29. 27
27
Draven
T he air in the grand ballroom is electric, buzzing with an energy that prickles at my skin and sets my senses on edge beyond anything I have ever experienced before. I can hear the softest whisper of fabric against the marble floor, the quietest intake of breath from the assembled crowd, and above all, the rhythmic cadence of Thorn’s chant as she floats ethereally on the balcony. In the chaos around me, I shouldn’t be able to pinpoint each sound, but somehow, I can. My eyes remain locked on Thorn, her silhouette backlit by the moonlight that spills through the grand arched windows.
The marks, those intricate symbols glowing from the stone walls, begin to pulse with an otherworldly glow. It is like watching the heartbeat of the castle itself, each throb of light sending a wave of power that reverberates through the room. The colors shift, dancing between shades of silver and a luminescent blue that mirror the night sky just beyond our reach.
“Show off,” I whisper under my breath, reluctantly admiring Thorn’s display of raw magic.
The marks grow brighter still, their luminance painting the faces of the onlookers with awe and not a small amount of fear. The symbols seem to twist and turn, alive with the force of Thorn’s incantations.
As the chanting reaches a crescendo, the entire room is bathed in the radiant glow of the marks, casting long, wavering shadows behind the columns of nobles and courtiers clutching their finery. You can almost taste the magic in the air, thick and heady like the scent of a storm on the wind.
Thorn commands the mystical energies swirling around us. The light from the marks etch every line of concentration on her face, every determined crease, illuminating her as the true focal point of this supernatural maelstrom we find ourselves caught in.
A vampire lunges with fangs bared, a blur of dark fabric and pale skin. I pivot on my heel, my nails elongating into claws. They meet flesh in a whispering sigh as the vampire staggers back, its hiss fading into a gurgle. I grunt, eyes flicking back up to where Thorn is suspended in midair, her silhouette framed against the luminous glyphs that dance like fireflies on a summer’s eve.
“Stay close,” I murmur, more to myself than to Luna, who has already materialized at my side, her fur glowing ethereal in the ballroom’s enchanted light. She doesn’t need the reminder. She is as intent on protecting Thorn as I am. Her sharp teeth gleam, a silent promise to any who dare threaten her charge.
Right behind you, comes Luna’s telepathic response, cutting through the chaos like a knife through butter.
I am shocked. The occasional awkward silence while they watched each other made me assume Luna and Thorn communicate telepathically, but never before has Luna spoken to me. Can I now because of the fated mate connection, or did Luna just never deem me worthy? Either way, clever girl. Never one to miss a beat.
My gaze never wavers from Thorn, even as I parry another attack. The connection between us is a pulsating chord of energy, taut with the strain of battle yet unbreakable in its resolve. She is the reason my heart beat, the drum to which I march, and if anything happens to her…
“Over my dead body,” I growl, spinning to catch another bloodsucker off guard.
Luna is a white streak of fury, darting between legs and snapping at any who ventures too close to our corner of the room.
I taunt another assailant, knocking him off balance with a well-placed kick. My father’s loyal vampires are relentless, but so are we. Every time one gets too close, Luna will harry it, giving me the opening I need to strike. We are poetry in motion, a symphony of snarls and slashes set against the backdrop of Thorn’s incantations.
“Keep it up, Luna,” I say, breathless with exertion but buoyed by the adrenaline surging through my veins. “We’re the wall between them and her.”
Always, she shoots back mentally, her voice as fierce as the fires of magic that Thorn wields above us.
With every enemy that falls, with every protective circle we draw around our witch, I can feel the weight of destiny pressing down upon us. This is our moment, the crucible that will forge our future, and nothing, no power-hungry vampire or twisted crown, will tear that away from us.
“Thorn,” I whisper, a silent prayer that she’ll stay safe, that she’ll remain untouched by the darkness clawing at our heels. Because if fate bound us together, then I’ll be damned before I let anything sever that bond.
“Audrey, stay close!” Anthony’s voice cuts through the cacophony of battle.
For a moment, my gaze turns to find him as he positions himself between my sister and a snarling vampire with ambitions far above its station. The two fight off swarms of vampires as they make their way toward Luna and myself.
“Like I have a choice,” Audrey quips even as her eyes darts around the room, seeking escape. The space has shrunk to a cage of fangs and fury, walls closing in as the vampires circle like sharks scenting blood.
“Charming time for humor,” Anthony shoots back, his sword flashing silver arcs in the dim light as he parries a blow meant for Audrey’s heart. He is grace under pressure, a dancer whose stage is the battlefield, each step a calculated risk to keep them both breathing .
“Can’t help it,” she retorts, fingers twitching at her side where her own weapon rests unused—for now. “Humor is my shield, remember?”
“Then let’s hope it’s as strong as mine,” he mutters, another swipe of his blade sending an opponent staggering backward.
His movements are precise, efficient, but even I can see the fatigue setting in. They’re outnumbered, and each passing second sees their odds dwindling.
