Soon the laughter dwindled to faint snickers.
"You are quiet," Vij observed, a thin smile curving his lips. "You seem offended. Is he perhaps your lover?"
Selene's eyes hardened, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"That is none of your concern. If we are done here, I would like my weapons back. I intend to be on my way."
She rose from her seat, but her body swayed. weakness washing through her like poison. Liam caught her by the arm before she fell, earning only a venomous hiss from her. Helplessness was something she despised above all else.
Vij's expression softened faintly, though his tone remained measured. He turned toward a tall cabinet set into the wall—a piece of dark mahogany inlaid with veins of silver and crystal, the kind of furnishing found only in mansions where bloodlines carried history like a curse. Within the glass-paneled interior rested an assortment of decanters and crystal bottles filled with rich, dark liquors that caught the low light like rubies.
Drawing close, He selected one with care, its label written in a forgotten dialect. After closing the cabinet, he crossed the room and offered it to her.
"Here. Drink," he said simply.
Selene regarded the bottle with suspicion, her piercing blue eyes narrowing. She made no move to take it.
"It is for your troubles," Vij continued, extending it again with a faint insistence.
Reluctantly, she accepted it. The scent reached her before she even pulled the cork—rich, metallic, and unmistakable. Blood. Not fresh, but preserved. Refined blood. She hesitated only for a moment before something primal inside her took over. Like a starving predator, she twisted the cap free and drank greedily.
Blood.
That meant they had dealt with vampires before.
How have I never heard of this so-called Order? she wondered as the warmth spread through her body.
It was exquisite—smoother than anything she had ever tasted. The purity of it burned like ecstasy.
"Dylan. Fetch her weapons," Vij commanded without taking his eyes off her.
Then, to Selene:
"The human will remain here for the time being. We will personally oversee his transformation. If his existence continues to cause unrest, he shall stay here—under our supervision."
Selene lowered the bottle, her voice steady again. "Transformation?"
She had half-expected the drink to be poisoned, or some chemical designed to cripple a vampire. When no ill effect followed, she drained it completely, crimson streaks glistening at the corner of her mouth. For a moment, she even forgot Michael's existence entirely; saving him had been necessity, not sentiment. The Lycans had been the true enemy.
Now, new dangers loomed.
If Lucien was truly alive, Viktor had to know.
"Yes," Vij confirmed calmly. "Transformation. He has been marked by Lucian. By the next full moon, he will turn."
As they spoke, Dylan returned carrying a sleek black case. He opened it and presented her twin pistols as if offering sacred relics.
"I would think twice before using them in here," he warned quietly. "You would be dead before the trigger breaks."
Selene took the weapons wordlessly, checking the chambers with a practiced motion. Then she stood—only for the world to collapse into black.
A moment of nothingness.
Then, vision returned. She stood alone on an empty road, night spread endlessly in all directions. The silence was absolute.
Others might have panicked. She did not.
"How…?" she murmured.
There was no one nearby. No heartbeat, no scent, not even a presence.
Quickly regaining her composure, she confirmed her weapons were intact and broke into motion, vanishing into the darkness at inhuman speed.
She knew these roads. She had hunted here for centuries.
Back at the lair, Vij's demeanor shifted. The humor was gone, replaced by solemn gravity. "It appears Lucian is seeking the blood of Corvinus," he began, his voice low and deliberate. "We cannot yet determine his intent, but we cannot risk exposure. Everything we have worked for hangs in the balance. The Lord has been successfully restored to human form—our greatest triumph since the ancient days. Now we proceed to the next stage."
He rose, his movements precise, his expression unreadable.
"Liam," he said, glancing toward the man, "you did well. Mesmerizing her spared us unnecessary bloodshed." Liam inclined his head, a nod.
"Ivan, how is the letting?" Vij asked next.
"It shall be ready for the Lord's meal," Ivan replied.
"Good. Then we rest and await his summons. Dismissed."
As one, they stood.
"Loyalty is its own reward," they intoned together, their voices echoing through the stone hall before fading into silence.
They dispersed. Liam dissolved into a cloud of black bats that scattered into the shadows. The others vanished into the labyrinthine halls.
Their time belonged to another age, yet their faith endured. They were the Lord's retainers—eternal servants bound by devotion deeper than blood. The Lord was awake, but broken. They would wait for him to heal. And when his grief ended, they would offer him the world upon a silver platter. Loyalty was its own reward.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
In the catacombs beneath the city—vast tunnels guiding the filth of the living world—Lycans prowled. Some came. Some went. All served one master.
Lucian.
While the centuries had buried his name, he had never ceased to exist. He rebuilt in silence, learning from the ways of his former masters. like the vampires, he cloaked his growth in shadow. He infiltrated human societies, quietly gathering wealth, influence, and soldiers. The city above was only one of many strongholds under his control.
As the undisputed Alpha of all Lycans, his reach extended even into human power structures—politicians, corporations, syndicates—all bound by promises of immortality.
Yet there was one truth he could not ignore: his kind were fractured. Savage. Their beast instincts outweighed their reason. Civilization eluded them. Even Raze, among his most disciplined lieutenants, sometimes succumbed to the madness.
How can I build a kingdom with beasts? he wondered, his gaze cold and thoughtful. How do I lead them when even they cannot control themselves?
Before him, a man worked carefully with vials and samples. The blood of Michael Corvin shimmered faintly under the lamplight—the suspected carrier of the Corvinus Strain, the viral gene from which immortality had first sprung.
Lucien watched in silence. He knew this story well------------------
Alexander Corvinus.
The first immortal.
A warlord of the fifth century who survived the Black Death that had devoured all of Europe. He alone endured the plague, though at the cost of his humanity.
He sired three sons. Two became legends. One became forgotten.
Marcus—the first vampire, gifted with the traits of the bat that bit him. His strength and speed were unmatched, but sunlight turned his blood to fire.
William—the first werewolf, infected by the bite of a wolf, doomed to eternal bestial rage.
And the third son—unnamed, mortal, and overlooked by history—whose blood carried the dormant perfection of the Corvinus strain.
That hidden legacy flowed through his descendants, a key to the origin and evolution of both species.
For Lucien, it was more than myth. It was salvation.
The key to transcendence.
Key to the final victory over Viktor—the tyrant who once called himself his master.