Elena's grandmother summoned her to the old chapel in the garden. Candles burned in every corner, casting tall shadows across the stone walls.
"Do you know why he wants you?" Lady Isolde asked, her voice echoing.
Elena shook her head.
The old woman placed an ancient cross on the altar, its silver darkened with age. "Because you are the last of his direct blood. If he claims you, if you give yourself to him, his power will rise again. He will be unstoppable."
Elena's heart pounded. "Then why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because I prayed you would be spared," Lady Isolde said. "But the blood calls, whether we want it or not."
Elena touched the cross. It was cold, almost burning against her skin. She pulled her hand back with a gasp.
Lady Isolde's eyes softened. "You must choose carefully, child. Darkness tempts with beauty. But once you step into his shadow, you will never return."
Elena thought of Lucian's eyes, of his voice trembling when he spoke of protecting her. But then she thought of Darius—the way his presence filled the room, the way her blood leapt at the sound of his voice.
And she knew the choice would not be so simple.