Let Sleeping Vampires Lie Chapter 1
CASS
The echo of Valerian’s disembodied laughter still clung to the walls as Con and I descended the staircase. It slithered down the banister like smoke, a phantom reminder that he’d reached into this house, and toyed with us like children. The clan had heard it. Every last one.
By the time we reached the bottom steps, the foyer was a storm of movement. Vampires moved in tight clusters, pale faces drawn with confusion and fear, voices sharp with speculation. Conversations overlapped in frantic whispers. Eyes darted to shadows that hadn’t been threatening five minutes ago.
I felt the tension ripple through them like a living thing.
Most of them didn’t know who Valerian Mobius truly was, just a name muttered in old warlock warnings or footnotes in Rene’s restricted archives.
But after tonight? There was no hiding he was real.
No hiding that he had set his sights on us.
No hiding that Rene was weakening.
And those whispers were spreading faster than any truth we could give them.
Con’s hand hovered near the small of my back, not touching, but ready. His presence steadied me more than I wanted to admit, the low burn of his protective instinct pulsing through the air like a second heartbeat.
“Eyes up,” I murmured.
He nodded once. “Already on it.”
As we stepped off the last stair, the room shifted, like prey sensing a predator. Conversations cut off. Every head turned. A hundred silver, gold, and red-tinted eyes, fixed on us.
Fear, confusion, suspicion.
I forced a smile I didn’t feel. “All right,” I called out, loud enough to cut through the tension. “Let’s not panic. Yes, that was Valerian, and yes, he enjoys theatrics. He’s playing a game.”
“Games that get people killed,” someone muttered.
“Games we’re ending,” I shot back without missing a beat.
Con stepped beside me, arms crossing over his chest in that intimidating wall-of-warrior stance that made younger vamps shut up instantly.
“Valerian’s interference is already being addressed.
We’re coordinating with Rene, Raven, the PSO, and the empowered task forces.
You’ll be briefed as we get new information. ”
That should have calmed them.
It didn’t.
Another voice rose from the cluster near the fireplace, dripping skepticism. “You expect us to trust that? The death dealers only answer to Rene. We’re supposed to believe his little pawns can protect us when he can’t even protect himself?”
The room went dead silent.
Like someone had cut the sound with a blade.
My spine stiffened.
Con stilled beside me, the air tightening around him like stretched wire.
I turned slowly. The vampire who spoke—Meredith, a redhead with a biting tongue and a habit of overestimating her political weight, stood with her arms crossed, chin tilted boldly as if daring us to challenge her.
Con didn’t look at her right away.
He looked at me.
A glance.
Brief.
Loaded.
Want me to handle this?
His gold eyes asked the question without a sound.
My answering glance was just as quick.
No. I’ve got it.
But stay close.
His jaw flexed once, a silent promise.
I stepped forward, letting my gaze sweep the room. I didn’t raise my voice—true power didn’t need volume.
“Death dealers aren’t Rene’s pawns,” I said calmly. “We’re his teeth. The reason this clan has survived wars, betrayals, and centuries of enemies who wanted to wipe us out.”
I let that sink in.
“We’re the reason you get to stand here and complain instead of being ash under Dimitri’s boots.”
A ripple cut through the room. Not anger but recognition. Memory.
“But sure,” I added with a razor-edged smile, “if you’d like to deal with the warlock incursion yourself, by all means—”
“Cass.” Con’s voice was low, warning, but there was a hint of amusement beneath it.
I ignored him.
“If Rene is weakened, that means the clan has to be stronger. Unified. Disciplined. Fear doesn’t get to make your decisions for you. We do.”
Meredith swallowed, her confidence wavering.
“And one more thing,” I finished. “If you ever refer to my squad as pawns again, I’ll personally assign you to night patrol duty in the old graveyard. Alone. The ghosts there could use the entertainment.”
A few chuckles broke through the tension.
Some shoulders relaxed.
Not many, but enough.
Con stepped closer, his voice carrying easily as he addressed the room. “Valerian wants division. Doubt. Fear. Don’t give him what he wants. Follow orders, stay alert, and let us do our jobs.”
The clan gradually dispersed, still wary but calmer, conversations dropping to uneasy murmurs instead of panic.
As they moved away, Con leaned slightly toward me, his voice low and meant only for my ears.
“That could’ve gone worse.”
“Could’ve gone better,” I muttered.
He huffed a soft laugh. “At least you didn’t stab anyone.”
“Only because I don’t want to get blood on my jacket.”
He looked down at me then, eyes gold with something warm and dangerous. “They’re scared, Cass. But they’ll follow you.”
