Chapter 1 #3
For a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe. Rene—our king, our anchor, the unbreakable pillar of every clan, was fading. And if that were true, if even Edward doubted his survival…
Then everything—our alliances, our order, our fragile peace—was about to collapse.
I met Con’s gaze, the old fire flaring between us, sharper now, forged in fear and resolve. “Then we’d better move fast,” I said. “Before the world realizes the king of vampires is dying.”
The moment we stepped out of the ballroom, the heavy doors closing behind us with a dull thud, the sound hit—extreme voices, boots scraping against marble, the low growl of vampiric tempers just short of boiling over.
The foyer was chaos.
Siris stood in the center of it, flanked by half a dozen of his loyalists from Shadow Demon.
Their suits were impeccable, their manners not.
Opposite them, Edward and his people—including a few death dealers—stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a living barricade in front of the staircase.
The tension between the two groups crackled in the air like a live current.
“You have no right to keep us from him!” Siris shouted, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “Rene’s condition affects all clans. If he is unfit to rule, the conclave should be notified—”
Edward’s jaw flexed, his green eyes flashing dangerously. “Watch your tongue. You’ll address him as Overseer Roth until such time as he says otherwise.”
“Oh, I see,” Siris sneered, lips curling to reveal a hint of fang. “Still pretending he’s capable of leading? Tell me, Edward—does the great Rene Roth even remember his own name tonight?”
A ripple of dark laughter rose from his side, the kind that made the hair on the back of my neck prickle.
“Enough.”
Con’s voice cut through the noise like a blade.
Every head turned. Even Siris flinched.
He stepped forward from the shadows beside me, the soft leather of his boots whispering against the floor. There was no need for raised voices. No need for threat. The sheer presence of him—six and a half feet of calm, unflinching power—was enough to still the air.
“Whatever business you think you have with Rene,” Con said, tone measured but deadly, “ends here. Now.”
Siris opened his mouth, but the sound died before it could form. He wasn’t a fool. No one was—not when facing Constantine Vonhof in that mood.
Con’s eyes were pure gold under the chandelier light, predator-bright. “You’ll disperse,” he said, “before I lose my patience and remind you all that the punishment for insubordination hasn’t changed since the Old Law.”
One of Siris’ men shifted uneasily. Another took a step back.
Edward said nothing, but the slightest flicker of approval crossed his face.
After a long moment, Siris inclined his head, stiff and cold. “As you wish… my lord.” The emphasis wasn’t respect—it was recognition. A bitter acknowledgment of what everyone in that hall already knew.
The whispers started the moment they turned away. I didn’t need to hear the words to know their shape.
Successor. Chosen. Heir.
Con didn’t react, didn’t so much as blink, but I saw it—the way the gazes of every warrior, every guard, every watching vampire lingered on him as Siris and his cronies retreated down the corridor.
He didn’t have to declare anything. Rene naming him had been enough.
The entire mansion could feel the shift in the air.
If Rene fell, Constantine Vonhof would take the throne.
And the clans knew it.
The death dealers already respected him; the warriors would follow him without hesitation. Even the human delegates—those who’d never trusted vampire hierarchy—viewed him as the only thing standing between order and anarchy.
I watched as he gave Edward a short nod and turned away from the dispersing crowd, his expression calm, almost detached. But I knew better.
I’d seen that look before—on battlefields, before executions, in the quiet moments after impossible decisions. It was the face he wore when his responsibilities pressed too hard against his heart.
And I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
If Rene didn’t recover, Con would inherit a kingdom teetering on the brink. The clans would fracture without him—old rivalries, grudges centuries deep, breaking free the moment Rene’s body was laid to rest.
And I was putting Constantine in the crosshairs.
Me. My failure to secure the artifacts fast enough. My inability to unravel Valerian’s endgame. Every step we took now had the potential to make Con a target—not just for the witches or the warlocks, but for our own kind.
He paused at the base of the stairs, sensing my gaze, and turned. His eyes met mine across the space between us, unreadable but steady.
For a heartbeat, the noise of the hall—the shifting boots, the murmured speculation, the hum of restless magic—faded into nothing.
If I failed Rene, if the king of our kind fell… then Con would stand in his place. And if that happened, there wouldn’t just be political chaos.
There’d be war.
And I wasn’t sure anyone, not even him, could survive it.