The room was white.
Not the soft white of peace—but the sterile, buzzing kind found in human hospitals.
Xander hated the smell. Soaked in bleach and fear.
Clara was strapped to the chair in the center, her wrists and ankles bound in silver-threaded leather. Her mouth had been gagged, but her eyes… her eyes never stopped screaming.
"Such resilience," Xander mused, circling her slowly. "Must run in the bloodline."
He crouched in front of her.
Pushed her sweat-soaked hair behind her ear.
"You don't know me, do you, Clara?"
She snarled behind the gag.
"I'm going to help you understand," he said softly. "Your sister was taken from your world. Plucked from a warm, silly little life and forced into the arms of something far beyond her comprehension. And what did she do?"
He leaned closer.
"She gave in. She spread her thighs for the devil and asked him to claim her."
Clara thrashed violently—her chair screeched against the tile.
Xander grinned. "Yes. Rage. Protect her, even now. How noble."
He stood and walked to the wall where a blood mirror hung—shimmering like dark water.
He waved his hand.
It rippled.
Ariana appeared.
Sleeping.
Her face bruised from her training. Her lips slightly parted. Her hand clutched where her mark burned under the skin.
Xander's voice dropped into a whisper. "You see, Clara… she thinks she's in love. But what she doesn't know is that I've been inside her since the night he marked her. I feel every tremble of her body. Every doubt. Every crack."
He turned to Clara again, eyes glowing gold.
"And when I'm finished, she'll be begging to trade places with you."
---
Meanwhile...
In the mortal city of Ashridge, Ariana stepped off the blackened transport carriage and onto the sidewalk, hood drawn low over her face.
Damien followed behind, cloaked in shadow. Two guards flanked them. Asra had stayed behind to guard the Keep.
The night air stung her lungs.
Everything smelled… wrong. Like oil and metal and old coffee. The city was dying slowly and didn't know it.
"We're close," Ariana said, her voice shaking.
Damien touched her back. "Are you sure?"
She looked up at the apartment complex in front of her.
Fourth floor. Corner unit. Balcony cracked. The same plant still sat in the window.
Home.
"Yes."
But the second she stepped inside the lobby—
Her heart stopped.
Blood.
Not visible. But felt.
A thick, metallic weight in the air. Her mark flared hot.
Damien pushed in front of her. "Don't move."
They climbed.
Each floor was a step deeper into a memory turned nightmare. The closer they got, the more Ariana's body rebelled. Her knees shook. Her lungs burned. Her soul screamed.
The door to Clara's apartment was open.
Inside: silence.
No bodies.
Just a chair, ropes cut and tossed aside.
A blood smear on the tile.
And a single note, pinned to the wall with a silver dagger:
> "You brought death to your family, little mate.
Let's see what you're willing to sacrifice to keep what's left."
—X
Ariana dropped the note.
Her hands were shaking.
Damien caught her before she fell.
"We're too late," she whispered.
"No," he growled. "We're just getting started."
---