33. Kaisner
KAISNER
P ower always comes with a price—the question is whether you pay it in blood or souls.
The silver light from my laptop carves shadows across my office like a blade.
Outside, Paris hums with life—streetlights flickering like stars, distant traffic threading through the night.
But here, in my study, it’s quiet. Still.
Only the antique clock on the mantel dares to disturb the silence, its ticking a constant reminder of passing time. Of decisions, yet to be made.
I scan the encrypted message on my screen, fingers steepled beneath my chin.
The deal is almost complete—a shipment of state-of-the-art weaponry, officially bound for a private security firm in Dubai but destined for less savory hands.
The kind of transaction that would make headlines if it ever came to light.
The sort of deal that cements the Drachenstein clan’s position in the shadows of the supernatural world.
A sharp ping from my secure line breaks my concentration.
“Yes?” I answer. My tone is clipped, cold. Professional.
“Mr. Drachenstein,” comes my contact’s voice on the other end, brittle with tension. “We have a complication with the Dubai shipment.”
My jaw tightens. “Explain.”
As he outlines the problem—a nosy customs official, a bribe that wasn’t quite enough—I listen, but my mind drifts.
Not to contingencies or threats, but to softer things.
Warmer things. Clarissa’s laugh, light and golden.
The way her eyes shine when she speaks of art, of magic.
The feel of her skin beneath my fingers, satin-smooth and burning with need.
I shake my head, forcing myself to focus. “Double the bribe,” I instruct quietly. “If that doesn’t work, remove the obstacle. Permanently.”
“Understood, sir.”
The line clicks dead.
I lean back, exhaling slowly, the leather chair creaking beneath me. Once, this life had thrilled me. The power, the danger, the constant dance of shadows—it was intoxicating. Now, all I feel is the burden of it pressing down on me.
My gaze drifts to the photograph on my desk.
Amalfi. A shot of the seashore at sunset, silver-framed, nothing that would draw attention.
To anyone else, it’s a simple vacation memento.
But I know the truth that lies behind that captured moment—Clarissa’s laughter as we sailed along the coast, the warmth of her skin against mine as we lounged on the yacht’s deck, the taste of her lips flavored with limoncello and desire.
The photograph was taken just moments before I pulled her into my arms, unable to resist the sight of her bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.
Her hair had been tousled by the sea breeze, her cheeks flushed with excitement and maybe a touch too much wine.
She had never looked more beautiful, more alive.
I remember the way she had melted into me, her body fitting perfectly against mine. The soft gasp she let out as I trailed kisses down her neck, the way her fingers had tangled in my hair, pulling me closer.
That evening in Amalfi had been a stolen moment of perfection, a brief escape from the complexities of our lives and the secrets we are forced to keep.
For a few precious hours, we weren’t Kaisner Drachenstein and Clarissa Draken, heirs to rival supernatural dynasties.
We were just a man and a woman, hopelessly, recklessly in love.
The memory of it all—her scent, her touch, the sound of her whispered “I love you” against my skin—is so vivid, so all-consuming, that for a second I forget where I am. I forget the deals waiting to be made, the power waiting to be claimed. I forget everything but her.
A ripple of movement catches my eye. I turn, my gaze landing on the mirror that hangs on the far wall. At first, it’s only my reflection. The polished veneer of power—a tailored suit, a keen stare, the mask I wear for the world.
But then the image distorts. And it is no longer me who stares back.
Azrakan grins, its face a twisted shadow of my own. Dark eyes glowing, sharp teeth bared in mockery.
“Ah, the great Kaisner Drachenstein,” it sneers. “Mooning over a woman like a lovesick fool. How the mighty have fallen.”
Anger flares hot in my chest, but I keep my voice cold, hard. “I don’t recall summoning you.”
The daemon laughs, and the grating sound makes my skin crawl. “You didn’t need to. I’m always here, warlock. Always watching. And what I see... disappoints me.”
I stand, fists clenched at my sides. “What I do with my time is none of your concern, daemon.”
“Oh, but it is,” it purrs, eyes glowing. “Have you forgotten our bargain so soon? Clarissa’s blood is the key, warlock. The final ingredient to awaken your dragon. To claim the power that is rightfully yours.”
The words strike like iron, cold and sharp. Clarissa’s blood. The ritual. The ancient promise of strength beyond imagining.
I stagger back, the ground tilting beneath me. How could I have let myself forget?
“I haven’t forgotten,” I say, though the statement scrapes my throat raw.
Azrakan’s grin widens. “Good. Then you understand what must be done. Take the girl’s blood.
Complete the ritual. Fulfill your destiny.
” It tilts its head, mockery in its eyes.
“It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?
To be the most powerful dragon shifter in existence? To elevate your clan above all others?”
I turn away, unable to bear the sight of it. My gaze lands once more on the photograph. A flash of Clarissa’s smile. Her eyes, bright with joy… My heart constricts.
“Yes,” I whisper. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
But even as I say it, the lie coils in my gut. Because once, it was true. Now... now, I’m not so sure.
The daemon’s laughter cuts through the silence. “Love is a weakness, Kaisner. A distraction. Do you think she’d love you if she knew the depths of your ambition? If she knew what you’ve promised in the dark?”
I whirl back to face the mirror, anger burning hot in my veins. “You know nothing about her,” I snarl. “Nothing about us .”
Azrakan’s cackle rings out again, mocking and cruel. “I know more than you think, warlock. The fear that lurks in her heart, the doubt that plagues her mind. I know that deep down, she wonders if she can truly trust you. And she’s right to wonder.”
I want to argue, to deny the daemon’s words, but they strike too close to home. How many times have I glimpsed a flicker of uncertainty in Clarissa’s eyes? How often have I noticed her withdrawal, just slightly, when conversation shifts to the grimmer realities of our world?
“She loves me.” The words seem weak, brittle. “And I love her.”
“And what is love,” Azrakan hisses, “compared to power? Compared to destiny? You were born for greatness, Kaisner Drachenstein. Will you throw it all away for a fleeting human emotion?”
The question lingers, cold and brutal.
I sink into my chair, my head in my hands. The demon’s advice echoes in my mind, warring with memories of Clarissa—her laugh, her touch, the way she looks at me like I’m something precious, something good .
“You know the answer, warlock,” the daemon murmurs. “You always have.”
And that’s the truth that terrifies me most.
Because I do know.
With those final words, the mirror shimmers once more, and I’m left staring at my reflection. But the man looking back at me is a stranger—eyes haunted, face drawn with conflict.
I look away, unable to stand the sight of myself. The photograph catches my attention once more, and a powerful surge of emotion nearly brings me to my knees.
Love or power. Clarissa, or my destiny. The choice stands before me, impossible and inevitable.
I reach for my phone, my fingers hovering over Clarissa’s number. One call, and I could end this. I could tell her everything, beg for her forgiveness, find a way to be with her that doesn’t involve betrayal and blood magic.
But even as I contemplate it, I recognize I won’t make that call. Not yet. The allure of power, the pull of centuries of Drachenstein ambition, is too strong to ignore.
I set the phone down and turn back to my laptop. There’s work to be done, deals to be made, a clan to lead. And somewhere, in the back of my mind, a ritual waits to be completed.
Azrakan’s words echo in my thoughts as I lose myself in the familiar routine of business and intrigue. But beneath it all, like a steady heartbeat, I hear another voice. Clarissa’s voice, soft and sure: “I love you, Kaisner.”
And in that moment, caught between love and power, between the man I am and the dragon I could become, I’ve never felt more lost.