Isabella Thorn stood in her sanctum, surrounded by candles and ancient texts, her patience exhausted. Three months since Lucian vanished, and Viktor's lies about "meditation and spiritual renewal" were wearing thin.
She pressed her palm against the obsidian mirror, whispering words older than Rome. The surface rippled, showing fragments—glimpses of possibility, threads of magic seeking truth.
There. A flicker. New York City, but not the vampire territories. The surface world. Mortal realm.
"Interesting," Isabella murmured.
She'd suspected Lucian hadn't simply retreated into vampire seclusion. He was too restless for that. But she'd never imagined he'd be foolish enough to walk among humans unprotected.
Unless he wasn't unprotected. Unless he'd done something monumentally stupid.
Isabella pulled another book from her shelf—Lucian's grandfather's journal, stolen decades ago. She'd kept it as insurance, never sure what she'd use it for.
Now she flipped through pages rapidly, searching. There had been something about mortality rituals, ancient magic for stripping away vampire nature temporarily.
She found it. The Ritual of Mortal Renewal.
"Oh, Lucian," Isabella breathed, reading with growing excitement. "You didn't."
But he had. She could feel it now, the absence where his presence should be. Not dead—death would have echoed through the supernatural world. Just gone. Diminished. Human.
Isabella laughed, high and sharp. Viktor had been covering for Lucian while he played mortal. He made himself vulnerable and weak and completely within her reach.
"Damien!" she called.
The vampire appeared within moments. Damien was ambitious but not stupid. He knew Isabella's magic gave him advantages.
"You found him?" Damien asked eagerly.
"Better. I found what he did." Isabella showed him the journal page. "He made himself mortal. For one year, he's human. Fragile. Killable."
Damien's eyes widened. "That's insane."
"That's Lucian. Always dramatic." Isabella closed the book carefully. "The ritual is reversible on the anniversary date. We have approximately eight months to find him and end this permanently."
"Can you track him?"
"Not precisely. The ritual shields against magical tracking." Isabella tapped her fingers against the journal. "But I can narrow it down. New York City, almost certainly. The surface world. And he'll need some connection to his old life, which means Viktor knows how to reach him."
"Viktor won't tell us anything."
"No, but Viktor's people might. Everyone has weaknesses." Isabella smiled coldly. "Start watching Viktor's inner circle. Someone will slip eventually."
"And when we find Lucian?"
"We kill him while he's mortal. Permanent death." Isabella's smile faded into something uglier. "He rejected me, Damien. Walked away like two hundred years meant nothing. I'm going to make sure he regrets that choice."
Damien nodded. "I want his empire. You want revenge. This partnership works."
"For now." Isabella turned back to her mirror. "Start the search. Be subtle—if Viktor realizes we know, he'll warn Lucian."
After Damien left, Isabella stared at the rippling obsidian surface. Somewhere in that vast mortal city, Lucian was pretending to be human. Living a small, limited existence. Probably thinking he was safe.
He wasn't safe.
And soon, he'd realize that walking away from power didn't mean walking away from consequences.
---
Luke woke to his phone buzzing insistently. He'd fallen asleep on Maya's couch while she slept in her bedroom, and gray afternoon light filtered through thin curtains.
The caller ID showed Viktor.
Luke stepped into the hallway before answering. "What's wrong?"
"Everything." Viktor's voice was tight with stress. "Marcus requested an emergency council meeting. The werewolves are threatening to break the peace treaty. Two of his pack members were killed by rogue vampires last night."
"Rogue vampires, or Damien's vampires?"
"Does it matter? They're dead, and Marcus is furious. He's demanding answers and justice, and I don't have the authority to give him either." Viktor paused. "Lucian, I need you. The supernatural world is falling apart."
Luke's chest tightened. Eight months. He had eight more months of mortality, eight more months of experiencing what it meant to be human and vulnerable and alive.
But his people were dying.
"Can you handle the council meeting?" Luke asked.
"I can try. But Marcus is talking about finding you himself, and Isabella's been suspiciously quiet. I think she's planning something."
"Isabella's always planning something."
"This feels different. More focused." Viktor's worry bled through clearly. "Just be careful. Watch your back. And if things get worse, I need to know you'll come back early if necessary."
Luke thought about the ritual. Breaking it early meant consequences—losing his newly recovered humanity, becoming even colder than before. But letting innocent people die because of his absence was unacceptable.
"If it becomes necessary, I'll come back," he promised. "But Viktor, you're stronger than you think. You can hold things together."
"I hope you're right."
After the call ended, Luke stood in the hallway thinking. His two worlds were colliding. He'd tried to keep them separate, but separation was becoming impossible.
"Luke?"
He turned to find Maya in her doorway, looking more rested but still fragile. "Sorry, did I wake you?"
"No. I heard you talking. Is everything okay?"
"Family issues. Nothing I can fix from here." That was technically true. "How are you feeling?"
"Better. Still tired, but better." Maya managed a small smile. "Thank you for staying. For not leaving when I was a mess."
"Everyone's a mess sometimes."
They moved to her tiny kitchen. Maya made coffee with practiced efficiency while Luke watched her move around the space. She seemed steadier today, less like she might shatter.
"I called the debt collectors back," Maya said, pouring coffee into mismatched mugs. "Spent an hour on hold, but I finally got someone who confirmed they received my payments. The first person was wrong, or lying, or just didn't check properly."
"That's good news."
"It's exhausting news. I have to fight for every single thing." Maya handed him a mug. "But I'm fighting. That counts for something."
"It counts for a lot."
They sat at her small table, drinking coffee in comfortable silence. Outside, the city hummed with afternoon activity.
Luke's phone buzzed again. He glanced at it—another message from Viktor. Three words: *Isabella knows something.*
His blood went cold.
"You okay?" Maya asked, noticing his expression.
"Yeah. Just work stuff." Luke forced himself to relax. "Actually, I should probably get going. Let you rest properly."
"You don't have to leave."
"I know. But you need real sleep, not babysitting by the weird security guard." Luke stood, draining his coffee. "Take care of yourself, Maya. Actually take care, not just say you're fine."
"I'll try." Maya walked him to the door. "Luke? Thanks. Really. You didn't have to show up, but I'm glad you did."
"Anytime."
He left before she could see the worry he was trying to hide. If Isabella knew something—if she'd figured out what he'd done—then Maya was in danger just from being associated with him.
Luke walked back to his own apartment, mind racing through possibilities. He needed to protect Maya without revealing too much. Needed to maintain his mortal existence while handling supernatural threats.
It was becoming impossible to balance both worlds.
And eventually, he'd have to choose which one mattered more.