He had prayed—gods, how he had prayed—to the Blood Goddess for one mercy. Let me see my child once before the poison takes me. The Blood Goddess, cruel and magnificent, had given him power, had given him his throne... but she had never promised compassion.
It seemed, now, she wasn’t interested in granting this plea.
His vision fractured into shadows and light, shapes melting into formless blurs. He tried—he tried—to stand, his hands digging into the earth until dirt packed beneath his nails. The cold bite of the air filled his lungs, but his body wouldn’t obey. The strength he had relied on all his life was slipping through his fingers, leaving only the bitter taste of helplessness.
Eryk shouted his name again, voice muffled now, as though Damien stood under a waterfall and the world was somewhere far above him.
Then, without warning, his knees buckled completely. His body swayed forward before Eryk caught him, but the fight was already gone from his limbs. His head fell to the side, and the last thing he registered was the cold kiss of the ground against his cheek before darkness swallowed him whole.
And in that darkness, he thought he heard her voice.
While everyone was distracted with getting the prince care, Kyllian stood rooted to the ground, his gaze fixed on Talon. His voice was low but urgent, the words laced with a strain that barely concealed his dread.
"Morvakar doesn’t have her?"
Talon’s expression was grim. "No, he doesn’t."
Kyllian exhaled slowly, the breath tasting of regret and failure. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he tried to hold back the storm of self-reproach threatening to break him apart. He should have insisted—should have forced her to stay within the safety of the Blood City’s walls, even if it meant defying her stubborn will.
Now the princess was gone, swallowed by a world where even his name meant little protection. "Where are you, Luna?"
The bond between them, though not the mate-bond she shared with Damien, tugged at his chest as though the threads of her presence were fraying in the wind. Somewhere out there, she might be frightened, or injured... or worse. And he, for all his power and influence, could do nothing but wait for a lead.
Duran moved through the lobby of the Waldorf blending into the luxury as if he were part of it. His destination was table 7, a quiet corner of the restaurant.
It was here, precisely here, that he had been ordered to deliver messages—a dead drop for whispers too dangerous to speak aloud.
When the summons had come to serve in the sacred duty of protecting the throne, Duran hadn’t hesitated. Every turned vampire knew what was at stake. The security of the realm, the safety of the unborn heir... these were survival itself for their kind. Without the stability of the crown, Blood City would descend into the kind of chaos that gave birth to monsters like Gabriel in the first place.
But things had shifted. Orders had changed. The mission, once straightforward—shield the royal family at any cost—now bore a darker edge: take down Lord Gabriel. The directive had been whispered into his ear.
That was why he had been placed in Gabriel’s home, wearing the mask of a loyal butler while his true purpose sharpened in the shadows. Days of silent observation had turned into nights of quiet theft—letters peeked at, conversations overheard from behind doors.
He had discovered a clue. A knowledge that could tip the balance in this deadly game.
Luna struggled to keep her eyes open, her lids heavy as if weighted by lead, but she refused to let exhaustion win—not yet. Her son’s cries cut through the small chamber, each sharp wail splintering what was left of her frayed nerves. She cradled the fragile, impossibly cold bundle against her breast, trying again to coax him to feed. But he turned away, his tiny mouth opening only to release another desperate scream. The sound was haunting—too urgent for something as simple as hunger.
The child’s distress pulled at her instincts in a way nothing else could, but Luna’s own body was still weak from labor. Every muscle ached, every breath burned, but the sound of her baby’s suffering was worse than any pain she’d endured. Her fingers trembled as she shifted him, whispering soothing words that failed to calm his tiny trembling frame.
Thessa hovered nearby, wringing her hands. "Luna," she said softly, almost pleading, "we need to know if he’s in pain. But I don’t have the tools—the equipment—to find out. A day-old child crying ... it isn’t normal."
Luna swallowed hard, forcing herself to sit straighter on the bed, clutching the child closer.
The door creaked open and Morvakar stepped inside. His dark eyes darted from Luna to Thessa before settling on the wailing prince. "What’s going on?"
"There is something wrong with the prince," Thessa said quickly, almost stumbling over her words. "Nothing helps. He isn’t eating either. I think he may be in pain." She took a step back as though making space for him to act.
Morvakar moved forward, his hand extending toward Luna. His gaze softened for the briefest moment as he regarded her, but it was the child he was focused on. "Get some sleep," he said, gently curling his fingers around the infant. The weight of his hands was careful, the touch of someone who understood both fragility and power. "I’ll see what I can do."
Luna’s eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flaring even through her exhaustion. "You are not going to work any sneaky magic on him, will you?" She wouldn’t let her son be an experiment, no matter how desperate she was.
"Only what he needs," Morvakar replied. He glanced at Thessa. "Come with me."
Thessa hesitated, glancing once at Luna before following him. Luna lay back against the pillows, her body sinking into the sheets as exhaustion finally began to pull at her consciousness. But her mind stayed awake, restless with fear.