Ciara'sPov:
The forest gave way to jagged hills, where the trees grew pale and brittle as bone.
Kaelen hadn't spoken in hours.
Ciara followed him in silence, every step heavy, her cloak damp with mist and her thoughts louder than she could stand. The events of the last day kept echoing—the priestesses' betrayal, the mark on her hand, the guards who died trying to drag her back, and the man in the woods who saved her with a blade in one hand and fate in the other.
Kaelen.
He walked like someone used to being followed, his back straight, senses sharp. Not once had he asked how she was. Not once had he hesitated.
They were on a mission.
And she was on a mission.
"What is this place?" she asked quietly as they passed through a crooked pass lined with silver stones and crumbling statues.
"The Forgotten Border," he replied. "Old kingdom ruins. From before the Temple took control."
"It feels… haunted."
"It is."
She stopped walking. "Why take me this way?"
Kaelen turned to her, moonlight catching the scar beneath his eye. "Because it's the fastest way to him."
"Him," she repeated. "Lucian."
"He is the king, you can't say his name casually"
Kaelen gave a slight nod. "You'll be safe once we reach the castle."
"Safe with a vampire lord everyone fears?" she asked. "That's your idea of sanctuary?"
Kaelen studied her for a moment. "You think fear and safety can't exist in the same place?"
Ciara hesitated. "And you're his… what, soldier?"
His lips twitched slightly. "I prefer the right hand. Though sometimes I'm just the one who cleans up the mess."
They moved on.
Eventually, the trees thinned into low, misty plains. A crumbling bridge spanned a narrow gorge—beneath it, a river of black water ran like spilled ink. Kaelen didn't hesitate, walking across with ease.
Kaelen turned to her. In the dim moonlight, the scar beneath his eye looked like a slice of shadow. "Because this path is one they won't follow. Too many of them died here, trying to silence the truth."
Her stomach twisted. "You mean people like me?"
"No," he said. "People like him."
He didn't elaborate. Just turned and kept walking.
Eventually, the trees gave way to a wide stretch of misty plain. In the distance, an ancient bridge spanned a black, sluggish river. Moss and frost covered its cracked stones, and beneath it, the water moved like tar—slow and thick.
Kaelen stepped onto the bridge without pause.
Ciara hesitated.
"How do I know this isn't some elaborate trick?" she asked, voice low. "You say you're helping me, but for all I know, I'm walking into another execution."
Kaelen looked back at her, a strange flicker in his eyes. "If Lucian wanted you dead, he'd have sent someone other than me"
She crossed.
At the end of the bridge, the world changed.
The cliffs parted. A vast chasm yawned before them—hidden behind layered illusion and enchantment. Mist shimmered as if peeled away by their presence, revealing towering spires carved directly into the mountain itself. Balconies shaped like wings. Arches that bled silver light. And deep within, a city—silent and eternal.
The vampire city.
Ciara gasped.
Torches burned with crimson flame, lining the narrow paths like veins of light. Shadows moved between the arches, graceful and silent. No laughter. No chatter. Just the hum of ancient magic and the hush of a people who lived in secrecy.
Three figures stepped forward from the gate—Kaelen's crew.
The first was a tall, lean vampire with onyx skin and burning eyes. "You took long enough," he said, tossing Kaelen a curved blade.
"I had cargo," Kaelen muttered, jerking his head toward Ciara.
The second was a woman in dark leather, knives strapped down her spine. She said nothing—just stared at Ciara, sharp as a blade herself.
The last was younger-looking, with pale curls and a mischievous glint. "The moonborn girl, huh? She doesn't look like much."
"She's not supposed to," Kaelen replied coolly. "That's how she stayed alive."
They parted to let them through, and as Ciara stepped into the city, she felt it—magic thick as blood. Power humming beneath the stones.
The path wound inward and downward, past dark stained-glass windows and silver bells that chimed without wind. She caught glimpses through windows—vampires sipping from crystal goblets, ancient tomes floating midair, glowing relics guarded by shadows with no bodies.
It was a place that should not have existed.
"Where are we?" she breathed.
Kaelen didn't stop walking. "The City of No Dawn. Sanctum of the Crimson House. What remains of the trueblood courts."
She glanced at him. "It's beautiful."
"It's dangerous."
He led her to a set of wide obsidian doors guarded by two silent sentries.
"I take her from here," Kaelen said to his crew. The others nodded and vanished into the alleys like smoke.
Inside, it was cold and vast. The walls bore carvings she couldn't read—spirals and moons, runes and wounds. Moonlight poured through an arched dome above, casting silver and violet across black marble. Thorned vines twisted up the columns like living things. At the far end, a raised platform.
The chamber swallowed sound like a tomb.
