The buzzing lights of Arvanis General Hospital faded behind Caveen as he stepped into the cool night air. His black scrubs clung to his tall, lean frame, and his lab coat hung over one arm. He looked like a man who had spent the last twelve hours saving lives—and he had.
But right now? He just wanted silence.
He walked down the crowded street, ignoring the lingering glances from nurses and passersby. His stormy grey eyes, messy dark hair, and sculpted jawline made him stand out, but he didn't care. Attention meant nothing to him. Not anymore.
His mind was elsewhere. Always was.
Especially tonight.
Caveen paused in front of a small bar tucked between two old buildings. Warm golden light spilled from the windows, the sound of soft jazz humming through the door. A place forgotten by time.
Without thinking, he walked in.
The air smelled of aged whiskey and old stories. He took a booth near the back, sliding into the shadows, the weight of the day heavy on his shoulders. He loosened his collar and sighed.
No emergencies. No expectations. Just one quiet drink.
He ordered whiskey and glanced at the bracelet on his wrist. It shimmered faintly, masking the truth beneath his skin. The magic of it kept everything sealed—his vampire blood, his lycan rage, his hidden witch ancestry. Here, he was just a doctor. A man trying to breathe.
But fate doesn't knock. It crashes in.
---
Elsewhere in the City…
Lysandra stepped out of her carriage like moonlight wrapped in silk. Her silver cloak billowed behind her, and her long white hair shimmered under the streetlamps. Lavender eyes scanned the quiet alley as she moved with grace and purpose.
People stared—but didn't dare approach.
She was beautiful, yes. Ethereal. But it was the power humming beneath her skin that made people look away. She wasn't just anyone.
She was a noble witch. Born of House Moonwells—ancient, feared, respected.
And tonight, she had one mission.
She wasn't looking for love. She wasn't looking for a husband. The council wanted her to marry, to pass on their powerful bloodline through a political match. But Lysandra wanted something else entirely.
A child.
A perfect child. A being born of powerful magic and strong blood. Someone chosen not by status, but by instinct.
And her visions had led her here.
To this bar.
She stepped inside.
And stopped.
There. In the corner booth.
A man with shadows in his eyes and magic hidden so deep, most would never feel it. But she wasn't most people.
Her breath caught.
"Found you," she whispered.
---
Inside the Bar…
Caveen felt her before he saw her. The air shifted—like a scent from a dream. Lilacs. Moonlight. Old magic.
He looked up.
And saw her.
She was radiant. Pale skin glowing in the candlelight, violet eyes locking onto his like she knew him. Like she had always known him.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked, her voice smooth as velvet.
He blinked, caught off guard. "Sure."
"I'm Lys," she said, offering her hand.
"Caveen."
The moment their hands touched, something sparked. A pulse. Like the world held its breath.
"You look tired," she said gently.
"I'm a surgeon," he replied with a faint smile. "Comes with the job."
"A healer," she murmured. "That makes sense."
They talked. For hours. About everything and nothing. Her voice soothed him. Her laugh eased something tight inside his chest.
And when she asked if he'd like to walk with her, he said yes without thinking.
---
The Hotel Room…
Caveen stood by the window, city lights flickering behind him.
Lysandra stepped closer, her presence warm and sure. She touched his hand gently.
"May I?" she asked softly.
He turned, eyes meeting hers. His heart thudded. Something about her felt inevitable. Like destiny wearing a human face.
And when she leaned in, he didn't pull away.
They kissed.
That night, their souls touched—slow, electric, unforgettable.
She control him. She cast a love spell.
She only veiled their connection, blurred the memory, wrapped the truth in magic so soft, it would feel like a dream.
And when the morning came, she was gone.
---
Back at the Moonwell Estate…
Lysandra stood in the snow-covered garden behind her ancestral home. Her hand rested over her lower stomach, lips curving into a quiet smile.
"He was perfect," she whispered.
The child now growing inside her… would change everything.
---
Back in Arvanis…
Caveen woke up in his apartment, blinking at the ceiling. A dull ache pulsed behind his eyes.
"What did I do last night?" he muttered, reaching for water.
He remembered walking. A drink. Then… nothing.
But deep in his chest, something felt off.
Like something was missing.
Or waiting.
He stood, wandered to his desk, and opened the box his mother had given him before he returned home. Inside were scrolls—noble bloodline histories, potential brides, ancient contracts.
He unrolled one scroll.
Dozens of names written in perfect ink.
But one stopped him cold.
Lysandra of House Moonwells.
His heart stuttered.
Lilac. Silver. A voice like wind through trees.
A name he shouldn't know.
But did.
He didn't remember her. Not clearly.
But something inside him stirred.
And just like that…
He knew.
He had to find her.