The sunlight filtered through the high-arched windows of the Ravenshade estate, casting golden slants across the floor of Alaric's study. Ancient scrolls and war maps lay open, his pen still as his thoughts swirled with strategies and veiled Council moves.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Enter," he said without looking.
The door creaked open, and Seraphine stepped in, her crimson eyes shy, cheeks slightly flushed. She clasped her hands in front of her dress, uncertain but determined.
Alaric lifted his gaze and softened the moment he saw her.
She stepped closer. "My lord…" she hesitated, then took a breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "May I… feed?"
Alaric blinked. Not out of surprise, but because he understood the gravity of what she was asking. Feeding—between bonded vampires—was an act deeper than desire. It was vulnerability. Devotion. A union far more intimate than anything spoken aloud.
His chair scraped gently as he rose. Without a word, he walked toward her, undoing the high collar of his shirt and tilting his head to the side. "You may have me," he said, voice low and sure. "Anytime you want. You need never ask."
Seraphine stepped close, her breath shaking. Her fangs elongated, and her eyes glowed with need—not just for blood, but for the man who had become her anchor in this storm.
She sank her fangs into his neck.
The moment was silence and thunder—her lips against his skin, his arms wrapping around her protectively, possessively. The taste of his blood burned through her like fire and comfort. Alaric let out a sharp exhale, holding her tightly as she fed.
She moaned softly, intoxicated not just by his blood, but by the memory it stirred—the echo of love that transcended lifetimes.
When she finally withdrew, she licked the wound closed gently. Alaric leaned his forehead against hers, both of them breathless.
---
Next Day – The Council Letter
Morning sunlight filtered into the drawing room. Alaric sat on the settee, Seraphine curled beside him, while Carlos stood leaning by the window, arms crossed.
A raven arrived, black as ink and with a scroll bound in gold.
Alaric took the letter, unrolling it with a frown.
To Duke Alaric Vaelthorne of Ravenshade,
By decree of the Grand Council of Dominion, the intended union between yourself and Lady Seraphine Delacroix is hereby denied.
Reason: Her blood is not of noble or registered lineage. She is unfit to become the wife of a Duke.
Seraphine's heart sank. Her fingers curled in the fabric of her dress.
Carlos's voice was dry with restrained anger. "They know."
Alaric looked up. "You're certain?"
Carlos nodded grimly. "They've discovered she's Elira. That's why they're severing the bond before it deepens. They fear what you two can become."
Seraphine's eyes widened. "They're rejecting me because of what I am…?"
"No," Alaric said, pulling her close. "Because of what we are. Together."
Before the tension could settle, the sound of gravel crunching under tires broke the quiet.
A car.
All three rose and walked to the balcony that overlooked the courtyard.
A sleek obsidian vehicle came to a halt. The door opened.
A woman stepped out—tall, elegant, and breathtaking. Her long silver-blonde hair shimmered in the light. Her gown fluttered with enchantment woven into every thread. Her aura hit them like a ripple in the fabric of reality.
Carlos stiffened instantly.
Alaric's eyes narrowed. "No..."
The woman looked up, her sapphire eyes twinkling. "Brothers, I believe you've forgotten your little sister."
Carlos blinked. "Serene...?"
She smiled wider. "I go by Lysandra now. Lysandra Moonwell. Of course, you've both chosen drama as usual. And look—Karena is here, too. Again."
Seraphine's jaw parted slightly in confusion. "She knows me?"
Lysandra tossed her hair and sauntered through the estate's entrance as if she owned the place. "You always did like theatrics, Karena. Falling into a human life. Falling for Alaric—again."
Carlos stared at her, stunned. "You were reincarnated too?"
She winked. "Seems fate wasn't done with any of us."
Alaric and Carlos exchanged a long, grim glance.
The past was no longer buried.
It had returned in flesh and blood.
And the storm it brought would either reunite or ruin them all.
Alaric leaned back against the mahogany chair, his expression visibly baffled as pieces of the past rearranged themselves in his mind.
He narrowed his eyes at the siblings before him—Carlos, who once was Victor, and Serene, now reborn as Lysandra. Their interactions held a strange, almost familial rhythm. And something about the aura of the current Vellaria clan—the reigning vampire nobility—matched theirs too closely.
Then, as if finally connecting the dots, Alaric asked slowly, his voice low with disbelief:
"Wait… you two—were you married before? You birthed the reigning Vellaria vampires? Our bloodline…?"
Carlos blinked, his jaw tightening at the suggestion.
But Serene burst into laughter.
A bright, echoing sound that filled the study and cut through the tension like sunlight. She clutched her side, her head tilting with amused fondness toward her older brother.
"Oh, you silly big brother," she chuckled, shaking her head. "Your mind is always full of romance. It's endearing… and incredibly wrong in this case."
Carlos rolled his eyes and looked away, muttering under his breath, "Why does everyone assume that…"
Serene walked closer and leaned against the edge of the desk, her expression now composed but still amused.
"Yes, we birthed the Vellaria heirs—six of them, strong, beautiful, ruthless." She smiled faintly with a hint of maternal pride. "But no, Alaric. There was no need for intimacy. We found a trusted doctor from the Elven Valley, one skilled in ancient blood sciences. He extracted Victor's cells and implanted them into my womb. A bloodline preserved. Calculated. Controlled."
Alaric blinked. "So… it was intentional. To create pureblood heirs."
"Exactly," Serene said. "A logical union, not a romantic one. Victor's only romantic attachment ever was Karena."
Carlos flinched at the name.
Seraphine, seated quietly beside Alaric, looked at Carlos with a softened gaze. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"You never loved Serene?"
Carlos looked at her, eyes weary but honest.
"Never like that." He glanced at his sister. "We were bound by duty, by legacy. But feeding off each other? Sharing that kind of bond? No."
Serene wrinkled her nose dramatically. "Ugh. I would never want to feed on Victor. He's… like licking old parchment—bitter, dramatic, and full of unresolved issues."
Alaric chuckled softly despite himself.
Carlos grunted. **"Thanks, sister. Truly."
Seraphine allowed a small smile. "Then why go through with the children?"
Serene looked directly at her. "Because our blood was dying. After your death—as Karena—and Alaric's fall, the Council tightened their grip. The pure lines were thinning. We needed to ensure the Vellaria legacy didn't vanish. We did what we had to… even if it meant giving up our personal desires."
Alaric stared at them, quietly stunned by the weight of that sacrifice.
"And yet..." he murmured, glancing at Seraphine, "...fate still brought us back here. Together. Changed, but still bound."
Serene nodded solemnly.
"The blood always remembers, brother. No matter how many lifetimes we bleed through."