Chapter Seven: The One Who Waits
The sanctuary was no longer quiet.
Even after the battle, the air was thick with unease — a warning carried on the wind, in the rustling leaves, in the trembling flame of every candle that still burned along the path.
Elena stood at the edge of the clearing, her body humming with unfamiliar strength. Her blood still boiled, but beneath the hunger now lay something else: instinct. Awareness. The world had sharpened — scents richer, sounds deeper, shadows no longer just shadows.
Lucien stood beside her, shoulder bleeding, though he seemed not to notice.
"You said it was a test," she said, her voice low.
He nodded once. "Sent by him."
"Who is he?"
Lucien didn't answer right away. He looked up, into the dark stretch of sky, as if trying to gauge whether he had enough time to speak the name aloud.
Then, at last, he said it.
"Valen."
The name tasted bitter on the air.
Elena frowned. "What is he?"
Lucien turned to her. "He was once the first among us. The oldest living vampire — older than this forest, older than most empires. A god in the eyes of many. And once… a king."
"What does he want from me?"
Lucien's jaw tightened. "He wants to complete what was started centuries ago. When the Virelli family turned against him."
Elena blinked. "My family turned against a vampire king?"
"Yes. Your ancestor, Isolde Virelli, was his lover. His bonded. She betrayed him, and for that, he slaughtered every bloodline tied to her name. Or so he thought." Lucien's voice grew quieter. "You are the last."
A cold chill washed down Elena's spine. "And he wants revenge."
"No." Lucien's eyes burned now, not with rage — but with dread. "He wants you back."
Elena took a step backward. "I'm not hers. I don't even know her."
"But her blood is in you," Lucien said. "And for Valen, blood remembers. He thinks he can use you to finish what was denied him: power beyond death. Through you, he believes he can break the curse that keeps him bound to the shadows."
"I don't care what he believes," Elena said. "I won't be used."
Lucien looked at her for a long moment, and then… he bowed his head.
"I'll help you stop him," he said. "Even if it means I have to face him again."
Elena's breath caught. "You've faced him before?"
Lucien didn't answer. Instead, he pulled back his collar.
Beneath it, on his throat, was a scar—twisted, silvered, like something seared by holy fire.
"He made me. I was his first."
Elena stared.
"You were his son."
Lucien looked at her then, with centuries of sorrow in his eyes.
"I was his favorite. And the first to betray him."