The moon cast a fractured silver glow across the mountain range as Elias descended into the hidden ravine where the rogue werewolves made their den. The air was thick with wild magic and old blood, a sharp tang on his tongue that warned him this was no place for the weak. But he wasn't weak. Not anymore.
He wore no armor, no crest—just a deep crimson cloak bearing the faint shimmer of his vampire lineage. His crimson eyes scanned the clearing where the alphas gathered, broad shoulders and glowing golden irises signaling both threat and curiosity.
A familiar voice growled from the dark, "A vampire prince, in our sacred den? Either you've lost your mind or you've come to die."
Elias tilted his head. "Neither. I've come to make a deal."
The largest of the wolves, Doran, stepped forward in his half-shifted form, thick black fur veiling most of his body. "We don't deal with bloodsuckers, let alone royalty."
Elias pulled back his hood and exposed the ancient sigil pulsing on his neck—the mark Kael had unknowingly awakened. "Then perhaps you'll reconsider... when you hear what's at stake."
...
Meanwhile, Kael twisted in sweat-soaked sheets back at the sanctuary. The witches had drawn another magic circle to contain the outbursts of power flowing from his womb. A burning heat coiled in his belly, almost erotic in intensity, the child's presence amplifying every sensation—touch, sound, and even memory.
Hands trembled as he tried to read a spell scroll, only for it to erupt in blue flame. He groaned, back arching. Magic wasn't the only thing flaring.
A soft gasp escaped his lips, unbidden. "Elias…"
His fingers brushed over his own skin, drawn to the sigil on his hip—the same one Elias bore. Each stroke seemed to call a memory to life, their one night echoing vividly in his mind.
Tongues tangled, nails scraped skin, hips thrust with desperate rhythm. Kael moaned softly, biting his lip, hips jerking as if still caught in that endless night. The craving for Elias was not just lust—it was something far deeper, carved in their blood.
The witches barged in just as the circle cracked, Kael's body hovering slightly from the bed, a soft, rhythmic pulse of light emanating from his stomach. They exchanged glances.
"The heir is awakening…"
...
Back in the ravine, Elias had struck a chord.
"You want sanctuary for a fae-borne child of a vampire prince? That's not protection. That's a declaration of war."
Elias stepped closer to Doran. "Then let it be war. But I know you lost your pups when the Crimson Syndicate wiped out your kin. I can offer vengeance—and land protected under vampire law."
Doran growled low in his throat, but his second, a lean wolf named Vex, narrowed his eyes. "You'd honor this deal... if the child lives?"
"No," Elias said, voice dark. "I'll honor it even if I die protecting them."
A beat of silence passed before Doran raised his clawed hand. "Then we have a deal. But if you betray us…"
"I'll let your fangs tear my throat myself," Elias said coldly.
...
Back at the sanctuary, Kael sat in front of the mirror, shirtless, panting. Magical residue still lingered across his chest and thighs. His eyes met his reflection—and the faint glow beneath his skin. The child moved again. Not a kick.
A flare of ancient power.
"Hold on," he whispered to the baby. "He's coming."
And in the shadows of both vampire and wolf worlds, forces began to move.
Enemies awakened.
All for the child who was never meant to exist.