“And you?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He didn’t hesitate.
Not even a heartbeat.
“I always will.”
His words settled deep in my chest, heavy and steady, right where I’d been pretending nothing could reach me.
And all I could think was this—
Valerian wasn’t our only problem.
The clan wasn’t our only danger.
The bigger threat was how easily I could fall for the one vampire who made me feel stronger and more exposed than anyone ever had.
Con didn’t look away.
Neither did I.
And for a breath, the entire room, the fear, the chaos—
It faded.
Leaving just the two of us.
Standing in the aftermath of a warlock’s threat—
And on the edge of something far more dangerous.
The last of the panicked footsteps faded into the hallway, but the foyer didn’t fully settle. Two pockets of vampires still lingered, each radiating their own brand of tension.
On the left side of the room—
Edward’s contingent of older vamps, all level-headed, loyal, and sharp-eyed. They watched everything, absorbing every shift in power like seasoned predators.
On the right—Siris and his pack of sycophants, clustered near the fireplace, whispering like a nest of snakes. They pretended casual interest, but their glances toward the stairs were hungry. Opportunistic. The kind of hunger that grew when a leader faltered.
I felt Con stiffen beside me the moment Siris’ gaze lifted toward us. There was an oily satisfaction in his expression, as if Valerian’s intrusion was a gift delivered straight into his hands.
Edward crossed the room toward us with long, confident strides. He cut an imposing figure—handsome, athletic, dark suit immaculate, but it was the calm intelligence in his blue eyes that made him dangerous.
“Cass. Constantine.” He greeted us with a respectful nod, though his attention was already sweeping the room like he was analyzing a battlefield map.
Before either of us could speak, he asked quietly, “Is Rene stable?”
I answered immediately. “Yes. He’s weakened, but he isn’t down. He’s recovering with Raven.”
Edward let out a breath, relief softening his expression—right until his eyes flicked toward Con.
“You may have to take leadership sooner than you’d like.”
Con’s head snapped toward him so fast I felt the air stir.
“No.” His voice was a low, uncompromising growl. “Rene is still the overseer. That won’t change.”
Edward’s lips pressed together as if he expected that response but wished for another.
“This is bigger than you realize,” he said. “Siris is already stirring the pot. He’s pushing the idea that Rene is unfit, and after… this”—he gestured upward, toward the lingering shadow of Valerian’s laughter—“he’ll double down. Hard.”
Con’s jaw clenched so tightly the muscles popped. “If Siris tries to take advantage of this, I’ll behead him myself.”
Edward actually chuckled—a low, amused sound.
“That would certainly help my bid for clan leader,” he said lightly. “But the fallout would be… dramatic.”
Con’s eyes narrowed. “A clean death solves more than prolonged stupidity.”
Edward smiled at that. “It also ignites more dissent. Siris may be a fool, but his followers are loyal to his ambition. Killing him outright would fracture the clan further—at least for a while.”
Their conversation grated on me like sand under my skin. Leadership bids. Power shifts. Politics.
As if Rene hadn’t bled for this clan.
As if he hadn’t held every one of us together through war after war.
As if he hadn’t built something worth defending.
The irritation flared deep, intense, and sudden.
My magic responded. Fast. Violent.
Heat rolled beneath my skin, crawling upward like glowing embers forced through my veins. The scent of ozone snapped into the air—barely perceptible to humans, but vampires felt it. Heads turned. Eyes widened. Even Con shifted closer as if to shield me from being seen fully alight.
I forced a steadying breath, trying to shove the surge back down.
Edward noticed immediately. His expression sobered, the amused light dimming. “Cass…”
“I’m fine,” I said through clenched teeth.
Con’s arm brushed mine—light, careful—silently grounding me.
But the anger was still there. Bitter and hot.
“You’re talking about Rene like he’s already buried,” I bit out. “He isn’t. He’s standing. He’s fighting. He always has.”
Edward nodded slowly. “No one doubts Rene’s history. But the future? That’s what the clan is whispering about.”
“Because idiots like Siris give them something to whisper about,” I snapped.
Con gave a low rumble of agreement. “If Siris pushes for a leadership challenge, he’ll answer to me.”
Edward didn’t flinch. “Then you’d better be ready soon. He’s already rallying support. And after tonight? He’ll claim Valerian took advantage of Rene’s weakness.”
I scoffed. “Rene isn’t weak. Valerian is just ancient and insane.”
“And perception,” Edward said quietly, “is more powerful than truth when fear is involved.”
That hit too close to reality.