Chapter Nine: The Sanctuary Burns
The voice echoed like a cold wind through Elena's bones — familiar and terrifying all at once. It wasn't just sound. It was presence. Something ancient pressing in from all sides, brushing her skin like a cold hand at the back of her neck.
Lucien was already moving, grabbing a second blade from the stone cabinet and strapping it across his back.
"He shouldn't be able to enter," Elena whispered. "You said this place was protected."
"It was," Lucien growled. "But he's stronger now. Stronger than even I feared."
Elena clutched the obsidian blade tighter. "So what do we do?"
Lucien turned to her. "We don't fight. Not yet. We survive."
But it was already too late.
With a deafening crack, the eastern wall of the sanctuary burst inward — stone and fire exploding into the air. Through the smoke stepped a figure tall and regal, dressed in black robes that shimmered like oil under starlight. His skin was pale, flawless, ageless. His eyes—like pools of obsidian—locked on Elena at once.
And he smiled.
"Elena Virelli," he said, his voice as smooth as velvet and twice as deadly. "I've waited a long, long time."
She froze. Her legs wanted to run, but her blood kept her rooted.
Lucien stepped between them, blade drawn. "You will not touch her, Valen."
The vampire king barely spared him a glance. "Still clinging to broken oaths, Lucien? You always were sentimental."
Valen raised one hand.
Lucien flew backward without a sound — slammed into a wall so hard the stone cracked beneath him.
"Lucien!" Elena cried, rushing toward him — but Valen was already in front of her.
He didn't move. He simply appeared, like the shadows themselves had reshaped into his form.
"I can feel her in you," he murmured, eyes locked to hers. "Isolde. Defiant. Reckless. Beautiful." He reached out, tracing a finger down her cheek. "But you… you're so much more."
Elena gritted her teeth and slashed the obsidian blade toward him.
Valen caught her wrist mid-strike.
He blinked once.
Then frowned.
And let go.
The blade had nicked him — barely. A small bead of black blood welled at the corner of his mouth. His tongue flicked out to taste it.
His smile returned.
"Oh," he said softly. "So she woke you."
The ground trembled.
From outside, dozens of figures emerged from the trees — Valen's followers, cloaked in red and shadow. Vampires old and monstrous, twisted by time and devotion.
Lucien staggered to his feet, blood running from his temple.
"We're surrounded," he said.
Elena held the blade between them and the king.
Valen extended his arms. "Come, Elena. Leave behind the ghosts. Join me, and I'll show you what power truly is. What immortality should feel like."
Something stirred in her. Not fear. Not even rage.
Conviction.
"No," she said.
She turned, grabbed Lucien's hand, and ran.
Behind them, Valen's laughter followed — not in anger, but in amusement.
"Run while you can.
Blood remembers.
And you, my dear…
are mine."