached. Someone let the Void-Walkers in."

Dante stood up so quickly his chair flew backward. The shadows in the room didn't just ripple now—they exploded, rising like pillars of smoke.

"Elara, stay behind me," he commanded, his voice no longer human. It was a roar of ancient power.

But as the candles began to blow out one by one, plunging us into total darkness, I felt a cold, slimy hand wrap around my ankle.

"Dante!" I screamed.

The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me was Dante reaching for me—his face a mask of pure, murderous rage, his hand outstretched to catch me, even though he knew his touch might be the thing that killed me first.

The darkness wasn't just an absence of light; it was a living thing. It felt oily against my skin, smelling of ozone and rotting earth. The hand around my ankle pulled hard, dragging me off my chair and onto the cold obsidian floor.

"Dante!" I shrieked again, my fingers clawing at the smooth stone.

A roar of pure, unadulterated shadow-power shook the foundations of the house. A flash of violet lightning erupted from the head of the table. In the strobe-like glare, I saw him. Dante wasn't just a man anymore. He was a silhouette of jagged energy, his silver eyes glowing like twin moons.

The creature holding me was a "Void-Walker"—a spindly, grey-skinned thing with too many joints and eyes like clouded glass. It hissed as Dante’s shadow tendrils lashed out, wrapping around the creature’s throat and incinerating it into ash before it could let out a second breath.

In an instant, Dante was over me. He didn't grab me—he couldn't—but he stood over my fallen form like a vengeful god, his aura forming a protective dome that pulsed with lethal energy.

"Stand up," he hissed, his voice vibrating in my chest.

I scrambled to my feet, my heart hammering against my ribs. Around us, the Council members were in various states of combat. Viktor had shifted halfway, his face elongated into a lupine snout as he tore through another invader. Ligeia was humming a high, piercing note that shattered the glass windows, the shards flying like daggers at the shadows.

"They aren't here for the Council," I shouted over the din of battle.

Dante glanced at me, his brow furrowed. "What?"

I reached out—not to him, but to the obsidian table we had been eating on. I slammed my palm against it, forced my mind to ignore the chaos, and searched for the history of this moment.

Static. Vision.

I saw a traitor. A human hand—my father’s hand—passing a map of the Vane House wards to a hooded figure. “Take the girl,” my father’s voice whispered in the vision. “Dante will be distracted by the Council. Just get her out. She’s the only one who can open the seal.”

I pulled my hand back as if the table had turned to ice. "It was a setup. My father... he gave them the wards. They don't want to kill you, Dante. They want me. I’m the only 'Ink' left who can unlock the Shadow-Heart for them."

The violet glow in Dante’s eyes flared dangerously. The air grew so cold my breath turned to mist. The betrayal hung in the air, heavier than the smoke.

"Your father," Dante said, the name sounding like a death sentence on his tongue, "has just signed his own warrant. And yours."

With a wave of his hand, a wall of solid shadow slammed into the remaining Void-Walkers, crushing them against the far wall. The lights flickered back on, revealing a room trashed by violence and stained with grey ichor.

Dante turned to the Council, his face a mask of cold fury. "The dinner is over. My wife and I have a traitor to hunt. If any of you were involved in this breach, pray I find the Vances first. Because my mercy ends at my doorstep."

He didn't wait for them to respond. He turned to me, his gaze scanning my body for injuries. He stopped at my ankle, where the grey bruising from the creature’s grip was already forming.

"Can you walk?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly quiet.

"I can run," I replied, tucking my silver dagger back into my belt.

"Good. Because we aren't staying here. If they have the wards to this house, we are sitting ducks."

He walked toward the door, then paused, looking back at me. For the first time, I didn't just see a monster. I saw a man who was terrified—not of the shadows, but of the fact that for the first time in a decade, there was something in his house worth losing.

"Elara," he said, his voice low. "From this moment on, you stay within my sight. Do you understand? I don't care if I have to burn this entire city to the ground—no one takes what is mine."

I nodded, a shiver running down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. I was his wife, his key, and his property. But as we stepped out into the night to face the war my father had started, I realized that being "his" might be the only thing keeping me alive.