48. Clarissa
CLARISSA
D everaux Manor’s grand hall stretches before me, opulent and timeless, embodying centuries of influence and unspoken power.
Gilded mirrors glint in the golden spill of chandelier light.
The marble underfoot is immaculate, too pristine for the kind of conversations that might unfold tonight.
The air smells of old books, polished cedarwood, and faint perfume—expensive, elusive, and hauntingly familiar.
My hand rests on the cool brass of the door handle, reluctant to push forward.
My heartbeat thrums like a war drum in my chest, betraying nerves I’d hoped to conceal.
Though weeks have passed since the Mahindra compound, the shadows of that place still cling to the edges of my thoughts, smoke that refuses to lift.
Kaisner stands at my side, his presence a silent comfort, his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of my dress where his hand rests against my lower back. He leans in, his voice brushing the curve of my ear like velvet.
“Are you sure you’re up for this, baby?”
I glance at him. He’s crouched slightly to catch my gaze, his hands gentle as they settle on my shoulders, steady and strong—always steady when I’m unraveling.
I force a smile. “I’m fine.” I hope I sound more confident than I feel. “It’s been two weeks. You need to stop coddling me, Kai.”
His eyes flicker as he searches my expression for cracks. I see the storm behind his calm—the tug of instinct urging him to shield me, tempered by respect for the woman who’s choosing to stand on her own.
Finally, he nods and presses a kiss to my forehead. “All right,” he murmurs. “But if it gets to be too much, say the word. We walk. Screw politics and alliances.”
That brings out a real smile from me. “My hero,” I whisper, brushing his jaw with my thumb.
Before he can answer, the sharp click of heels draws our attention.
Cassandra glides across the marble, regal and composed. Her dark hair flows over her shoulders, stormy gaze bright with thoughtful scrutiny.
“Clarissa.” She embraces me softly. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She turns to Kaisner with a knowing smile. “Kaisner, darling. Congratulations on your engagement.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. Our mating may be no longer secret, but hearing it spoken aloud still feels… new. Real.
“Thank you,” Kai replies coolly. I sense the slight tension in his spine, the way he carries himself like a blade waiting to be drawn. Tonight, words are weapons—and every gathered clan is a different kind of battlefield.
Cassandra’s gaze lingers on us both, sharp with insight. “Samara will need you more than ever,” she says gently, directing her remark to me. “Your presence will be a great comfort to us all.”
Just as I’m about to ask what she means, the double doors at the far end of the hall sweep open.
My breath catches in my throat when I see.
Nikolaas strides in, flanked by Samara. My heart stumbles.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he and Kaisner pulled me from the ruins of the Mahindra stronghold.
My brother’s expression is unreadable—hardened by duty, shadowed by guilt.
I discover love in his eyes, yes, but I also recognize fear.
Not for me. For what I’ve become. A threat to his rule.
Behind them, Vladimir and Gavriil Alexeev make their entrance. The Ursa brothers are tall and commanding, their tailored suits doing little to conceal the quiet menace they carry.
Nikolaas locks stares with Kaisner, and the air all but crackles.
A silent storm brews between them, heavy with resentment, spite, and unspoken truths.
Kaisner’s revelation as a dragon has sent shockwaves through the supernatural world.
Nikolaas’ carefully laid plans to proclaim himself Dragon King have crumbled in its wake.
Most of Europe had quietly supported Kaisner before, offering whispered pledges behind closed doors.
Now, those hushed promises have become open declarations of loyalty.
Nikolaas’s discomfort is clear. I brace, half-expecting them to clash right here in the middle of the hall.
But then, Nik finally breaks eye contact and stalks toward the study. Kaisner guides me to our seats on the opposite side of the room, his hand lightly at my back. Across the space, Samara meets my gaze, offering a faint smile—a lifeline.
Gavriil settles into his chair with the quiet confidence of someone who believes they know exactly why they’ve been summoned.
“So, Cassandra,” he says, voice smooth with presumption, “I assume we’re finally setting a date for the wedding? Perhaps a summer ceremony at the Alexeev estate?” His smile holds an air of entitlement—he’s accustomed to things falling into line with his plans.
Cassandra’s expression shifts slightly—resignation flickers before she steeps herself in composure behind the imposing desk. She places her hands on the polished surface, steady despite the gravity of the moment.
“Actually, Gavriil,” she says, her voice gentle but firm, “we have more pressing matters to discuss today.”
