Arcane #vander Novels & Stories

Or it could be that her brain was smart enough to eradicate unimportant things itself. The morning after, Arianne came to talk to her over tea. As her number one confidant, Arianne told her worries about her older brother, Benedict. She believed that Benedict and one of his friends will have a serious duel this afternoon and that Benedict will be in danger.

CHAPTER 78 Morgana carefully arranged the items on the table in front of her. She placed the vampire's personal belongings in the center, surrounded by the black candle and the red thread. Taking a deep breath, she began her work. Morgana slowly lit the black candle, letting its dark flames fill the room with a smoky haze. Closing her eyes, she began to chant a strange incantation. "*Vampiri arcanum revula, locus meus mea vox audim, ad me vepire ut possim me videre*"

There is a dramatic pause before the curtain behind the announcer is swept aside. It's the vampire that we saw earlier! Alice gasps and covers her mouth with both hands. I grab her right arm and duck behind her. After a moment, I work up enough nerve to straighten up and look over her shoulder. He bows to the crowd and then smiles, showing his fangs. They look really sharp. "Count, shouldn't a vampire have a lovely woman to bite?" "Well, yes. I AM a bit thirsty." With his right hand out, he starts to slowly scan the crowd. Now I wish we had stayed way in the back. He turns suddenly and points right towards us!

He tackled Vane into the steaming water, the two of them disappearing into a cloud of violet vapor. Vane was stronger than he looked. The mercury-mask wasn't just for breathing; it was a neural-link to the Thorne-17’s core. He swung a metallic fist, catching Dante in the ribs with the force of a hydraulic press. "You’re a 'Dormant' failure, Thorne!" Vane roared, his voice distorted. "You lost your wolf! You lost your Spire! You’re just a Scrapper playing at being a hero!" Dante spat blood into the water, his eyes fixed on the cocoon. "I’m the man who’s going to put you in the ground, Vane. No price tag this time."

"Grand Marshal Vance, this is a flagrant violation of the sovereign neutrality treaties! The Dawn-Gild is a protected global asset—" Vance closed the distance in a flash of lethal grace. He didn't debate. His heavy hand shot out, grabbing the Arbiter by the throat and slamming his head down onto his own desk, shattering the inkwells and sending a cascade of black fluid pooling across the ledger sheets. With a brutal twist of his wrist, Vance ripped the porcelain mask away, revealing the pale, sweating features of a high-ranking Lycan traditionalist from the southern borderlands. "Your neutrality died when you leaked the core-stone coordinates to the Draconian vanguard, Lord Sterling," Vance

overrides the prefrontal cortex’s capacity for high-level logic. ​Arthur Vane, the lead negotiator for the rival Northern Alliance, was a man who had built a career on smelling weakness in others. He sat across from Damon, tapping a gold pen against a copy of the Meridian Acquisition Treaty. Vane was human, but he was backed by Kellen’s money, and he was currently looking for a way to puncture the Rourke armor.

Alpha Darren did not consider his marriage to be a business marriage. Alpha Darren finally sat down again, he also wanted to clarify something that was still lingering in his mind. “You used me to cover up your shame?” He gave Annabelle a sharp look. “I am Alpha Pack Kyne! Do you know who you're messing with?” Annabelle looked down deeply, she knew and understood she was wrong. But she was also very pressured at that moment. She might be asked to abort her fetus and her boyfriend might be killed by her father if he knew all that. That's why she asked for help from the strongest person in the Pack, Alpha Darren.

His spoon stirred his potion in slow, deliberate circles. Clarette announced the expected names. Alpha Jaxon. Luna Selene. Political theater, nothing more. Then: "Prince Riven's black carriage was seen in the driveway. He's enrolled." Aurel's heart rate accelerated minutely. Riven Vorspina. The vampire heir's presence meant the political structure was forming as predicted. Necessary. Controllable. But Clarette had saved the best. "And — get this — the White Witch of the West, Lumira Duskbane, has returned from the grave, and is now crowned youngest High Arcanist of the Moon Seal in recorded history."

He didn⁠'t loo‍k at t‌he obje‌ct‌, he look‌ed straight into my‍ eyes⁠, his e⁠xpression a mix of possessive h⁠eat‌ and simm‍ering frustration‌. "It’s an old re⁠l‍ic, nothi‍ng more," he mutte‌red, his thum‍b grazing the 'V.A.' "Vane is a master⁠ of‍ psychological⁠ w‌arfare. He leaves t‍hings behind like breadcrumbs, waiti‌ng for⁠ you to follow them into the dark."

He stepped into the light of the lighter's flame, and for a split second, Elara saw it—the shifting, obsidian tattoos crawling up his neck, disappearing beneath his white collar like living ink. "Your soul?" Vane stepped right up to the edge of the salt circle. He leaned in, his face inches from hers. He smelled intoxicating—like power and a dangerous secret. "The Vance soul has been tainted by debt for three generations. It’s bitter. I have no use for a soul I’d have to spend a century cleaning." Elara felt the blood drain from her face. "Then what? I have nothing else." Vane’s eyes darkened, the grey turning into a swirling storm of smoke. He reached out, his long, elegant fingers hovering