CHAPTER 19
INSIDE, THE MANSION EXUDES a faded grandeur, opulent yet decaying, frozen in time like its immortal inhabitants.
An ornate chandelier hangs from the soaring ceilings, its many arms bearing flickering candles that cast shadows across marble floors.
Antique furniture, some pieces looking older than the vampires who own them, stands in a quiet procession along the walls.
Burnt incense and aged parchment dominate, undercut by something metallic that hints at blood.
I keep my head down, acutely aware that I’m in the heart of enemy territory.
The redhead turns to Saul, gesturing toward a side door. “Get her settled in the lounge. I’ll inform him of her arrival.”
Saul nods and guides me into a room lined with bookshelves and leather furniture. This space feels warmer than the rest of the mansion, a smoldering fire crackling in a stone hearth and four settees arranged in a loose circle. The other two Ravens follow us in, taking positions near the doorway.
I sink into one of the settees, my body rigid with fatigue, each limb stiff and aching from the past week of captivity. Soft cushions embrace me like an old friend, making it hard to maintain my guard.
“How long am I supposed to stay here?” I ask my brother.
He leans against a bookshelf, arms crossed, the wood creaking softly under his weight. “Until the Veltri aren’t a threat anymore.”
“Cain?”
He lifts a brow, unimpressed. “Yes. The herbs still affecting you?”
I ignore his snide remark, prioritizing getting as much information about my enemies while I’m here. “How many clans are there?”
Saul groans under his breath, pushing a hand through his hair. “Do I really have to explain all this?”
Across the room, the blond Raven perks up from his slouch against the mantel, as if he’d been waiting for an excuse to chime in. “I can,” he offers with a smirk that’s more invitation than courtesy. “In private, if we must. Perhaps over a drink?”
Saul’s expression hardens instantly. “No, Reece.” He pushes off the bookshelf and steps forward, retrieving a silver cigarette case from his pocket and flipping it open. “I’ll do it myself.”
Reece chuckles but says nothing more, the amusement lingering in his eyes.
“Three worth mentioning,” Saul begins, his voice edged with reluctant patience. “The Veltri are radicals who believe humans should be subjugated, not coexisted with, deeming themselves the rightful rulers of this world.”
He extracts a cigarette, tapping it against the case before placing it between his lips. A small flame dances at his fingertip as he lights it, the cindered sweetness of old tobacco filling the air.
Watching him smoke still stirs something within me, no matter how many times I’ve seen it. He’s a dhampir, like me, not a vampire like the others. And yet, he’s always picked up their habits so easily.
Nicotine may temper the thirst, take the edge off without dulling the senses. A temporary fix, but useful when hunger threatens control. Saul picked it up early, like most of them do, and now he clings to it as if it’d make him one of them.
“The Malvagi prefer to hide among humans and play dollhouse,” he continues, a plume of smoke curling from his lips toward the ceiling. “The Corvi consider hunting primitive and feed instead by luring prey through carefully crafted environments or simple transactions.”
It’s a mouthful, but I guess even vampires need a brand strategy.
As I’m listening, my mind latches onto every name Saul drops—Veltri, Malvagi, Corvi—cataloging them for later, their differences potential pressure points.
Weaknesses I might exploit if it comes to that.
What kind of environments do the Corvi craft?
How do the Malvagi blend in? If the Veltri are as violent as they sound, what’s stopping them from storming this place right now?
“What about you?” I shift on the settee, trying to make sense of it all. “The Ravens.”
“We’re more of a friend group than anything.” Saul shrugs, taking another drag. “Autonomy matters to us.”
Hearing my brother speak of these creatures as kindred makes me want to set him straight with my fists, knocking the delusion out of him.
“What’s the endgame?” I ask, pushing past the overwhelm and zeroing in on the answers I need.
“Save Mom? Kill Cain? With a killer for a leader, that shouldn’t be too difficult. ”
Saul’s eyes meet mine, and for once, there’s no mockery or challenge in them.
Just cold certainty. “It’s not that simple.
” He takes another drag, the ember glowing bright before fading again.
“Cain is a Noble. You can’t just kill him and call it a day.
He’s protected by a network that spans centuries. ”
I swallow hard, a bad feeling curdling in my gut. “How exactly can he be killed?”
