The morning after the blood moon, New Orleans looked almost cruelly normal. The streets glistened from last night's rain. Street vendors hawked beignets, jazz floated from a corner café, and tourists wandered, oblivious to what had shifted in the shadows. But I could feel it. Every step, every glance, told me the city itself had changed or maybe it was just me.
I couldn't ignore the mark beneath my collarbone anymore. The faint glow from last night lingered like a memory etched in my veins, pulsing every time I felt fear, anticipation, or desire. And all three had been in overdrive since Kael Armand appeared.
I tried to tell myself it was all coincidence. The shattered glasses, the whispering voice, the sudden appearance of a dangerous stranger in my apartment they could all be explained rationally. And yet, as I walked through the French Quarter, my pulse quickened every time a shadow moved just beyond my peripheral vision.
I ducked into a quiet alley to collect my thoughts. It smelled of wet brick, iron, and something I couldn't identify old magic, maybe. And then I saw it.
A figure crouched behind a stack of crates, eyes glowing faintly amber. My heart stuttered. My first instinct was to run, but something inside me, some dormant part of my blood, rooted me to the spot.
"Seraphine Duval." The voice was low, smooth, dangerous. "We've been waiting for you."
I froze.
From the shadows, three figures emerged. Not human at least, not fully. Their movements were fluid, predatory. Skin too pale, eyes too bright. They looked like the Nightborn I'd only seen in sketches and old myths part wolf, part human, all menace.
"Who are you?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady. My fingers brushed the faint crown-shaped mark beneath my collarbone, and I felt the power stir. Not enough to fight them, not yet. But it was there.
One stepped forward, taller than the rest, his jaw sharp, eyes a molten amber. "We are the hunters of the Sovereigns," he said, voice almost a growl. "And you, little heir, have been found."
My blood ran cold. The word heir my bloodline it wasn't a joke, wasn't some story my mother told to scare me. It was real. And it wanted me dead.
I bolted.
Feet pounding the cobblestones, adrenaline burning through every nerve, I didn't know where I was running, only that I had to get away. Behind me, I heard their pursuit the soft, inhuman padding of claws against brick. The air seemed to thicken with energy, shadows twisting, reaching.
Then Kael appeared.
He stepped out of an alley like he had been waiting for this moment, dark coat billowing, eyes molten gold fixed on mine. The Nightborn froze, hesitated, as if sensing something they couldn't touch.
"Run to me," Kael commanded. His voice was sharp, dangerous, full of authority.
I didn't need to think. I ran.
In a blur, we disappeared into a narrow street lined with wrought-iron balconies and overgrown ivy. The air smelled of wet stone and magic. My lungs burned. My heart pounded. And still, the mark beneath my collarbone throbbed, urging me onward.
Finally, we reached a small courtyard. Kael stopped, spinning to face me. The golden light of the setting sun caught his profile, turning him into something both human and inhuman — a predator, yes, but also a protector.
"They will not stop hunting you," he said. "Not until they know what you are… or until you are gone."
"What am I?" I whispered, clutching my chest where the mark pulsed.
"The last Sovereign," he said simply. "Your blood carries power older than these streets, older than the moon. And everyone who wants control of the supernatural world knows it. That's why they're coming for you."
I wanted to scream, cry, or beg. But my blood, my own body, seemed to steady me. Something inside me recognized this truth: fear alone would not protect me. Only action would.
"Then teach me," I said, voice trembling but firm. "Teach me how to survive."
Kael studied me, golden eyes piercing. "Survival isn't enough," he said. "Power is the only way you will survive. And you have no idea what that power costs."
That night, we trained.
Not in a gym, not in a park. In the abandoned catacombs beneath the city. Cold stone walls, flickering torches, the smell of damp earth and decay. I learned to focus the pulse beneath my skin, to draw the faint energy into my fingertips. Sparks danced there, faint but undeniable.
Kael moved like a shadow beside me, correcting my stance, urging control. He was strict, almost impossibly patient, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of… something. Respect? Or fascination? I couldn't tell.
"You feel it, don't you?" he said, stopping me mid-motion. "The blood. It's alive. It's commanding the world around you. But it's dangerous. Untrained, it will consume you."
I nodded. The adrenaline of the day had left my body shaking. My hair clung to my sweat-dampened face. And yet, a fire had ignited inside me. Not fear. Not desperation. But purpose.
I realized something terrifying and exhilarating at the same time: I was not going to be a victim. Not tonight. Not ever.
The first real confrontation had ended, but the war had only begun.
Outside the catacombs, the city slept, unaware of the supernatural currents weaving through its streets. And yet, I could feel the pulse of magic, feel the world shift toward me, toward the destiny I had never asked for but could not escape.
Kael watched me silently, his expression unreadable. Then he said, softly:
"They will test you, Seraphine. Every step will be a choice. Every choice will define what you are — and what the world will become."
I swallowed hard. "And if I fail?"
"Failure isn't an option," he said, voice low. "Not for you. Not anymore."
The words settled over me like the cold stone of the catacombs. And as the first shadows of the next blood moon crept over the city, I realized that nothing would ever be the same again.