Chapter 5: The Mark Beneath the Skin
Elara didn't sleep that night.
In the chamber Lucien had given her—ornate, cold, and lined with dark velvet—her mind spun like a storm. The whispers, the way the vampires looked at her, Kael's sudden reappearance… and the word Lady Serephine had spoken:
Bloodpact.
She traced the crescent-shaped mark on her shoulder. It pulsed faintly now, as if alive.
Ghosts in the Veil
At dawn—or what passed for it in the Veiled City—Elara wandered into the Hall of Glass, an ancient corridor filled with stained windows depicting vampire history.
Lucien stood at the far end, staring into the glass where a crimson moon loomed over a battlefield. His reflection looked tired. Or haunted.
"You should rest," he said, not turning.
"I need answers."
Lucien finally faced her. "You're not just a witch-born. You're descended from the First Pact—the forbidden bloodline forged in secrecy between vampire and witch."
Elara's breath caught. "Why me?"
"Because your blood can either restore the balance… or shatter it."
Kael's Warning
Later that night, Kael came for her. Through the shadowed tunnels beneath the court, he pulled her into a hidden passage, his hand hot against her arm.
"You don't belong with them," he growled. "They're using you."
"And you're not?" she snapped. "Why do you care?"
His jaw clenched. "Because I know what they do to people like you. I've seen what happens when power like yours is unleashed."
His hand brushed the mark on her skin. It burned.
"There's something inside you, Elara. Something old… and dangerous."
For a heartbeat, their faces were inches apart.
Then Lucien's voice echoed from the corridor.
"Elara. Come."
The triangle tightened.
The Pact Remembers
Lady Serephine summoned her that evening to the Temple of Bones—an eerie sanctuary buried beneath the city. Candles flickered over skulls etched with runes.
Elara knelt before the altar as the high mistress approached, blade in hand.
"To awaken the pact," she intoned, "blood must remember blood."
Serephine pricked Elara's finger. Her blood hit the altar—and flared with violet light.
A gust of wind burst through the chamber. Elara's eyes glowed.
Memories not her own flooded her mind—flashes of war, of love, of betrayal… and a name.
Mirael.
Her mother?
Her true origin?
Everything was about to change.