Whatever the answer, it won’t be easy or clean. I can almost hear the echo of danger in the silence that follows, like the price might be more than I’m ready to pay.
Saul glances toward Reece, who responds with a faint downturn of the lips, his brows rising in a gesture that reads more like indifference than permission.
“Only siphoners can, by draining the life essence from vampires,” Saul reveals, a cloudy trail drifting from his mouth, “including Nobles, who are otherwise unkillable.”
Before I can inquire further, the door swings open.
Revenant strides in with purposeful steps that seem to compress the air in the room, making even the crackling fire seem to dim in response.
Everyone in the room straightens instinctively, a reflex born of respect and hierarchy, no doubt.
He’s wearing a crisp black shirt matching the shade of his soul, fitted just enough to trace the contours of the muscles beneath.
Ink coils around his arms that look both sacred and cursed.
His trousers are equally utilitarian, built more for movement than style, tucked into combat-grade boots polished not for shine, but for silence.
Unlike Cain, he doesn’t dress like royalty or a prize, but like death with a purpose.
His anomaly eyes find mine immediately, and something shifts in his expression—a flicker of recognition followed by intense focus. I feel pinned beneath that gaze, my heart thundering in my chest.
After years of dreaming about facing him and imagining revenge, now that he stands before me, all I feel is small and vulnerable.
And I hate it.
I hate him.
“Leave us,” he commands without looking away from me, his voice low but carrying the weight of absolute authority.
No one argues.
Not even Saul, who shoots me a cautionary look before following the others out. The door closes with a soft click that feels oddly final.
Revenant takes the settee across from mine, the leather groaning as he settles in. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
His pale gray eyes lock onto the heliotrope nestled against my chest, keen and accusing. The weight of his stare presses down on me, as if he’s peeling back layers, searching for something hidden, or judging what he finds. “Where did you get that?”
“This pendant?” I hesitate, my hand instinctively moving to cover it. “Some old woman gave it to me at the market. Said it would keep me safe.”
“She lied.” His voice is even, but the cold edge beneath it cuts clean. “Or she didn’t know what she was holding.”
He leans back with slow, composed ease. One arm drapes over the backrest with casual intent, while his ankle moves to rest atop his knee in a pose that reads more like a ruler holding court than a man making conversation.
“That’s not a charm, nor something that protects you.
That’s a necromantic conduit capable of pulling power from the dead.
And only two kinds of people carry it: fools or warbringers.
” His head tilts slightly, almost like a challenge. “Which are you, Seraph?”
My cheeks burn with anger and embarrassment. “I didn’t know.”
Truth is, I don’t even know if I should believe him. He’s someone others need protection from, and this pendant could be doing exactly that—protecting me from him.
And if that woman was right, if she really did know my father… then this could be the last safeguard he left me.
It may even be the reason he wants it.
“Clearly.” He straightens, extending his hand. “Give it to me.”
I hesitate again, reluctant to surrender the one thing that’s felt like my own since this nightmare began.
But his expression brooks no argument, and I don’t have another fight in me. Not against a Whiteshade—a Noble. “You can have it,” I say, pulling the cord over my head and holding the pendant in a hover over his waiting palm, “in return for my freedom.”
He doesn’t take it.
Instead, he rises from the settee in one smooth motion, his boots echoing faintly on the marble as he closes the distance between us. He leans in, one hand braced on the armrest beside me, the other drifting like he’s deciding whether to strike or simply unsettle.
His voice drops low enough to vibrate in my chest. “You don’t get to bargain with me.”
My breath catches, but I don’t let it show. I lift my chin and force my spine straight, my fingers tightening around the pendant. “I don’t follow orders from you.”
“Heh.” His mouth twists into something cold and cruel—not quite like Cain, but cut from the same stone. Sharper. Quieter. The kind of threat that doesn’t need to raise its voice to draw blood. “Keep it then,” he snaps, already turning away. “Let it rot you from the inside if that’s what you want.”
The pendant flutters slightly in my hand, its warmth oppressive, as if it heard him.
He strides over to a nearby drawer and opens it with deliberate calm. When he turns back around, a slender blade glints in his hand.
Adrenaline surges through me, priming me to react. For a second, I think he might stab me right then and there.
“Get up,” he says, gesturing. “I’m going to need you to remove that tracker inside of you.”
I stiffen. “What tracker?”