The crimson moon hung heavy in the sky above the Ravenshade estate. The silence was tense, electric—until the heavy doors slammed open.
Carlos stormed in, his aura burning with restrained fury, boots echoing with every furious step. Alaric stood alone near the window, calm and composed, but his jaw tightened as Carlos—no, Victor, reborn—entered.
"You turned her," Carlos growled. "You made her like us."
Alaric didn't flinch. "I didn't."
"Don't lie to me, Alaric!" Carlos snapped, the power of his voice cracking the glass beside them. "She was human. I looked after her! She was innocent! And now—now she's waking up as something else. You did this!"
"I did not," Alaric said again, slowly turning to face him. "You think you know everything, but you don't."
"You took her from Delacroix!" Carlos roared. "You brought her here, exposed her to your cursed blood! And now she has fangs. Red eyes. Nightmares. She's in pain. All because of you!"
Alaric's gaze darkened. "You don't know the truth about Seraphine."
Carlos's body trembled with rage, his fists glowing with the spark of old magic. "Don't speak her name like that. Karena—Seraphine—whatever she is, she was mine. You had no right to drag her into this!"
"I never dragged her," Alaric said coldly. "She was already part of it. Long before you or I had a choice."
Carlos didn't wait. With a snarl, he lunged. The clash of Original vampires echoed through the room, shadows swirling as their power collided. The air cracked, walls trembled.
"You stole her once, Alaric!" Carlos shouted as they fought, landing a blow that sent Alaric skidding across the floor. "Now you've cursed her again!"
Alaric wiped blood from his lip, rising slowly. "You still don't understand."
Before Carlos could attack again, Caveen appeared, his presence slicing through the air like a blade. His aura surged—cold, regal, ancient.
"Enough."
The power in his voice froze them both. Carlos turned, eyes flashing. "Stay out of this!"
Caveen stood firm. "No. It's time you hear the truth. All of it."
Carlos narrowed his eyes. "What truth?"
Caveen exhaled slowly. "Seraphine… is my sister."
Silence.
Carlos blinked. "What?"
"She was taken as an infant," Caveen continued. "Abducted by the Council. They turned her human, suppressing her blood to control what she would become."
"That's impossible," Carlos murmured.
"She's a Nexus," Caveen said, voice grave. "Like me. But more dangerous. Because she carries the Carello blood—the black magic bloodline. She's a fusion of two forces the world fears."
Carlos staggered back, stunned.
"She turned twenty last night," Caveen continued. "The age when awakening begins for those of our kind. Her transformation was inevitable. You didn't cause it. Neither did Alaric."
Carlos looked between the two of them. "You're telling me… she was never human?"
"She lived as one. But she was born a Vellaria," Caveen said softly. "Born of our line."
Alaric stepped forward. "The moment I saw her, I knew. Karena's soul. The aura of the Vellaria bloodline. I didn't choose her at the ball because she looked like Karena. I chose her because she was Karena… and more."
Carlos's fury flickered. "This can't be real…"
"It is," Caveen said. "And you, Carlos—Victor—you are one of us too. I am your direct descendant from your marriage to Serene. There are no more coincidences left. Only truths."
Carlos sank onto a nearby bench, head in his hands. "A Nexus… Carello blood… Vellaria descendant… what kind of world have we woken up in?"
"A world that needs us," Caveen said quietly. "Because she's just the beginning."
Alaric looked toward the hallway, where Seraphine rested.
"She's our future. And this time… we protect her."
For third night, Alaric remained inside the sealed chamber with Seraphine. Outside, the estate fell silent under his orders—no one was to enter, no one was to interfere.
This was her awakening.
A hybrid of two volatile bloodlines—Vellaria and Landon. No one had witnessed such a transformation before. Not even Alaric, an Original, could predict what would unfold.
Seraphine writhed on the bed, pale skin glistening with sweat, her breath ragged. Feverish. Possessed. Her eyes flickered red and gold—flashes of vampire and Lycan, witch and something else entirely. She wasn't fully there. Her voice only called for one person.
"Alaric…"
He sat by her side, refusing to leave. His once-pristine attire was crumpled, and his immortal face was lined with quiet agony. He wiped her forehead, whispering calming words that did nothing to soothe the storm raging within her.
"You're strong, Seraphine," he murmured, brushing back her tangled hair. "You've endured so much already."
She twisted again, claws extending for the first time. Her breath hitched. Alaric tensed. The hunger had arrived.
He remembered her smile the night she climbed onto his terrace, offering her blood when he was at the brink of madness. That gentle girl, eyes full of love and courage, had willingly fed a starving beast.
Now… he was willing to become her prey.
If she drank him dry—so be it.
A low growl vibrated from her chest. Then, in a blur of motion, she was on him.
He didn't resist.
Seraphine slammed him into the bed, her strength overwhelming. Her pupils had narrowed, fangs bared. Her instincts had taken over. With trembling hands, she clawed through his shirt, tearing it away, exposing the smooth pale column of his neck.
Alaric tilted his head without protest. "Take what you need," he said softly.
There was no hesitation.
She bit him.
The pain lanced through him like lightning, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, grounding her. Her mouth latched hungrily to his throat, pulling deep, desperate swallows of his immortal blood. Her body trembled as if fire coursed through her.
Then… something shifted.
As the blood filled her veins, a floodgate burst open.
A thousand memories not her own began pouring into her mind.
A garden under moonlight. Her laughter echoing across marble halls. A secret kiss behind the royal balcony. The scent of lavender in her hair. The pain of betrayal. The night of her death.
Alaric's voice—softer, younger—saying "Karena, run with me."
And her own voice whispering "I will find you… in another life."
Seraphine gasped.
She tore her mouth away from his neck and collapsed atop him, chest heaving, her eyes wide and wild. Blood stained her lips, yet tears began to fall.
Alaric, still catching his breath, met her gaze.
Her voice broke, soft but unmistakably sure.
"My Alaric…" she whispered, as if it was the most sacred truth. "You waited for me."
Alaric's eyes widened. He reached up and touched her face. "Seraphine…?"
"No," she said, her voice trembling with awe. "Karena. I remember now."
Her lips found his.
The kiss was deep, raw, filled with centuries of longing and sorrow. It was not Seraphine kissing Alaric—it was Karena reclaiming the love she had lost to time and death.
Alaric pulled her close, heart roaring in his chest.
And in that chamber, bound by blood, fate, and centuries of pain, they reunited—body and soul.