Black marble stretched before her like a frozen sea, columns twisted with thorned vines reaching toward a vaulted dome where moonlight poured like silver fire. The air was heavy—dense with ancient power and the scent of something dark and familiar: blood, smoke, and old rain.
At the end of the hall stood a throne of obsidian and bone.
And beside it—
Him.
Lucian Draymoor.
He stood still, back turned, as if carved from starlight and shadow. Long silver-white hair cascaded over his shoulders, catching the moonlight like blades. A sword—elegant, cruel—hung at his hip, humming with magic that coiled through the room like smoke. The moment Ciara saw him, her breath caught.
Her mark seared.
She stumbled, clutching her palm as a pulse of light broke through the wrapping—gold and angry, like it was trying to reach him.
Kaelen stepped back, wordless. As if his part was done.
Lucian spoke without turning.
"You brought her." His voice was velvet and thunder. "Leave us."
Lucian didn't rise.
He studied her the way one might examine a rare object behind glass.
"So," he said softly, the syllable falling like silk laced with venom, "the girl finally arrives."
Kaelen remained at her side but did not speak. His face was like stone.
Lucian's gaze drifted downward.
"Show me your hand."
Ciara blinked. "What?"
"Your hand," he repeated, voice colder now. "The one that burns."
Her fingers curled instinctively.
"No."
That earned the smallest reaction—Lucian's brows lifted, amused.
"You refuse me?" he said, his voice light but dangerous.
"I don't even know what you want from me," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "You speak in riddles. Everyone does. I'm not just going to—"
"Show me. Your. Hand." His voice cracked like a whip through the hall.
Kaelen tensed beside her.
The command rang through her body. The mark on her palm flared with heat, as if responding to him, aching to be revealed. Her defiance shook.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, she held out her hand.
Lucian rose.
The throne groaned beneath him as he stood—graceful, deliberate, terrifying.
He descended the steps with a predator's pace, each footfall echoing through the silence.
When he reached her, he didn't speak. He simply took her wrist in one gloved hand—gently, almost reverently—and turned her palm upward.
The moment his eyes fell on the glowing mark, something deep and old shifted in the air.
A hum of recognition. Of claiming.
Lucian's jaw clenched.
"It's true," he said, more to himself than her. "They buried it in you."
His grip tightened.
Ciara tried to pull away, but his hold didn't budge. It wasn't painful—just absolute.
"I'm not yours," she said, voice sharp now. "Whatever this is, it doesn't make me—"
"You were never yours to begin with," Lucian murmured.
She flinched.
He looked up then, silver eyes catching the firelight, turning merciless.
"That mark was mine before you were ever born. They ripped it from me and scattered it across bloodlines like broken glass. And now it returns… in you."
"I didn't ask for this," she whispered.
Lucian leaned closer.
"No one asks the gods to be chosen. They just are."
Ciara swallowed hard. "And what now? You'll use me? Tear it from me?"
His smile returned—chilling, flawless.
"I don't need to tear it from you," he said. "You'll give it to me. Willingly. Because you'll see soon enough—without me, it consumes you."
"And if I refuse?"
His eyes flashed.
"Then you die screaming," he said simply. "And I'll find another."
My heart sank
I left one imprisonment for another imprisonment
"I belong to no one."
Lucian's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Not yet."
He turned away then, cloak trailing like a shadow behind him.
"Kaelen"
"Take her to the east wings"
"Will she be staying with u"
"Yes, she will be staying with me"
Ciara's eyes snapped to him.
"Why would I stay with you?"
Her voice cut through the cold silence, sharp and unafraid.
Lucian paused mid-step, then turned back to face her. The smile that curved his lips wasn't kind—it was cold, wicked, knowing.
"Because, little flame," he said, descending one more step toward her, "this city will eat you alive without me."
His gaze dipped to her hand again, still glowing faintly with the ancient mark.
"That blood in your veins? It sings to things older and hungrier than you can imagine. You walk out of this hall without my name guarding yours… and you won't survive the night."
Ciara stared up at him, her breath coming hard. "So that's your offer? Protection in exchange for obedience?"
He chuckled darkly. "Obedience is earned. I don't expect it yet. But survival? That's non-negotiable."
"And if I walk away anyway?"
Lucian stepped closer until their shadows merged.
"You'll stay with me. Under my name. Or not at all."
Ciara's fists clenched. "Why would I stay with you?"
He looked back, eyes like frostfire.
"Because this city feeds on weakness. And you're bleeding power you don't understand."
A pause. A threat wrapped in silk.
"With me, you survive. Without me… you burn."
The mark on her hand flared, hot and angry.
And for a split second, she wasn't sure if it wanted to run from him——or toward him.