His smile falters, confusion creasing his brow.
“Gentlemen,” she continues, her tone commanding, “shall we begin?”
The room falls silent, all eyes on her.
“We face a threat greater than any blood feud or political game,” she begins, and her voice carries effortlessly through the space, every word weighted with authority. “Darkness is coming.”
Nikolaas leans forward, brow furrowed in deep scrutiny. “What kind of darkness?”
Cassandra’s gaze turns grave. “One that tears through the veil between realms.”
Ice skitters down my spine. I’ve seen this darkness in my visions, felt it in the pages of the Book of Vaelmir.
Kaisner shifts beside me, his hand tightening around mine—a silent reminder of his vow.
“Some of you may have doubts,” Cassandra continues, her voice soft but unwavering. “I understand. But this is no longer theory or myth. The signs are clear.”
“Signs?” Vladimir interrupts, his voice edged with skepticism, his fingers steepled as he watches Cassandra closely. “Forgive me, Cassandra, but talk of prophecies and veil-tearing sounds like something out of a grim fairytale. We need more than poetry.”
“There is more,” I interject before Cassandra can reply. “Visions. Glimpses of terror and destruction threatening us all.” I pause, gathering the strength to meet their eyes. “They began weeks ago. At first, I thought it was just noise in my head. But they’ve grown stronger. Clearer.”
A beat of silence hangs in the air.
“It’s true,” Nik adds, his voice steady. “She told me about them even before Paris. Before Kaisner shifted.”
“Clarissa’s visions are the first ripple in a much deeper current,” Cassandra says, full of certainty.
Her stormy eyes take in every face in the room, steady, unflinching.
“The Book of Vaelmir has awakened.” She looks directly at me, her gaze piercing, before carrying on.
“Pages once veiled to even our strongest seers now spill ink like tears.”
A long silence follows, thick with anticipation.
“And something ancient has risen in Spain,” she adds, her voice low, almost a whisper.
That draws several raised brows.
“In the Pyrenees,” Cassandra continues. “A temple, long believed to have collapsed during the Shadow Wars, has reemerged. León, alpha of the Regalis pride, tells me the mountains trembled beneath his territory. He believes the structure didn’t just rise—it was pulled forward .
Or backward. He sensed the twist in time itself. ”
Unease grips the room. The air thickens, the significance of her words pressing down on us all.
“But the most disturbing sign is this,” Cassandra says, her voice barely audible now. “Juliette has experienced it firsthand. Not once, but twice.” She looks at me before speaking again. “Last Yule, in Draken Manor, she stepped through a corridor and came face to face with Willem Von Draken.”
I gasp involuntarily, shock and wonder clashing inside me.
Nikolaas goes rigid beside Samara, his eyes narrowing. “My… ancestor?” His voice is hoarse.
“And Juliette’s late husband,” Cassandra adds solemnly. “Three centuries gone, and yet… she spoke with him. Touched him.”
Before I can fully process this revelation, the great doors of the study creak open.
All eyes turn.
Juliette Deveraux enters, tall and poised in an emerald silk gown. Her red hair falls like a fiery cascade down her back. Her companion is striking—lean, elegant, and pale, with dark green eyes. Ivan Lockhart. His presence is commanding, though he remains silent.
Kaisner straightens beside me. Even Gavriil stops mid-sentence his murmured words to Vladimir, his attention caught by Juliette’s entrance.
Juliette’s gaze sweeps across the room, cold yet calculating. “I’m sorry we’re late,” she says, her voice carrying an almost imperceptible tension.
Cassandra steps aside. She nods, gesturing to the chair behind the imposing desk. “Juliette, please.”
The Grand Witch dismisses the offer with a subtle headshake. Ivan releases her arm with a soft kiss to her knuckles, standing behind her like a sentinel.
When she turns to face the room, there’s something rare in her—vulnerability.
“Last week,” she begins, her tone soft but clear, “a ripple passed through the manor’s east wing. A distortion—felt more than seen. The air thickened. The clocks stopped. The chandeliers flickered blue, though there was no wind.”
The room falls into absolute silence.
“The disruption lasted the longest minutes of my life,” she continues, her eyes distant, haunted. “But as it happened… I could swear I smelled Willem’s cologne. Heard his voice.”
I hold my breath, waiting for the impact of her words to settle.
Her fingers tremble ever so slightly as she raises them to her lips. “The fireplace in the Gold Room was burning,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Though no one had lit it for days.”