My gaze flickers upward as a sudden, intense glow catches my attention. The king’s crown, perched atop that regal head, pulses with an ominous red light that seems to drink in the chaos below it. The air grows thick with magic and malice, the atmosphere charged with foreboding.
“Uh oh,” I breath out, a knot forming in my stomach. “That can’t be good.”
Understatement of the century, Luna’s telepathic voice buzzes in my head, laced with concern. Even without looking, I know her fur is bristling, her senses on high alert.
“We need to end this. Now!” Audrey shouts over the crowd as they step beside us .
“Working on it.” Anthony grunts as he takes down another vampire, yet for all his skill, for every vampire that falls, another rises to take its place, as if the very shadows conspire against them.
“Any bright ideas?” Audrey calls, ducking under a clawed hand that seeks to claim her.
“Survive,” I answer grimly, locking eyes with my sister. “We survive, and we protect Thorn. That’s the only plan that matters.”
“Right there with you,” Audrey confirms, her gaze flitting to the crown above and back to Anthony. A silent understanding passes between them, one of warriors linked by something deeper than blood or battle. It is the acknowledgment of a threat beyond their comprehension, one that will test the bonds of fate itself.
The crimson glow from my father’s and brother’s crowns casts a sickly hue across the ballroom, and an eerie stillness descends like death’s own cloak. I watch, my heart hammering against my ribs, as vampires around us freeze mid-stride, their eyes glazing over with that same sinister red.
“Draven,” Anthony rasps beside me, his voice brittle with sudden age. “What sorcery is this? ”
I turn to him, and my blood runs cold. Wrinkles etch deep into his once-youthful face, his hair graying at the temples. The life seems to be draining out of him, aging him before my very eyes. A red thread, thin as spider silk but vivid against the chaos, links him—and all the others—straight to the king and the crowned prince. Compulsion. A puppeteer’s strings pulling taut.
“Damn it,” I spit, feeling an icy dread settle in my stomach. This is serious, a darker turn than any of us anticipated.
Thorn floats above the balcony like some avenging angel, her eyes blazing with an inner light. Her lips part, and though she whispers, the word cascades through the chaos with the force of a storm’s calm eye.
“No.”
It is soft, barely a breath, but it slams into the room with the weight of mountains. The white magic, which has been relentlessly striking the king and crowned prince, falters at her command, the glowing arrows freezing mid-air before dissipating like mist at dawn. The marks on the walls cease their furious glow, settling into a gentle pulse that matches the rhythm of my still-racing heart .
“By the stars,” I murmur, my gaze never leaving Thorn as she takes control of the room without uttering another sound.
The air stills, and then, as if conjured by her will alone, the white magic coalesces above us, swirling into two formidable spheres that hum with power. Thorn’s arms rise, and with a fierce grace, she directs the orbs toward my brother and father. They hurtle across the room, streaking like comet tails, and strike true.
The balls of magic collide with their targets.
With a sound like cracking ice, the crowns atop the heads of the king and crowned prince are knocked askew, fissures racing along their once-immaculate surfaces. The metal twists, the jewels dulled, and as they clatter to the stone floor, the oppressive aura that blanketed the room lifts just enough for a collective, shuddering breath.
Thorn floats down beside me, her descent as graceful as a feather caught in a gentle breeze. She looks every bit the savior they didn’t know they needed, and my chest swells with an odd mix of pride and protectiveness .
“Draven,” she says, her hand finding mine, grounding me, “we need to decide what to do with them.” Her chin tilts toward the king and crowned prince, who are slowly regaining their bearings, looking more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen.
“Right.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. I take a deep breath, tasting the new freedom in the air. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“Propose away,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“Let’s not kill them. My youngest sister and mother, it would break them,” I plead. “Imprison them below. Strip them of their titles and power. It’ll be a living lesson for anyone else who gets big ideas about controlling the masses.”
“Mercy from a vampire,” she muses, her gaze searching mine. “That’s not the usual narrative.”
“Hey, I’m all about breaking stereotypes,” I quip, but my heart hammers against my ribs, waiting for her verdict.
She studies the fallen royals, their faces etched with uncertainty. “For you,” she begins, “and for the sake of your mother and sisters, I’ll agree to leniency, but, Draven, they can’t go unpunished.”
“Understood.” I nod, feeling a rush of gratitude. “Thank you, Thorn.”
“Let’s hope this is the right call.” Her fingers tighten around mine, a silent promise linking us together.
“Either way,” I say with a lopsided grin, “we’ll face the consequences together.”
Somehow, standing there with Thorn, the half witch who stormed into my life and turned it inside out, I know we’ll handle whatever comes our way.
Thorn’s fingers weave through the air, spinning invisible threads that bind the fallen royals’ hands behind their backs. The glyphs on her arms shimmer with a gentle luminescence, reflecting her newfound resolve.
“All right, your highnesses,” she says with a commanding yet calm tone, “let’s take a walk to your new quarters.”
As we escort the once-mighty king and his heir, my father and brother, toward the castle’s depths, I can’t help but admire her—Thorn, the witch who defied every odd and now chooses mercy over vengeance.